Darkness Falls (DA 7) (18 page)

Given you didn’t actually kill him,
I replied,
you hardly need to fear her wrath.

No, but I did get rid of his body. I also failed to report your actions to her. Either of those two events would normally bring down her wrath. Together, they mean death.

I frowned.
Surely Hunter is not so sure of her position that she would start killing off Cazadors?

Have you not seen the news reports?
Stanford’s deep voice held an edge that spoke of frustration and anger. He was a man standing on the precipice of doom, and he was all too aware of it.
Hunter begins her battle for supremacy, only she does it via stealth and murder rather than openly.

Besides,
Markel added,
why would you think Cazadors are any safer than high councillors?

I don’t.
Hell, I didn’t even consider
myself
safe. Hunter was just as likely to turn around and kill me the moment she got anywhere near the key—especially if she’d figured out a way to nullify Azriel’s presence.
But if you’ve called me here in the hope that Hunter’s recent action would force me to your side, then you’re out of luck. The only side I’m on right now is my own.

Your side,
Stanford said, the edge stronger this time,
is a losing one. You cannot defeat her alone, Risa. It will be the end of not only yourself, but all you hold dear.

But I’m not alone.
Even as I said that, my stomach tightened and the bitter taste of bile rose in my throat. It was fear of what was coming, and fear that he was right. That in the end, I
would
be alone. That for me, there was no other choice. Not when it came to Hunter. Even so, I couldn’t help adding,
I have Azriel, and I have my sword. Neither should be taken lightly.

Though I wasn’t entirely sure whom I was trying to convince—them or me.

No, they shouldn’t,
Markel agreed, his mental tones still very controlled. Maybe he didn’t have as much to lose as Stanford. Or maybe he’d simply accepted that death was a likely outcome no matter what path he took.
But Hunter is a maenad and has the force of a god behind her. It gives her power beyond anything on this earth.

Azriel isn’t of this earth,
I reminded them. But the bitter taste of bile was growing. I half wondered whether it was possible to throw up on the astral plane—and what would happen if I did. Because as much as I wanted to ignore what they were saying, as much as I knew they were only trying to get me to aid them, I also knew their words held an undeniable weight of truth.

Reapers can die. Demon swords can be nullified,
Stanford said.
It is only a matter of know-how.

Nullify them,
Amaya said.
Chance give.

No,
I said to her, amused despite the growing sense of dread.
They’re friends—of sorts. You don’t nullify friends.

She muttered something I didn’t quite catch, although it wasn’t hard to guess it was something along the lines of her being willing to make an exception.

I studied Stanford for a moment, seeing the tension in the small lines near his eyes, feeling it in the unpleasant vibration that ran through the ether around us.
If Hunter is all-powerful, how do you plan to uphold your end of the deal and give me the means to negate her connection to her god?

I am not the oldest vampire currently living, but I am old enough to remember a time when the gods—and maenads—were more prevalent than they are today,
Stanford said.
And I am not the only one. More important, those others also remember how to counter them.

Then I’m surprised Hunter hasn’t tracked them all down and killed them.
If Stanford knew of their existence, Hunter surely did as well.

She can’t, because they already
are
dead,
Stanford said.
But, as you are no doubt aware, not all souls move on. Some stay because they have no choice, but others remain because they know their task on this earth has not yet finished.

I raised an eyebrow.
Meaning your source is a ghost who’s hanging about waiting for the chance to off Hunter?

Basically put, but yes.
Amusement briefly lit his eerie eyes, but it just as swiftly disappeared.
It gives us—and you—a small but important advantage.

It gives
me
nothing,
I shot back.
Because I’m not going to help you kill Hunter. Not unless I have absolutely no other choice.

It will come to that point,
Markel said softly.
You are walking a knife-edge with her now. In the end, she will leave you no other option but to act.

Perhaps,
I said, still desperately trying to ignore both the bitter taste of bile and the knowledge that he was right.
But, for now, there’s wiggle room.

Those you care about cannot remain hidden and safe forever. They all have lives, and people who depend on them,
Stanford growled.
It is always better to be on the offensive rather than the defensive.

Better for whom?
I said.
Not for me. Not at this particular moment in time.

You now have less than twenty hours to find that key,
Markel said.
What do you think will happen when you don’t hand it over?

That is something I’m actively avoiding thinking about.

Then you are a fool.
Stanford thrust a hand through his hair, an action that was violent, frustrated, and had the ether around us spinning away in agitation.

Markel stepped forward and caught my hands in his. His fingers were cool in this place, ghostly, and yet a sense of strength and calm seemed to flow from his touch. It eased the sick sensation of fear but didn’t do a whole lot against the certainty that the confrontation that scared the hell out of me—the very one
they
wanted—was steamrolling toward me, and there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop it.

I understand your desire to avoid any sort of battle with Hunter,
Markel said.
Once, I would have done the same. But it cost me all that I held dear, and it will cost you as well if you are not prepared.

My gaze searched his. I saw no lies in the brown depths, only a sorrow deeper than anything I could imagine. I may have lost both my mother and a former lover, but he’d lost a whole lot more than that. Curiosity stirred, but this was neither the time nor the place.

But he was right. Besides, it cost nothing to be prepared. Cost nothing for
them
to be prepared.

Okay,
I said, gently pulling my hands from his.
Whatever it is you need to do to nullify Hunter, do it. I’m not guaranteeing I’ll help. Not yet. But if I feel her web closing in any tighter, I’ll need you to be ready.

Markel smiled, though it was still tinged with that haunting sadness.
As the saying goes, it is always better to step into a battle fully armed than not.

