Darkness Unmasked

He snorted. “The Directorate could.”

“The Directorate could have just pulled their driver’s license details and gotten the information from there.”

I could have, too—or rather, Stane could have. But I needed to take all the right steps to satisfy Hunter, and that had to include talking to the people who employed the two women.

He studied me for several seconds, then half shrugged. “I guess it won’t hurt.”

He leaned forward, pulled an old wireless keyboard out from under his desk, and began typing. I glanced at Azriel. Don’t suppose you could take a sneaky look over his shoulder without him noticing?

I could. His tone was amused.

I smiled. Then would you?

Of course.

He appeared behind Parred. Shard lives in flat one, ten Martin Street, St. Kilda, and—he hesitated, waiting as Parred did some more typing—Sands lives in flat eleven, one twenty Newman Street, Kensington.

He reappeared on the seat beside me just as Parred grabbed a piece of paper and scrawled two phone numbers onto it. “Here,” he said, sliding the paper across to me. “The first is for Shard, the second for Sands. Hope you have better luck contacting them than I have of late.”

“Thanks for your help.”

“Anytime.”

We headed out. Once safely across the street and well out of earshot, I pulled out my phone and gave both women a call. Neither one answered. No surprise there, I guess. Especially when it was more than likely that both women were either incapacitated or dead.

I shoved my phone away and glanced at Azriel. “We’ll try Di Shard first. She’s slightly closer.”

“I will meet you there.”

He disappeared. I called to the shifting magic and made my face my own again, then pulled on the helmet and climbed onto the Ducati.

The trip across to St. Kilda was hell, thanks to the traffic, and by the time I got to Martin Street, I was more than a little pissed off and totally wishing I’d simply come here via Aedh form.

I cruised slowly past the apartment building, then parked around the corner, stored my helmet, and walked back. Ten Martin Street was a modern glass and concrete building that looked like a series of receding boxes, each layer sitting farther back, giving that “box” more of a courtyard than the one below it. The top layer apparently had enough room for a large outdoor umbrella to be set up.

I glanced at Azriel as he appeared beside me. “Can you sense anything inside?”

“There is life in the first two apartments; nothing in the other two.”

“Are there any bodies?”

“If death occurred some time ago, as you suspect, I would not sense it. A soul’s resonance does not last beyond a few days in this world, unless they become one of the lost ones.”

“So if Shard is dead in there, this death was meant to be?”

“Yes.”

I studied the building a minute longer, but I was only delaying the inevitable. “Right. Let’s go.”

I wrapped my fingers around my keys and phone and called to the Aedh. Once I’d changed form, I moved across the road, hesitating briefly to study the names on the intercom before slipping through the small gap between the door and the floor. Flat one, according to the directory, was up on the first floor. Shard’s flat was the only one on that floor. I went in.

At first glance, there didn’t seem to be anything wrong. The place was tidy, but not overly so. There was a small stack of mail sitting—unopened—on a glass side table near the door, dishes draining on the sink in the kitchen, and laundry sitting in the basket in the small laundry room. There was nothing that immediately jumped up and screamed “problem.” Not until I went into the bedroom, anyway.

Because the entire room had become one gigantic web. Even though I was little more than particles, it seemed to cling to me, making me feel itchy and sending horror coursing through me. I backed away faster than I’d ever done before—in either form—and returned to the relative safety of the doorway.

I hadn’t noticed any motion sensors in the flat, so I shifted back to flesh form. Dizziness swept me, and I had to grab the doorframe to steady myself—but the pain that slithered through me was next to nothing when compared to the state I was usually in after a shift. I might not know what Malin had done to me, but if this lack of pain was one of the side effects, then I couldn’t entirely be sorry about it.

The cobweb hung from one side of the room to the other, the gossamer strands shining like gilded silver in the evening light filtering in through the bedroom window. Little white pods hung in various corners, but all of them were split open and empty of contents. I couldn’t be sorry about that, considering what they’d probably held was spiders. Lots and lots of baby black spiders. Goose bumps fled across my skin, and I rubbed my arms, trying without succeeding to warm the chill from them. Even Azriel re-forming behind me couldn’t do anything about that.

