Darkness Unmasked (Dark Angels #5)

Darkness Unmasked (Dark Angels #5) Page 8

As I said, I am no expert in magic, but there would be little difference between you and a full Aedh when you take on Aedh form.

I grunted and sheathed Amaya. There was really only one thing I could do now—

Don’t. Azriel’s voice was as fierce as I’d ever heard it. The risk is unnecessary. We can keep watch on this place and uncover whether Lucian—

But even if we do confirm he’s using these things, that won’t tell us where these pillars take him. We need to know, Azriel. We need to start taking the advantage for ourselves.

But this—

Has to be done.

I cannot follow you when you are in Aedh form. The words practically stabbed into my brain. No matter where those stones deposit you, until you take human shape again, I will not be able to help you.

I know. But if I do get stuck, or I’m forced to change shape, I can use Amaya until you get there. She’s more than capable of handling most things. I’d barely even finished the thought when Amaya’s pleased hum began to run through the outer reaches of my mind. I shook my head in amusement. Trust me to get a sword that not only had a bloodthirsty bent, but also liked being complimented.

I am aware of that. I still think this is an unnecessary risk.

It undoubtedly was, but if we really wanted to get ahead of these bastards, we needed to do the unexpected.

I stepped out of the stones and called to the Aedh again. She came, changing me almost instantly, a storm of power whose force seemed even stronger than moments before. It shook me, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it had anything to do with whatever Malin had done.

Then I thrust the thought away and drifted closer to the pillars. Once again they came to life, the light pulsing with the same beat I’d sensed when I touched the stone. Meaning I’d been right—they were primed to react to Aedh energy.

How they’d react to me actually entering them was now the question to be answered—and I wasn’t going to get that answer by hovering here staring at the damn things.

I forced myself forward, into the heart of the magic.

Just for a moment, there was no reaction.

Then power surged, tearing through my atoms, a sensation that was similar to and yet different from becoming an Aedh. It encompassed the particles of my being, then swept me into a bright orb of energy—where I hung, motionless, for several seconds.

Then the energy surged again, and I was suddenly back between two stones. But not the same two, I realized. These stones were smaller, darker, and stood in a square, windowless room rather than a storage locker.

Excitement and trepidation surged in equal amounts. I carefully moved from between the two stones, then slowly turned around. The room was small—maybe ten feet square—with white walls and coffee-colored carpet that had seen better days. There was nothing else besides the stones, although the carpet still bore the impressions of furniture that had once been present.

I turned fully around and found the door. It was closed and, on closer inspection, locked. Not that that was a problem in this form. I squeezed through the gap between the base of the door and the carpet, and found myself in a long, wide hall. Light flooded in from the ceiling-high, almost industrial-looking window to my right and, beyond it, there was a decent-sized courtyard. To my left were four more closed doors and, down at the far end, what looked to be a kitchen.

Other than the soft ticking of a distant clock, the house was silent. If someone was here, they were deathly quiet. I hesitated, then cautiously moved to the left. I wasn’t about to take any chances, even though there was little chance of anyone seeing me in this form.

Anyone human, that was.

Which didn’t mean I was safe. Whoever owned this place was, at the very least, involved with a magician. At worst, they were working with either Nadler or Lucian, or both. Either way, they were likely to be more knowledgeable about all things non-human than the average human.

The first door led into a small but neat bathroom, and the next two were bedrooms—both empty. I looked around for some clue as to who might be using them, but other than the fact they were male, I didn’t find much.

The fourth door led to another bedroom, but this time, it wasn’t empty.

I froze near the door and studied the man sprawled 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.

My stomach—or whatever the equivalent was in this form—sank.

We’d seen tats like these several times now, and not only on the man who’d unleashed the hell hounds on Jak and me when we were in the tunnel, but on the misshapen shifters who’d attacked me in a parking lot and on the man my father used to his deliver notes to a human courier.

Was this Razan the one from the tunnel? I really couldn’t say because I hadn’t taken all that much notice of what he’d looked like. But if he wasn’t, why was he wearing the same branding as all the others? And why were there Razan involved with the machinations of a dark sorcerer in the first place?

