Neither one of us had luck tracking the property records for the warehouse. And according to Ebelwyn’s receptionist, she didn’t know who had asked him to list the property for sale or even the whereabouts of her boss—he hadn’t shown up for work, and he wasn’t answering calls or his front door.
Unfortunately for us, the one person who had his finger on the pulse of Underground and could probably tell us Ebelwyn’s whereabouts was the person I only wanted to see again if it was through a pair of cold cell bars or down the nozzle of my Nitro-gun. Grigori Tennin.
At least it’s not raining. I tried to look at the bright side as I jogged down the concrete steps that led to the main plaza in Underground and then proceeded at a sharp clip over the old brick pavers, past the fountain, heading to the shop fronts along the head of Solomon Street. They were crowded with inventory, packed inside and out. Peddlers set up shop wherever they could find space, often in the middle of the street or lurking from the alley shadows.
Once you turned onto Solomon Street, though, the old-fashioned streetlamps became dimmer, the glass covered in soot and grime from the open-air fires and the system of underground tunnels, caves, and homes dug straight beneath the street by the jinn, who preferred living within the earth. Peddlers pushed carts full of food, stones, spells, herbs, and snacks. It was like walking through a dark, otherworldly kasbah in the heart of Cairo.
It had to be pushing ninety degrees, and the choked, crowded atmosphere only made it seem hotter. The smells here were intense, too—earthy and humid, filled with the scents of meats, body odor, smoke, and the distinct scent of tar, which signified a large jinn population.
We weaved our way down the street, aware of the violet eyes that glowed dimly from the darkness. From the moment we entered Charbydon territory, the jinn tracked our movement. They ruled Solomon Street, and I’d guess right about now, Grigori Tennin was being told of our arrival.
We’d planned on invading the Lion’s Den, Grigori’s headquarters at the dead end of the street, but halfway down Solomon, two jinn warriors in battle regalia—Grigori’s personal female guard—stepped out from the shadows. My hand rested casually on the hilt of my weapon as we approached. The female warriors were as dangerous as the males. They were tall, muscular, with the same smooth, sooty gray skin and vicious tempers. The only difference (besides gender) was that the females had hair where the males were completely bald. And who knows, they might’ve been pretty, in an Amazon sort of way, if not for the scowls.
“Girls,” I greeted once we were close enough to speak.
They ignored my sarcasm. “Grigori is not here,” one of them said.
Hank shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced around the crowded street. “And I don’t suppose you know where he is at the moment.”
One of them smirked.
On any other occasion, I would’ve pressed the issue, but after the morning I’d had, I was a little relieved to not have to deal with Tennin. “Tell him we’ll be by later.” I did a one-eighty and wound my way back through a thick patch of carts and crates.
Hank caught up and grabbed my arm from behind. It was too congested to walk side by side. “What gives, Madigan?”
“Tennin’s not going to give us the info we need.” I sidestepped a small jinn boy racing after a stray cat with a homemade bow.
“If it benefits him in some way, he would.”
“And if it doesn’t—no, thank you,” I told the spell-monger opening his coat to reveal vials of colored liquids, “we’re out of luck. We won’t find Ebelwyn or those missing property records.” A space opened up, allowing Hank to fall in step next to me. “His office is up ahead.” I pointed. “I say we stop in and look for some property.”
“Ah,” he began in understanding. “Maybe a nice villa on the coast. Always wanted to be on a cliff by the sea.” I rolled my eyes and glanced over to find him grinning like an idiot. “A little siren joke for ya.”
I picked up speed and darted between two large stalls selling an assortment of Charbydon fruit and vegetables, and ended up on the other side of the street. I could feel Hank right behind me. A few more dodges and, avoiding a raging fire barrel, I stepped back onto the sidewalk, went a few steps, and then immediately dodged into the alley next to Darkling Properties and Rentals. The sign said it was closed. The main room was dark, but a glance at the apartment over the shop showed a small light coming from the window. I knew that Ebelwyn lived over his shop, just like my sister and many other shop owners.
“Back escape,” Hank said, heading farther down the narrow alley.