I snorted softly.
And sometimes it is better still
not
to step into battle at all.

With that I can only agree,
Markel said.
But I fear fate will give us little other choice.

From what I’ve seen, she rarely does.
I studied the two of them for a moment, then added,
Is that it?

For now, yes,
Stanford said.
But be wary of Hunter. She may have given you twenty-four hours to find the key, but there is no guarantee she will actually allow you to take the entirety of that time.

She can’t have what I haven’t got, and she can’t kill me until I’ve got it.
And if I repeated that often enough, I might just believe it.

I gave them a nod good-bye, then imagined myself back in my body and got the hell out of there. I didn’t immediately move, however. I just lay on the sofa for several minutes, drawing in air and trying to ease the queasiness still threatening to jump up my throat.

“Here,” Azriel said softly. “Drink this.”

I opened one eye and discovered a can of Coke hovering a few inches from my nose. For normal people, Coke would probably be the very worst thing they could drink to ease a less-than-stable stomach, but I’d grown up on the stuff, and it pretty much ran through my veins.

“Thanks.” I plucked the can from his grasp, then sat up. After consuming several mouthfuls of the brown fizz, I silently filled him in, then added,
He’s going to contact a ghost who apparently knows how to stop a maenad. Just in case we need to.

As I believe you said, it never hurts to be prepared.
He squatted next to the sofa and brushed some hair away from my cheek. His caress was warm against my skin, and all I wanted was to be taken into his arms and have his heat and strength and love wrapped around me. But that wasn’t a desire I could indulge in right now.

“Perhaps later,” he said, voice wistful. “When we do have the time.”

“When we
do
have the time,” I echoed, with mock fierceness, “I expect you to do a whole lot more than just hold me.”

“
That
you can be assured of.” He leaned forward and kissed me. It was a promise, a hope, and one I could only pray the fates would let us fulfill.

My phone rang, and the tone told me it was Stane. I tugged it out of my pocket and hit the Answer button. “Hey,” I said. “Does the fact you’re calling mean you’ve pinned down a possible location for the key?”

“Not as yet, unfortunately,” he said. “Who knew there were so many places in Victoria that were using—or had used—the word ‘palace’ in them?”

“Meaning there’s not even a short list yet?”

“There’s a short list of a hundred. I’m still whittling them down.” He shrugged, his expression bemused. “I can and do provide computing miracles, but some of them take longer than others.”

I half smiled. “I know, and I really
do
appreciate the effort.”

“So you should,” he said, grinning. “Although it’s not like I’m actually doing anything harder than programming. Speaking of which, another of your requested searches has come up trumps.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Which one this time?”

“It was the one looking for any other property connections between Lauren Macintyre, Genevieve Sands, and John Nadler.”

“I vaguely remember that one.” It had come about after a search on Pénombre Manufacturing—the company that supposedly owned the old warehouse in Maribyrnong in which we’d found a sorceress’s lair—hadn’t revealed any actual connection to either Macintyre or Sands. It had, however, revealed a different connection between the two women, in that twenty-eight years ago, Sands invested in a property that Macintyre subsequently purchased. Then, five years ago, Sands had sold the property, and it had ended up in the hands of one John Nadler—another of the identities Lauren had
taken. As Tao had noted at the time, around and around the circle went.

“Well, it revealed a number of properties across both Victoria and New South Wales that at least two of Lauren’s aliases have owned over the years.” He hesitated, grimacing. “Unfortunately, it also revealed a connection between several of
them
and another name I think you might be familiar with.”

Kiandra’s warning—that someone in my life was not what they seemed—rose like a ghost to taunt me. I’d hoped against hope that she’d read things wrong, that there was no wolf in sheep’s clothing hiding in the closet of anyone I knew. I guess I should have known better.

Resignedly—wearily—I said, “Familiar how?”

“As in, it’s one Michael Judd.”

It took a moment for the name to register, simply because Michael Judd was not a name I’d ever used for him. He’d always been simply Mike—the accountant who looked after all the tax stuff for both me and the café, as well as my mom’s former lover.

But he
couldn’t
be the traitor. It
had
to be a coincidence. He’d loved my mom, damn it, and he’d been with her for as long as I could remember—for as long as I’d been alive.

And yet . . . I remembered the uneasy feeling I’d gotten when I’d read his note inviting me to dinner. Remembered the steely calculation so evident beneath the outrage when I’d gently suggested that maybe he was seeking to fill the void of my mother’s loss with a deeper—though not sexual—relationship with me.

Damn it, no! It
couldn’t
be Mike. Mom had been a psychic of formidable power and there was no way in hell she would have been fooled for long if Mike was not what he’d claimed.

Do not forget we are dealing with a powerful sorceress,
Azriel noted softly.
Even your mother could have been fooled by one such as Lauren.

Mike isn’t Lauren.
Surely to god we hadn’t been
that
fooled.

I’m not saying he is, but if there is a connection between them, then the possibility of it being a coincidence really is only slender.

Because chance hadn’t played a very major part in this whole mess so far. I briefly closed my eyes, then said to Stane, “What sort of connection are we talking about?”

“Legal only, at this stage,” he replied. “At least from what I can see. He acted as a financial adviser to Genevieve Sands—”

“The real Genevieve or the fake one?” I cut in.

“It’s beyond even the scope of my computers to answer that one,” Stane said, voice dry. “Though it was over fifteen years ago, so the possibility is there that he advised the real one.”

“It may be beyond the scope of your computers, but maybe
not
beyond that of the coroner,” I said. “When they autopsied the bits of Sands they found after the bomb blast, was there any indication just how long she might have been frozen?”