“No, so we’re going to have to do this the hard way.” I glanced at Azriel. “You need to take me to Stane’s. Now. Adeline, I’ll be back.”
Azriel stepped close and wrapped his arms around my waist. His scent—a scent that was both masculine and sharply electric—filled every breath as his power burned through me, sweeping us from flesh to energy in an instant. A second later we were on the gray fields, but these were very different from the ones I traveled. The fields I knew were little more than shadowed echoes of the real world, a place where things not sighted suddenly gained substance. But in Azriel’s arms, I saw the fields as a vast and beautiful place, filled with structures and life that were delicate and unworldly.
We re-formed outside of Stane’s electronics shop in Clifton Hill, which happened to be on the very same street that Nadler’s consortium had been attempting to purchase. In fact, only Stane’s building and one other—a bar—remained in private hands.
I’d known Stane a good part of my life, simply because he was Tao’s cousin. Tao, like Ilianna, was a childhood friend and current housemate, and he and Stane had come from the same brown werewolf pack. Their fathers were brothers—although Tao’s had died when he was young, and Tao himself hadn’t actually lived with the pack; he’d lived with his mother, who was human. Stane was a whiz at all things computer related, and he’d become a rather invaluable source of information and black market technology. If he couldn’t get me the information I needed in record time, no one could.
“You should have just zapped us inside.” I glanced at Azriel as I pushed open the somewhat ratty-looking door. A tiny bell rang cheerily above our heads. “It would have saved us a few seconds.”
“Stane does not react well to sudden appearances.” He shrugged.
I guess that was true—and certainly the last thing we needed right now was Stane passing out in shock. Once we were inside, the camera above us buzzed into action and began tracking 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.
“Stane, it’s Risa.” Impatience edged my voice as I stared up at the camera. “I need some help rather urgently.”
“Well, it’s about fucking time.” His voice sounded tinny as it echoed from the small speaker near the camera. The shimmer flared briefly, then died. “I’ve been bored as hell lately.”
“What?” I said, as I ran for the rear stairs. “The black market business isn’t going so well at the moment?”
He appeared at the landing and gave me a wide smile. “It’s going very well. But I’ve grown addicted to the challenges you give me. A little subversive hacking into government databases is good for the soul.”
Despite the urgency of the situation, I laughed and kissed his cheek. Stane rather looked like his building—a slender, unholy mess. With his somewhat long and scruffy brown hair, his wrinkled blue shirt, and loose, ill-fitting shorts, he certainly didn’t look like someone who was in any way dangerous—until you actually gazed into his honey-colored eyes. Stane was smarter and harder than he looked.
“So what is it this time?” he said, stepping to one side and waving us through.
“We have a life to save, and precisely eighteen minutes to do it in.”
“Fuck!” He scraped a hand across his bristly chin, then reclaimed his seat at the computer system that dominated his living area. He shoved a second chair in my direction. “You really are pushing it this time. How can I help?”
“I need you to work up an image of the woman I have to find, and then I need you to find her address.”
He swore again, then stretched out his fingers and cracked his knuckles. “Okay, hit me with the details.”
I gave him everything I could remember, and within a couple of minutes we had an image of the woman I’d seen on the planes. He flicked it across to another screen, and the search began.
And all I could do was wait.
I pushed to my feet and began pacing. Stane watched me for a moment, then said, “Anything else?”
I inhaled deeply, then slowly released it. It didn’t do much to ease the tension growing inside me. “Well, I also have the names of Nadler’s heirs.”
“How the hell did you manage that?”
I grimaced. “I had a conversation with a ghost.”
He eyed me for a moment, then said, “I won’t even ask. What are their names?”
“Harry Bulter, Jim O’Reilly, and Genevieve Sands.”
“A woman?” Stane frowned. “I can understand naming a number of men, because as a face-shifter, he could step into their lives anytime he wished. But a male face-shifter cannot take the form of a female, and vice versa.”