Ashes Reborn

  Where else indeed? And if that was the case, what was the connection to the vinegar formula written in dust?

  Or was it, I thought, my heart racing a little bit faster, not a clue but rather a code?

  The code to the air lock’s scanner, perhaps?

  Had we had the answer all along and just been overthinking it?

  “Luke kept cloaks in other locations,” I said. “So why do you expect me to believe he wouldn’t keep the scientists off-site, in an ultrasafe location?”

  “Because there was no place safer than Brooklyn. It was his castle and the home of most of his troops.”

  “So where will we find Rinaldo’s castle?”

  The sudden switch had him blinking; then he swore at me and fought against his restraints again. The scent of blood began to taint the air, and though I doubted the aroma would tempt Adam, part of me couldn’t help but hope for a sudden loss of control.

  “Even if I tell you, it won’t do you any good,” Frederick said. His pupils were becoming more dilated, his words more slurred. The hallucinogen had taken a firm hold of him now, but he obviously needed just a little more pushing—and maybe not the pain-filled kind.

  “Tell me,” I said, even as I became flame and shaped my fire into a vague resemblance of Rinaldo. As Frederick’s gaze widened, I shifted back, added, “Tell them,” in a deeper tone, then took on Rinaldo’s fiery figure again.

  Frederick’s harsh rasping filled the air. For an instant, I didn’t think he was going to fall for the ploy, but then he said, “Risley Street, Richmond. He has a warehouse there.”

  I doused my flames again and said, “What number?”

  “Fourteen. Please, stop them.”

  I glanced past him. “Anything else we need to know?”

  Adam stepped forward and placed his hands on either side of Frederick’s head. After a moment, Frederick closed his eyes, and his breathing deepened. He was asleep.

  “That’s quite an impressive trick,” I said. “Sam wasn’t kidding when he said you’d be able to stop this bastard from communicating with his boss.”

  “Stopping it wasn’t without problems.” He ran a hand through his pale hair, and it was only then that I noticed the pallor of his skin. “And Rinaldo will undoubtedly sense something has happened.”

  “Can he reach Frederick’s thoughts even though he’s now asleep?”

  “Yes. But I’ve mangled his memories and removed any evidence of him being forced to give Rinaldo’s location.” He paused and glanced at the door. “Sam, we need to move if we want any hope of catching Rinaldo.”

  The door opened, and the three men entered. Sam’s gaze met mine, and he gave me a brief nod. “Well done.”

  I smiled and wondered if he actually meant well done on not killing the bastard.

  “Contact base,” Sam continued. “We need a full-scale operation in place, stat—”

  “Don’t,” I said hurriedly. “It’s too much of a risk.”

  “PIT does not have a mole,” Sam said, his tone curt.

  “Rinaldo implied that he did,” I snapped back, “and I don’t want to risk losing the bastard just because you and your boss are pigheadedly determined not to even consider the possibility.”

  Adam coughed and seemed to be struggling to keep his expression flat. Sam simply glared at me as the shadows stirred around him. If it was meant to intimidate, it wasn’t successful. I’d all but flatlined when it came to any emotion but anger and determination right now.

  “I very much suspect the three of us will not be enough to take the—”

  “It’s not three,” Jackson said, “but five. If you think we’re not going to be part of an operation to bring this bastard down, you’ve got rocks in your head.”

  “Remember, too,” I said, “that you can’t stop me from leaving this room right now and heading over there by myself.”

  The darkness that was the virus sharpened significantly, but after a glance at Adam, he waved a hand and said, “Fine. Come with us. But you follow orders, understood?”

  I nodded. “What about Frederick?”

  “He won’t wake until I order him to,” Adam said. “And even if Rinaldo overrides that order, Frederick can’t escape because he’s strapped down.”

  “He’ll be able to use magic once the drug wears off.”

  “Undoubtedly,” Adam said. “But I don’t think he’ll get the chance. Rinaldo won’t risk his thrall talking.”

