He raised an eyebrow. “And this will help us how?”
“It’s handmade, and there’s a maker’s mark on the back.” I tucked it into my purse. “If we can track the maker down, then maybe they could give us the details of the person they sold them to.”
It was a long shot, but long shots were all we really had.
“Shall we head to the Razans’ place next?”
“I guess.” I walked back across the room. “What will we do if the Razan are alive, though?”
“We question them.” Azriel wrapped his arms around me again. “If they are alive, then someone else made them. And that might imply there is another Aedh involved, one we have not yet sighted.”
I glanced up and met his gaze. “Do you really think that’s possible?”
“No. But I am not about to discount the possibility given – as you have often noted – the lack of help coming from the fates’ hands.”
His energy whirled through us, snapping us through the fields so fast I almost felt out of breath when we re-formed.
I didn’t immediately move, remaining locked in Azriel’s embrace as I breathed deep, tasting the various scents in the air, searching for any sign or smell of the Razan. Or anyone else, for that matter.
All I smelled was death.
“That is because the Razan lie dead in this place.”
I stepped back, my gaze sweeping the room. We’d reappeared in the small but tidy kitchen. There were dishes piled up on the drainer and ants crawling all over the small bag of rubbish that was sitting on the counter. It’d been neatly tied, as if ready for someone to pick it up and take it to the bin. Outside, in the small paved courtyard, water sprayed high into the air, splattering both the pond and its surrounds and making the water lilies dance about. The two cuneiform-etched stones that had stood in the middle of the pond were gone.
“That is not surprising,” Azriel said. “Our sorceress would not want them found.”
“I’m not sure why she’d bother. I mean, they only led to her place on the Gold Coast, and it wasn’t like anyone other than an Aedh could use them.”
“The Razan could use them – the one who set the hellhounds on you in that tunnel wore a device on his wrist, remember. And Lauren would not have wasted energy on such devices without being able to use them herself.” He pressed a hand against my spine and ushered me forward. “The bodies lie in the bedrooms.”
Fabulous not, as my sword would say. I blew out a breath and hoped like hell my stomach would behave itself if their deaths were mucky. As it turned out, they weren’t.
We found one body in the first of three bedrooms off the hall. Just as he had been the last time I’d come here, the Razan was sprawled stomach down on the bed. The blankets were twisted around his legs, leaving part of his butt and his back uncovered. He was muscular and thickset – the body of a wrestler rather than a sprinter – and his skin lightly tanned. He had two tattoos on the upper part of his shoulders – one of a dragon with two swords crossed above it and the other a ring of barbed wire. Lucian’s mark, and probably my father’s.
He looked for all the world like he was asleep, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t moving, he wasn’t breathing. And he was beginning to smell.
My stomach stirred and I stopped. Azriel walked over to the Razan and lightly pressed his fingertips to either side of the man’s temples. Energy whisked around me, fierce and bright, but no images rose from the Razan’s mind.
“He died when Lucian died,” Azriel said grimly. “There is nothing left in his mind to help. The resonance of his memories has faded.”
“He probably wouldn’t have been able to help us much anyway. Lucian would have ensured his Razan would never betray him.”
“Him, yes, but it is questionable whether he would have offered the same sort of protection to Lauren. Or anyone else who might have used the cuneiform stones.”
“True.” I turned and headed down the hall to check the other bedrooms. One contained the second body and the other was empty. The cuneiform stones that had stood in the third bedroom had disappeared as completely as their kin in the courtyard. “I wonder where the other Razan are?”
“Undoubtedly lying dead somewhere,” Azriel said. “And if we’re very lucky, perhaps those misbegotten shifters that have attacked us both times we attempted to get the keys have suffered the same fate.”
I shot him a glance. “Why would they? It was dark magic that created them, not Aedh.”
Amusement briefly touched his lips. “I did say if we were lucky.” He held out a hand. “There is nothing more we can do here. Shall we move on to Stane’s?”
“I think we should search the place first. Maybe we’ll find something helpful.”
“I very much doubt it.”
But he helped me search regardless, and we found exactly what he’d expected – nothing.