Those who did cast dark spells weren’t witches. They might be sorcerers, they might be Satanists, or they might even be Charna—a name given to those who followed the darker paths of magic.
Azriel nodded. “The person behind this is someone who follows darkness. The magic is powered by blood. That is never a good sign.”
A shudder ran through me. Blood magic. The worst kind. “What about the soul stealer? I know you said you couldn’t see it, but were you able to see anything that might provide a clue in Handberry’s memories?”
He shook his head. “No. All this man saw was a twisted, smoky essence.”
I frowned. “That could describe the Aedh.”
“This wasn’t Aedh. They can free souls without the need for this.” He indicated Handberry with a short, sharp movement of his hand that was all anger and frustration.
My frown deepened. “I was under the impression that it was tough for Aedh to take souls from flesh.”
“It is, but that doesn’t mean they have to resort to such force. It drains them, that is all.”
Great. So we’d eliminated a possibility, but it didn’t leave us a whole lot closer to the who.
“Blood magic has an individual taint, so did you sense it in Hanna’s room?”
He shook his head. “But that death was older. Within an hour, the scent of this will be long gone, too.”
“Then why can’t you follow it back to its source now?”
“Because it begins and ends in this room.”
Which more than likely meant some sort of transport spell had been involved. Great. Just great.
“So basically, we’re no closer to solving the riddle of these deaths than we were before.”
“No.” He glanced at me, and there was something almost annoyed in his otherwise impassive features. “It would be useful, though, if you slept like a regular person. I would have more time to hunt.”
I said, “Hunt away, reaper. It’s not like I want you to follow me around.”
“As I said before, that is not an option.” Though his tone suggested he wished it was. Either reapers were more capable of emotion than I’d originally thought, or I was reading way more into the brief changes in his expression than was warranted.
“So if you’re stuck following me around, why didn’t you help me when I was attacked?”
“As I’ve already said, I only follow. I do not interfere.”
“Well, your quest would have been up shit creek if those men had succeeded in killing me.”
“That I would have stopped. You are no good to any of us dead.”
“Gee, that’s such a comfort.” I glanced at my watch then said, “I hate to break this to you, but I’m not going to get a whole lot of sleep tonight. So you’re stuck with following me around for a while yet.”
He didn’t say anything, but displeasure seemed to swirl through the heated air. The phone rang into the silence, making me jump a little. It was Tao.
“A car with Directorate plates just pulled into the parking lot behind Dan Murphy’s,” he said quickly. “Get your ass into gear if you don’t want to be caught in there.”
“Wind down the car window for me.” I hung up and met Azriel’s gaze. “I need to go.”
“Call if you discover anything else.” He crossed his arms, watching as I flowed into my other form, his expression as unreadable as ever. Then he simply winked out of existence.
I turned and sped for the door, sweeping underneath it, then surging toward the car. I couldn’t see Uncle Rhoan—the old wooden fence stood between me and the parking lot, and I very much preferred to keep it that way. He was half vampire, after all, and his infrared sight was sensitive. I might be invisible in this form, but I had no idea how much body heat I was emitting. Uncle Quinn had never really mentioned it.
The car window was only open an inch or so, but it was enough. I swept through it, then changed to human form, landing with some inelegance—and a whole lot of pain—in the passenger seat. Two shifts in a short space of time had not only left me weak and shaky, but basically destroyed my sweater. My jeans had disintegrated, too, the cotton plastered to my skin.
“He’s coming,” Tao murmured, reaching back to grab another sweater from the backseat and thrusting it at me. “Put that on.”