Then the fields were gone, and we regained substance. And though it involved no effort on my part, it still left my head spinning.
“You,” he said, expression concerned, “are not recovering as quickly as you should.”
“It’s been a hard few weeks.” I stepped back to study the building in front of us, even though all I really wanted to do was remain in his arms. That, however, was not an option. Not now and certainly not in the future. Not on any long-term, forever-type basis, anyway.
Which, if I was being at all honest with myself, totally sucked. But then, I had a very long history of falling for inappropriate men. Take my former Aedh lover, Lucian, for instance.
“Let’s not,” Azriel said, voice grim as he touched my back and then lightly waved me forward.
Amusement teased my lips. “He’s out of my life, Azriel, and no longer a threat to whatever plans you—”
“It is not the threat to me I worry about,” he cut in, voice irritated.
I raised my eyebrows. “Well, he can hardly threaten me, given he and everyone else wants the damn keys.”
“His need for the keys did not stop his attempt to strangle you.”
Well, no, it hadn’t. But I suspected Lucian’s actions had been little more than a momentary lapse of control—one he would have snapped out of before he’d actually killed me. Although, to be honest, I hadn’t actually been so certain of that when his hands had been around my neck.
I opened the ornate metal gate and walked up the brick pathway toward the front door. Wolfgang’s house was one of the increasingly rare redbrick Edwardian houses that used to take pride of place in the leafy bayside suburb. The front garden was small but meticulously tended, as was the house itself. I pulled out the gloves as I walked up the brick pathway toward the ornate front door, then said, “Lucian is no longer our problem.”
“If you think that, you are a fool.”
And I wasn’t a fool. Not really. I just kept hoping that if I believed something hard enough, it might actually come true. I slipped the gloves on and switched the discussion back to my health. It was far safer ground.
“You can’t expect me to recover instantly, Azriel. I’m flesh and blood, not—”
“You are half Aedh,” he cut in again. His voice was still testy. But then, he always did sound that way after a discussion about Lucian, whom he hated with a surprising amount of passion for someone who claimed it was only his flesh form that gave him emotions. “More so, given what Malin did to you.”
Malin was the woman in charge of the Raziq, my father’s former lover, and a woman scorned. My father had not only betrayed her trust by stealing the keys from under her nose, but he had also refused to give her the child she’d wanted. Instead, for reasons known only to himself, he’d gone to my mother and produced me.
“Meaning what?” My voice was perhaps sharper than it should have been. “You never actually explained what she did.”
And I certainly couldn’t remember—she’d made sure of that.
He hesitated, his expression giving little away. “No. And I have already said more than I should.”
Because of my father. Because whatever Malin did had somehow altered me—and not just by altering the device the Raziq had previously woven into the fabric of my heart, which had been designed to notify them when I was in my father’s presence.
My sigh was one of frustration, but I knew better than to argue with Azriel—at least when he had that face on. “It doesn’t alter the fact that a body—even one that is half energy—can run on empty for only so long.”
A fact he knew well enough—his own lack of energy was the reason he’d been unable to heal me lately. Of course, reapers didn’t “recharge” by eating or sleeping or any of the other things humans did, but rather by mingling energies—which was the reaper version of sex—with those who possessed a harmonious frequency. Unfortunately for them, such compatibility wasn’t widespread, and Azriel’s recharge companion had been killed long ago while escorting a soul through the dark portals. The good news was that he could apparently recharge through me—though why he could do this when I wasn’t a full-energy being, but rather half werewolf, he refused to say. Just as he’d so far refused to recharge. Up until very recently, he’d been more worried about the threat of assimilation—which was when a reaper became so tuned to a human, their life forces merged and they became as one—than the lowering of his ability to heal me.
All that had changed when I’d almost died after a fight on the astral plane. Because, as I’d already noted, without me, no one could find the keys. My father’s blood had been used in the creation of the keys, and only someone of his blood could find them.
Of course, making the decision to recharge and actually doing it were two entirely different things. Especially when I barely had enough energy to function, let alone have sex.
Which was another sad statement about the state of my life.
