Darkness Unbound

Meaning I’d have to ask Ilianna to ask her mom. Again. At this rate, she’d be meeting stallions over dinner at her mom’s for the next month. I met Riley’s gaze again. “Rhoan ran a background check on him.”

  It wasn’t a question—running a background check was pretty much standard procedure, even for the police.

  Riley nodded. “It didn’t come up with much. Apparently Graham Turner popped into existence a year ago. As yet, we haven’t tracked down who he was before that.”

  “Might be worth trying the cached files at the Criminal Records Bureau in Britain. That’s where we found Handberry—or rather, Gordon March, as he was born.”

  Amusement wrinkled the corners of Riley’s gray eyes. “I told Rhoan you were more resourceful than he thought. Although he’s going to be miffed you got the information before him.”

  “God, he’s mad enough at me as it is.”

  She laughed and patted my hand. “Let me handle Rhoan. You just promise me to keep calling one of us if things start getting hairy.”

  “Deal.”

  “Good.” Her gaze flickered to Mom for a moment, and I knew then that Mom had asked her to plead for caution. And again it made me wonder just what she’d seen—and wouldn’t admit to.

  “What else do you know?” Riley asked.

  “Well, we know Handberry appeared a year ago, too, when he turned up as owner of the Phoenix club. He’s apparently a half-Aedh rather than human—although I didn’t sense that when I was close to him.” I paused to order another Coke, then added, “Did they run a DNA test on Handberry?”

  She nodded. “His profile confirmed his Aedh–human origins.”

  “What about his background check? Or autopsy? Did either of those reveal anything?”

  “Nothing. He is—was—perfectly healthy. No known cause for death, other than your witness report that his soul had been stolen.”

  I blinked. “Do I actually have to write up a witness report?”

  She nodded. “Rhoan will help you once he gets around to the paperwork. There was one interesting connection between Handberry and Turner, though. Each man had the same tattoo on his left shoulder.”

  “Really,” I said. “What sort of tattoo?”

  She glanced down at my arm. “A similar but smaller version of the one you’re almost hiding with the cardigan and long-sleeved T-shirt, only theirs have two swords crossed at the center.”

  “You have a tattoo?” Mom said, and again there was something in her voice that snagged at my concern. “Where?”

  I pushed the sleeves up and revealed the bottom half of the dragon. In the half-light of the restaurant, she glowed fiercely, fanning violet light through the shadows. Mom might be blind, but she’d see it thanks to the Fravardin giving her sight. I could feel its presence hovering behind her.

  Mom closed her eyes for a moment and breathed deep. “He had one of those.”

  He being my father, obviously. “I’m told it’s a Dušan, and that they protected the Aedh priests when they were guiding souls through either the light or dark path.”

  Something sparked in her eyes. Maybe hope, maybe something else. “So it’s a good thing that you have one?”

  “So Azriel tells me. He also has one.”

  “So who is sending out these Dušan, and where can I get one?” Riley commented, lightly touching my arm. Fire rippled across the dragon’s scales, and if her eyes had been visible, I’m sure they would have gleamed.

  “That is the million-dollar question,” I said grimly.

  Riley’s gaze jumped back to mine. “Your reaper can’t tell you?”

  “Not when it comes to why we both got sent one. Did Rhoan run a check on the tattoo?”

  She nodded. “Nothing came up, and it wasn’t something Jack had seen before.”

  Jack being the vampire who ran the guardian division, and the man who happened to be Director Hunter’s brother. On a hunch, I asked, “Did anyone happen to show the tattoo to Director Hunter?”

  Riley smiled and patted my arm. “You know, you would have made a damn fine guardian—although I’d kick your butt to hell and back if you ever decided to take that path.”

  “Only if I couldn’t get to her first,” Mom said, voice grim but amusement tugging her lips.

  “Both of you know I’ve seen too many of Riley’s scars to ever want to go down that path myself,” I said drily, and once again thanked the intuition that had told me to keep the Directorate’s approach a secret. She really would kill me if she ever realized I’d actually gone as far as doing some entry tests before I’d come to my senses. “So what did Hunter say about the tattoo?”

