I glanced at my watch. One o’clock was only twelve minutes away. I folded the note and glanced at Azriel. “What do you think?”
“My immediate thought is that Tao must have been here at the time this was delivered. Markel is a vampire, and he could not have left this note on your bed due to the fact he has not been invited into your home.”
I blinked. I hadn’t even thought of that. “I’m not sure it’s much of a comfort.” Especially given an awful lot could happen in a forty-minute time frame. I waved the note. “Could this be a trap?”
“It is always a possibility.” Azriel’s expression gave little away – as usual – but his tension flowed through me, a river of energy that tingled across my skin, making it twitch. “And I can neither follow nor protect you on the fields. He may well be aware of that.”
“Yes.” I glanced down at the note again, and wished I had the capability to read between the lines. But other than the tension flowing through me – both mine and Azriel’s – my psychic senses were giving me squat.
“The mere fact he wishes to meet on the astral plane suggests he has no desire for anyone to witness it.” Azriel’s voice was grim. “And that could mean this meeting would displease Hunter greatly.”
And Markel was canny enough not to displease Hunter – which only made this request all the more ominous.
“I should go. Just in case.”
Azriel raised an eyebrow. “In case of what? You have enough to deal with as it is, Risa. There is no need to be seeking more trouble.”
“What if it’s not trouble? What if it’s something vital about the keys or our sorcerers?”
“If it was something vital to our quest, it would have come to us via Hunter.” He crossed his arms. “But I can see there is no dissuading you.”
“No. Although I don’t know if I’ve got enough time left to get onto the plane.” I was still very much a novice when it came to astral traveling, after all, and it took me longer to find the right frame of mind to astrally step out of my flesh.
“Then you had best start now.” His words rang with disapproval, but it wasn’t like I hadn’t felt that before.
I crawled onto the bed and got myself comfortable, then closed my eyes and concentrated on my breathing, slowing it down, drawing it deep. As my heartbeat became more measured, a sense of peace enveloped me and the tension in my limbs began to slip away. Then, as Adeline had taught me, I pictured a rope hanging above my head and reached up with imaginary hands to grasp it. It felt thick and real against those fingers, and as strong as steel… I pulled myself upward along it. Dizziness briefly swept over me, seeming to come from the center of my chest, but I ignored it and kept climbing that rope. The pressure grew and every inch of me began to vibrate. Then, suddenly, I was free and floating above my prone form.
I didn’t hang about, simply imagined the gigantic shed that was the Central Pier function center on Melbourne’s docklands district – the place where I’d not only first met Markel, but had interviewed the ghost of Frank Logan. In an instant I was there.
And so was Markel. He was tall, with regal features and a body that was as lean as a whip. He bowed as my gaze met his, his expression giving little away but his brown eyes showing a touch of relief.
It is good of you to come. His mind voice was cool, without inflection, but not unpleasant. I wasn’t sure that you would.
I did think about not coming. My reply, like his, was thought rather than spoken. You couldn’t actually talk here on the astral plane, just as you couldn’t physically move. Everything had to be done on a subconscious rather than conscious level – although that didn’t restrict you from fighting or even dying on the fields. And if you died on the astral plane, then you died in real time, too. But curiosity got the better of me. Of course, curiosity has also gotten the better of many a dead cat.
He smiled, although it held little humor or warmth. I did not arrange this meeting in order to harm you.
Then why did you arrange it?
He hesitated, and that in itself was enough to send trepidation skittering through me. Markel was a Cazador. They never hesitated. They just did whatever needed to be done, in the most efficient way possible.
Because someone wishes to speak to you. Someone neither of us should be seen with.
And with that, he moved to one side and a second man stepped forward out of the ghostly surrounds.
It was Harry Stanford, the manager of Hallowed Ground and the vampire who wanted me to kill Hunter.
Chapter 8
Fury swept through me and the plane responded instantly; shadows crowded close and the very air began to vibrate ominously.
I flexed imaginary fingers and tried to calm down. Getting angry in a place that reacted to your every thought and emotion was damnably dangerous.
What the fuck are you playing at, Markel? I glared at him. So much for attempting to calm down. If you were following me the day I went to Hallowed Ground, you know full well I want nothing to do with this man’s schemes.
I said as much to Harry, Markel replied, voice even and expression unperturbed. But he insisted.
“Harry,” not “Stanford.” Suggesting he and Stanford were, at the very least, well known to each other.