I punched the security code into the discreet system sitting to the left of the doorframe. The device beeped, and the light flicked from red to green. I opened the door but didn’t immediately enter, instead letting the scents within the house flow over me.
The most obvious was the smell of death, although it wasn’t particularly strong and it certainly didn’t hold the decayed-meat aroma that sometimes accompanied the dead. Underneath that rode less-definable scents. The strongest of these was almost musky but had an edge that somehow seemed . . . alien? It was certainly no smell that I’d ever encountered before, although musk was a common enough scent among shifters.
Was that what we were dealing with, rather than a demon? I had to hope so, if only because I then had more of a chance of diverting the search to the Directorate.
The hallway that stretched before us was surprisingly bright and airy and ran the entire length of the house. Several doorways led off it from either side and, down at the very end, double glass sliding doors led out into a rear yard that contained a pool. Like the front yard, both the hallway and the rear yard were meticulous—there didn’t appear to be a leaf out of place, and there certainly wasn’t even the slightest hint of dust on the richly colored floorboards. Whoever looked after this place—be it Wolfgang or hired help—was one hell of a housekeeper.
I took a cautious step inside, then stopped again, flaring my nostrils to define where the death scent was strongest.
“The body lies in the living area down at the far end of this hall,” Azriel said. He was standing so close that his breath tickled the hairs at the nape of my neck.
I eyed the far end of the hall warily. Why, I had no idea. It wasn’t like Wolfgang’s husked remains would provide any threat. It was just that smell—the oddness of it. “Does his soul remain?”
“No. The death was an ordained one.”
This meant that a reaper had been here to escort him to whichever gate he’d been destined for. It probably would have been comforting news to anyone but Hunter. “Does that also mean whatever did this isn’t a demon? If this death was meant to be, then surely it can’t be an escapee from hell?”
He touched my back and gently propelled me forward. My footsteps echoed on the polished boards, the sound like gunshots in the silence. Azriel was ghostlike.
“Whether this death was the result of an attack from a demon has no bearing on it being ordained or not. If death is meant to find you, there is no avoiding it.”
“Which doesn’t actually answer the question of whether or not a demon did this.”
“It could be either a malevolent spirit or some kind of demon, thanks to the first portal being open.”
And it was only open thanks to me.
“That thanks belongs to us all,” he corrected softly. “It is a blame that lies with everyone who was involved in that first quest.”
But in particular, with one.
He might not have said the words, but they hung in the air regardless. And while it was now very obvious that Lucian had an agenda all his own when it came to the keys, I didn’t think he was responsible for snatching the first one. He’d been as furious as we’d been over its loss.
Of course, I’d also been sure that he’d never harm me, and his strangulation attempt had certainly proven that wrong. Yet I still believed he didn’t want me dead. Not until the keys were found, anyway.
I frowned. “I thought you said malevolent spirits were of this world rather than from hell?”
“They are.”
“Then why would the opening of the first gate affect them in any way?”
“Because the dark path is a place filled with dark emotions and, with the first gate open, these emotions have begun to filter into this reality.”
“Meaning what?”
I slowed as I neared the living area and trepidation flared, though I still had no idea what I feared. Maybe it was simply death itself. Or maybe it was just a hangover from the hell of the last few weeks. Between escapee demons, malevolent spirits, and psycho astral travelers, I’d certainly been kept on my toes.
Or flat on my back, bleeding all over the pavement, as was generally the case.
“Meaning,” Azriel said softly, “that it feeds the darker souls, be they human or spirit.”
“So, basically, it’s the beginning of hell on earth?” Two steps and I’d be in the living room. My stomach began twisting into knots. I flexed my fingers and forced reluctant feet forward.
“Basically, yes.”
“Great.” As if the weight on my shoulders wasn’t already enough, I now had the sanity of the masses to worry about.
I entered the living room and saw the body.
Or rather, the body-shaped parcel.
Because Hunter had left out one very important fact when she’d described Wolfgang’s death.
Not only had he been sucked as dry as a fly caught by a spider, but he’d been entangled in the biggest damn spiderweb I’d ever seen.