  “That the tatt used to be the marker for the Razan—human serfs who tended to the day-to-day running of the temples that the Aedh priests lived in.”

  I blinked. Aedh priests lived in temples? “But Handberry wasn’t fully human. And why hasn’t Uncle Quinn ever mentioned them? Didn’t he undergo priest training?”

  “Yes, but from what he said, the priests were in decline by the time he began training, and the Razan were only kept by the older ones.”

  “So these two Razan are either far older than they look, or the priests did not die out as everyone was led to believe, and we have an Aedh temple here in the city that no one knows about.”

  “According to Quinn, there’s no temple here. But I suspect Hunter will be investigating that option regardless.”

  Yeah, by following me, and hoping I’d lead her to my father, who apparently did know something about the priestly ways of the Aedh. I glanced at my watch and was startled to find that it was nearly one thirty. I needed to get going if I was going to meet Lucian on time.

  “If the sudden buzz of excitement radiating from you is any indication,” Riley commented wryly, “I’d say you have a hot date planned for this afternoon.”

  “Very hot, and hopefully very sweaty.” I shared a grin with her, then glanced at Mom. “Did you talk to Fay Kingston?”

  She nodded. “From what I can gather, a company that has been trying to buy an old building she owns threatened to harm Hanna if they didn’t sell. They reported it to the police, but without physical evidence the police had their hands tied.”

  “Did you get a contact name off her?”

  “Not directly.” Which meant that—in this instance—the cosmos had been talking to her, not Fay. She reached into her purse, drew out a pink Post-it note, and handed it to me. On it was a name—Joseph Hardy—and a phone number. “That’s the man who contacted her with the original offers—the ones before the threats were made.”

  Riley plucked the note from my fingers and pocketed it without a word. Which didn’t matter, because while she might get Rhoan to chase it up, I now had Stane. “Has she heard anything else from the company now that Hanna is dead?”

  Her expression was grim. “She didn’t say anything else, but I think she knows Hanna’s death was not as peaceful as we told her. She also mentioned that she’d decided to sell the property for the lower-than-market price they offered, so I think the threats have moved to encompass Steven. She certainly fears for his life.”

  Damn. If Handberry didn’t have heirs, that meant everything he owned would go to auction and these people—whoever the hell they were—were possibly only two properties away from gaining control over the ley line intersection. Which meant something else Stane would have to check for us.

  “And what about you?” I asked, reaching across the table to take her hand in mine. “What do you fear?”

  I felt the sudden sharpening of Riley’s interest—it was an intensity that seemed to electrify the air. I ignored it as best I could, concentrating on Mom, trying to read her reactions. She could be a great actress when she wanted to, but, over the years, I’d learned a few telltale signs.

  I saw them now.

  The slight flaring of her nostrils. The twitch of the little finger on her left hand. Things just about anyone else would miss, but ones that told me things were more wrong than even I’d guessed.
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  “Mom—”

  She squeezed my hand. “Risa, you are my daughter and I love you more than anything, but sometimes you read far too much into things. I’m simply tired, that’s all.”

  She was simply lying, and that was a fact.

  “Then why don’t you go away for a while? Just pack up this afternoon and go somewhere exotic?” Get out, I wanted to add, before whatever it was she feared could catch up with her.

  She smiled. Warmth mingled with sadness, and it made the fear in me rise. “Ris, it’s nothing.” She hesitated briefly, then added, almost reluctantly, “A decision I made a long time ago—a decision I could never regret—is about to catch up with me, that’s all. And that’s okay.”

  “Dia, if there’s anything I can do—”

  “No,” Mom said, cutting Riley off. “I don’t want anyone else dragged into this mess.”

  “But—” I got no further than Riley.

  “No,” she repeated, with a touch of anger. “This has to be. Trust me on this.”

