“If I’m right, yes. If I’m wrong, we’ll be running. Either way, I would not recommend staying there until our plan has fully materialized.”
“I wasn’t planning to stay, but I will need to grab some extra clothes and stuff.”
He nodded. “Do so. Just don’t be long.”
A smile teased my lips. “There speaks a man who has no idea just how long it can take a woman to decide on what clothes to pack.”
“No,” he said, his expression as blank as ever but with a bright glint in his eyes. “But I am the man who will just grab the nearest items and whisk you both away if you linger unnecessarily.”
“Now, there’s a threat I’m truly scared of!”
“As you should be. Reapers have no fashion sense, after all.” He released his grip of the right banister and stepped to one side. “You will head there now?”
“Yep. We’re not far away, so I’m walking.”
“Would it not be easier to become Aedh?”
“Not to my clothes, it wouldn’t.” I brushed past him and tried to ignore the tremor that ran through me as the warm, rich smell of him momentarily washed over me. He winked out of existence a moment later, and by the time I’d finished my Coke and walked home, my breathing had returned to a sensible rate.
Which obviously meant I needed to either see Lucian or go visit Franklin’s. I mean, seriously, this hunger for the reaper was getting ridiculous.
I paused in front of our ugly building, my gaze searching it, trying to see—or feel—anything out of the ordinary. There was nothing. And even though I trusted Azriel’s statement that the Raziq were unlikely to attack, every sense I had was on high alert the minute I entered our apartment. The air was still and smelled faintly of roses, honey, and rum—with undernotes of wolf. Tao had been here recently.
I headed into my bedroom and quickly collected clothes and various other personal items, then reset the alarms and went down to collect my bike. I couldn’t help running my hand over her sleek metal, or the stupid grin that stretched my lips. I loved this bike—and not using her for this long had hurt.
I secured my packs, then started her up and headed for the Brindle. The traffic heading into the city was light, so it didn’t take me too long to get there. I swung onto Lansdowne Street then right into Treasury Place. The Brindle was a white, four-story building that had once been a part of the Old Treasury complex. It look innocuous until you neared it—that’s when its veil of power kicked in, in the form of a tingling caress of energy that burned lightly across your skin. Not hurting, just warning those who were sensitive to such things that this place didn’t suffer fools or evil gladly.
I stopped in the parking lot along the edge of the area that had once held the premier’s office but had long ago been reclaimed as a park, and left my bags where they were simply because the Brindle’s magic secretly ensured no thief could ply his trade this close to her.
The last time I’d been here, they’d been waiting for us—three high-ranking witches, their tunic-clad bodies revealing little of their shapes and their faces serene as they’d forbidden us entry. This time the steps were empty, and the huge wood and wrought-iron doors were open, allowing a glimpse of the warm, shadowy interior. Several years ago I’d come here to deal with a ghost who was making life less than pleasant for some of the witches who lived in the rear parts of the old building, so I wasn’t unfamiliar with the place. Even so, a sense of awe still struck me as I stepped through the doorway. This place—these halls—were almost as old as Melbourne itself, but they were so entrenched in power that mini comets of energy shot through the air at any movement.
The foyer wasn’t exactly inviting, but the rich gold of the painted brickwork added a warmth that the somewhat austere entrance lacked. I walked on, my footsteps echoing in the stillness and little explosions of fire following in my wake. A woman appeared out of one of the rooms farther down the hall then stopped, her hands clasped together in front of her tunic-clad body.
“My name is Helena,” she said, her voice like the water in a spring river—sweet but cool. “How may I help you, child?”
“I need to know if anyone has recently accessed the curse that summons a Maniae.”
She paused. “That curse has gathered much interest of late.”
Excitement had my heart skipping several beats. “Meaning someone has asked about it?”
“Several someones, I believe. This way.” She turned and led the way to a room several doors down. The visitors waiting room, I knew from my past visit. You didn’t get past this area without either a witch escort or special dispensation from Kiandra—the head witch herself.
Helena walked around a desk and opened one of several large books sitting on top of it. She flicked through the yellowed pages carefully, then said, “Ah, yes. Here it is.”
She pointed to a spot about halfway down the register, then turned the book around so I could see it better. It was a spell register from the looks of it, with each page not only noting the name and location of the book that contained the spell, but holding a signed record of all those who had accessed it.
The Maniae curse only had three entries. The first, Charles James Highcourt, had accessed the book over two hundred years ago. The second, Deborah Elizabeth Selwin, had viewed it nearly three years ago. Which fit in rather neatly with Adeline’s comment that Alston had hired her because of some nasty stuff going down on the vampire council nearly three years ago.
The third name …
My eyes widened and, for a moment, I couldn’t believe what I was actually reading.
Because the third name—accessed only a few hours ago—was one Madeline Hunter.
Chapter Nine
I LOOKED UP QUICKLY. “MADELINE HUNTER? Is that Director Hunter, the woman in charge of the Directorate?”
She nodded and closed the book. “I believe so. Why?”
“Did she merely look at the register, or did she access the curse?”
“She asked about the specific details of the curse, but she did not ask for more than that.” Helena studied me for a moment, then added, “We would not have allowed her to view the curse anyway. Too many of the older vampires have a working knowledge of magic, and this spell can be dangerous in the wrong hands. Besides, she is not a member of any coven.”
