"A few hours." He shoved the letter at me. "This is yours."
I took it rather warily, then glanced at Azriel. He rose in one swift movement and touched Larson lightly on the forehead. The shifter stilled and his face went slack. Azriel closed his eyes and I watched the passersby, checking that no one was getting too interested in just what Azriel was doing.
Then he opened his eyes again. "Your father had his Razan deliver the note and, this time, he did not accompany him."
"You've picked the Razan's image from Larson's brain?"
"Yes. And the good news is, Larson picked the Razan's pocket." He reached inside the rat-shifter's jacket, slid a wallet from the pocket, and handed it to me.
I flipped it open and pulled out his driver's license. The Razan pictured was average-looking with blond hair, blue eyes, and a scar running down the left side of his face. Even in the picture, he didn't look like the sort of man you'd want to double-cross. "According to this, the Razan's name is Pierre Danton, and he lives in Southbank."
Which meant he had some money, because that area was expensive, thanks to its close proximity to the city.
"I do not believe the identity will be real," Azriel commented. "And he has no doubt realized by now that this rat has been through his pockets. He may not be there if we check it."
"I doubt a rat picking his pocket will overly worry him, other than the inconvenience of having to replace all his cards." I waved the license lightly. "How come the Raziq's Razan live in sewers, and my father's live in plush apartments? And who the hell does the Razan working for the dark sorcerer belong to, given that they all bear the same sort of ownership tat?"
"I cannot explain why one group lives in luxury and the other not, especially as your father is not known for his generosity when it comes to Razan. As to the other question—" He hesitated. "There are many possibilities."
I raised a querying eyebrow when he didn't go on. "Such as?"
"It is always possible that either the Raziq or your father works with the sorcerer."
I frowned. "Both were pretty damn pissed that he got the key rather than them."
Azriel nodded. His fingers were still resting on the rat-shifter's forehead, keeping him still and compliant. "But working with the sorcerer does not mean they ever intended him to get his hands on the keys."
Then the sorcerer had outsmarted them all, and that made him doubly dangerous. "You didn't mention the third possibility."