“Which is enough to make any madman intent on evil extremely pissed.”

“I guess.” But why would he be reacting now to events that had happened this afternoon? If Handberry was a good thug-master—and we had no reason to believe he wasn’t—then he would have known almost immediately that something had gone wrong. The lack of communication from his men would have told him that.

No, this was caused by something else.

We continued to follow Handberry from a safe distance—a task aided by the fact there were few cars on the road. He slowed down once he hit Hoddle Street and headed away from the city, taking the Heidelberg Road turn-off then scooting along that until he reached Dan Murphy’s. He swung into the parking lot behind the liquor store, then climbed out and walked across to the house next to it.

Tao turned right onto a side street, then came to a halt several cars up from Handberry’s house. It was a small, single-fronted brick and—like the man who lived in it—rather ugly.

“What do you want to do now?” Tao asked as he killed the lights but kept the engine running.

“I don’t know.” I twisted around in the seat so I could see the house better. “I guess it depends on whether Handberry actually lives here or not.”

“Well, that’s a question that can be solved by a simple phone call.” He dug his phone out of his pocket and said, “Stane.” A few seconds later, I heard the answering rumble of Stane’s voice. “I need another favor if you’ve got the time.”

I tuned out their conversation, watching as lights went on inside the house. We were too far away to hear any noise or conversation from the house, and only Handberry’s silhouette appeared in any of the windows. But one thing I could sense was that there was an odd feeling in the night. A wrongness that made my skin crawl.

And it was different from the feeling I got when I looked at Handberry.

“Okay,” Tao said, his voice breaking into my thoughts and making me jump. “According to Stane, this is the address listed on Handberry’s license, meaning it’s probably his place.”

“Did Stane manage to pick up anything from the bug?”

“A telephone conversation. He’s enhancing the audio now, and running a search on a couple of names mentioned. He’ll let us know if he comes across anything.”

More lights went on at the back of the house, and the feeling of wrongness suddenly sharpened. I rubbed my arms and fought the urge to tell Tao to just get out of here.

“Looks like he might be settling in for the night,” Tao commented. “I really can’t see—”

The rest of his sentence was cut off by the sudden sound of screaming. Horrible, high-pitched, about-to-die screaming.

And it was coming from the house Handberry had entered.

Chapter Seven

“FUCK,” TAO SAID. “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?”

“I don’t know.” I quickly stripped out of Kiera’s coat so it wouldn’t be destroyed when I re-formed, then wrenched the car door open. Tao grabbed my arm before I could scramble out.

“Are you crazy? There’s no way I’m letting you go in there. Especially alone.”

“Tao,” I said, voice sharp with impatience, “I can go in as an Aedh. No one will see or hear me, and neither the cops nor the Directorate will know I’ve been there. You breaking in is a completely different story. Ring Uncle Rhoan for me,” I added, and gave him the number.

Tao made a low growling sound that spoke of frustration, but released my arm. “Go. But promise you’ll let me know if you need help.”

“I will.”

I scrambled out and ran for the front door, calling to my Aedh form as I did so. By the time I hit the front steps I was little more than a stream of fast-moving smoke, and I slipped easily under the gap between the door and the porch.

The screaming had stopped, but the silence was even more terrifying. I flowed through the house cautiously, looking for Handberry and whoever else was in here with him.

Because, given those screams, someone—or something—had to be.

The front section of the house was dark, and consisted of bedrooms and a bathroom, all of which were empty. The rear—which turned out to be a massive kitchen and living area that ran the entire width of the premises—was ablaze with lights.

Handberry lay sprawled in the middle of the kitchen, a knife clutched in one hand. His body was twisted, broken, suggesting that someone—something—had battered him to death. And yet there were no bruises and very little in the way of marks on his flesh to suggest this had actually happened. My gaze rose to his face—it was locked in an expression of terror, as if death had frozen the muscles into that position even though his flesh would still be warm.

I flowed past him and inspected the remaining rooms. I couldn’t see anyone, couldn’t feel anyone. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t someone here.

I went back to the kitchen and hovered over the body for several more seconds. Waiting to see if it was safe, wanting to delay the moment of change a little bit longer. Deep down, I already knew what I would confront once I found flesh again.

I pulled back, then called to my human form, dropping to the ground in a half crouch and staying there for several seconds as the room spun and my limbs trembled.

The scent of evil was so thick and strong, it made me gag. The charm resting against my chest flared into life, heating my skin fiercely but not burning. Even if the scent of evil hadn’t been so strong, that would have been warning enough that something had gone very wrong here.

I reached out psychically and it hit like an express train—the emptiness, the same terrible agony that the little girl in the hospital had gone through. Only Handberry had screamed from within and without—screamed and fought and struggled to survive.

To no avail.

His soul had been ripped free as fiercely and as efficiently as little Hanna’s.

I closed my eyes for a moment, furious at both the thing that was doing this and myself for not getting here earlier to try to save Handberry’s life. He might have been an evil weasel, but even he hadn’t deserved to die like this. Besides, his death destroyed the only real lead I’d had—unless Uncle Rhoan decided to share whatever he came up with. And I doubted he would—especially now, when I’d been following Handberry against his orders.

I pushed to my feet, hauling the threadbare remnants of my sweater back onto my shoulder as I dug my phone out of my pocket. Tao answered almost immediately.

“Risa?” he said quickly. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Handberry’s dead. Something has stolen his soul.” Tao swore rather colorfully, and I smiled grimly. “You want to give me a call when you spot Uncle Rhoan? He’s going to be pissed enough that we’re here. I don’t want him to catch me in the house.”

