Darkness Falls

by Keri Arthur

  “Yes, but I don’t believe he’s ever mentioned his home address, and I can’t remember Mom ever going there. I mean, she may have, but it certainly seemed that he came to our place more than the other way around.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Did you not think it strange that he would never mention his living arrangements, given his intimacy with your mother?”

  “Now that I think about it, yes. At the time, no. I mean, I didn’t even realize he and Mom were intimate until after she’d died.” And if anything was strange, then it was that. I mean, no child really wants to think about her parents having sex, but Mom had been a werewolf—even if a lab-designed one—and she had a werewolf’s sexual nature and outlook. She’d certainly never hidden the existence of other partners during my childhood, so why would she hide the fact she’d been in a long-term relationship with Mike?

  She wouldn’t, I thought with a chill.

  And maybe that meant their relationship hadn’t been sexual. Maybe it had been nothing more than an avenue of access—to me, to keep an eye on me.

  After all, Lucian had obviously known of my creation before he’d been cast back in time by the Raziq, because it certainly hadn’t been luck that his path had crossed mine. He’d also obviously known that my father had created the keys in such a way that only he, or one of his blood, could find them. So why wouldn’t he have placed someone in my life—someone outwardly ordinary—to keep an eye on me? Especially if that someone was well practiced in magic—or, at least, had easy access to someone who was?

  It was only when my father had come back into my life that Lucian had enacted his own plans, starting with my mother’s murder. He’d believed that without her presence, without her advice, I would be infinitely more vulnerable, and therefore more accepting of his advances. And he’d been right, up until the moment when I’d finally realized there was a lot more going on than just sexual attraction.

  Of course, once I’d killed Lucian, I’d cut Lauren’s access to me—and therefore the key search. And that could certainly explain Mike’s attempts to become a bigger part of my life since Mom’s death. As my accountant and investment adviser, his contact with me was limited to business meetings. But as a friend of my mother’s—a friend who’d supposedly promised her that he’d keep an eye on me—he certainly had more of a chance of doing that.

  I briefly scrubbed a hand across my eyes and swore softly. Azriel wrapped his fingers around mine and squeezed gently. “Do not feel bad. The Aedh had centuries to plot. It is not really surprising that we are still unraveling the threads of his treachery.”

  “Yeah, but if I’d listened to you a bit sooner—”

  “We cannot change the past. We can only learn from it and move on.”

  “Something that’s more easily said than done,” I commented. Especially when the past involved the two deaths that should never have happened—although one of them certainly wasn’t either Lucian’s or Lauren’s fault.

  “Hunter’s turn will come,” Azriel said.

  I glanced at him. “You can’t be sure of that. Hell, even the fates aren’t sure of that, from what you’ve said.”

  “True.” He half shrugged. “But there’s also karma. And if you’ve been thinking the fates are a bitch, then you’ve obviously never met karma.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “You’re saying that like karma is a living thing.”

  “She is as real as the fates, and has very nasty tendencies if you do the wrong thing by her.” He paused. “He’s turned right onto Pasley Street North. It’s two streets up from our current location.”

  I slowed as I neared the street, and waited for a gap in the oncoming traffic so I could turn. A massive park dominated one side of the street, while on the other, pretty Victorian terraces rubbed shoulders with more modern houses and ugly apartment buildings. The Mercedes had stopped just beyond a bend in the road, and there was no one in it. I slowly cruised past and peered at the house it was parked in front of. It was one of the two-story Victorian terraces, a beautiful white building complete with an original-looking wrought-iron balustrade lining the upper balcony. It was the sort of house that would be worth a fortune, especially in a location like this. Mike was just disappearing inside the front door.

  I parked farther up the road, switched off the car, then twisted around to look back at the house. “Can you sense anyone else in there?”

  Azriel shook his head. “There is a barrier around the house.”

  “We seem to be coming up against a few of those lately,” I muttered. “It’s damn frustrating.”

