Before them the inner keep loomed three stories high with empty windows and the appearance of a hollow shell. No doubt it was a treasure trove for the local historians, but it was making Duncan twitch.
He was a cop who’d mastered the urban landscape.
He could spot a suspicious perp in the middle of a crowd. He could tail a car for days without being noticed. He could enter a room and instantly tell you the number of exits, the placement of obstructions if he needed to move in a hurry, and if anyone in the room was carrying a concealed weapon.
But suddenly surrounded by the untamed wildness of nature, he felt like a fish out of water.
It wasn’t the thick foliage that was a constant threat to trip him, or the clinging shadows that could hide anything. Or even the silence that made it impossible to sneak up without giving away his position.
It was the strange pulse of power that brushed the very edge of his awareness.
He’d heard rumors of norms who could feel magic. As if it was a tangible force. He suspected they were recruited by the government to keep track of the high-bloods.
Until now, he’d never thought it was a talent he possessed. He still didn’t. No. If he had to guess he would say that everyone had some ability to sense when there was a disturbance in the air. It was simply the degree of sensitivity to that disturbance. And when it was as strong as it was in the lower bailey even the most oblivious person could feel it.
Fane led them up the steps of the keep, kicking open the heavy wooden door and continuing forward without missing a step.
“No knocking?” Duncan mocked, glancing up at the open-beamed ceiling that was swathed in cobwebs.
Fane held his crystal over his head, bathing the open space in a soft light.
There wasn’t much to see.
Stone walls. Stone floor. Stone fireplace.
At one time the room was no doubt made homey by a blazing fire that danced light over the ornate tapestries that had been draped on the walls and the air had been filled with the scent of fresh straw spread over the floor.
Now it was just ... stone.
And dust.
A damned tidal wave of dust.
“If he didn’t want us to enter he would have put up wards,” Fane was saying, his pace cautious as he walked toward the steps that led to the floor above. “Of course, that doesn’t mean he didn’t create a few traps for the unwary. Hermits have an odd sense of humor.”
Duncan rolled his eyes. Of course they did.
They climbed the stairs, finding yet another empty room that matched the one below. Except the floor was rotting wood, not stone.
Fane halted, his body coiled for attack. “He’s above us.”
Duncan clicked off the safety on his gun. “You can sense him?”
The Sentinel flashed Duncan a mocking smile. “I don’t have the same talent as a hunter Sentinel, but I can sense a high-blood when they have Boggs’s level of power.”
Duncan grimaced. Just fucking perfect. Another freak who obviously suspected that he wasn’t entirely normal.
Not that this was the time to worry about his little secret.
“Do you sense anything else?”
“No. He’s alone.” Fane stepped to the side, his gaze in constant movement. “I’ll keep guard here.”
The dark gaze briefly rested on Duncan, silently warning him that the Sentinel was trusting him to keep Callie safe. And that if he failed there would be hell to pay.
Duncan resisted the urge to flip him off as he wrapped his arm around Callie and started up the next flight of stairs. He might logically appreciate Fane’s fierce loyalty to Callie, but he didn’t need the bastard telling him to keep this woman safe.
Reaching the top floor, he forgot the aggravating Sentinel and even the constant pulse of magic that was wearing on his nerves.
A lone candle was set in the center of the grimy floor, casting flickers of light over the piles of rubbish that consumed half the room.
And it was rubbish.
Broken chairs, tarnished silver teapots, a mound of clothing, ice skates, a framed mirror, ratty books, and hundreds of other items that he didn’t recognize.
It was like Hoarders on steroids.
“Good ... god,” he muttered. “What is all this crap?”
“History, Duncan O’Conner.” A hooded form stepped from behind the piles, his voice oddly melodic. “As well as a promise of the future.”
Just for a second Duncan thought it was one of the monks who’d followed them from the monastery. Then the candlelight caught in the folds of the robe and he realized it was black, not the brown of the monks.
He pointed his gun at the center of the deep hood. “That’s close enough.”
“I have no intention of harming the diviner,” the stranger assured him. “No more than you would.”
With a flamboyant motion, the man whipped off the robe and tossed it aside.
Even braced to expect the unexpected, Duncan nearly went to his knees in shock.
