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Azriel opened the white-painted wood and glass door and ushered me inside. Darkness greeted me, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. The room was midsized, with a bar to the right and a stage at the back of the room. A thin woman with an oddly ragged red streak running through the middle of her dark hair was spotlighted on the stage. She was playing some sort of lute, and the music was strange and yet somehow evocative. There were more than a dozen people sitting at the various tables scattered throughout the room, and most of them had their eyes closed, listening with something close to rapture in their expressions.
I walked across to one of the tables sitting in the deeper shadows of the room and pulled out the chair. “Is she a dark spirit?”
Azriel hesitated, studying her as he sat down next to me. “It is difficult to tell. She has some sort of shield around her.”
I frowned. “Meaning you can’t break past it?”
“I could, but then she would sense that I am here. Spirits may not be the normal prey of dark angels, but they generally will not take a chance and remain in our presence if they sense us.”
I studied her for a moment, noting her long, thin fingers and sharply pointed fingernails. Handy for plucking lute strings . . . or slicing stomach flesh, I thought, and shivered.
“Why would she have a shield up if she wasn’t up to no good?”
“She is sitting in a room filled with vampires, many of whom are not above using their telepathic powers to seduce or influence the thoughts of others. It is natural she would have some means to protect herself from such events.”
That did make sense. I continued to frown at the woman on the stage. There was something about her that made my nerves crawl, but maybe that was nothing more than my desire for this hunt to be easy.
“She’ll have to take a break soon. We can interview her when she does.” I leaned back in my chair and glanced at Azriel. He was little more than shadow in this darkness, but his eyes shone brightly—almost as brightly as his sword. “Why is Valdis reacting? Amaya’s not.”
Can, she said.
No. The last thing I wanted was her hissing like a banshee in my brain.
Banshee not. Her tone was a trifle huffy. Maybe she’d been taking lessons from Azriel.
“I had good reason for the huffiness,” he replied evenly. “And I thought we’d moved past that.”
My eyebrows rose. “You heard her?”
He nodded. “Through you. And a banshee is a spirit; she’s a demon.”
Better, Amaya grouched.
I snorted. “Tell me, do all demon swords have such attitude?”
He smiled. “The attitude of the sword very much depends on the attitude of the owner.”
“So you’re saying I’m a sweet-tempered, silver-tongued woman?”
He caught my hand in his, drew it to his lips, and kissed it. “Would I dare say anything else?”
“Usually, yes.”
“Then maybe I am merely in an exceptionally good mood.”
“Good sweaty sex will do that to you every time,” I replied, voice wry.
His smile grew, touching the corners of his eyes and making my heart do several little happy skips. “Then perhaps I should get in a snit more often.”
I laughed. The sound seemed to echo softly through the darkness, and the woman on the stage turned to look at us. Though she didn’t move, there was an almost imperceptible tightening in her shoulder and arm muscles.
“She knows what I am.” Azriel squeezed my hand, then released me. “Get ready to move. I believe she’s about to finish her set.”
The woman on the stage finished the song she was playing, then rose and bowed to the audience. They didn’t immediately respond, but as the spotlight died and she walked from the stage, it was as if a spell had been released and they all began to clap—some conservatively, some not.
I rose and wove my way through the tables, planning to cut the woman off before she could slip backstage. She was moving deceptively fast, however, and slipped through the curtains and disappeared from sight. I swore softly and ran forward, flipping the curtains aside and following the sound of her retreating steps down a dark corridor. Somewhere up ahead, a door opened and closed. I slowed.
Valdis’s blue fire flickered across the walls, highlighting the peeling paint and dusty cobwebs. I shivered, not wanting to think about webs when I was chasing a woman whose alternate form could well be the world’s biggest spider.