  “But not surprising, given who we are dealing with. This one is similar in feel to the one around the warehouse that had the hellhounds.”

  I glanced at him, amused. “That doesn’t exactly cut the options down, given we’ve discovered hellhounds at nearly every warehouse we’ve been to.”

  A wry smile touched his lips. “I meant the first warehouse, not the second.”

  Which was the one the Brindle witches had woven an exception into, allowing Azriel to enter, and also the place that held a secondary barrier within its bowels. We’d know soon enough what that one might be protecting, given that Kiandra now had the witches working on it.

  “So this barrier is designed to keep out reapers and Aedh, but not human?”

  “From the feel of it, yes.” He gaze came to mine. “I presume this means you are about to break in?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You say that like we’ve got another choice.”

  “There are always other choices, as I believe you have often noted. However, they may take more time than we have; we need to know what goes on in that house now, not later. And with the barrier present, it is a task that necessarily falls to you.”

  “Which doesn’t mean you’re happy about it,” I said.

  “No, but then, I was assigned this task to protect you.”

  “No, you were assigned to find the keys. Protecting me was a secondary—even if necessary—part of that task.” I leaned over and kissed him. “I won’t be long. And I’ll be careful.”

  “Good. But you might want to face-shift, just in case Mike—or whoever else might be in that house—happens to be looking out the window.”

  “Good idea.”

  I leaned back, took a couple of deep breaths, then closed my eyes and pictured a face that was very different from mine—a sharper nose, a smattering of freckles across my cheeks, green eyes rather than lilac, and short but curly brown hair.

  Then, freezing that image in my mind, I reached for the face-shifting magic. It exploded around me, thick and fierce, a gale-like force that made my muscles tremble and the image waver. I frowned and concentrated harder—easier said than done when the magic was designed to sweep away sensation and thought. But the energy responded and my skin began to ripple as bones restructured and my hair shortened and curled.

  When the magic faded, I opened my eyes and glanced in the rearview mirror. The face that stared back at me was not my own. It was always a weird feeling.

  I met Azriel’s gaze again. “Wish me luck.”

  “I wish you safety,” he said. “Just don’t take unnecessary risks while in there.”

  I grabbed the coat the car’s owner had rather conveniently left in the back and threw it on to hide my clothes as I climbed out of the car. While I might no longer look like me, Mike had noted what I’d been wearing and, given that he knew both Mom and I were face shifters, would undoubtedly be suspicious of anyone wearing the exact same clothes.

  Tension rolled through me as I walked back to the white terrace, and it took every ounce of willpower I had not to stare up at the windows to see whether there was anyone watching me.

  I opened the hip-height wrought-iron gate and stepped onto the bricked pathway that led both to the front door and around to the back of the property. The minute I did, the magic hit me, crawling across my skin like a thousand fireflies, stinging and burning. My skin twitched and crawled, and I had to resist the desire to
back out. However unpleasant the sensation was, it wasn’t actually stopping me. I guess that was something to be thankful for, even if I suddenly didn’t want to enter this place alone.

  I walked on. The farther away from the gate and the barrier I got, the less intense the stinging became. My gaze swept the nearest windows, but I couldn’t see anyone watching. If there was an alarm woven into the magic, then it certainly hadn’t roused anyone.

  Amaya, can you sense any life inside?

  Nothing, she said. Evil only.

  So Mike’s not there?

  No.

  Meaning there had to be some sort of transport device inside the house. The evil you’re sensing—is it magic? Or the creatures-from-hell-type evil?

  She hesitated. Sure not.

  Fabulous not, as she would say. Still, if we wanted answers, then I had little choice but to continue on—and given that Mike was no longer inside, there was little point in sneaking around. Sometimes, going boldly was the only sensible course of action.

  I marched up the steps and over to the door. The only noise coming from inside the house was the steady ticking of a clock. I had no sense of the evil Amaya said was there, but she was more finely tuned to all things hell than I was. I pressed the doorbell; the cheery sound seemed to echo for an abnormally long time but drew no response.

