Darkness Rising: The Dark Angel Series: Book Two (22 page)

I snorted softly. “Because I’d really prefer to keep my contact with Hunter to a minimum.”

“But would it not be better to solve this case quickly? That would at least prove to the council you are capable of such tasks.”

Just what I needed—a practical reaper. “If I don’t get them by the time I’ve seen Mike, I will call. In the meantime, you want to lead the way out of this maze?”

He nodded and brushed past me, his arm barely touching mine but electric all the same. This was crazy, I thought, following him out of the darkness. I mean, he was a reaper. He didn’t
do
humans. There might not be any hope of a real and lasting relationship with Lucian, either, but at least with him I could settle for amazing sex.

Light began to filter through the darkness, and the stairs became visible. We climbed them quickly and headed out of the building.

“I shall keep my distance for the time being,” Azriel said. “But call if you need assistance at the witch depository.”

I nodded, although I didn’t think the Brindle witches would take too kindly to an armed reaper walking among them. As he winked out of existence, I walked down the street and looked for a cab.

It was just after three by the time I got to Mike’s. He lived within walking distance of our apartment, in a small single-fronted terrace that served as both his office and—on the floor above—his residence.

As the cab sped away, I climbed the steps and
pressed the intercom button. “It’s Risa Jones, here to see Mike.”

“Risa,” a plummy, feminine voice said, “please, come in.”

The door was buzzed open, revealing a small waiting room in which sat half a dozen plush, comfortable chairs. To the right there was a small desk and, behind it, a matronly woman with pale purple hair and sharp blue eyes.

I smiled at her. “How are you today, Beatrice?”

“Better than Mike,” she said wryly. “It’s tax time, and you know what that’s like.”

“I do.” And I hated it. Which is why I tended to do mine ASAP, because I just wanted to get it all over with. But according to Mike, I was in the minority. Apparently, most of his clients tended to leave things to the last moment, then got into a panic.

“You can go straight in,” she said. “He’s been waiting for you.”

I glanced at my watch in surprise. It was only ten past three. By Mike’s usual standards, I was actually
early
for my three o’clock appointment.

Beatrice grinned and added, “Yeah, I know, it doesn’t happen often. But several clients had to cancel this afternoon.”

“At tax time? That’s a little unusual, isn’t it?”

She shrugged. “Strange are the ways of clients. Would you like a cup of coffee? Or maybe a Coke?”

“A Coke would be good.”

She nodded. “I’ll bring it in.”

“Thanks.” I walked down the short hallway to Mike’s office, which dominated the back half of the small house. Unlike the rest of the downstairs area,
which tended to be modern in its feel and furnishing, stepping into Mike’s office was like stepping into another century. From the huge mahogany desk to the massive, Georgian-style, glass-fronted bookcases, the leather-and-mahogany chairs, and the wooden filing cabinets, the place looked—and smelled—old. And Mike only added to this impression, wearing close-fitting pants that looked suspiciously like breeches, a double-breasted waistcoat, a white linen shirt, and a plum-colored cravat. His hair was black but cut short, the dark curls clinging close to his head. I was never actually sure of Mike’s age—he didn’t look old, and yet he didn’t seem young, either. And his eyes—a clear, striking gray—seemed to hold eons of knowledge behind them.

But then, Mom had once commented that he had a genius-level IQ, so that was to be expected.

He was standing near the bookcase as I entered, but turned around and gave me a wide smile of greeting.

“Risa,” he said, his voice low and pleasant. “Lovely to see you again.”

“And you.” I kissed his cheek in greeting, then sat down on the chair he held out for me. “We haven’t seen all that much of you recently.”

“No.” He walked around to the other side of the desk and sat down elegantly. “And I have very much missed my weekly dinners with your mother—” He paused for a moment, sadness flitting across his aristocratic features. “I suppose you’ve heard nothing more from the Directorate?”

“No. But the case is still open and they are working it.”

“Ah.” He sighed, then reached for several manila folders. While his secretary had the latest in technology and everything they handled went to the tax office electronically, Mike still preferred his old-fashioned ways, doubling up with actual paperwork and proper signatures rather than just electronic ones. “I just need your signature on these to complete the transfer to your name.”

He opened the folders and indicated where I was to sign. I skimmed them all, noting the three businesses involved were the last three Mom had bought—the boutique hotel in St. Kilda, the ski lodge in Falls Creek, and the health spa in Hepburn Springs. All of them good, thriving businesses that didn’t need a lot of input from me. Which is why I’d kept them rather than adding them to the pile I was selling off. Mom was hands-on—but I had enough on my hands just managing my café.

I signed in the spots indicated, then pushed the folders back. He collected them and said, “It’ll take about a month for these to be fully finalized. Even in this instant age of ours, everything still seems to take forever.”

I grinned and glanced around as Beatrice came in, carrying a tray holding a can of Coke and a mug of what smelled like seriously burned coffee. She placed the tray on the table, gave us a smile, and walked out.

I picked up my Coke, took a drink, then said, “But other than our tax liabilities, everything is pretty much finalized now?”

He nodded and took a sip of his foul-smelling coffee, then hesitated before saying, “I also wanted to tell you that if you ever need anything—outside financial
matters, I mean—to please talk to me. Your mother and I—”

He stopped again and looked away, but not before I saw that flash of sorrow in his eyes again.

“Mom and you were close,” I said softly. “I’m aware of that.”

He nodded and seemed to get himself under control, because when he met my gaze again, there was little emotion in those steely depths. But then, there rarely was. I was never entirely sure what Mom had seen in him, but there had to be something pretty powerful between the two of them, because she’d had no other lovers. Or, none that I was aware of, anyway.

