Darkness Hunts (Dark Angels #4)

Darkness Hunts (Dark Angels #4) Page 48

“The plane is separated from the gray fields by a series of—” He hesitated. “Layers, I suppose they can be called. The umbra is the fourth and last of these layers. Most astral travelers are only able to access the first two. The very seasoned can access the third and see the umbra. Psychics such as your mother and yourself can access the umbra itself and interact with the beings there.”

I frowned. “But I thought you said most psychics only interacted with ghosts.”

“I did. Ghosts inhabit the umbra, which is why even those who astral travel are rarely aware of their presence.”

“So I was in the umbra when I met Taylor the first time?”

“No. You were in the umbra when you talked to Logan, but retreated to the base level when you went to rescue the woman.”

Ha. The things you learned. “So all I have to do is lure Taylor through the levels until we’re in the umbra?”

“Getting him there will be the problem. He will be wary of astral traveling too close to the umbra. Most seasoned travelers are.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“Because while a soul generally cannot be killed on the astral plane, that rule doesn’t hold on the umbra portion.”

I digested that for a moment, then slowly said, “That’s what he plans. He said only one of us will be coming back from this battle.”

“Make sure it is you, Risa. I could not—”

He cut the rest of the sentence off, leaving me wondering just what he’d been about to admit. The part that hungered for his touch desperately wanted to believe it was something along the lines of not being able to live without me, but that was stupid, given that he had a totally different physiology. More likely, he was simply going to remind me that he couldn’t continue the quest without me.

Which he’d reminded me of often enough.

I waved a hand toward the front door. “We’d better get going.”

Because the sooner we got to that house and whatever delights Taylor had waiting, the sooner we could get on with the business of finding the next key.

But even as I made my way down to my car, a dark voice within was whispering, You’ll be finding nothing but the afterlife if you lose this battle. And you could lose it. Very easily.

And if I kept thinking along those lines, I’d be defeated long before I ever made it onto the astral plane.

It didn’t take all that long to get across to Altona, thanks to the fact that peak hour had pretty much passed. I parked under a streetlight at the top end of Keeshan Court—there was little point in hiding—then climbed out and studied my surroundings. It was a typical middle-Melbourne suburban street, filled with tidy-looking brick houses and neat front yards. The sort of street I could imagine kids playing in happily, never realizing there was a psycho in their midst.

I shivered, then reached back into my car and grabbed my coat.

“So, we meet in the flesh at last,” a deep voice behind me said.

I bit down a squeak and spun around. A tall man dressed in dark jeans and a black sweater stood in front of me. My gaze traveled up the long, lean length of him, and clashed with the darkness of his. Recognition stirred.

“Markel Sanchez,” I said, relief evident in my voice.

“Indeed.” He bowed slightly. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you on this plane.”

“I wish it was in better circumstances,” I muttered, and pulled on my jacket.

“Indeed.” His gaze moved from me to the street. “I have done a brief reconnoiter. Number twenty bristles with hardware, some of which is cameras.”

The rest no doubt being the bombs Taylor had mentioned, as well as other nasty stuff. “How many people are inside the house?”

“Only one. I presume it is the guardian, Rhoan Jenson.”

I hesitated, then asked, “Is he still alive?”

Markel’s dark gaze returned to mine. “At this moment, yes.”

I released the breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding. “What about the other houses in the court? Have you checked those?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Of course. I am the professional here, remember.”

Yeah, he was. But it was my life on the line, not his. “So did you find anything unusual?”

“No. Taylor and his accomplice are not in this street as far as I was able to discern. That does not mean he is not nearby.”

“He will be nearby.” Watching, waiting. Anticipating.

I shivered again, then shoved shaking hands into my pockets and began walking toward the house.

Markel fell in step beside me. “What of the reaper, Azriel? Is he here?”

“I am,” Azriel said, his voice coming from the opposite side of me to the vampire. Not that I needed to hear his voice to know exactly where he was.

Markel didn’t seem altogether surprised, either. Maybe he’d asked the question simply to confirm what he’d already sensed.

“Good.” He paused. “Do you really think this madman will allow us to rescue Jenson? I cannot see it myself.”

