Darkness Falls (Dark Angels 7)

And despite half hoping that he might be the betrayer in my life, I really didn’t want to believe it. It didn’t matter whether he was simply involved with Lauren or was the shape-shifting sorceress herself; the key problem was, his lies and evil had infiltrated not only my life, but my mom’s, as well. And in the growing pile of things I could never forgive, that would be right up there on the top.

Am here, Amaya said. Can

eat if wish. No more lies then.

I hesitated, oddly tempted. But I’d already taken one innocent life; I would not take another. Not until I at least had some definite evidence—and the presence of magic in this restaurant wasn’t that. So I simply said, Can you feel the magic?

Some, she said. Near.

Define near.

Near, she repeated. Not here.

Which was not at all helpful, although I guess it did mean whatever magic was active in this restaurant wasn’t actually coming from Mike himself. I reached for my glass again, but as my fingers wrapped around it, Mike caught my wrist, stopping me.

“This is new.” His thumb brushed the multicolored ribbon-and-stone tattoo around my right wrist. “And very unusual.”

His touch had my skin crawling again, and yet there was nothing inherently wrong with it. It was no longer even moist.

“Yes, it is.” I gently tried to pull my hand from his, but his grip only tightened.

“Does it represent anything in particular?” His gaze narrowed as he leaned a little closer to study it. “The ink is unusually vibrant. It almost appears to be real ribbon rather than merely ink.”

“That’s what you get for going to a good tattooist,” I said. “Mike, please let go. You’re hurting me.”

“My dear girl, I’m so sorry.” He released me immediately, but his gaze, when it met mine, was anything but contrite. And the tension I’d sensed earlier was back, only this time it had an almost furious edge. “I’ve just never seen something so . . . intricate before. Whoever designed it for you was very proficient at his or her craft.”

“Which is why they get the big money.” I smiled at the waitress as she placed our meals on the table, somewhat relieved at the interruption.

When she left, Mike placed his napkin on the table and rose. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Your bladder has very inconvenient timing,” I said, hoping my relief at getting a brief respite from his presence didn’t show.

“That,” he said, amusement in his voice, “is also another problem that comes with age. I won’t be long.”

I nodded and picked up my utensils, tucking into my shepherd’s pie as he walked away. But the minute he’d left the room, I scrambled to my feet and all but ran to the door. I peered around the edge of the frame to watch him, torn between wanting him to leave—and therefore prove himself a bad guy—and not wanting it to happen.

He didn’t leave. He did what he said he was doing—went to the bathroom.

I swung around and hightailed it to the rear of the dining room. The couple glanced at me and smiled but quickly went back to staring adoringly into each other’s eyes.

Thankfully, the door out to the small courtyard wasn’t locked. I opened it and stepped out. Almost immediately, Azriel appeared, though he was in the left rear corner, squashed between a fountain and a planter box filled with colorful pansies.

“I’m gathering there’s some sort of barrier around the café,” I said, unable to keep the amusement out of my voice or expression. “And that’s why you are where you are.”

“Indeed,” he said. “And it is a most uncomfortable position.”

“It looks it.” My smile faded. “What sort of barrier is it?”

“It is similar in feel—although decidedly darker—to the barrier we raised around the building that held both the weapons exhibition and the second key.”

Meaning there were undoubtedly wards placed on each corner of this building, because that was the only way to raise such a complete barrier. “Do you think it’s worth hunting around to find them? I might be able to displace them.”

“No, because whoever placed the wards would undoubtedly have taken into account the location and the possibility of accidental or purposeful displacement.” He paused, his gaze narrowing. “I smell something odd on you.”

I frowned. “Define odd.”

“Odd,” he said, almost echoing my sword’s response not so long ago. “A scent that wasn’t evident when you entered this place. It has an almost otherworldly feel.”