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“Damn it, no,” I said, and looked down. A soft shimmer rolled over the receptionist’s body; then her soul pulled free. She looked at peace, happy almost. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see her spirit take the reaper’s hand and move on.
Not wanting to acknowledge my failure to yet again save someone.
Another explosion ripped through the building. Above, the ceiling cracked and plaster began to fall, the pieces small at first, then getting gradually larger as the cracks grew and joined.
I swore and called to the Aedh, changing form just as the remainder of the ceiling crashed down. It would have crushed me if I’d still been standing there. As it was, dust and debris plumed through my particles, making me feel as if every inch was coated in grime.
I headed back into the hellhole that the main storage area had become, quickly winding my way through the remnants of the corridor until I found Genevieve’s storage locker. Or rather, where it once had been, because this area was definitely ground zero. There was very little left here, nothing but a few blackened, twisted metal remains. I turned around, trying to find the middle of the unit where the stones had stood. What I found instead was the remnant of a leg—though it was little more than crisped strips of skin and meat hanging from a cracked and blackened femur. I looked around for the rest of the body, but couldn’t see anything. Why just that section of whoever’s body it was had survived was anyone’s guess.
There was little evidence left of the stones, which no doubt had been the intention of the blast. Genevieve Sands obviously didn’t want to risk me investigating this locker. It’s just too bad for her that I already had—something she would have known if she’d accessed the site’s security system. For once it seemed that fate had played us a better hand than the bad guys.
I checked the rest of the storage units in the hope that someone else might have survived, but the effort was futile. All I found were bodies. There was nothing else I could do, so I turned around and headed home. Once there, I stripped off and showered, although the dust was so ingrained, I had a sneaking suspicion I’d be rubbing it out of my skin for the next week.
Once I’d finger combed my hair, I headed out to find Azriel. He was back in his usual spot.
“What is it about you and windows?” I grabbed some socks out of the nearby dresser and plopped down on the bed to pull them on.
He shrugged. “It is, quite literally, a window to a small section of your world. It is endlessly interesting watching what goes on.”
“Meaning your world is boring?”
“My world is one of rules and duty. It is not so much boring as that nothing ever changes.”
“I can’t imagine the life of a Mijai would be too boring.”
“The life of a hunter-killer is exciting for only the first couple of millennia.”
I stared at him for a moment, not quite sure I’d heard him right. “Millennia?”
He glanced at me, amusement briefly touching his eyes. “I am young in Mijai terms.”
“But ancient in mine.”
His eyebrows rose. “And this is a problem?”
“No, just surprising, that’s all.” I pulled the last sock on, then reached for my boots. “Did you find Genevieve at the Razans’ place?”
“No, she had already moved on.”
“To the place on the Gold Coast?”
“I checked both there and her house in Prahran. She was at neither.”
“Damn.” I thrust a hand through my hair and wondered if that meant she were dead, or if she were merely being cautious.
“That is a question that cannot be answered until she turns up either alive or dead.”
Very true. We had no idea how involved Genevieve Sands might be with either the magic or the key quest, and it was certainly more than possible that she was dead—but I was betting on the former rather than the latter. Something about the grim remains I’d seen just seemed a little too convenient. “So what do we do now?”
“Given we can do nothing on our own quest until tomorrow, perhaps we should concentrate on Hunter’s.”
“I guess.” I glanced at the clock. It was just after four, so there was still plenty of time to head on over to the entertainment agency and talk to either James Parred or Catherine Moore, the two contacts Stanford had given us for the agency. “I might go over to the agency on my bike. My head still feels achy after all the shifting to and from Aedh form.”
“That you have shifted so much and have not suffered the consequences suggests you are becoming more adept at the process.”
“Or it’s a result of whatever Malin did to me.”
He hesitated. “Yes.”