“Son of a bitch,” he breathed, struggling to comprehend the fact that he was looking at an exact replica of himself. No, not exact, his stunned mind accepted. The pale hair and lean face with a shadow of golden whiskers might be a mirror image. As well as his lean form dressed in jeans and casual shirt. But the eyes were all wrong. They were a pure, unnerving white. Not pale, not clear. Just ... white.
“What’s going on?”
Callie lightly touched his arm, urging him to lower his gun. Smart female. His nerves were on a hair trigger.
He didn’t want any accidents.
“Boggs is a doppelganger.”
Duncan frowned. “A what?”
The ... creature smiled. “I can take the appearance of those who are close to me.”
Holy shit.
A cop to his bones, Duncan was instantly on high alert. A creature who could alter its appearance to look like anyone?
The possibilities for disaster were endless.
He could become a guard and rob a bank. He could go on a murder spree and create a new persona for each killing. Hell, he could turn into the president and start a war.
And worse, his aura flickered with a hint of darkness that revealed he had more than once dipped his toes in the evil pool.
“Why haven’t I ever heard of doppelgangers?”
Boggs laughed with creepy delight, throwing his arms wide. “‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Duncan O’Conner, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’”
“Stop that,” Duncan commanded.
The white eyes were lit with a sudden inner glow. “Perhaps you prefer this form?”
In the blink of an eye the doppelganger had become Callie, with spiky crimson hair and a slender body displayed in spandex pants and stretchy top.
“No, I damned well ... wait.” His furious words were bit off as he recalled Callie’s words. “I thought you said he was blind.”
Chapter Nine
Callie shivered. Even knowing what was coming, she still found it impossible not to be flipped out.
“He is,” she said, trying to keep the distaste out of her voice.
She was a high-blood. She understood exactly what it meant to be treated as if she were an outcast. Still ... Boggs took strange to a whole new level.
“Then how does he know what we look like?” Duncan rasped.
“I sense your essence,” Boggs admitted, releasing his magic to reveal his true form. Duncan hissed at the sight of the pale, hairless creature that looked disturbingly like a larva. His features were indistinct and his eyes glowed with power. The robe had returned, but it was open to reveal a body that was lacking genitalia. “And before your policeman’s imagination begins to run wild, let me assure you that I have to be standing within a few feet of those I duplicate and that I can only hold the image for a few minutes. I’m no danger to society.”
Callie felt Duncan stiffen, as if Boggs had managed to strike a nerve, but as usual the cop tilted his chin and held his ground.
Foolish courage.
It was going to get him killed.
“Can you read minds?” he growled.
“I don’t need to be a psychic to know what you’re thinking. I’m tediously familiar with the prejudices of men with badges. They instantly assume that freaks have no morals.”
“The Mave sent us to ask you questions,” Callie interrupted. Men. Did they always have to have a pissing match? “Are you willing to answer them?”
A cunning expression flickered over Boggs’s alien features as he subtly shifted closer, closing the robe to hide his body. “I suppose it depends on the questions.”
Duncan moved to make sure he could step between her and Boggs if he sensed a threat, his gun still in his hand.
“There have been bodies found without their hearts.” Duncan took the lead. Of course. He was such a cop. “But there are no wounds. It’s as if the heart just disappeared from their bodies.”
Boggs made a sound deep in his throat. Not shock. But ... resignation?
“A bokor,” he muttered.
Duncan frowned. “A what?”
“One of the living dead.”
Not surprising, the cop paled at the blunt explanation. “Like a zombie?”
Callie wasn’t quite as stunned as Duncan. Since she’d left the cradle she’d heard stories of the walking dead and the necromancers who could raise them.
Of course, she’d never believed them.
Not until now.
“I thought they were a myth,” she said.
Boggs stroked a too-thin finger down the line of his jaw. “There has been only one necromancer capable of controlling the dead.”
“Who?” she asked.
“He’s been known by many names.”
Duncan snorted. “I don’t suppose you know his current one?”
Boggs shook his head. “No, but he was once Lord Zakhar.”
Callie licked her dry lips. A true necromancer. It didn’t seem possible. Like discovering Santa Claus was real.
Only scarier.
“What can you tell us about him?”
“Very little. He was a nobleman in the Russian court. From what I could learn he was growing in power when he was accused of being a sorcerer.”