The brick walls closed in on us as we went. The smell back here was terrible, reeking of strong ammonia—urine of a gargoyle, a few stray cats, and probably a few off-world races taking leaks on the wall if I had to guess. In short, it was lovely, but it was this loveliness that kept the alleys vacant of most folks.
A one-lane street ran along the back of the shops and apartments, used for deliveries, dumpsters, and God knew what else. But by the looks of things, I’d say it was mostly landfill, dumping ground, extra storage … I glanced up at the fire escape. “This shouldn’t be too difficult,” I decided as Hank reached up and grabbed the stepladder to pull it down.
I glanced down the back alley, but all I got was steam from restaurants, a lot of shadows, and noise carried in from the street. Hank and I hurried up the ladder and onto Ebelwyn’s landing. The window wasn’t locked and it didn’t take long for us to duck into his apartment, get our bearings, and search the rooms.
The light I’d seen from the street came from a small office where a heat lamp had been placed over the aquarium of a moon snake, its bioluminescent skin emitting a soft, glowing white light. It was a small one, curled up against a rock. I leaned down and tapped the glass. The thing lifted its head and lunged at the glass so fast, I leapt back. “Jesus!”
“Cute, aren’t they?” Hank came around the desk and opened one of the side drawers.
An involuntary shiver ran through me. The glowing white snake was at the glass, half its body raised, weaving back and forth, its cobra-like hood edged in a crown of sharp bony points extended in a sign of aggression. “Yeah.” I moved to the other side of the desk to pull open a drawer. “Real cute.”
“Not venomous, though. These look like work files. Names. Addresses.”
I scanned the file tabs in the drawer on my side. “Taxes, bills, manuals …”
“Hold up.” Hank pulled a file from the drawer. “Tennin.”
I came around the desk to the sound of the moon snake thumping its nose on the glass.
Weave, weave, thump. Weave, weave, thump.
Goose bumps sprouted along my arms, but it wasn’t the snake’s neurotic thumping; I had a bad feeling as Hank laid the file on the desk and opened it. “It’s Tennin’s holdings. All of his properties. Christ, Charlie. He owns the warehouse.”
Weave, weave, thump.
I stood next to my partner, scanning the paper until I found the warehouse address. “Looks like he owns two warehouses in the district.” Hank grabbed a notepad from Ebelwyn’s desk and wrote down the other address as I bit the inside of my cheek. “So,” I began, thinking out loud, “could be coincidence. Tennin owns a lot of properties and businesses. Or he’s involved. Or he knows what’s happening, knows someone has been dumping bodies on his property.”
Weave, weave, thump.
“Hell, Charlie,” Hank said, “Tennin could’ve sent Ebelwyn to the warehouse knowing what the guy would find. He’d know Ebelwyn would call you and not the ITF. He either did us a huge favor, letting us know there’s a killer on the loose, or he’s involved in some way and wants us involved, too.”
Weave, weave, thump.
Hank let out a sigh and went to the aquarium, searching the table until he found a round Tupperware container. “It’s just hungry. Who knows the last time it ate.” The moon snake dropped down and began circling beneath the feeding portal as Hank opened the lid of the Tupperware, grabbed a small pair of plastic tongs off the table, and withdrew a small, gray lump.
“What is that?” It looked like a newborn rat covered with gray skin so translucent you could see the organs beneath, and it was covered in what I guessed to be some kind of preservative.
Hank turned the lock to the aquarium lid. “It’s a nithyn fetus.” He held up the fetus with the tongs to show me. “See the wings? They’re like bat wings, but these little guys grow to the size of a goat. The females lay dozens in the Charbydon sand flats. Moon snakes love them.” Hank eased the lid open just wide enough to drop the nithyn inside. The moon snake’s hood shot out and it attacked the dead fetus with a frenzy that made me look away.
The remainder of our search through Ebelwyn’s apartment turned up zilch. There were no signs he’d packed up and left, no signs of a break-in or struggle, nothing to suggest he’d gone missing. The initial discovery of Grigori Tennin’s ownership of our crime scene and a second warehouse on the same street was all we had to go on, and as soon as the jinn boss came back to Solomon Street, we’d be paying him a visit.