  I rang it again, just to be sure, then retreated and followed the path to the rear of the house. Surprisingly, the gate into the backyard wasn’t locked, but I paused in the act of opening it and whistled softly, just in case there was something more substantial than magic protecting this place.

  No dog came a-running, but I didn’t relax. I couldn’t, really. We were too close to the endgame now, and I very much doubted the warding-stone barrier would be the only thing protecting this place.

  I drew Amaya and held her in front of me, like a shield. Lilac fire crawled down the edges of her steel, but the flames were restrained. She was holding her energy in check until needed.

  The rear yard wasn’t huge, but there were so many trees and flowering shrubs crowded into the space that it felt like I was entering a different world—one that was cool, green, and rich with many scents. It was a space that very much reminded me of the greenhouse I’d stepped into when I’d used one of Lauren’s transport stones and found myself up on the Gold Coast.

  Coincidence? I tended to think not.

  The rear glass door was locked, and a quick look through it confirmed there was no one inside—or at least no one I could see. I double-checked that none of the neighbors were peering through the curtain of green, watching what I was doing, then shoved Amaya into the small gap between the frame and the door. In very little time, she had sheared through both the ordinary lock and the dead bolt.

  I took a deep breath that did little to calm the butterflies going berserko in my stomach, then stepped inside the dark and silent house.

  Chapter 8

  Like most of these renovated terraces, the rear part of the house had become one big, open kitchen that also had plenty of room for a dining area. Amaya’s lilac flames cast a cool light across the white expanse of walls and kitchen cabinets but oddly gave the polished floorboards a richer, redder glow. I slid my shoes off so my footsteps didn’t echo, then carefully walked on. Beyond the soft ticking of a clock, the house was silent. But the still air was rich with a combination of leather and roses, the smells coming from both the furnishings and the various floral arrangements dotted around the room. There was no TV in this room, just a small kitchen table and a comfortable-looking sofa. Bookcases lined the wall to my left and were filled with hardcovers—some fiction, most not. Aside from the flowers, those books were the only spots of color in this otherwise white world.

  I moved through the kitchen and up a couple of steps into the more formal dining area. There was a staircase to the right. I paused at its base, looking upward. There was a skylight at the top of the stairwell, but the moon hadn’t fully risen yet and there was little light shining through it. There was no sense of movement or life coming from the upper floors—and yet, there was something up there. I had no idea what it might be, but my skin crawled with awareness. Maybe it was the evil Amaya had sensed.

  Not, she said. That ahead.

  Oh. Great. I licked my lips and forced my feet on. The dining room, like the kitchen-diner, was expensively but sparsely furnished. In fact, there was very little in the way of decoration in this place—nothing beyond the furniture and the flower vases, anyway—and certainly nothing that hinted at the personality of the owner. It was almost a show home—although even show homes generally had a warmer feel than this place.

  Beyond the dining room there was a small corridor and a gorgeous old grandfather clock. There were also two doors. One was the front door, so I reached for the doorknob of the other one. But as my fingers touched the metal, that sense of evil sharpened, its touch old and oddly putrid. I quickly released the doorknob and backed away.

  What the fuck is in there, Amaya?

  Sure not.

  I frowned and glanced down at my hand. Though I couldn’t see anything, it felt as if a film of some kind had crawled from the knob to my skin. It was cold, wet—even though there was no moisture on my hand—and oddly reminded me of Mike’s grip when I’d shaken his hand.

  Amaya, flame up. When she did so, I added, I want you to burn whatever it is I have on my hand.

  I stuck my palm against her blade, and her flames crawled around my fingertips, their touch light, warm, and tingly.

  After a moment, she said, Taste foul.

  Is it magic or something else?

  Not hell magic. She paused. Of this place.

  Meaning the stuff is from Earth, or it’s simply not dark magic?

  Latter. Witch, not blood.

