Although I couldn’t see evidence of anyone having walked through this place recently, either, and with the thickness of the muck, surely I would have. My footprints were pretty easy to spot.
Again, air stirred, but this time, ethereal fingers briefly entwined through mine. I yelped and jumped backward instinctively, my heart leaping into my throat even as my fingers burned with the icy touch of the dead.
Shit, I thought, suddenly realizing what was going on. It was a fucking ghost.
Maybe even the ghost of the person whose hair had become a bed for a nest of rats.
I swallowed heavily and tried to calm down. A ghost couldn’t hurt me. Well, maybe it could on the astral plane, but certainly not here on Earth. Besides, it was grabbing at my hand, which suggested it wanted to show me something.
“Okay,” I said softly. “I hear you. What do you want?”
An odd sense of excitement stirred around me, then that cool touch slid across my fingers again and tugged me to the right. Amaya flared brighter as we approached the deeper shadows crowding the corner of the building, but for once, her flames had little impact.
Because there was magic here.
It was faint, little more than a sliver of energy that barely stirred the hairs along my arm, but it was similar in feel to the shield that protected this building and kept Azriel out. And surely that meant there was something here they wanted to protect.
A door into the caverns below, perhaps?
If we were right in our guess that our sorcerers weren’t using any sort of high-level magic to protect their gateway, then perhaps this was the entrance they were using to get to it. As Azriel had noted earlier, it made sense that the gateway was here somewhere, simply because it was so close to the ley-line intersection.
I directed Amaya’s flames toward the floor, but the shadows refused to lift. But just for a moment, the vague outline of something small and round appeared – a stone. And it wasn’t alone, because there was an even fainter shadow sitting next to it. Stones weren’t something you’d expect to find in an old factory warehouse – bricks and roofing tiles maybe, but not stones the color of ink. And that could mean only one thing – there was a stone circle here – one that hid its contents as much as it protected them.
I raised a hand and pressed it closer to the screen of darkness. Energy rippled across my fingertips, its feel sharp and somehow dirty. I bit my lip and pressed harder. It felt like I was fighting glue, and the unclean sensation grew, until it felt like acid gnawed at my skin.
Eventually, I couldn’t stand it, and yanked my hand back. My fingers were red and tiny blisters were beginning to appear along their tips. The magic might not be outwardly evident, but it still was powerful. There was no way in hell I was going to risk stepping into it.
“Well, fuck,” I muttered. “Can nothing go our goddamn way for a change?”
Would it be worth bringing Ilianna here? Azriel said. She’s unraveled the threads of this sorcerer’s magic before. Perhaps she can do the same with this barrier.
“As much as I hate the thought of doing it, it might be our only chance of discovering both the sorcerers and the key before Mirri’s deadline.”
The ghost’s touch trailed across my fingers again. This time, there was a sense of urgency in the sensation.
I frowned and said, “Azriel —” at the exact same time as he said, Risa, hide. Someone just magicked into the building.
I swore. Where?
The office on the other side of the pit trap.
And there was no cover near, and nothing else but those rat-infested offices. I dove into the first one, sending rats scattering just as the far doorway opened. I twisted around, and saw a shadowed figure step out.
Amaya snarled, the sound soft but nevertheless echoing. Shut it, I told her fiercely, and flame out.
She grumbled, but obeyed. The shadow paused and seemed to be looking our way, although it was a little hard to tell given the ink around us. After a moment, he moved on, his stride long and lithe. Shifter, I thought, for no logical reason. He certainly didn’t smell like one – although that didn’t really mean that much in an age of scent-erasing soap. But he obviously didn’t smell me, either, and most shifters would have.
He strode past the pit trap, seemingly headed toward the shadowed corner. He wasn’t the sorcerer – his build was far too short and stocky – but if he was going to use whatever lay hidden by those stones, then he was someone we needed to talk to.
Do it fast, Azriel commented. He may be shorter than you, but he’ll be stronger.
Like I didn’t realize that. The shifter drew closer and tension wound through my limbs, until my legs were quivering with the need to move, to attack. I waited until he’d passed the office in which I’d hidden, then rose and ran after him, as quickly and as silently as I could.
He sensed me and pivoted, lashing out with a booted foot. The blow was so fast it was little more than a blur. I twisted away, and his heel scraped across my hip rather than burying itself in my stomach. I flipped Amaya so that I was holding blade rather than hilt, and swung her hard. The blow caught him high in the forearm and knocked him sideways. He swore, the sound guttural, almost incoherent, but caught his balance all too swiftly and launched at me. I caught a brief glimpse of his features as I spun away, and realized with a sinking sensation exactly what I was dealing with. He wasn’t a shifter, or even a Razan, but rather another of those beings who’d been twisted by magic. He just didn’t feel as wrong as his brethren. Maybe our sorcerer was getting the hang of perverting the souls of others.
I ducked under another leap but this time he anticipated the move, somehow twisting in midair to crash body-first into me. I landed on my back with a grunt, briefly winded, my arms and legs tangled in his. I swore, pulled an arm free, and chopped down with Amaya. Her hilt smashed into his shoulder and something cracked. He howled, the sound one of fury and pain combined, and lashed out with an elbow. The blow struck my chin hard enough to rattle teeth, and for a moment I saw stars.
Amaya hissed in fury, a sound I could only echo. I bucked, trying to get him off me, but I might as well have tried moving a ton of bricks. He laughed and grabbed at my arms, managing to pin one to the grimy concrete, his breath thick and fetid as it washed across my face. He may not have smelled bad on the outside, but he was definitely rotting inside.