Hank went down the fire escape ladder first. My vantage point two stories up allowed me to see far in both directions of the back alley, but the steam vents, dumpsters, and other clutter made for some pretty nice cover. As I went down the ladder, I had the very distinct sense of being watched, and it was most likely by one or two of Grigori Tennin’s goons.
Oh well. What were they going to do? Call the ITF on us?
Once my feet hit the pavement in the back alley and Hank had pushed up the fire escape ladder, my cell rang. “Madigan.” I glanced around, noticing my partner was doing the same and guessing he’d also felt the “eyes” on us.
“Charlie?”
“Yeah? Who’s this?”
“It’s Orin. Daya’s brother.”
“Orin,” I said to clue Hank in. All his attention zeroed in on me. “What’s going on?”
“I’ve been going through Daya’s things.” Orin cleared his throat. “I found an address. The client she was freelancing for when she died. There was a meeting time written down for last week. I don’t know … I thought it might be useful …”
“That’s very useful.” I motioned to Hank for a pen. He pulled one out of the inside breast pocket of his jacket along with the same piece of paper we’d taken from Ebelwyn’s apartment. “What’s the address?”
“It’s a penthouse in Helios Tower. The name is S. Yavesh. That’s all there is, except the date and time.”
“Great. Thanks, Orin. We’ll check it out.”
After I hung up and put my cell phone back on my hip, I handed the paper and pen back to Hank and started walking down the narrow alley. Hank read the address. “That’s no jinn love nest,” he said, echoing my thoughts. “Helios Tower is occupied by Elysians mostly and some humans.”
“Yeah.” I glanced behind me, still unable to shake the feeling of being watched. “But Helios Tower has terrace apartments just like Daya told us …”
It was a fifteen-minute walk from Solomon Street, across the plaza, and down Helios Alley where the street dead-ended into the swanky underground lobby of Helios Tower, which housed a bar, two restaurants, and a spa. We took the elevator one floor up to the Topside lobby. A good part of the tower was made up of hotel rooms and then apartments and penthouses, mostly owned or rented by Elysians.
We entered the Topside lobby, a beautiful space of windows and light, white marble floors, mosaic wall tiles flecked with silver and gold, and plants, lots and lots of plants. Very serene and very Elysian.
“May I help you?” the clerk at the desk asked as we approached. Human. Male.
I pulled out my badge. “Looking for the apartment of an S. Yavesh.”
“One moment, please.” The clerk typed the name into his keyboard. “Mister Yavesh lives in one of the penthouses on the east wing. Forty-sixth floor. Number eight. Would you like me to ring him?”
“Please,” Hank said.
The clerk set the phone down a few seconds later. “I’m sorry, sir. There’s no answer.”
“Get a key.” Hank’s eyes scanned the lobby.
The clerk turned and selected the key from the locked vault behind him, then fiddled with it for a moment, unsure. “Don’t you need a warrant?”
Hank returned his attention to the clerk, expression completely bland, but his voice so damn compelling. “No, but you really want to help us.”
Sometimes I loved my partner.
The clerk frowned, seeming stumped by the tone and the steady gaze that Hank was giving him. It flustered the guy enough that he didn’t have any comeback, but he did come out from behind the counter and lead us to the elevator.
Helios Tower wasn’t the tallest building in Atlanta, but it had terraces, and if Daya had died on one like her vision suggested, we had a good shot at finding evidence and, hopefully, tracking Llyran. There was no telling what awaited us.
I pulled my Nitro-gun as we approached the door.
“Should I knock first?” the clerk asked.
“No. Just open it. Quietly.” I cupped my gun hand, taking position by the door. “Stay out here, no matter what happens.”
His hand trembled slightly as he turned the key and opened the heavy door. I executed a quick duck into the open space, seeing nothing but a very clean living space, and then leaned back against the inside wall, trying to sense the same kind of malevolence that had pervaded the warehouse. Nothing.
After Hank was inside and had scanned the place, he shook his head. He hadn’t sensed anything, either. “Ready?”
