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“It’s all right, Mac,” Rhoan said, as he came around the corner. In the foyer’s light, his red hair gleamed like fire. “These two are here at my request.”
I rose and walked toward him. His sharp gray gaze briefly swept me. “You really need to get some rest in the next twenty-four hours. You look like shit.”
“Well, thanks.” I kissed his cheeks. “It’s good to see you, too.”
He half smiled, but it didn’t lift the seriousness in his eyes. “I mean it. You can’t keep running on empty, Ris. It won’t do anyone any good.” His gaze moved beyond me, and he made a slight nod of acknowledgment. “Nice to see you, reaper.”
See? I am not the only one who notices these things, Azriel said, even as he said out loud, “And you.”
Rhoan’s gaze returned to mine. “What’s the problem?”
“I prefer it if we were somewhere secure. Too many possible listeners hanging about out in the open.”
“The Directorate’s foyer has more antilistening devices than most secure offices could even dream of.” But his gaze flickered briefly beyond me, and I knew then he’d caught my meaning. “But if it would make you feel better, come along.”
He swung around and led us to the lifts. No one spoke as we headed down into the true heart of the Directorate. The ten levels aboveground might be the public face of the Directorate, but it was here, in the five stories underground, where the guardians were housed and trained, and where the liaisons—the people who filed the guardians’ reports, who catered to their everyday needs, and who gave them their assignments—operated.
The lift came to a halt and the doors slid open. The thick smell of vampire swept in, but underneath it ran the sweeter scent of shifters. Once upon a time, this section of the Directorate had operated mainly at night, simply because most guardians had been vampires. But over the last fifteen years or so, more shifters and psychics had been employed to cover daytime operations.
Rhoan led us through a maze of halls, then finally stopped and slapped his palm against a scanner. The door slid open. He stepped to one side and waved me in. The room was small and sparsely furnished, with little more than a coffee machine and a table that had half a dozen chairs scattered around it. It was also a room protected by magic. It caressed my skin, a touch that was warm and yet filled with power. It wasn’t as strong or as ancient as the force that protected the Brindle, but it wasn’t something anyone sane would want to mess around with.
“Okay,” Rhoan said, heading for the coffee machine. “What’s the problem?”
“Our sorceress just blew up a rather expensive Sydney apartment—”
“Which undoubtedly explains the torn state of your clothing and the smell of smoke,” he cut in. “I gather the bomb was meant for whoever owns the apartment, rather than you?”
“We think so,” I said. “It didn’t detonate until we deactivated the security system.”
Rhoan punched several buttons on the coffee machine, then said, “How did you survive the blast?”
“We were in energy form, so it simply blew us out rather than up. We were lucky.”
“Apparently so.” He didn’t make the obvious comment—that one day we wouldn’t be—though I could almost see the thought cross his mind. “Why did she destroy the apartment? Who owned it?”
I pulled a chair closer to the table, then sat down and told him about Harrison Jantz. “We’re not sure why Jantz has disappeared, but if our sorceress set the bomb to take him out rather than destroy any evidence she might have left there, then we need to find Jantz ourselves, and fast.”
“Which is why you’re here?” He carried two mugs of coffee over and handed me one.
“Yes, but also because of this.” I glanced at Azriel. He placed the phone we’d discovered at the apartment on the table. “The same sort of magic Lauren uses clings to its surface, so we doubt it’s Jantz’s. We were wondering if the witches here could defuse whatever spell might be on this thing, then trace the owner.”
“It’s more than likely a burn phone. I mean, surely your sorceress wouldn’t be daft enough to leave something like this behind at the scene of her crime.”
“It was in a pair of men’s pants. Maybe she forgot it was in them when they were tossed into the laundry basket.”
He frowned. “Why would your sorceress be leaving men’s pants in Jantz’s apartment?”
“Because she’s a multishifter who can take on both male and female forms.” I hesitated. “She has, in the past
, taken my form, so be really careful if you get an unexpected call from me requesting a meeting somewhere private.”
“All the calls I get from you are unexpected.” His voice was dry. “But I do see your point. No clandestine meetings with you from now on, then.”
“I’m serious, Uncle Rhoan. I have no idea how much this bitch knows about me, but I don’t want to risk your life any more than I already have.”
“Ris,” he said gently, “I’m a guardian. Danger is an inherent part of my job.”
“I know, and that’s not what I meant.”