  I glanced at Riley and saw the determination in her expression. She’d work on Mom, and hopefully get something more out of her. But she couldn’t do it while I was here—Mom obviously wasn’t going to tell me anything.

  Which was frustrating, but I guess she simply didn’t want me involved in whatever the problem was. We might have a very close and loving relationship, but there were lots of things I really didn’t know about my mom. Still, I guess all children could say that about their parents.

  “Ris,” she added, squeezing my hand a final time before withdrawing it, “if you need to go, then go. There’s nothing you or anything else can do about my problem. Some things are simply meant to be.”

  Which didn’t make the twisting sense of wrongness ease any.

  Riley’s gaze met mine and there was a strength in her, a belief that everything would be all right. I wished I could believe it. I gathered my bag and stood. “If you need me, call. I can be there within minutes, you know that.”

  She smiled. “I know. Have fun with your Aedh.”

  “Oh, that was never in doubt.” I leaned forward and kissed her. “You’d tell me if anything was seriously wrong, wouldn’t you?”

  She smiled, and while I saw no lie in her eyes, I still heard it leave her lips. “Yes, I’d tell you. Now go. And I love you heaps, my darling child.”

  I smiled. “Not as much as I love you.”

  I glanced at Riley again. She nodded briefly, as if in acknowledgment of my unspoken plea. While it didn’t ease the tension sitting in my stomach, it did at least give me the comfort of knowing she was there, and that she would do her utmost to figure out what was wrong.

  I turned and headed out. As I walked back to where I’d parked my bike, I rang Stane and asked him to do a search on the name Mom had given me. Then I tried to ignore the urge to run back and shake my mother until all the answers came out—although I would have done it in an instant if I thought it would actually do any good.

  The ride back into the city was pleasant, thanks to the fact that there wasn’t much in the way of traffic and I could cruise at the speed limit without having to duck and weave past idiots in cars. Although I did almost head-butt an idiot on an air bike. His laughter overran my curses as he sped away.

  I parked in the members-only area around the rear of Franklin’s, secured my helmet, then took off my cardigan and shoved it in the underseat storage area. Excitement drummed through me as I walked around to the front of the building.

  Lucian leaned against the far end of the small building, looking divine in dark gray suit pants and a white shirt. The sleeves were roughly rolled up, revealing the perfection of his muscular arms, and his tie was loose, lending him a casual yet elegant air. Several buttons on his shirt had been undone, revealing tantalizing glimpses of golden chest hair. My fingers itched with the sudden need to run through it.

  He turned, his gaze meeting mine briefly before sweeping down and then stopping at chest level. A slow smile stretched his lips. “Now, that is the sort of shirt every woman should wear,” he said, voice low and vibrating with desire. “Although if you intend to wear it to work, I expect I’ll see news reports about werewolves rioting in a certain restaurant.”

  I laughed and rose on my toes to kiss him hello before saying, “Why do you think RYT’s is so popular? It’s not just the food, baby.”

  He grinned. “Then it’s a custom more restaurants should follow—but only if their staff have breasts as shapely as yours.”

  I laughed again, then caught his hand and tugged him toward Franklin’s. The building itself was a pretty, two-story structure with lots of lovely fretwork and arched windows. The glass was mirrored and one-way, and there was very little signage out front. If you didn’t know it was a wolf club, then you’d never guess. And that was deliberate.

  I got my member card out of my purse, swiped it through the slot, then pressed my palm against the reader. After a moment, the door clicked open.

  We walked into a foyer that was all dark marble and gold fittings. A small desk sat to the right, and a plush gold sofa and several potted plants to the left. Harriet—a petite and very human blonde—manned the desk, and she gave me a warm smile as we entered.

  “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Ms. Jones,” she said, before her gaze moved to Lucian. “And your guest is?”

  “Lucian Dupont.”

  She glanced at the light screen to her left, where his name had suddenly appeared. “Would you prefer a short-term or longer-term visitor pass?”