Since I had chosen the nitro Hank withdrew his Hefty. He nodded.
I crept along the wall. The far wall was nothing but floor-to-ceiling windows. The floors were polished dark hardwoods; the furniture looked brand-new and very sleek. High ceilings. The entire space was vast, the living area opening to the dining space and a gorgeous kitchen full of stainless steel, granite, and dark cabinets with frosted glass.
We checked the main living area and then proceeded carefully, going down the hallway to the bedrooms. The first two were empty and pristine. Everything about the place felt … wrong. Staged. I shook my head, whispering as I backed out of the room. “It looks like it’s never been lived in.”
“Or he has one hell of a cleaning lady.”
“We do have an excellent maid service,” the clerk’s voice came from the foyer.
My eyes widened in disbelief. “I thought I told you to stay put,” I whispered fiercely, marching up to him and escorting him back through the front door with a stern warning. “Stay. Or you’ll be spending the night in a holding cell.”
I rejoined Hank at the last bedroom door at the end of the hall.
Last room in the penthouse. I reached out and grabbed the handle. It clicked open. I pushed, expecting to find the room just like all the others, and entered gun first, Hank fanning out to my left.
A gasp made me swing the barrel to the bed.
I’d suddenly fallen down the rabbit hole.
Five seconds went by, and I was pretty sure the stunned face staring back at me had the same exact expression as mine.
“Sian?”
“Charlie? What are you doing here?”
I frowned. “Me? What are you doing here?”
Grigori Tennin’s only child cast her indigo eyes to the rumpled bed on which she sat, hugging her knees to her chest. Her long, snow-white hair was down, parted in the middle and framing her flawless light gray skin. She was a hybrid, a rare offspring of a jinn father and a human mother. A prized commodity in the jinn world, but rejected by other Charbydons and Elysians, and a fair share of humans, for her bi-racial blood. Looking at her more closely revealed tearstains on her cheeks and damp eyelashes, and she was clutching a small oval picture frame in her hand.
I lowered the gun, holstering it and trying to make sense of her presence here. “Please tell me you’re not involved in this.”
“Charlie.” Hank’s quiet voice made me glance over, and I was met with an expectant look as he gestured toward the picture.
“What?”
His response was an eye roll and a sigh. Obviously I was missing something. Hank holstered the Hefty, walked to the bed, and held out his hand. Sian handed him the picture frame. Hank gave it to me before he went to the small writing desk and pulled out the chair. He sat down, leaning forward to drape his forearms over his knees. “So how long have you been seeing Daya?”
My brow shot up.
Oh.
I flipped the frame over to see a photograph of what had to be Daya Machanna. My gaze went from Hank to Sian. Yeah. Totally didn’t see that one coming.
“About four months. If anyone ever found out … I mean, I’m a jinn, and worse, a hybrid. And she’s Elysian. A nymph. No one would understand.” Fresh tears fell, and she sniffed, swiping them from her cheeks.
I went to the dresser and leaned against it, setting the frame down and then crossing my arms over my chest, still stunned. “No one knew?”
Sian shook her head. “No. We made sure to be careful. And if anyone did see us together, we just acted like friends.”
“This is why you called in sick, then?” Hank asked gently. “You found out she’s gone.”
Her body stilled, and then her shoulders hunched and she cried harder. Hank and I exchanged a quick look. We allowed her time to compose herself, not pushing. After Sian finally lifted her head, casting a grief-stricken gaze to the ceiling, she released a ragged breath. “It was all over Underground yesterday.”
Not surprising. Ebelwyn was a darkling fae. His office was on Solomon Street, which meant he answered to Grigori Tennin. Which meant, after he called me, he went and reported to Grigori and probably anyone else who’d listen.
“I knew it was her,” Sian said quietly. “She was supposed to meet me here after going to the gym that morning. We were going to have breakfast before she went to work.”
“So who is S. Yavesh?” I asked.
“He’s the guy who owns the place. Daya was doing freelance work for him, restoring some old artifacts. He told her she could stay here whenever she wanted, so we’ve sort of been using it to meet up. I don’t think he ever comes here.”
“What’s he look like?”