“We spent a lot of time together.” Which is probably as close as he’d ever gotten to admitting they were lovers. “And I know she would want me to be of as much help as I could.”

“Thanks, but—”

He raised a hand, stopping me. “I know you and I are not close, but your mother and I
were
. If you ever need help with any matter—even if it’s simply an unbiased mind to talk to—then please, feel free to come here. Your mother would have wanted that, I’m sure.”

“Thanks, Mike. I really appreciate the offer—”

“But you’d feel uncomfortable discussing personal matters with a man who is little more than a business adviser?” he said, humor in his eyes. “I can understand that, but the offer stands nonetheless. And remember, I do have quite a few interesting contacts through my business dealings. You never know when one of them might prove useful.”

I smiled. “And if that was meant to tempt me into asking just what sort of interesting contacts, I think you might have succeeded.”

He laughed softly. “I merely meant that I have business and personal relationships with people from all levels of society. They might prove useful one day.”

I nodded and rose, drink in one hand as I offered him the other. “I was sincere when I said thanks for the offer, and I really will keep it in mind. I promise.”

“Good.” He shook my hand, his grip light, warm, and filled with a restrained strength.

It certainly wasn’t the grip of a man in his twilight years, and again I wondered just how old he was. He’d been in charge of Mom’s finances since I was born and, from what Mom had said, he hadn’t exactly been a fresh-faced kid even then. Which meant he had to at least be in his fifties, if not older. Yet he didn’t show it. Maybe he’d been blessed with good genes, I thought wryly, and wondered why I was even worried about it—especially given it had never seemed to concern Mom. And if anyone was going to sense anything off about him, it would have been her. She’d been one of Australia’s most powerful and successful psychics, after all.

“Don’t forget that the next Business Activity Statement is due soon,” he added, getting back to business.

I grimaced, but suddenly wondered if the curious itch over his age had simply been a reaction caused by his stepping past our usual boundaries. Now that we were back on safe ground, the itch retreated. “Yeah, I know. And it’s still a pain in the ass.”

He laughed again. “Anything dealing with taxes generally is. But it keeps us accountants employed. I mean, if the system were simple, anyone could do it, and then where would we be?”

I grinned. “Sunning yourself on a beach somewhere?”

“Good Lord, I could think of nothing worse,” he said, and added, with a mock shudder, “All that sand!”

I laughed, said my good-byes, and headed out. The weather outside had deteriorated in the brief time I’d been at Mike’s and I shivered, wrapping my coat ends across my body in an effort to stop the wind from chilling me. But it didn’t help much.

I looked around for my bike, then cursed when I remembered I was still doing the whole cab thing. “Damn it, Azriel, we really need to find a way to stop the Raziq attacking our home, because I do not want to be living out of a suitcase—or without my bike—for much longer.”

The heat of his presence snatched away the chill wind. He materialized a second later, standing at the bottom of the steps staring up at me.

“The only way we could ensure that,” he said, “is by not taking the book anywhere near your home. They need the book as much as you, and they will not make a grab for one unless they can attain the other. Their trap in the sewers was evidence of that.”

His hands were resting on the railings on either side of the steps, effectively hemming me in. It was hard to say if it was deliberate or not because, as usual, his expression gave little away. And even though the fact he’d warned that the mind link would deepen our
connection, I was getting zip from him—and maybe I never would. I wasn’t actually telepathic, after all. Maybe all he’d meant was that the link would deepen on his end, not mine.

“Yet they attacked you and Ilianna yesterday when you both went there, and the book was nowhere near the house.”

“Because they know I follow you and would presume I was with you rather than Ilianna. They would also have hoped that we possessed the book.”

“My point exactly—they attacked without feeling the presence of the book.”

“A move I doubt they’ll repeat. They will wait and ensure all pieces are in place before they attack again.”

I frowned. He seemed confident, but I wasn’t so sure. The Raziq weren’t exactly the sanest inmates in the asylum. “But the minute I touch the book and bring it out of the gray fields, they
will
attack—and you’ve already said you can’t handle such an attack.”

“No, I can’t. But if your Aedh is right about the void, then we can keep the book safe in the brief moments it is here on earth while leading the Raziq in a completely different direction.”

I studied him a moment, contemplating his words, sensing the slight edge of excitement rolling through the heat that surrounded him. “I’m guessing this means there
is
a locator spell on the book, and that you’re planning to use it to lead them astray?”

He nodded. “We have managed to mirror the spell. Another Mijai has been assigned the task.”

“But will the Raziq be stupid enough to fall for the charade for long?”

“The Raziq do not think much outside the box when it comes to human behavior. And the spell on the Dušan’s book has been created in such a way that humans wouldn’t be able to sense it.”

“And yet they know a reaper is helping me, so you’d think they’d factor that into the equation.”

He smiled. A real smile—the sort of smile that lit up his face and made my hormones do a weird little dance. “The Aedh, as a whole, have about as much respect for us as humanity does. In fact, at least humanity fears us. That is more than can be said for the Aedh.”

“You like the fact that humanity is scared by the grim reaper image?”

“Of course not, and that is not what I meant.”

“So what did you mean?”

“Simply that the Aedh rarely take our presence into account when contemplating whatever it is they spend their days contemplating. We are simply the messengers—the soul delivery people, if you will.”

“Even the Mijai?”

“The Mijai only came into existence once the power of the Aedh began to wane. There was a need to be filled, so we filled it.”

And it had been done out of their extraordinary sense of duty, I thought, rather than any real desire to fill the void created by the absence of the Aedh.

“It could be a dangerous task for the Mijai assigned the task of misleading the Raziq. They’ll be far from happy if they realize what is going on.”