  If it was witch magic, did that mean Lauren was nearing the end of her strength limits? All magic had its costs, but the price of blood magic was apparently far higher, and Lauren hadn’t exactly been cautious about its use of late.

  Is it the same sort of magic that waits in that room?

  No.

  I frowned at the door for a minute, then realized I didn’t actually have to go anywhere near the door or whatever magic had been placed on it to find out what lay beyond it. I took a step forward, raised Amaya, and thrust her into the middle of the door. There was a moment of resistance—from the magic rather than the door—then her steel was through.

  What can you see now? I asked.

  She hesitated. Evil.

  Care to be a bit more descriptive than that?

  Her hesitation was even longer. Not demon. Not spirit. Of this world but not flesh. Can’t eat.

  And that, I thought with amusement, pissed her off greatly, if the tone of her voice was anything to go by. But what were we dealing with? Was it some form of ghost? I’d never feared ghosts, having seen them most of my life, but something held me back from entering that room and confronting this one.

  What is it doing?

  It waits.

  For what? Someone to enter the room or for its master to return and give it instructions? Is there anything or anyone else in that room besides the ghost?

  No, she said. Office.

  Meaning there just might be something in there worth finding. But to do that, I’d have to confront what might be some sort of vengeful ghost, and I really didn’t feel like doing that right now. Besides, though we’d seen Mike enter this place, he obviously wasn’t still here. And that meant there had to be a set of transport stones around somewhere. Better to find them before I tackled anything else.

  I slid Amaya free from the wood and headed for the stairs. I walked up cautiously, my back to the wall, Amaya in one hand and my shoes in the other. Her soft hissing overrode the sound of the clock’s ticking, though I think her noise was more frustration that there’d been nothing so far for her to attack than any sense that danger was near.

  We reached a landing, but the only thing on this level was a generously size
d bathroom. I continued upward, senses alert for even the slightest caress of something out of place or unusual. There was nothing.

  And yet there had to be something here. Mike hadn’t simply disappeared. Creating that sort of magic took time, so either there were transportation stones here somewhere, or he’d gone out the back door, leapt over the back fence, and run away. And I honestly couldn’t see him doing that.

  I reached the final landing. Two doors led off this, and both were partially closed. Eenie, meenie, minie, moe . . .

  I stepped forward, raised a foot, and lightly toed the nearest door open. No demons jumped out at us. No vengeful ghosts, and definitely no magic.

  It was a bedroom and it ran the entire width of the building. A glass door led out onto the front balcony, but even from here I could see it was securely locked. He hadn’t gone out that way—though we would have seen him if he had. The all-encompassing white theme was in residence in this room as well, with the only splash of color coming from the dark wood of the old-fashioned four-poster bed and the large vase of cream and pink lilies and roses sitting on the dressing table.

  I swung around and headed for the back bedroom. My skin began to crawl, and the awareness of . . . something . . . was growing. I slowed as I neared the door, listening intently, trying to figure out whether the thing I felt was real or imagined.

  Not, Amaya said. Evil inside.

  I do wish you’d get a bit more descriptive, I mentally muttered. I mean, are we talking live evil, dead evil, or something in between?

  Live not, she said. Dead not. Just is.

  Which still wasn’t very helpful—but I guess it was hardly fair to blame her.

  Will eat if can, she added.

  If it attacks, feel free. I took a deep breath, then once again pushed the door with my foot. Tension ran through me as it swung open, and every bit of me was ready to jump back, to react, if anything so much as squeaked the wrong way.

  Nothing did.

  What stood in the middle of the room was a set of cuneiform stones. They were about six feet tall and roughly four feet wide at their base, and both reached up to a needle-sharp point. Though most of the other stones we’d discovered had been primarily gray in color, these were white—as white as the walls within this house—and their surface was littered with small crystals that Amaya’s flames sparked to life, sending rainbow-colored flurries skating through the room. They reminded me of the second set of stones we’d found under the warehouse near Stane’s—the ones we’d initially believed had been the sorceress’s entry point onto the gray fields.