John Nadler had been the man behind the consortium that had bought up most of the land all around Stane’s shop. Not that Nadler—or rather, Lauren, because the real Nadler had been long dead by the time the buyout had happened—had wanted the land per se; he’d just wanted to control what lay underneath it—a major ley-line intersection. Such intersections were places of great power and could be used to manipulate time, reality, or fate. But they could also be used to create a rift between this world and the next, enabling those with enough power here on Earth to step onto the gray fields. And that’s exactly what Lauren had succeeded in doing, too, but only with the help of Lucian, a rebel Raziq with destruction plans of his own.
And to think I’d not only bedded that bastard, but trusted him, too. My instincts had been way, way off as far as he was concerned.
At least he was dead. At least he couldn’t do any more harm to anyone I cared about. Couldn’t rape or impregnate anyone else, as he had Ilianna, and more than likely the sorceress.
If she was pregnant, I thought suddenly, how would that affect her ability to take other forms? While face shifting shouldn’t hurt any child she carried, I had no idea whether attempting a full-body transformation would. I imagined it would be rather hard to disguise a rounded belly, as she wouldn’t be able to manipulate the flesh of the child within her. Even if it was little more than a few weeks old, it would have a soul and a power all its own. She could change her flesh, but not her child’s. Nor, I imagined, could she change the physical space that child used.
Maybe we’d better start looking for men who looked pregnant—although given the number of middle-aged men who seemed to have beer bellies these days, that might not be such an easy task.
“So Harry Bulter was one of the names on the index cards?” Azriel asked.
“No, of course not. That would be too easy.”
“Yeah, I guess it would,” I agreed, amused. “So how did you find him?”
“By following the connections.” Stane shook his head, something close to admiration in his expression. “I can tell you one thing—the bitch may be as mad as a hatter, but she certainly knows how to cover her tracks.”
A skill no doubt garnered from her association with Lucian, who’d been banished to Earth’s plane for centuries, and who’d had the time to learn not only the art of deception, but also, we suspected, that of dark magic.
“So how did you find her in the end?”
“By tracing back not only every single name, but all the traceable connections each name had.”
He spun around and flicked a finger across one of the light screens. An image appeared on the next screen—a tall, gray-haired gentleman with stern features and a somewhat forbidding nose. “This is Harrison Jantz, a stockbroker who has purchased several items from our dead jeweler. His address on file was Elizabeth Street in Sydney, right opposite Hyde Park.”
“Expensive,” I murmured. “He’s obviously a very good stockbroker.”
“Was a very good stockbroker,” Stane commented. “He was reported missing yesterday, after not showing up for work several days in a row.”
“Coincidence, or the sorceress simply killing off another of her identities?” Of course, it hardly mattered, given that she sure as hell seemed to have enough of them—but it was damn frustrating to once again be a step behind her. Though how she managed to keep track of them, let alone keep them all alive as viable identities, I had no idea.
If she is responsible for this man’s disappearance, Azriel commented, then she is well and truly out of hell.
A point I hadn’t even thought about. You’d think just once the fates would give us a break, I all but grouched. Just once. Is that too much to ask?
Apparently, he said, with a mental shrug. You’ll get used to it.
I bet I won’t. And they had better get used to me complaining. Azriel might be all stoic and accepting, but I wasn’t about to be. Not if this was the pattern they’d set for the rest of our lives together.
If they’d planned a “rest of our lives” for us, that was. I very much suspected that was still up in the air, especially given Azriel’s nonanswer earlier.
“I can’t tell you whether it was the real Jantz that was reported missing or the fake,” Stane said. “They did a search of his apartment, but there was no evidence of any sort of foul play. Nor has his body been found—and remember, Nadler’s corpse was found pretty quickly after our mad sorceress decided to shed the identity.”
“Is it common for Jantz to disappear like this?”
“No. According to the people who filed the missing persons report, it was extremely unprecedented for him to go away without at least informing one of them. I think we’d be wise to presume death.”
Totally wise. “So how did uncovering Jantz lead you to Bulter?”
“Ha. That’s where it gets interesting,” Stane said. “The apartment Jantz lived in is owned by a private consortium. As is usual with those sorts of companies, there are a couple executives who are responsible for securing targeted business, real estate, or whatever else the consortium might wish to purchase, and who play a central role in negotiations relating to all elements of the deal. It’s the consortium’s name on all legal documents rather than each investor.”
I nodded. “This is sounding very similar to the consortium Nadler set up.”
“That’s because it basically is. We couldn’t find anything about that consortium because the paper trail led to a company that was listed offshore, and it’s damn near impossible to trace the details of who might be involved with offshore businesses.”
“But you’ve had a breakthrough,” I said, smiling.
“But I’ve had a breakthrough,” he echoed. “A mob called the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists has spent years sifting through millions of leaked documents and recently released an updated report on those involved with offshore accounts, trusts, etcetera. And one of the names in that report just happened to be Harry Bulter. And this,” he added, swinging around to grab a piece of paper from his desk, “is his address in Sydney.”