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He cut the rest of the sentence off, leaving me wondering just what he’d been about to admit. The part that hungered for his touch desperately wanted to believe it was something along the lines of not being able to live without me, but that was stupid, given that he had a totally different physiology. More likely, he was simply going to remind me that he couldn’t continue the quest without me.
Which he’d reminded me of often enough.
I waved a hand toward the front door. “We’d better get going.”
Because the sooner we got to that house and whatever delights Taylor had waiting, the sooner we could get on with the business of finding the next key.
But even as I made my way down to my car, a dark voice within was whispering, You’ll be finding nothing but the afterlife if you lose this battle. And you could lose it. Very easily.
And if I kept thinking along those lines, I’d be defeated long before I ever made it onto the astral plane.
It didn’t take all that long to get across to Altona, thanks to the fact that peak hour had pretty much passed. I parked under a streetlight at the top end of Keeshan Court—there was little point in hiding—then climbed out and studied my surroundings. It was a typical middle-Melbourne suburban street, filled with tidy-looking brick houses and neat front yards. The sort of street I could imagine kids playing in happily, never realizing there was a psycho in their midst.
I shivered, then reached back into my car and grabbed my coat.
“So, we meet in the flesh at last,” a deep voice behind me said.
I bit down a squeak and spun around. A tall man dressed in dark jeans and a black sweater stood in front of me. My gaze traveled up the long, lean length of him, and clashed with the darkness of his. Recognition stirred.
“Markel Sanchez,” I said, relief evident in my voice.
“Indeed.” He bowed slightly. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you on this plane.”
“I wish it was in better circumstances,” I muttered, and pulled on my jacket.
“Indeed.” His gaze moved from me to the street. “I have done a brief reconnoiter. Number twenty bristles with hardware, some of which is cameras.”
The rest no doubt being the bombs Taylor had mentioned, as well as other nasty stuff. “How many people are inside the house?”
“Only one. I presume it is the guardian, Rhoan Jenson.”
I hesitated, then asked, “Is he still alive?”
Markel’s dark gaze returned to mine. “At this moment, yes.”
I released the breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding. “What about the other houses in the court? Have you checked those?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Of course. I am the professional here, remember.”
Yeah, he was. But it was my life on the line, not his. “So did you find anything unusual?”
“No. Taylor and his accomplice are not in this street as far as I was able to discern. That does not mean he is not nearby.”
“He will be nearby.” Watching, waiting. Anticipating.
I shivered again, then shoved shaking hands into my pockets and began walking toward the house.
Markel fell in step beside me. “What of the reaper, Azriel? Is he here?”
“I am,” Azriel said, his voice coming from the opposite side of me to the vampire. Not that I needed to hear his voice to know exactly where he was.
Markel didn’t seem altogether surprised, either. Maybe he’d asked the question simply to confirm what he’d already sensed.
“Good.” He paused. “Do you really think this madman will allow us to rescue Jenson? I cannot see it myself.”
“I don’t think he’ll expect it, but I don’t think he’ll stop it, either. Either Rhoan dies or I’m left unprotected, so he wins either way.”
“But you are not unprotected.”
