Darkness Rising: The Dark Angel Series: Book Two (24 page)

As if to hammer home this particular point, my phone rang and Hunter herself appeared on the vid-screen.

“So,” I said, by way of greeting, “when exactly were you planning to tell me you were working on this case yourself?”

She laughed softly, but there was very little humor in the sound or in her expression. “Did you honestly think the council wouldn’t have other investigators on the case? How else would they judge your usefulness?”

“But it’s not just any investigator—it’s you. And you have a vested interest in keeping me alive, because you want the keys found.”

“Which does not mean I will hesitate to erase you if I find the killer before you do,” she said, with deadly calm. “And the council members are well aware of this.”

Oh, fabulous, I thought sourly. The one person on my side really wasn’t. “When were you planning to send me that list I asked for?”

“As soon as you forward Catherine’s list to me.” Cool amusement played about her lips—probably because she knew I’d be pissed off.

Which meant I couldn’t give the bitch the satisfaction.

“She hasn’t sent it yet. She’s not dead already, is she?” I glanced across to Azriel for confirmation. He shook his head and held up five fingers. Meaning either five hours or five minutes, I guessed.

“No, and I am severely disappointed.” She laughed again, the sound low and cruel. “The woman really does deserve it.”

I bit back my instinctive retort—the one that went along the lines of Catherine not being the only one—and said, “I’ve talked to Adeline Greenfield, the witch who set up the magic protecting Alston’s apartment. She mentioned that Alston requested it after something that happened at the council almost three years ago.”

“Three years ago?” Hunter’s perfect features creased into a frown. “I don’t think—” She paused, and another cold smile touched her lips. “Ah, yes. The Whitfield affair. Ironically, his name does not appear on my list, and I doubt it will on Catherine’s, either.”

“What did Whitfield do, and why isn’t he on your list?”

She paused, considering me. Weighing her options on just how much to tell me. “Robert Whitfield was a vampire with only a few hundred years to his name who went against council rules and created a nest for himself.”

I frowned. “A nest?”

“A term we use for a large number of fledgling vampires created and controlled by one master. It is not considered a practical option in this day and age, as it is generally hard for a creator to either feed or control such a large number.”

And we all knew what happened to vamps who couldn’t control their fledglings—the Directorate stepped in and wiped them out.

“So what happened?”

“His nest was culled, of course, and he was severely punished.”

“The culling of his blood kin wasn’t enough?”

“Of course not. That was merely a practicality. Punishment needed to be rendered so that others would not be tempted to follow in his stead.”

“So what happened to him?”

“He was drawn and quartered in front of the council, then a dozen of the younger members were allowed to feed from him.”

Nice.
Not
. “I can’t imagine he was too happy about that.”

“It’s hard to say, since he did not actually survive the experience.”

Which was why he wasn’t on the list. “You allowed the younger ones to kill him?”

“
I
didn’t. The punishment was administered by the Melbourne council, not the high council.” Mirth glinted in her cool green eyes. “His death was not intended, but things got out of control. It happens sometimes.”

Meaning it
had
been allowed to happen. An arena filled with some of the strongest vampires in Melbourne could have easily controlled such a small number of younger counterparts.

“Then why did Alston fear retribution if Whitfield was dead? And who would be seeking it now?”

“If I knew the answer to that second question, you would already be dead,” she said. “As to the first, Whitfield did have a number of friends on the council who swore vengeance. However, they saw the error
of their ways, and I doubt they are behind the Maniae curse. They don’t have the skills needed, for one thing.”

Meaning they’d been threatened with a similar fate if Hunter’s expression was anything to go by. “According to Greenfield, you don’t need any sort of witch skill. You just need the spell and the desire.”

“But it is a spell no one but a witch can get access to.”

“We both know a witch did recently access it.”

“Ah yes,” she drawled. “I have already talked to the Frankston coven. They can tell us little of interest about Deborah Selwin.”

“Meaning we’ve hit a dead end?”

“Meaning I have placed a watch on her home and her business, and I will interrogate her the minute she appears at either.” She paused again. “Of course, it would be unfortunate for you if I
did
get hold of her first.”

Which I doubted she would, if what I’d been told at the Brindle was any indication.

“You won’t. I’ll be in contact when I have her.” It was said with more confidence than I felt. I signed off and shoved my phone into my pocket. “Did you hear all that?”

Azriel nodded. “It is troubling that I might not be able to get into this ritual ground.”

“It just means I’ll have to stay out of trouble.” Or run like hell when it hit. “It would take some serious magic to stop you or an Aedh, though, wouldn’t it?”

“From the sound of it, this place is steeped in magic.”

I frowned. “Then it just might be the perfect spot to read the Dušan’s book.”

He eyed me for a moment. “Do you think the Brindle witches would approve of that?”

I remembered Kiandra’s statement in the hallway and smiled. “I think they already have.”

“Then it would be safer than attempting to read it elsewhere. But I recommend using the void regardless.”

“You bet your sweet ass I’ll be using it. Even if we are safe inside that place, that won’t stop the Raziq from surrounding it and snatching us the minute we leave.”

The ghost of a smile flitted over his face. “And why would you bet my ass on something like that?”

I snorted softly. “Now you’re just teasing me.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “And I would hazard a guess that this is the first time you’ve called
any
reaper’s ass sweet. Should I be honored?”

He was looking at me intently again, and again heat stole through my cheeks. Which was really,
really
weird. “Maybe.”

“Then I shall have to work on said ass, because I’d really prefer a firm yes to an unconvincing maybe.”

And with that, he winked out of existence again, leaving me wondering if—in his own weird way—he’d actually been flirting with me.