“Ris, he needs to know about the soul stealer—”

“They have highly trained witches and clairvoyants of all sorts at the Directorate. They’ll uncover it soon enough. Trust me, in this case, discretion is the better part of valor.”

He grunted, clearly not happy but not about to argue. “Okay.”

I hung up, then glanced down at the body again, feeling the tendrils of pain still emanating from his flesh. After taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I said softly, “Azriel.”

I felt him before I saw him. He was heat and energy and perhaps a hint of anger. I turned and saw him snap into being near the windows at the far end of the living room. His gaze met mine, one eyebrow lifted in query; then he straightened abruptly. Obviously, the scent and feel of evil had just hit him.

“The soul stealer has been here.” His words were clipped as he strode forward. I stepped sideways, giving him room, not really wanting to touch him even though every sense I had screamed with awareness of his presence.

“Yes. It happened about three minutes ago. I came straight in, but whatever did this was already gone.”

“You should have called me straightaway.”

“I had no idea Handberry’s soul was in danger until I re-formed.”

He grunted and stepped over Handberry’s twisted legs, squatting next to him and touching his fingers to either temple. The edges of the silver sword strapped across his back ran with blue fire, and I noticed that the wing tattoo that was so noticeable across the left side of his chest and neck was actually part of a stylized dragon image that dominated the left side of his spine. The right-side wing seemed to fade into his flesh before it could sweep under his armpit. But there were other tattoos running up the back of his neck and disappearing into his hairline—a mix of patterns that sometimes resembled the known (one looked vaguely rose-like, another like an eye with a comet tail) and at other times looked nothing more than random swirls. But I very much doubted random was a word known or spoken in the reaper culture.

Energy suddenly surged, and in the small space between his hands pictures began to flow—flickering images that moved too fast for me to clearly see. But I got the gist of them. They were Handberry’s last moments.

I bit my lip against the urge to ask Azriel what he saw and waited until the images died. He removed his hands but didn’t immediately get up. He bowed his head for a moment and spoke, the words musical and oddly captivating, but no language I knew or had ever heard before.

It was a prayer, I realized, and wondered what good it would do when Handberry’s soul would never be reborn, never know life again.

When Azriel finished, he rose and glanced at me. Fury burned in the depths of his eyes. “The thing that did this is not something I’ve seen before. It appears to be little more than a shapeless gray shroud.”

“Will that hinder you tracking the thing down?”

“Yes. It was brought here by magic, so there’s no scent trail to follow.”

“It won’t be a witch.” Despite what Hollywood would have us believe, witches would never, ever be capable of something like this. The Wiccan Rede banned them from harming anyone—and that included themselves—except in cases of self-defense.

And then there was the whole threefold law—one that said all the good a person does for another returns threefold, as does all the harm. No true Wiccan would risk hurting another, let alone killing them.

Those who did cast dark spells weren’t witches. They might be sorcerers, they might be Satanists, or they might even be Charna—a name given to those who followed the darker paths of magic.

Azriel nodded. “The person behind this is someone who follows darkness. The magic is powered by blood. That is never a good sign.”

A shudder ran through me. Blood magic. The worst kind. “What about the soul stealer? I know you said you couldn’t see it, but were you able to see anything that might provide a clue in Handberry’s memories?”

He shook his head. “No. All this man saw was a twisted, smoky essence.”

I frowned. “That could describe the Aedh.”

“This wasn’t Aedh. They can free souls without the need for this.” He indicated Handberry with a short, sharp movement of his hand that was all anger and frustration.

My frown deepened. “I was under the impression that it was tough for Aedh to take souls from flesh.”

“It is, but that doesn’t mean they have to resort to such force. It drains them, that is all.”

Great. So we’d eliminated a possibility, but it didn’t leave us a whole lot closer to the who.

“Blood magic has an individual taint, so did you sense it in Hanna’s room?”

He shook his head. “But that death was older. Within an hour, the scent of this will be long gone, too.”

“Then why can’t you follow it back to its source now?”

“Because it begins and ends in this room.”

Which more than likely meant some sort of transport spell had been involved. Great. Just great.

“So basically, we’re no closer to solving the riddle of these deaths than we were before.”

“No.” He glanced at me, and there was something almost annoyed in his otherwise impassive features. “It would be useful, though, if you slept like a regular person. I would have more time to hunt.”

I said, “Hunt away, reaper. It’s not like I want you to follow me around.”

“As I said before, that is not an option.” Though his tone suggested he wished it was. Either reapers were more capable of emotion than I’d originally thought, or I was reading way more into the brief changes in his expression than was warranted.

“So if you’re stuck following me around, why didn’t you help me when I was attacked?”

“As I’ve already said, I only follow. I do not interfere.”

“Well, your quest would have been up shit creek if those men had succeeded in killing me.”

“That I would have stopped. You are no good to any of us dead.”

“Gee, that’s such a comfort.” I glanced at my watch then said, “I hate to break this to you, but I’m not going to get a whole lot of sleep tonight. So you’re stuck with following me around for a while yet.”

He didn’t say anything, but displeasure seemed to swirl through the heated air. The phone rang into the silence, making me jump a little. It was Tao.

“A car with Directorate plates just pulled into the parking lot behind Dan Murphy’s,” he said quickly. “Get your ass into gear if you don’t want to be caught in there.”

“Wind down the car window for me.” I hung up and met Azriel’s gaze. “I need to go.”

“Call if you discover anything else.” He crossed his arms, watching as I flowed into my other form, his expression as unreadable as ever. Then he simply winked out of existence.