I refused to believe my father was—in any way—involved with a sorcerer. Not when the magic he could command was stronger than anything a mere human—light or dark—could command. And given that he wanted the keys for his own quest of domination, it was hard to believe he’d be in cahoots with Nadler and his schemes. And yet his Razan appeared to have the same branding as this man and the others . . .

Then the reason clicked. Anger surged, so fierce and bright, and the man on the bed stirred.

God, I thought, I’m an idiot.

Lucian was the connection. He had to be. He’d been my father’s chrání, so it was more than possible his Razan bore the same markings as my father’s. And he was also involved with a woman who was a dark sorceress. She might not be the one we were after, but the odds were that she at least knew him. After all, how many damn dark sorcerers could there be in Melbourne?

The man on the bed rolled over onto his back and flung his arms wide. I waited for him to settle again, then drifted forward. It was a risk, because Razan were sensitive to the presence of Aedh. There was every chance my being in his room would tug at his awareness and subsequently wake him. But it was a risk I was willing to take, if only to confirm my suspicions about Lucian.

Not that they really needed confirming, but there was still some tiny, ever-hopeful part of me that wanted to believe I’d read the connections wrong, that I really hadn’t been as big a fool as it was beginning to appear.

This room, unlike the previous one, was an utter mess. There were clothes strewn all over the carpet, shoes kicked into haphazard mounds, and piles of men’s magazines opened to revealing images scattered everywhere. None of which told me much about the man’s identity. But there was also a stack of change on the bedside table, and beside it were his wallet and watch. Unfortunately, the wallet was closed, and in this form I couldn’t exactly change that situation.

Or could I?

If, as a half-breed Aedh in human form, I could reach inside a man’s body, wrap my fingers around his heart, and squeeze the life from him, why couldn’t I extract a driver’s license from a wallet in this form? Or at least use the energy that was inherent in this form to open said wallet to get a better view of the contents?

It was certainly worth a shot.

I stared at the wallet and imagined the thing opening. Energy rippled along the length of my particles, then spun into a thin rope that glistened like lilac-tinted sunshine in the semidark confines of the room. I envisaged it wrapping around the wallet and, after a moment, the wormlike slither moved forward and did just that.

Pain ran through me, a sharp reminder that I wasn’t anywhere near full strength and probably shouldn’t be trying this if I wanted to function afterward. As ever, I ignored the warning and imagined the wallet flipping open. After a slight pause, the energy again reacted. The wallet flipped into the air, did a three-sixty, and dropped with a splat on the exact same side it had started on.

It certainly didn’t open.

The man on the bed stirred, muttering something under his breath. I froze, ready to flee should he show the slightest hint of actually waking.

He reached down his body with one hand, roughly hauled the blankets over himself, then settled back to sleep. If I could have sighed in relief, I would have.

I glanced at the wallet again and tried opening just one side. All I achieved was flipping it completely over—but it was then I finally noticed the sturdy little press stud holding the wallet closed. Until that was undone, I didn’t have much hope. As hot lances began to stab through my particles, I concentrated the energy on the press stud and somehow managed to undo it. I quickly flicked the wallet open—and none too soon, because the hot lances exploded into agony, and it was all I could do to maintain Aedh form.

I remained where I was, not moving, not doing anything, until the pain receded to a more comfortable ache, then carefully inched forward. The driver’s license—visible through a somewhat grimy plastic window—said the Razan’s name was Henry Mack. I might not remember what the Razan in the tunnel had looked like, but I remembered the name. It was a fake—one of two this man was using. His real name—which was part of the information Uncle Quinn had pulled from his mind—was Mark Jackson, and he lived in a Brunswick West warehouse rather than in Broadmeadows as his license stated.

I quickly checked out the rest of the place, but didn’t find anything else. I hovered in the kitchen for a moment, staring out the window, wondering if I should risk using the stones to get back to the storage place or simply get there under my own steam. Or, given the lancelike flashes of pain that were beginning to stab through my particles, get as far as I could under my own steam.

Then I actually focused on what I’d been staring at rather blindly and realized it was two more stones. They were less than half the size of the ones in the small box room and formed part of the water feature that dominated one corner of the courtyard. But even from here I could see the cuneiform etched into the glistening stone, which in itself suggested they were at least created by the same hand as the others.