“Would you have given her access if she had been?”
She smiled politely. “If she were a member of a coven, she would be a full practitioner, so yes, of course.”
“Does that mean the more dangerous spells are not under strict control?”
“Of course not. All witches must make their own decision, and it is up to them to suffer the consequences should they take the wrong path.”
I nodded thoughtfully. “The other woman—Deborah Selwin—I gather she is a coven member?”
“Yes.”
“Can I ask which coven? I really need to talk to her if possible.”
A small smile touched her lips. “Director Hunter asked much the same question.”
“And did she get the same answer?”
“Of course. Selwin is a member of the Frankston coven. They meet weekly, as well as at the time of the full moon.”
That odd smile still touched her lips, and instinct pricked up her metaphysical ears. “And the address?”
“They have special dispensation to meet at the Frankston Reservoir Park every Sunday evening.”
“And will I actually find Deborah Selwin at these meetings?”
Her smile grew. “No, you will not.”
Meaning that was a question Hunter hadn’t asked—although I had to wonder why. She had far more experience hunting people down than I did—centuries of it, in fact. But maybe she’d simply slipped the information from Helena’s mind—although that would be considered a breach of etiquette in this place, and might just put her on the outs with the Brindle. Even the vampire council wouldn’t want that.
“Then where will I find her?”
“Ah,” Helena
said, “that is something of a problem. I can give you her home address, but we believe she has not been there for several weeks.”
I guess if she was the one who’d raised the Maniae against the council, then she would have been smart enough to get the hell out of Dodge.
“Is there any one place she favors? A town or a building? Does she have a close friend or relative who might know where she is?”
“No relatives that we know of, but the Frankston coven might be able to give you more information.”
Well, that was a lot of help. I forced a smile and said, “Thanks for letting me see the records. It was a help.”
She inclined her head, then hesitated, cocking her head slightly, as if listening to someone else. “There is one other place you might try.”
I paused in the act of turning around. “Where?”
Again she paused. “There is an old ritual site on Mount Macedon. Few people know of it these days, and even fewer would venture there, as the roadside is prone to slippage when it rains. But Selwin’s mother was high priestess when it was a functioning coven site, so she would know of it. If she felt the need to find somewhere safe, then that place would be it. There is much ancient magic there.”
“Did you also pass this information on to Hunter?”
Again with the small smile. “No, and we would ask that you don’t, either. The council has no need to know of our more sacred places.”
I nodded, even as I noted the use of we rather than I. She was in contact with someone else. “And the directions to find this site?”
“Will be here momentarily.” She paused, obviously listening to that other voice again. “Be wary when you enter the site. If Selwin has raised a Maniae, she may well have stepped from the path of light. There is no telling just what else she is capable of.”
“Thank you for the warning.”
“Also, it is very likely your dark defender will not be able to enter. Those who are not true flesh and blood may be summoned into that place via magic, but they may not otherwise enter from outside its boundaries.”
Unease slithered through me. I might have said many times that I was more than capable of looking after myself, but I’d learned very quickly that such was not the case when it came to the spirits and demons of hell.
And I had the sudden, gut-wrenching notion that, if Selwin had slipped from the path of light, I might just be facing those sort of creatures at the ritual site.
After all, she’d have to know that sooner or later the council would come after her, and she’d had plenty of time to prepare for that eventuality.
“Why would such a site be able to ban the entry of reapers and Aedh when a place as powerful as the Brindle cannot?”
“Because the Brindle is old, but it is not situated on an ancient site. There are places in this country that have been used for magic and ceremonies since long before European settlement arrived.”
Which really didn’t answer the question, but maybe she didn’t actually know.
She glanced past me. I turned and watched a gray-clad young woman approach. She offered me an envelope, curtsied, then left.
“Please read the contents here,” Helena commented. “We cannot risk the directions falling into the wrong hands.”
Meaning Hunter and her council, I suspected. I tore open the envelope, scanned the directions carefully, then folded the paper into the envelope again and handed it back to her.
“Again, thank you for your help.”
She nodded. “Just be careful, Risa. There are many things—and many people—in your life who are not what they seem.”
And on that rather ominous note, I turned and walked out. But as I left the room, instinct had me glancing to the left. Down the far end of the hall, her willowy figure almost lost to the shadows, was Kiandra.
“The ancient site will protect you when nothing else will.” Her voice, cool and distant, was whisper-quiet, but it floated down the hallway easily, as if there weren’t any distance separating us. “But human blood must not be shed there. Not in anger, not in vengeance, and not in hate or fear.”
I waited, but she said nothing else. She merely nodded my way once, then turned and disappeared through the closest doorway. Obviously, it had been Kiandra herself who’d given me all the extra information about the sacred ritual site.
For whatever reason, the Brindle witches were on my side.
Azriel appeared beside me as I walked across the park to the bike. “So you go to this sacred site next?”
I glanced at my watch. What I really wanted to do was go see Lucian and lose myself in a couple of hours of loving, but I guessed that really wasn’t an option right now. Hunter was tracking down the same leads I was, and faster, and maybe this test was my investigating skills against hers. And that was a test I would always lose.
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?”