Bound to Shadows

"It doesn't explain how the other two were caught, though. They both awake and aware."

Cole grimaced. "You've seen the witch dust in action, so you tell me—does it act fast enough to stop a vampire reacting against an attack?"

I wrinkled my nose, remembering the zombie throwing the dust in my face and just how quickly it sucked away resistance. I'd been lucky—that lot of dust had been targeted towards vamps, not dhampires, and my werewolf blood had saved me. "Yeah, it does."

"Then that's your answer. We just have to pin down the ingredients for future reference." He gave me a weary smile. "If you could remember to grab a sample when you catch the killer, that would be of great help."

I snorted softly, and waved a hand at the body. "I guess the murderer has to be non-human. It can't be easy to hack someone's head off like that."

"A nonhuman would definitely manage it more easily than a human, no matter how strong that human was."

"So, basically, I'm looking for a nonhuman with a grudge against the vampire council. That should be easy to pin down."

Cole raised his eyebrows. "All the victims are Melbourne Council members?"

"Yes. And Jack thinks the vampire who was incinerated before the first beheading was also a council member." I paused. "Why wouldn't he tell you that?"

Cole snorted. "The councils are a secretive bunch of bastards, that's why. I doubt Jack would be able to even hint he knows who's who without seeking their permission first."

Which was basically what I'd figured. "It doesn't make our job any easier, though."

"I would hazard a guess that it wouldn't be a major concern for them." He sniffed—a disdainful sound. "They might pay lip service to the Directorate and human rules in general, but I dare say they have their own methods of dealing with situations like this."

Yeah, and they used to be called cazadors. What they were called now was anyone's guess.

"But as it's us dealing with the bodies and the press and the public, you'd think they'd be a little more helpful—especially given that they want this killer caught as much as we do."

"When have vampires ever been overly helpful if it doesn't suit them?" Cole snorted softly. "Director Hunter, Jack, and Qui

I studied him keenly for a moment, then said, "That's a pretty fierce attitude, considering who we work for and with."

He shrugged. "Just because I think the majority are arrogant sods doesn't belittle what we do at the Directorate. We make a difference, and we stand between what are basically predators and their prey. That more than makes up for any quibbles I might have about who I have to work with at times."

"So the attitude you gave me when I first started working as a guardian was because I'm just as much a vampire as a werewolf?"

He gri

I clapped a hand to my chest. "Be still my heart—that almost sounded like a compliment."

"As if." His smile faded a little, but the remnants still warmed the corners of his eyes, and some of the tension in him seemed to have faded. "Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do, so move those distractingly long legs of yours into another room."

"Now, that sounds more like the Cole I know and love." I gave him a sketchy salute goodbye and obeyed.

The rest of the house didn't reveal much. Bastiel might have been on the council, but his study to didn't hold any clues as to when or where they met. Maybe all such information was sent via a general telepathic broadcast to the appropriate members. I broke open a locked drawer in his desk, but it didn't hold much more than several check books and a netbook. The latter had fingerprint locks installed, so while it might have held the information I was looking for, it was more Cole's field than mine. The kitchen and dining area at the back of the house didn't hold anything in the way of revelations, either—other than the fact Bastiel was something of a neat freak. Everything gleamed, and there wasn't a speck of dust anywhere.

I was walking back up the hall to the study when the air suddenly became chilled.

It was a sensation I was all too familiar with. There was a soul here, and it wanted to speak.

Goosebumps crawled across my skin as I walked forward slowly. Dusty knelt near the body of the woman, carefully plucking a hair from her blue woolen cardigan. He glanced up as I walked into the living room, then his gaze intensified and he straightened abruptly. "You sense something?"

"Her soul is here."

"You want me to leave?"

"No." I paused, trying to pinpoint where the chill seemed to be coming from. Surprisingly, it wasn't near her body but rather over near the big bay window. "What was the housekeeper's name?"

"Helen Hills."

"Helen," I said softly, "why do you linger here? What do you need to say or do?"

My ability to communicate with the dead had gotten a lot stronger in recent months, and their ability to gain shape and materialize long enough to actually speak in my presence had grown. So it seemed Cole's theory that they were likewise using my strength to take shape was true—and these days the mere act of talking to the spirit world left me a whole lot weaker than I liked to admit.

The chill in the air got fiercer, until it felt like fingers of ice were creeping into my bones. No one could really explain why it felt like these souls brought the chill of the underworld with them, but the general consensus was that it had something to do with them being 'in-between'—neither here nor in heaven nor hell, or wherever else it was that souls went to.

Something stirred against the sunlight streaming in through the window. A wisp of thicker air that held no shape and couldn't even be defined as smoke.

"Helen?" I repeated. "Do you need to speak to me? Have you got anything you want to say?"

Her soul was little more than a barely visible wisp of white vapor, with no features and no body. But her thoughts reached out all the same.

Why? she said. Why did we need to die?

"I can't tell you that, Helen. Not until I catch whoever did this to you and your boss."

For a moment there was no answer, but the chill got stronger, until my fingers and nose ached with the fierceness of it. Energy flowed around me, out of me, building in the air, giving the soul the strength to speak.

But it makes no sense. Mr. Bastiel was a nice man, even if he was a vampire.

"Nice people die all the time, Helen. It often doesn't make sense or seem right." I paused as a sliver of weakness pulled at my muscles. She seemed to be sucking more energy than the souls of the past, and that meant I'd better hurry before she drained me too greatly. That was the one fear I had about doing this—that these souls would drag me into the shadows depths with them if I wasn't careful. "What can you tell me about the man who broke into the house and killed you both?"

It wasn't one man. It was two.

Surprise rippled through me. Up until now, there'd been no hint that two men had been involved in these murders. But then, we had very little in the way of hard clues. "Are you sure?"

Yes. One was standing back, his arms crossed. He had a camera in his hand, but he wasn't using it. The other had a

saw. She paused, and if she'd had a physical body, she would have shuddered. As it was, her horror rolled through my mind, stark and brutal. He was hacking at Mr. Bastiel's neck. There was blood…

I cut in, not sure I could stand another roll of horror through my mind. "Can you describe either of the men, Helen?"