“What time is it?” I asked eventually. I could have opened my eyes and looked at the nearby clock—hell, I could have picked up my phone and looked—but right now either required too much effort.
“Four o’clock.”
“A.m. or p.m.?”
“P.m.”
That did wake me. “So I’ve slept for over twelve hours?”
“You needed it. You were running far too close to the edge of exhaustion, Risa.”
“Hard to do anything else considering what keeps getting thrown at me,” I muttered. I flipped the covers away from my face and sat up.
Azriel’s gaze swept me briefly, then moved away. But not before I’d caught the flash of desire in his eyes.
“Tao has gone to the restaurant to deal with the council inspectors.” His voice was back to its formal self. “Stane has coffee percolating, Coke in the fridge, and bacon and eggs on standby.”
“I need all three. But I need a shower first.”
I forced myself out of bed, raided Stane’s closet for an old T-shirt to wear between here and the bathroom, then grabbed my toiletries and clothes and headed out.
Stane swiveled around in his chair and gave me an appreciative once-over. “That T-shirt looks a lot better on you than it does on me.”
I smiled. “How did the game go last night?”
“We thoroughly thrashed the opposition, and moved up several levels in the process. What would you like to eat?”
“Azriel mentioned bacon and eggs.”
“Done,” he said, and practically bounced toward his kitchen.
I quickly showered and dressed. Though Azriel wasn’t present in body, he was still nearby, still keeping watch. The heat of him washed across my skin like a summer breeze, warm and sultry.
I once again forced myself to thrust away the growing slithers of desire, and followed the delicious aroma of fried bacon back out into the kitchen portion of his open living area.
Stane slid both a Coke and a mug of steaming coffee over to me, then flipped the eggs. “I did that search for Henry Mack, Jason Marks, and Mark Jackson.”
It took me a moment to remember that Mack, Marks, and Jackson were the aliases of the Razan we’d knocked out in the cavern where the hellhounds had attacked us.
I propped on the nearby stool. “And?”
“As you might have already guessed, neither the Mack nor Marks identity actually exists. The Jackson one does, although if it is the same man, he’s over a hundred years old.” He served up the bacon and eggs, then picked up his coffee and leaned his elbows on the kitchen counter.
“If he’s listed as a Middle East war veteran,” I said, alternating between speaking, eating, and drinking, “then it’s the same man.”
“Interesting, given that the photos of his recent incarnations suggest he’s not more than forty.”
“He’s had a little magical help.”
Stane snorted. “Then they should package that and make a fortune.”
“Trust me, it’s the sort of magical help you wouldn’t want. It amounts to slavery.”
“Oh, well, that they can keep.” He grimaced and drank some more coffee. “The address listed for both the Mack and Marks identities is Railway Crescent, Broadmeadows, but I couldn’t find them listed as tenants in the apartments there.”
“Probably because he actually lives in Dawson Street, Brunswick West.” If what Uncle Quinn had pulled from his mind was to be believed, anyway. “Any chance of you checking to see if there’s a traffic camera nearby, and monitoring it?”
“I can check. Can’t promise results.”