  I hope he’s right, Jackson said. And I seriously hope that the rats are feasting on his flesh before death happens.

  Jackson could, it seemed, do revenge even better than me.

  He bent, picked up my shoes and then me, and said, “The stage is yours, Turner.”

  Sam didn’t say anything. He simply spun and led the way out of the pump room.

  And I crossed my fingers and hoped like hell that we were quick enough to catch the bastard.

  CHAPTER 9

  Risley Street was narrow and lined with warehouses on one side and a parking lot on the other. At the far end, there was a small park surrounding a high-rise building—community housing, I knew, having seen the ugly design in other inner-city areas.

  Jackson and I climbed over the fence protecting the vacant lot opposite the park, then ran for the nearest building. I was once again wearing my shoes, but I’d burned a hole in the left one to take the pressure off my injured digit and, in case that wasn’t enough, was keeping it fire rather than flesh. If anyone happened to be looking our way, they’d catch little more than a flicker of light no bigger than a match flame. It was better that than being left in the car because I couldn’t damn well walk properly.

  We pressed against the sidewall of a graffiti-covered building and peered down the narrow lane that divided the Risley Street buildings from those of the street behind it.

  No cars, Jackson said. And no lights evident in any of the buildings.

  I hope Frederick wasn’t feeding us a lie.

  I doubt he was capable of even thinking up a lie, Jackson said. There’s another fence to climb—barbed wire on top.

  I hated barbed wire. No matter how careful I was, the damn stuff always snagged either me or my clothes. Anything we can use to throw over it?

  Nothing I can immediately see.

  Well, fuck. I took a deep breath and released it slowly. I could no doubt melt the damn wire, but that might just give Rinaldo a warning that we were coming. Go. I’ll follow.

  He disappeared around the corner; a heartbeat later, there was a slight rattle as he climbed the fence. I scanned the area for any unwanted interest in what we were doing, and then followed him. The barbed wire snagged his jacket and ripped one side open as I jumped down on the other side.

  Sorry about that. I tucked the torn bit under the T-shirt I was now wearing.

  He shrugged. It’s only a jacket.

  Yeah, but it’s a nice one.

  His grin flashed. So buy me a replacement. Or compensate me in some other way.

  Now that’s the Jackson I know and love.

  Seriousness can only last so long. He paused. Which isn’t to say I’m not still furious over what happened—

  To both of us, I cut in softly. And we’ll talk, but not now.

  He didn’t say anything to that, and I had to wonder if talking was something he was actually willing to do.

  We moved on, keeping close to the grimy, graffiti-strewn redbrick wall. Rinaldo’s warehouse began at the end of it. Beyond it lay a more modern-looking building; then the lane swept around the corner and joined Risley Street.

  We stopped for a second time. Jackson peered around the corner. Two entrances, ground level and first floor, just as Google Street View promised. No cars in the parking space and bars on all the windows. He glanced at his watch. Better tell Sam we’re ready.

  I p
ressed the com earpiece Sam had given me and softly said, “In position.”

  “Right,” came his reply. “Everyone head in. And be careful.”

  I didn’t reply; I just followed Jackson around the corner, then took the metal steps up to the first floor, keeping as close to the wall of the next building as practical. I paused on one side of the first barred window and carefully peered inside. The room beyond was pitch-black. If Rinaldo was in there, he was one with the darkness.

  And if he was there, then he was more than likely aware of my presence. He was, after all, a vampire, and my racing heart probably sounded like a damn alarm to him.

  I took a deep breath, then ducked past the window and paused again beside the door. Why anyone would bar the windows and then put an unprotected, double-glass door between them was anyone’s guess, but at least it gave me a somewhat easier way in.

  Ready when you are, Jackson said.

  I flexed my fingers. Sparks flew, tiny fireflies that spoke of tiredness more than tension. Go.

