But he helped me search regardless, and we found exactly what he'd expected – nothing.
This time, when he held out a hand, I allowed him to tug me into his embrace. I suppose I should have called the Directorate – or at least Uncle Rhoan – to report these deaths, but I really wasn't up to facing all the questions that would undoubtedly follow. Besides, it would take far too much time, and we didn't have enough of that left as it was.
We appeared inside Stane's electronics shop in Clifton Hill. The camera above us immediately buzzed into action, swinging around to track our movements. Not that we could go far – the shimmer of light surrounding the small entrance was warning enough that a containment shield was in action. Azriel could – and had, in the past – delivered us upstairs, where Stane's computer "bridge" and living quarters were, but Stane had just about had a heart attack at our sudden appearance.
"Hey, Stane, it's Risa and Azriel." I smiled up at the camera. "Turn off the shield so we can come up."
"Your wish is my command." His warm tones had a tinny sound as it echoed from the small speaker near the camera. The shimmer surrounding us flared briefly, then died. "And thank you for the case of champagne you sent. It makes late night gaming all that much more enjoyable."
I snorted softly and headed for the stairs at the rear of his overcrowded, dusty shop. "I would have thought alcohol and serious gaming didn't mix."
"Depends on who you're playing with." He appeared at the top of the stairs, his grin wide. "And if there's a bet involving sexual games on the line. Letting her win wouldn't be a bad thing in this particular case."
I laughed, bounded up the steps, and kissed his cheek. Stane looked a lot like his building – a slender, unholy mess. I'm actually surprised he didn't carry a layer of dust over his clothes like the building itself – although it was only the street level portion of the building that had that particular problem, and it didn't really matter, because the computer shop itself was little more than a front for his black marketeering. And that equipment, like his computer bridge, was kept upstairs in pristine condition.
"Don't tell me the lovely Holly was brave enough to challenge you to a game?"
Holly was a werewolf Stane had reluctantly met at the insistence of his mother – and hers. And, to everyone's surprise but their respective mothers, fireworks had apparently happened.
"Not only that, but she's been here, and she didn't try to dust the place." He stepped back and ushered us through to his living area. "I think I'm in love."
"Certainly sounds like you're smitten," I said. "But is she aware that you don't wash or iron?"
"I wash most days," he said, expression offended but amusement dancing across his lips. "It's only when I'm deep in a game that I don't – something she'd understand because she's a gamer herself. I tell you, she's perfect."
I grinned. "So your mom was right, after all."
He grunted as he sat down in front of the curving sweep of light screens. "Something I am not going to tell her until I absolutely have to. The gloating will be horrendous. What can I do for you?"