There’s less damage here, Azriel commented. It does look as if the bomb had been positioned to take out whoever disarmed the security system.
And that suggests maybe Jantz disappeared of his own accord and this bomb was a security measure on Lauren’s part, just in case he came back.
Possibly.
I still think there has to be something here. Something we’ve missed.
If there was something to be found in the living area, then there is little chance of recovering it.
I know. Just as I knew the only way I might be able to feel something was to regain human form. I swung around, studying the floors and walls. There were no gaping holes and, aside from a few cracks, nothing to indicate that any of the walls in this area was in immediate danger of collapse. The smoke and the fire were both a threat, but if I was quick, it should be okay.
Let me re-form first, Azriel said, and immediately did so. I watched, body tense—or as tense as energy particles could be—waiting for something to happen. For the broken building to react in some way or for some spell or demon to materialize.
Nothing did.
He glanced at me and nodded. I called to the Aedh, felt her sweep through me, and in very little time I was standing beside Azriel. A heartbeat after that, the air—thick with dust and smoke and heat—caught in my throat and sent me into a coughing fit. But as I half bent over, trying to get clean air into my lungs, I felt it—a sliver of dark energy. One I’d felt before, and which belonged to our sorceress.
“This is insane,” Azriel growled. “You shouldn’t—”
“There is something here,” I cut in hoarsely. “Some sort of magic.”
He frowned. “I cannot feel anything beyond your discomfort.”
“That doesn’t make it any less here.” I stood upright, but the minute I did, the sensation went away. All I could feel was the thick dust; all I could hear was the crackle of fire, the groan of broken walls, and the wail of sirens drawing close. I frowned, bent over again, and the sensation reappeared. “This way.”
I followed the tenuous trail out of the bedroom, stepping over chunks of marble and concrete, trying not to breathe in too much of the dust and smoke. My throat burned, and I needed water badly, but there was no way I’d leave this place until I found whatever that slight tease of magic was.
The trail led into the small laundry, of all places. I paused, looking around, trying to pinpoint the sliver of darkness. After a moment, I moved to the cupboard near the washer/dryer. When I opened the door, a laundry hamper slid out, half-filled with shirts, undies, and socks. Somewhat reluctantly, wishing I had some gloves so I didn’t have to touch used undies with bare hands, I fished around. My fingertips soon brushed something solid near the bottom. I caught it and pulled it out.
“As dark magic goes, that pair of trousers looks particularly unthreatening,” Azriel commented.
“Don’t they just.” They also felt rather heavy. I explored each of the pockets and, from the last one, pulled out a phone. Its surface crawled with the dark sensation of magic. I handed it to Azriel, then tossed the pants back into the hamper. “Can you feel it?”
He nodded and turned the vid-phone over, studying it. “I do not believe it is spelled, as such. It simply feels as if magic has leached into its surface.”
“Can magic leach into surfaces?” I barely managed to get the words out when I started coughing again. The smoke was getting thicker, the heat stronger, and the emergency response vehicles had stopped on the street outside. We had to get out of here.
He shrugged. “I am not familiar enough with magic to answer that question, but the Brindle witches might be able to.”
They probably could, but I’d already jeopardized their safety enough. I wasn’t about to take this phone to them and risk either setting off a spell we couldn’t detect or bringing the wrath of the sorceress down on them.
“Then what do you wish to do?” Azriel said. “As you noted, we must get out of here.”
“Let’s go to the Directorate,” I said. “Maybe Uncle Rhoan—or at least someone in the Directorate—will be able to break whatever security is on the phone and trace who it belongs to.”
He raised his eyebrows even as he reached for me. “And if there is a spell?”
“They have more than enough witches and plenty of spell-nullifying rooms to cope with it.” I shoved my hand into my pocket and wrapped my fingers around my phone again.
“Good plan,” he said, and zipped us out of there.
“I do have them occasionally,” I said, as we reappeared in front of the inconspicuous green-glass building that housed the Directorate.
“Apparently so.” His voice was dry.
I ignored the comment and, after tugging my clothes into some semblance of order, fished my phone out of my pocket and walked toward the Directorate’s main entrance.
“Call Rhoan,” I said, and a heartbeat later, his image appeared on the vid-screen.