different from becoming an Aedh. It encompassed the particles of my being, then swept me into a bright orb of energy—where I hung, motionless, for several seconds.
Then the energy surged again, and I was suddenly back between two stones. But not the same two, I realized. These stones were smaller, darker, and stood in a square, windowless room rather than a storage locker.
Excitement and trepidation surged in equal amounts. I carefully moved from between the two stones, then slowly turned around. The room was small—maybe ten feet square—with white walls and coffee-colored carpet that had seen better days. There was nothing else besides the stones, although the carpet still bore the impressions of furniture that had once been present.
I turned fully around and found the door. It was closed and, on closer inspection, locked. Not that that was a problem in this form. I squeezed through the gap between the base of the door and the carpet, and found myself in a long, wide hall. Light flooded in from the ceiling-high, almost industrial-looking window to my right and, beyond it, there was a decent-sized courtyard. To my left were four more closed doors and, down at the far end, what looked to be a kitchen.
Other than the soft ticking of a distant clock, the house was silent. If someone was here, they were deathly quiet. I hesitated, then cautiously moved to the left. I wasn’t about to take any chances, even though there was little chance of anyone seeing me in this form.
Anyone human, that was.
Which didn’t mean I was safe. Whoever owned this place was, at the very least, involved with a magician. At worst, they were working with either Nadler or Lucian, or both. Either way, they were likely to be more knowledgeable about all things non-human than the average human.
The first door led into a small but neat bathroom, and the next two were bedrooms—both empty. I looked around for some clue as to who might be using them, but other than the fact they were male, I didn’t find much.
The fourth door led to another bedroom, but this time, it wasn’t empty.
I froze near the door and studied the man sprawled on the bed. The blankets were twisted around his legs, leaving part of his butt and his back uncovered. He was muscular and thickset—the body of a wrestler rather than a sprinter—and his skin lightly tanned. He had two tattoos on the upper part of his shoulders—one of a dragon with two swords crossed above it and the other a ring of barbed wire.
My stomach—or whatever the equivalent was in this form—sank.
We’d seen tats like these several times now, and not only on the man who’d unleashed the hell hounds on Jak and me when we were in the tunnel, but on the misshapen shifters who’d attacked me in a parking lot and on the man my father used to his deliver notes to a human courier.
Was this Razan the one from the tunnel? I really couldn’t say because I hadn’t taken all that much notice of what he’d looked like. But if he wasn’t, why was he wearing the same branding as all the others? And why were there Razan involved with the machinations of a dark sorcerer in the first place?
I refused to believe my father was—in any way—involved with a sorcerer. Not when the magic he could command was stronger than anything a mere human—light or dark—could command. And given that he wanted the keys for his own quest of domination, it was hard to believe he’d be in cahoots with Nadler and his schemes. And yet his Razan appeared to have the same branding as this man and the others . . .
Then the reason clicked. Anger surged, so fierce and bright, and the man on the bed stirred.
God, I thought, I’m an idiot .
Lucian was the connection. He had to be. He’d been my father’s chrání , so it was more than possible his Razan bore the same markings as my father’s. And he was also involved with a woman who was a dark sorceress. She might not be the one we were after, but the odds were that
Then the energy surged again, and I was suddenly back between two stones. But not the same two, I realized. These stones were smaller, darker, and stood in a square, windowless room rather than a storage locker.
Excitement and trepidation surged in equal amounts. I carefully moved from between the two stones, then slowly turned around. The room was small—maybe ten feet square—with white walls and coffee-colored carpet that had seen better days. There was nothing else besides the stones, although the carpet still bore the impressions of furniture that had once been present.
I turned fully around and found the door. It was closed and, on closer inspection, locked. Not that that was a problem in this form. I squeezed through the gap between the base of the door and the carpet, and found myself in a long, wide hall. Light flooded in from the ceiling-high, almost industrial-looking window to my right and, beyond it, there was a decent-sized courtyard. To my left were four more closed doors and, down at the far end, what looked to be a kitchen.
Other than the soft ticking of a distant clock, the house was silent. If someone was here, they were deathly quiet. I hesitated, then cautiously moved to the left. I wasn’t about to take any chances, even though there was little chance of anyone seeing me in this form.
Anyone human, that was.
Which didn’t mean I was safe. Whoever owned this place was, at the very least, involved with a magician. At worst, they were working with either Nadler or Lucian, or both. Either way, they were likely to be more knowledgeable about all things non-human than the average human.
The first door led into a small but neat bathroom, and the next two were bedrooms—both empty. I looked around for some clue as to who might be using them, but other than the fact they were male, I didn’t find much.
The fourth door led to another bedroom, but this time, it wasn’t empty.
I froze near the door and studied the man sprawled on the bed. The blankets were twisted around his legs, leaving part of his butt and his back uncovered. He was muscular and thickset—the body of a wrestler rather than a sprinter—and his skin lightly tanned. He had two tattoos on the upper part of his shoulders—one of a dragon with two swords crossed above it and the other a ring of barbed wire.
My stomach—or whatever the equivalent was in this form—sank.
We’d seen tats like these several times now, and not only on the man who’d unleashed the hell hounds on Jak and me when we were in the tunnel, but on the misshapen shifters who’d attacked me in a parking lot and on the man my father used to his deliver notes to a human courier.
Was this Razan the one from the tunnel? I really couldn’t say because I hadn’t taken all that much notice of what he’d looked like. But if he wasn’t, why was he wearing the same branding as all the others? And why were there Razan involved with the machinations of a dark sorcerer in the first place?
I refused to believe my father was—in any way—involved with a sorcerer. Not when the magic he could command was stronger than anything a mere human—light or dark—could command. And given that he wanted the keys for his own quest of domination, it was hard to believe he’d be in cahoots with Nadler and his schemes. And yet his Razan appeared to have the same branding as this man and the others . . .
Then the reason clicked. Anger surged, so fierce and bright, and the man on the bed stirred.
God, I thought, I’m an idiot .
Lucian was the connection. He had to be. He’d been my father’s chrání , so it was more than possible his Razan bore the same markings as my father’s. And he was also involved with a woman who was a dark sorceress. She might not be the one we were after, but the odds were that
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