Darkness Splintered

My smiled grew. “You could actually purchase them yourself.”

Shock claimed his expression, although his brown eyes twinkled. “Buy them myself? Good god, I don’t buy anything, dear woman. I’m a trader. Unfortunately, crates of Dom Perignon aren’t something I often come across in the electronics market.”

“Then you need to get better contacts.” I glanced at Tao. “Are you heading home?”

He shook his head. “I have a feeling if I do, the elemental might wrest control from me again. I seem to do better when I have company.”

I hesitated, wondering if his being here was actually safe for Stane, then mentally slapped myself. Stane was probably in more danger from my actions than from any possibility that Tao would hurt him. So I simply said, “Do you need anything brought here from home?”

He shook his head. “Whatever I need, I’ll borrow from Stane. I just don’t —” he paused, and half shrugged. “Keep in contact.”

“I will.” I squeezed his arm gently, and tried to ignore the heat so evident in his flesh, even through the barrier of his clothes. The elemental was far from finished with this battle.

Fear washed through me yet again, but there was nothing I could do but ignore it. And hope that fate had a better plan for him than an eternity locked in nothing but fire. I turned to Azriel. “Let’s head to Adeline’s, and see if she can help us.”

He nodded, caught my hand, and a heartbeat later we were standing outside Adeline’s front gate. I raised an eyebrow. “Why not inside?”

“Because she would not appreciate such an unannounced intrusion, and given we wish her help, I thought this wiser.”

“Good thinking,” I said, and opened the wrought iron front gate.

“Someone in this team has to do it,” he replied evenly.

It took a moment for me to realize I’d just been insulted. By Azriel, of all people. My gaze shot to his, and I saw the amusement lurking underneath the serious expression. “I can’t believe you just said that!”

“Is not such a comment almost expected in this world?”

I grinned. “Yeah, but it’s not something I expected from you.”

The amusement grew. “Alas, the more time I spend in flesh, the more human my tendencies become.”

“So I’ve got a lifetime of insults to look forward to?”

“Only if you do something that would warrant such a comment.”

“I’ve hardly done something now.”

“No.” His smile broke free. “But it seemed an opportune moment to practice.”

He touched a hand to my spine, gently ushering me forward. I snorted softly and headed along the tiled pathway that wove its way to Adeline’s front door. Her house was one of those beautiful old Victorians filled with character and age. Two graceful old elms dominated her front lawn, but underneath them lay a riot of colorful flowers that filled the air with perfume. It should have overwhelmed my olfactory senses, but it didn’t.

I made my way up the steps and walked to the front door. A little gold bell sat on the right edge of the door frame, its rope cord swaying gently in the breeze. I rang it a couple of times, and the joyous sound it made had me smiling.

Footsteps echoed inside; then the wooden door opened. Adeline Greenfield was a short woman with close- cut gray hair, weathered features, and round figure. She reminded me of the grandmotherly types so often seen on TV sitcoms, and it wasn’t until you looked into her bright blue eyes that you began to suspect she was anything other than that. Her eyes glowed with a power that was almost unworldly.

“Risa,” she said, opening the security door with a welcoming smile. “Perfect timing.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You were expecting me?”

“Of course.” She stepped aside and waved us in. “I’m glad your reaper chose to be polite, however. I do so detest visitors popping into my home unannounced.”

“Which suggests you get more than your fair share of visitors popping in unannounced.” I stepped past her.

“Just head for the sitting room, dear,” she said. “And yes, I do. Ghosts have no sense of privacy these days, I’m afraid. It’s the new generation. No manners.”

I smiled and walked down the hall, my footsteps echoing on the old wooden floorboards. The air inside Adeline’s house generally smelled of ginger and various spices, but underneath them this time ran the warm, rich smell of coffee. She really had been expecting me, because Adeline didn’t drink it – she preferred tea to coffee. Her sitting room was cozy and dominated by a log fire. Embers glowed within the ashes and lent the room extra warmth. Two well-padded armchairs sat in front of the fireplace and, in between them, there was a small coffee table on which sat a teapot, a bone china cup and saucer, and the source of the coffee smell – a large mug of it, in fact.

“Please, sit,” Adeline said. When I did so, she handed me the mug, then glanced at Azriel. “Would you like anything, young man?”

“No, thank you,” Azriel said, amusement in his voice. I guess there were a few people who actually called him young man.

“Right, then,” she said, sitting down on the chair opposite and pouring tea for herself. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m afraid we’re here to ask your brother, Michael —”

“Michael?” she cut in, with a light frown. “He’s been dead for forty-odd years now.”

“Yes, I know, but we came across his name in our search” – I hesitated, then remembered I’d told her at least some of the story the last time we’d been here – “for the keys to heaven and hell’s gates, and were just wondering —”

“I assure you,” Adeline interrupted again. “Michael would never be involved in such a theft. Alive or dead.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that he was. It’s just that we think someone might have assumed his identity. In which case, we need to know more about Michael in order to track down the fraud.”

She studied me for a moment, then rose and walked over to the mantelpiece. She picked up a small, framed photograph and offered it to me. “That’s Michael. It was taken just before he died.”

The man in the photograph was silver haired, with blue eyes and round, kind features and a build not dissimilar to Adeline’s – although he was far thinner than she now was. “How old was he here?”

“Nearly thirty. Gray hair runs in the family, I’m afraid.”

“And do you have any contact with his friends? Was he close to anyone in particular, or did he make a new acquaintance just before he died?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Why?”

I ignored her question, asking instead, “And how did he die?”

“Accident. He was heavily into the motor cross scene, and slid off during a race and hit several trees. Unfortunately, one of the smaller ones speared him. He never recovered.”

So, an accident rather than murder, Azriel commented. Perhaps in this case, the shifter merely appropriated the name of someone with few relatives.

Sounds like it. Still, it couldn’t hurt to be sure. “And he was buried appropriately?”

Her frown grew. “Of course. I ensured he could not be raised, if that is your next question. And it isn’t as if a zombie would be much use to anyone anyway. They are very obviously dead.”

But they could still be damn dangerous if raised by the wrong person.

“True, but that wasn’t the point of the question. You see, Michael is not the only person whose identity our shifter has stolen, but up until your brother, he’s murdered all those whose lives he’s stepped into. I just wanted to make sure Michael wasn’t another of his victims.”

“Ah,” she said softly. “Then no, he isn’t. It was very much an accident – there were plenty of witnesses to the event.”

At least that was something. I handed the photograph back. “If someone is using his identity, is there any way you could trace them?”

“Magically, you mean?”