I snorted. “Like fuck —”
“Risa,” he said, cutting me off with a fierceness that surprised me. “There is no need for you to place yourself in danger. Not in this case. For once let me do what I was sent here to do without argument.”
Let me take care of you. Please. He didn’t say the words out loud, but they echoed through me nonetheless. I met his gaze, saw the annoyance and the caring there, and reached out, cupping his cheek lightly as I leaned forward and kissed him. “Just this once,” I murmured.
“Thank you.” His voice was dry but amusement tugged at his warm lips. “So generous of you.”
And with that, he jumped into the hole, Valdis aflame and spitting in fury. I watched, heart in my mouth, as the hellhounds attacked and he briefly disappeared under the force of their onslaught. He emerged seconds later, Valdis a blur as he hacked right and left, dispatching the hounds with quick efficiency. When the last of them was dead, he looked up, his blue eyes glowing as fiercely as the sword in his hand.
“Now you may come down.”
I sheathed Amaya, then gripped the edges of the hole and carefully lowered myself into the darkness. It seemed an awful long way down to the bottom, even at full arm’s length.
“I’ll catch you.” He sheathed his sword, though her brightness still provided enough light to see by.
“You’d better, or I’ll be pissed.”>“God,” I muttered, “the bastard is dead and he’s still causing us problems.”
“And will no doubt continue to do so until both sorcerers are dealt with.”
Dealt with – the polite way of saying dead. Not that I was, in any way, doubting the necessity of it.
I sighed and walked back to Azriel. “You’ll let us know if you find anything useful,” I said to Stane.
He nodded. “I’ll also check if the autopsy results are ready on the body parts found in the locker. If it was Genevieve Sands, then at least it basically confirms the shifter theory.”
Because it wasn’t Genevieve who’d walked back into that building just before the blast, but a shifter wearing my face. And it was a wonder the police hadn’t contacted me about the events – unless, of course, Uncle Rhoan was running interference with them.
“Draw your sword,” Azriel said, as he caught my hand and tugged me toward him. Valdis was already in his free hand.
“Why?”
“Because she might have more guards waiting in this place.”
I drew Amaya. A high-pitched humming began to flow across the outer reaches of my thoughts as she happily anticipated devouring more shag-pile demons. She really was a bloodthirsty little person.
Not person. Demon. Better.
I grinned as Azriel whisked us across the fields. He released my hand as we re-formed in the middle of a bright and airy hallway, his gaze watchful and blue fire running down Valdis’s steel sides.
The place was silent. The air held an oddly smoky, somehow electrical scent that reminded me of the smell in air just before a thunderstorm, but there was nothing to suggest there was anything or anyone else in this place but the two of us.
“There’s not.” Azriel sheathed Valdis. “Not even her resonance lingers.”
“Something does.” I held on to Amaya and swung around. “It smells like magic.”
“It is, though it does not feel recent or primed to attack.”
“Why would she set a trap in one home, and not the other?” I cautiously walked into the first room off the hallway, my footsteps echoing on the polished floorboards. The double bed had been stripped of linen, and the drawers from the bedside tables had been thrown on top of the mattress, suggesting someone had emptied them in haste. I walked across to the wardrobe and used Amaya’s tip to open the door. It too was empty.
The rest of the house provided a similar story – beds and wardrobes stripped, rooms empty of everything other than large pieces of furniture. Genevieve Sands had taken everything that might have provided us with some sort of clue as to who she really was or where she might now be found.
The sudden urge to scream rolled up my throat, and I had to bite down on my lip to stop it. I sheathed Amaya and walked through the kitchen-diner, heading for the windows that lined the rear of the house. The small garden was immaculately tended and very pretty, filled with roses and other flowering plants. There was no sign of a cuneiform stone, however. Not even a bare spot in the garden to mark where one had once stood. I sighed and rubbed my forehead wearily.
“Another dead end. Just what we needed right now.”
“That is not entirely true,” Azriel said.
I swung around. He was squatting in front of one of the kitchen cabinets, and held up what looked like a torn edge of paper. “It was caught at the back of this cabinet. Obviously, whoever emptied the drawers did so in haste, and did not notice it.”