"The fucking keys, at a guess. Why didn’t you call in help?"
"I had help." And probably better help than anything either he or the Directorate could provide—and safer, too, given Director Hunter’s interest in the whole affair. I had no doubt I’d catch flak over my failure to keep her informed as to what we were up to, but that was something I was willing to face. The whole idea of the vampire council getting control of the gates made my skin crawl. "Look, please, just come down here, so I can tell you what happened and then go home to scrub myself clean."
He opened his mouth to say something, but the phone was ripped from his grasp as Aunt Riley appeared. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"
"No, I’m fine."
"Do you want me there?"
It was on my tongue to say no, then I hesitated. One of the reasons Riley was still hooked to the Directorate was her ability to talk to the dead. Or rather, the souls of the dead. "Hang on." I glanced around, but couldn’t see any reapers other than Azriel.
"There aren’t," he said softly. "These deaths were not ordained."
I glanced back at the phone. "It might be worth trying to talk to the souls of these things. We might be able to learn something about their maker."
"Good idea. I’ll bring some fresh clothes for you, too. You might want to clean yourself up first. Trust me, you’ll feel better without all that gore over you."
I couldn’t argue with that, so I signed off and looked at Azriel. "How long before whatever you did to the guards wears off?"
"Just under an hour."
"Time enough to find the bathroom, then." I hesitated, my gaze sweeping his bloodied, grimy torso. "Are you okay?"
He nodded. "This is merely flesh. I am unharmed where it matters."
"But you can be hurt—even killed—in flesh form, can’t you?"
"Killed, yes, but the wounds affecting this vessel are not painful and will heal once I claim my natural form."