  “That very much depends,” he said, a wicked gleam in his eye as he glanced at me, “on the lady standing beside me.”

  “Short-term,” I said, trying to keep a straight face but not really succeeding. “I’m not sure if he’s worth keeping just yet.”

  He laughed. The sound echoed around the room, warm and inviting. “Oh trust me, I do intend to prove my worth.”

  Harriet ordered a short-term pass, then said, “He’ll have to register his print with us, as per the rules.”

  “No problem,” Lucian said, giving her a smile with enough wattage to short-circuit half the city. “Just show me where.”

  Her cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink and the scent of arousal swirled—the first overtly sexual reaction I’d seen out of her in all the time I’d been coming here.

  She pointed to the small screen to her right. “Just place your hand here please, Mr. Dupont.”

  “My pleasure,” he murmured, voice low and seductive.

  I rolled my eyes—an action he caught, because he rewarded me with another of those high-wattage smiles. Only this time, it was accompanied by a sparkle in his eyes that somehow suggested his pleasure would soon be mine.

  The scent of arousal surged, and this time it was mine.

  “Thank you, Mr. Dupont,” she said once his prints had been scanned and recorded, then waved an elegant hand to another door. “Now, if you’ll both just go through the next door, Katie will escort you upstairs.”

  The door silently slid open as we approached and, beyond it, another blonde waited.

  “Ms. Jones,” she said. “Lovely to see you back again. And Mr. Dupont, welcome. I hope you enjoy your time here.”

  “Oh, I’m sure I will,” he said, glancing at me with a smile.

  “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you up to the main dance area.”

  She turned and led the way up the long hallway that was all cream-and-gold elegance. It wasn’t trying to be sexy, just warm and sophisticated, and in that it succeeded. There were doors to the left and the right, and they all led into private dining rooms. I’d never used them myself, but I knew there was a mix of styles, from bohemian and medieval to ordinary, six-star dining.

  “No cameras,” Lucian murmured. “Isn’t that a little unusual in an establishment that caters to a certain type of clientele?”

  “Oh, the cameras are there,” Katie answered, before I could. “We have the latest systems installed, be it
infrared, heat-activated, or motion, and everything that happens in this establishment is recorded.”

  “Everything?” he said.

  “Of course.” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “It protects both our clients and ourselves. But the recordings are scrambled on multiple levels. Without the proper code, they would be useless to anyone.”

  A gold-and-glass staircase came into view, sweeping up toward two heavily carved oak doors. A grand entrance to a discreet but beautiful dance floor.

  We climbed the stairs. At the top, Katie swiped her pass through the slot, then leaned toward the iris scanner. Once that had been checked, one of the massive doors clicked open. She grabbed the handle and opened it wider.

  “Have a good time, Ms. Jones and Mr. Dupont.”

  We walked through the doors. The room was bright, lit by the sunshine filtering in through the glass-and-steel ceiling that soared high above us. Like the glass in our warehouse, the ceiling was electrochromic, so it could be darkened to cut much of the heat, and it was also one-way. The many buildings that looked down on us couldn’t actually see anything. The room itself was large, and had kept the industrial feel of its origins. The old brick walls were a feature, and industrial artwork and old bits of machinery decorated the walls. The dance floor dominated, but the old cobblestones were covered by a clear plastic mix that smoothed the stones and provided a nonslip surface. Private rooms lined the west wall, and a large bar dominated the rear of the room. The changing rooms were located on the right.

  Music swirled around us, heavy and melodic, filling the room with its sensual and erotic beat. The dance floor was packed, the lunchtime crowd obviously staying late today. My nostrils flared, taking in the rich aroma of lust and sex as I allowed the ambience of the room to soak through my pores, into my very bones. An answering tremor of excitement coursed through me. I loved this place. It had always been something of a refuge for me—a safe retreat in a world that seemed intermittently to go mad.

  “This is very civilized,” Lucian said, his green eyes holding an unearthly glitter in the brightness of the room. “And totally different in feel from the other clubs I’ve been to.”