But we’d obviously gotten too close to uncovering who the face-shifter was, so he’d stepped out of Nadler’s life and into a new one. Unless Logan could reveal something about the man he’d known as Nadler, our search was right back at square one.
“I’m not sure I can help you,” Logan said. “He was just a client. I didn’t know much about him on a personal level.”
We’re not interested in his personal life, but rather his business one. I hesitated. What can you tell me about the deal he made with the heirs of James Trilby and Garvin Appleby?
Trilby and Appleby were the two other members of the consortium the fake Nadler had formed to purchase all the land around West Street. Their heirs had decided to sue the consortium—and therefore John Nadler, who had, when they died, become sole owner—for a bigger piece of the land pie. They’d reached an out-of-court settlement the day before Nadler had pulled the plug on his stolen identity.
“I’m not sure how that deal—”
Please, Mr. Logan, just answer the question.
He raked a hand through his hair. The action stirred the ghostly strands, making them whirl into the ether before settling back down.
From somewhere in the distance came a gentle vibration, and the sensation crept around me, making the shadowy world surrounding us tremble. It almost felt like the beginnings of a quake, but was that even possible on the astral fields? Even as the thought ran through my mind, the shadows around me began to quiver, and Adeline’s warning came back to me. I took a deep breath, imagining calmness. The shadowy world close to us stilled, but the distant vibration continued. It was a weird sensation—and it felt likleb it fele trouble. I forced myself to ignore it and returned my attention to Logan.
“Nadler agreed to pay them several million dollars each,” he said, “in exchange for them signing an agreement to accept the wills as they currently stand.”
And will those payments proceed now that Nadler is dead?
He frowned. “Of course. The heirs just won’t get the payment as quickly, because it’ll be tied up until Nadler’s estate is sorted.”
And who is Nadler’s heir? He has no children and he divorced his wife a long time ago. A fact, I thought bitterly, that hadn’t stopped the fake Nadler from killing her.
“You know, there’s a good percentage of men and women who forget to change their wills even after a second marriage, and it’s not unknown for the first partner to get the estate.” He paused, eyeing me critically. “Have you got a will, young woman? It’s never too late to start. I can offer you excellent—”
Thanks, I interrupted quickly, and rubbed imaginary arms. That vibration was getting stronger, and it was not pleasant. But I’m good will-wise. Now, Nadler’s heirs?
“How am I supposed to remember?” His tone was cross. “I haven’t got the paperwork with me, and he’s not my only client, you know.”
I know. Just think back to the agreement. Imagine you have it in your hand.
He frowned and a second later ghostly paper began to form between his hands. I didn’t move, not wanting to startle him and lose the moment.
Who is his heir, Mr. Logan?
“He’s got three—Mr. Harry Bulter, Mr. Jim O’Reilly, and a Ms. Genevieve Sands.”
A woman? One of Nadler’s heirs was a woman? Are any of them related to Mr. Nadler?
“Not as far as I’m aware.” He glanced up. “I still can’t see why—”
Mr. Nadler was a very wealthy man, I said easily. And it’s not unknown for heirs to kill their benefactor to get hold of their money.
“That, unfortunately, is true.”
How was Nadler’s estate divided among the three?
He glanced at the paperwork again. “All three have equal shares in everything.”
I frowned. This wasn’t making sense. Why would the shape-shifter go to all the trouble of killing Nadler off, then divide the estate he’d murdered to get control of among three people?
When was the will drawn up?
His gaze flicked down to the bottom of the paper. “The same day he signed the deal with Trilby’s and Appleby’s heirs.”
Which suggested an on-the-spot decision, but I very much doubted the man we were chasing ever did anything without forethought. Is there anything else you can tell me about Nadler? Any reason you believe someone might wa' fone mignt him dead?
He frowned. “Not really.”
I sighed. Logan hadn’t actually given us anything we couldn’t have found out via a little subversive hacking, so maybe his death had been nothing more than the face-shifter leaving no threads behind, no matter how small.
Thank you very much for your assistance, Mr. Logan—
“You could repay me by finding my limo, you know. It seems to have disappeared.”
Just use your phone and call it, Mr. Logan. He wouldn’t get anywhere with it, but hey, if it made him happy, then what the hell.
He made the right motions, and a somewhat fuzzy white limousine popped into existence. As Logan happily climbed in, I turned away. Time to return—
The thought was cut short by a scream.
A scream that suggested there was a woman on the astral plane in very big trouble.
I froze, not sure I could—or should—do anything. Then the scream echoed again, and it was so filled with fear and pain that goose bumps crawled across my imaginary skin. I glanced around for my watcher. He was standing about six feet away, his expression unconcerned as he looked in the direction from which the scream had come.
Are you going to do anything about that?
He turned to me, obviously surprised. Why would I? I am here to report your actions—nothing more, nothing less. But there is nothing to stop you from stepping in.
I guess not, I muttered, then closed my eyes and imagined myself standing near the screamer.
There was no obvious sense of movement, but I was suddenly somewhere I didn’t know. The building outlines, though still shadowed, were sharper here, but rubbish lay everywhere, rats ran in full view, and there were vast puddles of putrid-looking water.
Not the sort of place I’d ever want to be—on this plane, or in life.
A woman stood ten feet away. She was reed thin, with limp blond hair and an almost gaunt face. Her clothes were little more than gray rags and seemed to be unraveling of their own accord, exposing jigsaw sections of her torso and legs. She wasn’t trying to pull the threads back together, wasn’t trying to do much of anything other than scream.
But maybe she couldn’t do anything else. The man who stood in front of her had his palm pressed against her forehead and was burrowing ethereal fingers into her skull.
He was also the source of that uneasy sense of trouble I’d felt earlier—only it wasn’t coming from the stranger himself, but rather from the area immediately around him. It was as if the air were so repelled by his presence that it violently recoiled.
And the air wasn’t the only thing repelled. The Dusan crawled around my left arm, its dark eyes spitting fire, as if it wanted nothing more than to be free from the flesh that bound it to attack the man who stood before us.
A man I wasn’t about to fac beabout te unarmed.
I imagined Amaya in my hands, and she appeared in a blaze of purple fire, her normally shadowed blade so bright on the astral field it was almost impossible to look at her.
Hey, you. I projected my mind voice so hard it shook the very foundations of the buildings around us. Leave that woman alone.
He didn’t unhand her. Didn’t react in any way that I could immediately see. Then, slowly, he turned his head in my direction.
He had no face.