  Even as I said that, there was a crash from the front of the building—Sam and Adam were heading in.

  I called fire to my fingertips, then pressed them against the lock. It instantly began to glow and, in very little time, was little more than liquid. I pushed the door open but didn’t immediately step inside. Instead, I threw a ball of fire into the darkness and flared it out.

  What my flames revealed was a bedroom, and it was a goddamn mess. There were clothes everywhere—both over the floor and on the bed. Either Rinaldo was extremely messy, or someone had gotten here before us.

  There was an en suite to my right, but it, too, was in shambles, with drawers pulled out of the cabinet and razors, soaps, and aftershave bottles strewn all over the crisp white floor tiles; some of the bottles were broken, perfuming the air with their pungent scents.

  I sent my sphere of light into the hallway and carefully followed. The one additional room on the floor was another bedroom and en suite. It, too, looked as if it had been hit by a cyclone. I headed back to the door, then stopped and swung around, my gaze scanning the clothes again. Was it my imagination, or were those clothes identical to the ones scattered all over the other bedroom?

  I went back in to check. It wasn’t my imagination.

  “Anything?” Sam said.

  “Negative,” Jackson said.

  “Also negative,” came Adam’s comment.

  “Emberly?” Sam said, his voice a little sharper.

  “Nothing but a goddamn mess and two identical sets of clothing.” I thumped the wall in frustration. It seemed luck had once again turned a blind eye.

  “How the fuck could he possibly have known we were on the way?” Jackson said, sounding every bit as angry as I was. “With Frederick out of the picture and PIT not informed of the operation, there’s no way he should have gotten any sort of warning.”

  “Unless it was the mere fact of being unable to contact his thrall that set off alarms,” Adam said. “If the state of this place is anything to go by, we didn’t miss him by much.”

  “It doesn’t matter whether we missed him by a minute or an hour,” Jackson growled. “We still fucking missed him.”

  “Enough,” Sam said, his tone curt. “Em, what do you mean by two sets of identical clothing?”

  “Just that. There’re two bedrooms, and each one holds the exact same clothes—same cut, same style, same colors.” I paused. “After talking to the rats, we’ve come to the conclusion that Rinaldo might actually be two people.”

  “Indeed? And when were you planning to inform us of this conclusion?”

  “The minute I thought about it,” I snapped back. “Between Rory almost getting killed and then me getting kidnapped, informing PIT of anything kinda took a backseat.”

  “What makes you believe there’re two people using the Rinaldo alias?” His voice held a less accusatory note now—which was a good thing, because anything else would have tempted me to burn his ass. “What have you seen that we haven’t?”

  “The rats let us view the tape showing Rinaldo’s hit on his gaming venue.” I picked up a T-shirt and sniffed it. I was no wolf, and my olfactory senses weren’t all that much sharper than an ordinary human’s, but I could nevertheless smell the scent of sweat and cool mint on the T-shirt—a rather odd combination. “At the same time as he was doing that, he was confronting us at Rosen’s apartment building.”

  I swung around, walked into the other bedroom, and picked up the identical T-shirt. The scent on this one was woody—spicy. So while the two men might look and dress exactly the same, it seemed they preferred very different colognes.

  “Are you sure one of them wasn’t using some form of mask or a glamor?”

  “Positive. And there’re two of everything up here in the bedrooms.”

  “At least that explains a few inconsistencies,” Adam said. “Though it doesn’t make finding him any easier.”

  “What else did the rats say?” Sam said. “And how did you convince them to even talk to you in the first place?”

  “Radcliffe wants Rinaldo far more than he wants me.” I headed out of the bedroom. “And he didn’t say much else, other than that he believes Rinaldo hasn’t yet set up a den.”

  “His use of this place would certainly suggest that,” Adam said. “Although he is using interstate vampires who don’t appear to have a record anywhere.”

  Sam grunted. “We’ll take over operations from here. Jackson, Em, go home and get some rest.”