“I’ve never met him, but Daya said he was an Adonai.”
My brow raised at that, and I immediately suspected S. Yavesh was an alias for Llyran.
“She tell you what she was working on?” Hank asked. “Did you see any of it?”
“No. She was working on restoring the items in her lab at the Fernbank Museum.” Sian stared at the wall, completely lost. “I just can’t believe she’s gone.”
“Come on …” I pushed away from the dresser and approached the bed to help her up. “Let’s get you home.”
“No. I don’t want to go. This is all I have left of her. I can’t go.”
“You can’t stay here, Sian. If your father finds out you’re here and what you’ve been doing here, he’ll go completely ballistic.”
She sniffed and wiped her nose, looking up at me with round eyes. “No,” she said simply. “He’d just kill me and that’d be the end of it. He despises me already for not getting him the things he wants from work.”
I took her by the arm and gently urged her off the bed. “I doubt he holds you responsible for that one.”
After all, if Grigori was pissed at anyone, it’d be me. I was the one who’d agreed to get his daughter a job at the ITF as payment for a blood debt I owed him. He’d wanted a mole. And what he got was a lot of useless information. Sian had a job at the ITF, but her psycho dad never said she had to have clearance or access codes to case files and ITF documents. Fuck him—not my problem that he hadn’t made the terms clear.
Okay, so it was my problem. Or, I should say, Grigori Tennin was my problem. And he wasn’t going away anytime soon. In fact, my guess was the bastard was sitting back and waiting to see what chaos the darkness wrought, and secretly fanning the flames.
One problem at a time, though.
“Come on, Sian. You need to go home.” She gave in without a fight, and walked on her own down the hallway. As we passed the wall of windows, a dark, fluttering blur outside caught my eye. I steered Sian to the open door and the clerk waiting in the hallway. “Escort Miss Tennin to the lobby, please.” I told the clerk.
The hairs on my arms stood as they retreated toward the elevator. My hand moved to my Hefty. I flicked the snap to the leather strap that held my weapon. As soon as the elevator doors slid open and they entered, I pulled my weapon.
“Outside. Terrace,” Hank said, his own weapon drawn and already with his back against the wall and ready to cover me as I entered.
Carefully we reentered the penthouse, approaching the floor-to-ceiling windows, moving quietly around the furniture to the sliding glass doors. Beyond the glass, a figure sat with his back to us, cross-legged on the ledge of the terrace, knees overhanging forty-six stories below. His black linen shirt flapped in the breeze. Shoulder-length red hair stirred.
Llyran.
I pushed the glass doors apart just enough to squeeze through. Once we were out onto the stone terrace, I nodded to Hank to let him know I’d take the right, but a voice stopped me midstride.
“Hello again, Charlie.”
My fingers flexed around the Hefty as Llyran stood on the narrow ledge and turned around to face us. The fact that he was standing forty-six stories up on a ledge as wide as his feet were long didn’t seem to distress him in the least. “And Mister Williams,” he said. “Brother. Malakim. Fellow Elysian …”
Malakim?
I fired.
The Hefty’s tag thunked into his chest, pinning the linen to his skin. A sound wave–induced shudder went through him as his arms stretched wide. A smug smile grew on his perfect face as though the universe was his to own and operate.
And then he let himself fall backward into thin air.
I ran to the ledge to see his black-clad form freefall at a terrifying speed.
Hank’s shoulder bumped mine as he leaned over the ledge. “Holy shit.”
Somewhere around ten stories down, a tunnel of darkness snaked down, slicing through the air to curl around his body like a python in a death squeeze, pulling him back up and into its lofty, murky clouds.
Hank and I just stood there, dumbfounded. One second Llyran was falling, and the next …
I turned to my partner, mouth open, trying to wrap my mind around what I’d just witnessed, trying to think of an appropriate response, but nothing came.
Hank took a few steps back, dragged his fingers through his hair, and then turned, hands on hips and eyeing me with a stupefied look that instantly shifted to horror. He leapt toward me.
I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see Llyran flying toward me.
No time to react; Llyran grabbed me from behind and jerked me out over the terrace into midair.