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I glanced up at Parred. “Until recently, how reliable were they?”
“Very.” He grimaced. “Reliability and quality performances are necessary assets in this business. Without it, you don’t survive that long.”
“I don’t suppose you could give me their addresses?”
He frowned. “No, I’m sorry, but information like that is private. I couldn’t hand it over without a warrant.”
“What about a cell phone number? It’s urgent that I speak with both women.”
His frown deepened. “I’m not sure—”
“It’s only a cell phone number,” I said, using my most persuasive voice. “It’s not like I can use it to track down their addresses or anything.”o;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.”
I snorted softly. “You’re determined not to give me any information about that, are you?”
“You know I cannot. Your dealings with your father are dangerous enough as they are.”
“Just because I understand your reasons doesn’t mean I’m not frustrated by them.” I gathered my phone and ID, then walked to the wardrobe to get my leather bike gear. “I’ll meet you at the front of Classique Entertainers.”
He nodded and disappeared. I headed down to the garage, gearing up in my leathers before I hopped on the Ducati and drove out.
Of course, going anywhere near the city approaching peak hour always added far too much time to the journey, so it was close to 4:45 by the time I got to Port Melbourne.
The agency was located in an area that was all concrete warehouses and office buildings. I found parking under one of the trees lining the center strip, then pulled off my gloves and helmet, shoved them into the under-seat storage, and headed across the road to Classique. It was situated in a building that was basically a glass-fronted concrete box, though the colorfully painted wooden strips lining the upper half of the building on either side of the windows at least gave it a bit of personality that was sadly lacking in its neighbors.
Azriel joined me as I walked toward the steps. “Would not a disguise be useful at this point, given that your uncle would not be pleased to discover you’re investigating these crimes?”
I stopped cold. “Shit, yes. Thanks for reminding me.” I did a quick look around, scanning the nearby building to see if there was anyone staring out the window. There didn’t appear to be, so I imaged myself with a long, thin face, with freckles over a somewhat large hooked nose, and spiky red hair. Once the shifting magic had done its work, I glanced at Azriel. “Well?”
“Definitely not an improvement,” he said, barely managing to restrain his smile.
I laughed. “What about you? There may be cameras inside, and we can’t risk Uncle Rhoan recognizing you any more than we can me.”
“Both human and electronic eyes will see a leather-clad, hairy-faced individual of impressive proportions.”
“Hopefully not too impressive—we don’t want to scare them.”
“Impressive proportions toned down, then.”
I grinned, loving his growing sense of humor more and more, and all but bounced up the steps. I pushed open the bright red metal doors, then stepped inside. The reception area was as modern as the outside of the building, with glass and bright colors being a central theme. The seated woman did something of a double take as we walked in. Her eyebrows rose slightly, but all she said was, “Can I help you?”
I dug my ID out of my pocket and showed it to her. “I need to talk to either James Parred or Catherine Moore about an entertainer they booked for Hallowed Ground this afternoon.”
She studied the badge for a moment, then frowned. “An investigator for the high council? What the hell is that?”
She had good eyes, because I’d deliberately kept the badge some distance from her.