  Annoyance surged, but it wasn’t mine. Don’t bite back, I warned. This is PIT’s operation, not ours. Besides, I could really use the sleep right now.

  And, I’m thinking, fire.

  Yes.

  Then we head to the blacksmith’s first so we can fuel up, then find a hotel and see if PIT really does have a mole.

  Excellent plan. I clattered down the stairs and joined the three men in the combined living room, kitchen, and what appeared to be an office area. It also resembled something a cyclone had left behind.

  Sam was picking through the paperwork and files on the desk, but he glanced up as I entered the room. “Thanks for your help—both of you.”

  That almost sounded genuine, Jackson said, mental tones wry. Maybe he’s going soft in his old age.

  Unlikely. Out loud I added, “You know that formula we found in Brooklyn? The one written in the dust?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “The same one that’s currently got us investigating every building in Melbourne with even the slightest connection to vinegar? Yeah, I do.”

  “What if it’s not a location, but rather the number code for that air lock we found?”

  He blinked. Clearly, he hadn’t considered that option, either. “That is certainly possible.”

  “It won’t solve the thumbprint problem, but it might at least be one part of the puzzle.”

  “The thumbprint isn’t actually a problem—Luke’s fingerprints are a matter of police record, and the recent developments in fake skin mean we can reproduce a good enough copy to use on the scanner.”

  “You will let us know what you find in there,” Jackson said. “Otherwise, my ass is going to be parked outside that damn door until you do.”

  The hint of a smile touched Sam’s lips. He really had begun to thaw out—and I had to wonder how much of that was because he’d given in to his body’s need to ingest blood.

  A lot, I suspected.

  “I can’t promise anything, but if you happen to receive a thumbs-up on your phone, you’ll know we’ve discovered the scientists.” He paused. “Which might just be a good enough reason to keep your damn phone on you.”

  “Maybe,” Jackson said.

  He touched a hand to my back and lightly guided me toward the broken front door. I nodded a good-bye at both Sam and Adam, but I could feel the weight of Sam’s gaze f
ollowing me as we left the building.

  But he was a puzzle I had no energy to concentrate on.

  Jackson ushered me into the car, then ran around to the driver’s side and jumped in. In very little time we were cruising toward the city.

  For the first time in ages, he actually parked at the front of our office. He obviously caught my surprise, because he half shrugged and said, “With PIT tagging us, it’s pretty pointless parking anywhere else and walking.”

  “But what about using the blacksmith’s?” Jackson had an ongoing agreement with the owner for twenty-four-hour, no-questions-asked access, even though Jackson tended to go there only at night—not because he was a night owl, but because he didn’t want anyone knowing it was the source of his fire. As an elemental fae, he had to regularly commune with his element or risk fading, and even death.

  I opened the door and climbed out. The evening was crisp and clear, the stars bright in the sky. Most of Stanley Street was retail businesses these days, and, as a result, the only lights visible were the streetlights.

  “I’ve actually invested in another means of getting into the blacksmith’s,” he said, his eyes gleaming brightly in the darkness.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Meaning what?”

  “I broke into their roof.”

  I laughed. “You didn’t.”

  He ushered me through the front gate, then jumped ahead to open the front door. The cleaning fairy hadn’t paid us a visit since we’d last been here, and paperwork and files were still scattered everywhere.

  “It was a simple matter of installing a trapdoor in our roof,” he said, “and then adjusting one of the skylights in theirs.”

  “And of course the bad guys watching aren’t likely to spot us leaping from one roof to another.”

  “Well, no, not if we keep low. Our old Victorian has a pediment, remember, and that should stop anyone spotting us.”

  “You’ve thought of everything.”

  He placed his phone on the nearest desk—a desk that no longer held the backpack containing the laptops. Rinaldo’s people had indeed come to retrieve them.

  “Yes, I have,” Jackson said. “I even have a rope long enough to reach their floor.”