“I don’t think he’ll expect it, but I don’t think he’ll stop it, either. Either Rhoan dies or I’m left unprotected, so he wins either way.”

“But you are not unprotected.”

“He doesn’t know that.”

Markel nodded and continued to study the house we were all too quickly approaching. It was almost as if he were trying to read the mind of an enemy who wasn’t even present. His movements were fluid, easy, and there was absolutely no sense of danger emanating from him. It was oddly disturbing, but not entirely surprising. Cazadors might be the most efficient and deadly killers ever trained by the high council, but very few people knew they existed. And that, no doubt, was helped by the “wouldn’t-hurt-a-fly” feeling Markel was currently emitting.

Which, in my estimation, only made him—and them—more scary.

Except, I’d bet, to people like Hunter. I don’t think that woman feared anything, alive or dead.

“Jack’s got an ambulance standing by,” I said, my gut churning more and more the closer we got to the damn house. “It shouldn’t be hard to—”

“I am aware of the ambulance’s location,” he cut in. “I will deposit Jenson into their care and come back.”

“But Azriel—”

“Taylor is no fool.” Markel’s gaze met mine briefly. In the flare of the streetlights, red glinted deep in the dark depths. Not anger, not bloodlust, but something else. Something deeper—more remote and dangerous. I resisted the urge to step away from him as he added, “He undoubtedly has plans for your body once he thinks you are left unprotected. He will also have his people watching what is going on, and they will not react favorably when they realize you are not as unprotected as they thought.”

“I doubt they’ll react favorably to you coming back into the house, either.”

“That is a risk we must all take.” Thankfully, his gaze returned to the house. “I have my orders, Risa. I will obey them.”

Meaning it was pointless to argue. We reached the end of the court. Number twenty loomed in front of us, dark and silent. While the surrounding houses might be well cared for, it was obvious that this place had been left empty for a while. The grass in the front yard was long enough to brush my knees, and there were trees sprouting in the gutters. Metal shutters covered all the windows, making it impossible to steal a glimpse inside, but the front door stood slightly ajar.

It was an invitation to enter that I wished we could refuse.

I flared my nostrils, sucking in the air and sorting through the scents as Markel pressed his fingertips against the door and pushed it all the way open. The house smelled of age and damp, but underneath these ran teasing scents of humanity and wolf. The latter undoubtedly belonged to Rhoan, but did the other belong to Taylor or his assistant, or someone else?

There is no one other than Rhoan inside, Azriel commented. As Markel has already said.

But they’ve been here, and very recently. If the strength of that scent was anything to go by, at least.

Naturally. They had to set their trap.

A trap we were willingly walking into. I shivered again, and rubbed my arms as I forced myself to follow Markel inside. With the windows shuttered, the only light coming into the house was from the door behind us, and it did little to lift the deeper darkness of the hallway. Rhoan’s scent was coming from the room at the far end of the hall, but we approached cautiously, peering into each of the rooms we passed even though there was little enough to see. Markel and Azriel might be certain that no one else was here, but neither of them was taking any chances. For that, I could only be thankful.

Markel pushed the door at the far end of the hall open. The light that hit us was so fierce and bright that I had to blink back tears.

It revealed a room that was stark, white, and empty. Or rather, almost empty. Rhoan lay on the tiles in the middle of the room, his arms crossed across his chest and his face deathly white. Panic surged.

No, God no! I pushed past Markel, but he caught me before I got more than a step.

“Damn it,” I said, twisting violently against his grip in a desperate attempt to rip free and get to Rhoan. “Let me go!”

“Your haste will kill us all,” he said, and pointed at my legs.

Or rather, the trip wire that waited only inches away from my shins.

It felt like someone had tipped a bucket of ice water down my back. That one moment of panic reaction could have killed us all.

Think, I reminded myself fiercely. Don’t react blindly. That’s what he wants.

And while I doubted he’d actually want us dead just yet, I was betting he wouldn’t have minded having Markel, at least, incapacitated.

“Follow me—carefully,” Markel instructed.

He stepped over the trip wire and proceeded forward with caution. I did the same, practically stepping on his heels.

“Trigger plates,” he said a few seconds later, and pointed at the tiles directly ahead.