Di Shard lay on the bed. Or what remained of her did, anyway. Like the two male victims we’d seen, she was wrapped in spiderweb and her skin was like parchment—brittle and almost translucent. The only difference was, she didn’t have just two slashes in her abdomen. Instead, her body was littered with little cuts. Tiny cuts. As if they’d been made by the fangs of thousands of little black spiders.

Another shiver ran through me. I could only hope she’d been dead when they’d begun consuming her.

“Well,” I said eventually, “this really doesn’t tell us much.”

“Other than the fact that she has been dead for at least a week.” His hand rested lightly on my hip, the touch comforting rather than sexual.

My gaze swept the room again, but there wasn’t much to find in the way of clues. “Why would she be consuming the men herself, but leave the women for her young?”

“She would probably need to keep her own strength up if she is in a breeding phase.”

“Any idea how long that phase is likely to be?”

“No. As I have said before, I normally do not hunt spirits.” He half shrugged, a movement I felt rather than saw. “But her actions so far suggest she is not working purely from instinct, but rather from intelligence.”

I glanced up at him. “Meaning not all dark spirits are capable of logic?”

“There are levels of spirits, just as there are levels of demons. This one is obviously one of the higher ones.”

“So the Rakshasa we hunted would be have been considered a higher-level spirit?”

“Yes. Although perhaps not as high as the spirit we seek here, because she could not ignore the call of the ghosts.”

“Does that mean she won’t be hunting tonight? I mean, she knows we’re looking for her after this afternoon’s events.”

“Yes, but remember, she is also in breeding mode. That is an imperative not even intelligence can ignore.” His grip tightened on my hip, and the tension suddenly evident in his touch echoed through my being. “We should go. Someone comes.”

“Who?”

He hesitated, then said, “Directorate. Your uncle.”

I swore softly, called to the Aedh, and hoped like hell that I hadn’t been in human form long enough for my scent to linger in the air. And thanked whatever gods that happened to be listening that I’d parked my bike around the corner rather than directly opposite the apartment as I’d first planned.

I swept out as Uncle Rhoan walked in. He hesitated, as if he’d sensed me, but I just kept going. Hanging around to see if he actually had would not have been a bright idea.

“What do you wish to do now?” Azriel said, the minute I re-formed beside the Ducati.

I grabbed my helmet and shoved it on. “Go home and make mad, passionate love to you.”

Amusement touched his lips, and desire flared briefly around me, bathing my skin with its warmth.

“That is something I would not find unpleasant.” His voice was even despite the desire that pulsed between us. “I suspect, however, you merely tease.”

“You suspect right. We need to check out Summer’s place before my uncle beats us to it.” Hell, for all I knew, he already had. Maybe there was a cleanup team there right now, photographing, cataloging, and pulling apart any clues that might be left. I had no doubt that Summer had suffered the same fate as Shard.

I flipped the helmet’s visor down. “I’ll see you there.”

He nodded and disappeared. I booted up the bike and headed across town. Thankfully, peak hour had eased now that night was setting in, and it was definitely more pleasant to be on the Ducati. At least I could weave my way through the traffic without having to worry about some impatient motorist suddenly swinging into my lane.

One twenty Newman Street turned out to be one of those modern, split-level town houses that had been popular with the upwardly mobile about fifty years ago. This one was showing its age more than most, the redbrick darkening with grime and the concrete portions showing remnants of past graffiti attacks. Still, it was in better shape than some of its neighbors, which looked to have been abandoned for many years—decidedly odd given how close to the city Kensington was. At the very least, a developer should have stepped in and purchased the land because it would have been worth a fortune if developed properly.

And maybe I was thinking about that sort of nonsense rather than contemplating what might be waiting inside.

I glanced around. There weren’t any Directorate cars about, and nobody seemed to be watching, so I shifted shape and silently made my way into the town house. Summer’s place, like Shard’s, looked lived in—there was an empty dinner plate sitting on the coffee table, a mug with a tea bag sitting ready near the kettle in the kitchen, and clothes in the dryer, ready to be pulled out. For all intents and purposes, it looked as if someone were living here. And maybe they were. Maybe this was where our dark spirit had made her lair. Which meant that maybe this was where all those tiny spiders were living . . . My gaze jumped to the ceiling, but it was free of movement or threat. There wasn’t even a spiderweb decorating any of the corners. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">