“No,” I muttered. “You’re imagining it.”

No rebuttal came out of the air. If he was still following my thoughts, he was keeping his answers to himself. No surprise there.

I climbed onto my bike and started her up, firing out of the parking lot and into the traffic. But I didn’t
head immediately to Mount Macedon—not only because I needed to know what was happening with the void, but because I wasn’t about to go up there without taking one or two precautions. And while that meant I should be talking to Uncle Quinn—who probably knew as much about demons and whatnot as Azriel—talking to him would no doubt result in me being chained to a chair unable to move for the next week or so. Neither he nor Aunt Riley had been overly impressed with the results of my last encounter with one of hell’s minions.

I made my way to Mirri’s and parked in a lot a few buildings down. After slinging my bag across my shoulder, I walked back, taking the stairs two at a time until I reached the third floor.

I pressed the doorbell and, in the distance, the tinny melody of “Witchy Woman” rang out. Sadness swirled; I’d used that same tune as Mom’s ring tone. I blinked rapidly and forced a smile as the door was opened.

“Risa,” Mirri said, her cheeks flushed and her clothing more than a little disordered. “We weren’t expecting you.”

“Clearly,” I said, amused. “Do you want me to come back in half an hour or so?”

Her cheeks grew warmer. “No, no, of course not. Come in.”

She stepped back and opened the door wider. I stepped through, my gaze sweeping the neat but small living area, admiring the comfortable old couches and the lovely old rugs that dotted the worn floorboards.

Mirri peered past me. “Reaper, if you’re there, please materialize. We have a no-ghost policy in this apartment.”

“I am hardly a ghost,” Azriel commented as he gained flesh inside the room.

“When you’re here but not here, you might as well be. And it’s rude, you know. Sort of like eavesdropping.”

He didn’t comment as Ilianna came out of the bedroom, her expression exasperated as she tied the sash of her dressing gown.

“You really
do
have an impeccable sense of timing,” she said. “What the hell do you want that couldn’t wait?”

I grinned. “I did offer to come back in half an hour.”

She snorted disparagingly. “You may like it rushed, but I don’t. To repeat, what do you want?”

“What do you have on hand that I can use to ward off hellhounds and other possible nasties?”

She blinked. “And why would you be needing that?”

“Because I’m off to Mount Macedon to track down the witch who possibly raised the Maniae. The Brindle warned me that she might use dark magic to protect herself.”

This time her surprise was more evident. “The Brindle helped you?”

“Yes. Kiandra herself gave me the information.”

“That’s one way of dealing with a problem without getting a threefold backlash.”

I raised my eyebrows. “It was more than just a grab at a golden opportunity. They were actually helpful.”

“Wow.” Ilianna thrust a hand through her blond mane. “The Brindle actually helping an outsider? Things
have
changed. However, back to the problem at hand. Azriel’s armed with a super-duper shiny sword. Why can’t he take care of any potential threat?”

“Because I may not be able to get inside the sacred site in which the witch shelters. Have you made any progress on creating this void the Aedh spoke of?”

Ilianna’s gaze ran past me, and her green eyes glinted with sudden amusement. “You just can’t say his name, can you?”

“I could, if I wanted to, and if he was important enough.” Even
I
was surprised at that. His voice might have been even, but there was definitely an undertone of antagonism. He added, “But that is neither here nor there. The void?”

“Is a work in progress. Unfortunately, there’s no way to test its working without actually using it.”

Azriel glanced at me. “Then the witch’s solution could prove to be perfect.”

“What solution?” Ilianna asked, before I could say anything.

“Kiandra basically gave us permission to use the old Mount Macedon site as a bolt-hole.”

Mirri whistled. “Even I know that letting outsiders use a sacred site like that is a rather big deal.”

“It totally is,” Ilianna breathed, then shook her head, her expression concerned. “And it makes me wonder just what the hell the Brindle has seen coming. Although maybe we’re better off not knowing.”

I hadn’t actually thought about Kiandra’s sudden generosity, but now that Ilianna had mentioned it, it
did
seem strange. Trepidation stepped through me—and it spoke ill of what was to come.

I rubbed my arms and said, “Weapons for demons?”

“Oh. Yeah.” She turned and walked back into the bedroom, reappearing a few moments later with her bag of tricks—one that I knew from long experience she never went anywhere without. “I don’t have a whole lot on hand. Demons aren’t something I generally have to worry about.” She hesitated, frowning at Azriel. “Well, not until a certain sword-bearing reaper stepped into our lives.”

“If I hadn’t stepped into your lives, at least one of you would now be dead,” he said softly.

I shot him a glance. He returned my gaze evenly, giving little away as per usual. But I knew who he meant—Tao. I shivered and watched Ilianna rummage through her case.

“Ah, here we go,” she said, pulling out several items, then rising. She handed me three small smoky amber vials and a rather nasty-looking sharpened stake.

“I doubt vampires are going to be a problem at a witch ritual site,” I said, studying the stake dubiously. It actually felt good in my hand—well-balanced and not too heavy.

“Stakes are good for more than just vampires,” Ilianna said sarcastically, “and you of all people should know that.”

I gave her a look and she made an annoyed noise. “It’s white ash, which is not only a very strong wood, but also holds magical properties that make it dangerous to
all
creatures not of natural creation. And
this one has been soaked in holy water, just to give it a little extra kick.”

I frowned. “But vampires are of natural creation. Most of them were once human.” Mainly because humans tended to hunger for eternal life, and vampirism offered that. Which didn’t mean there weren’t nonhumans who became vamps, just that there tended to be less of them.