Cold metal that woke her quicker than a bucket of water. This was really happening.
She was being marched out of her apartment and taken in for questioning instead of the real culprit. “Why aren’t you arresting Azrael? He’s the one who can explain what happened.”
“Is Azrael a person?” the second officer asked, peeking inside her apartment. “Where is he?”
“My bedroom. He spent the night here.”
“Call him,” cop number one demanded.
She immediately shouted, “Azrael. I know you’re listening. Get out here. I am not taking the fall for you.”
No reply.
What a freaking douche canoe.
“Let me go get him,” she offered.
“You’re not going anywhere.” The cop who had her handcuffed tilted his head toward his partner. “Better check it out.”
The second officer slid past her, hand on the butt of his gun. Not even two minutes later, he returned, shaking his head. “There’s no one else here.”
“He left?” How? She lived on the fifth floor. Her bedroom window was a steep drop.
“Let’s go.” The officers propelled her out of the door, down the hall, and then into the elevator before stuffing her into the back of their cruiser.
Like a criminal.
She spent the next several hours telling her side of the story. Flustered, she stupidly kept repeating the truth. Everything she remembered, even the crazy parts. She also made the mistake of claiming she thought it was a dream or hallucination until she woke up beside Azrael, the man they couldn’t find any proof of, which led to her being asked to provide a urine sample in a cup.
“I’m not high.” She was stone-cold sober, which made it all the more horrifying.
By late afternoon, she’d talked herself almost hoarse, had her picture and fingerprints taken, and had to pee in front of someone in the cell she shared with a criminal.
The circumstantial evidence was stacked against her. According to the detective in charge, the prosecution was looking to lay numerous charges. They’d already gotten a warrant to toss her place, looking for the missing dagger she didn’t have.
“Azrael took it,” she said softly for the umpteenth time.
No one believed her. They all thought Azrael was imaginary, just like the man made of smoke who came out of the vents.
Her obstinate insistence was probably the reason why she got sent to the special hospital and put in a padded room.
Chapter Five
The second vow: Whatever it takes.
The woman was taken by local authorities, and Azrael felt a twinge of guilt at fleeing rather than coming to her aid. He could have fought them. Two humans against him? It wasn’t even a contest, but he recognized that acting would draw attention. His mission was best served by stealth.
She wasn’t worth the trouble. Let her sort things out. He had a mission to complete. Yet he stayed to watch as the law enforcers shoved the artifact curator into the back of a chariot. Roughly, which made him bristle. Where did they take her? Would she be locked in a dungeon? Tortured? In his time, the women especially were mistreated in those places.
Not his problem. He couldn’t jeopardize—
Fuck.
He’d have to rescue her. Before the chariot could leave, he focused his magic and tagged it. Given his need for stealth, he followed, using the rooftops to hide his stalking presence.
The tracking magic led him to a place with lots of chariots, all sporting the same red and blue glass on the top. The same lettering too. People wearing uniforms streamed in and out of a large building, too many for him to avoid. Given he couldn’t exactly walk in and retrieve the human, he skulked atop a roof across from the building and considered his next move.
He could leave. Cast a spell and go looking for the next seal. With two of them broken, it wouldn’t be long before the third started singing. The Shaitan wouldn’t waste time.
He waited for nightfall. As hoped, the traffic going in and out slowed considerably. That was when he made his move. Entering the place, he was confronted by a rounded counter behind which a female in uniform sat.
She eyed him with less than kind regard. “Can I help you?”
“I am looking for someone.”
“Do you have a name?” was her terse rejoinder.
“Daphne. Some of your constables brought her here this morning.”
“Are you family or legal representation?”
“I am”—what was he exactly to her?—“a friend.”
“Well, friend, you missed visiting hours.”
“I will see her. Now,” he demanded, but this new world didn’t jump to obey.
The female constable smirked. “I don’t think so. What’s your name?” She pulled out a pad of paper and a slim stylus.
“Your questions are tiresome, and you are wasting my time. I shall locate her myself.”
Before the female had partially risen from her seat, he tossed magic at her and put her to sleep. She slumped, and he strode to a fogged glass door with a handle that had a strange mosaic above it. Some kind of intricate locking device. It zapped easily enough, and he wrenched it open, only to surprise more of the constables sitting at desks.
A few rose. One put his hands on his holster filled with a firearm, the weapon humans of this age favored. He found them rather unsporting. Whatever happened to the dancing grace of a lovely scimitar or the twirl of a spear?
He spun a shield, even as he sent out a pulse of magic. Sleep.
Most of the bodies dropped.
Two law enforcers, with shining eyes, remained awake. Shapeshifters. Subjects back in his day. He curled his lip. “Do not interfere.” He strode forward, only to have the petite female, with canine running through her veins, step into his path.
“I can’t let you through here.” She put a hand on her weapon.
“You can’t stop me.” He could put her kind to sleep too. It just took a little more effort. Azrael gathered the magic, and the female knew it. She drew her gun and aimed just as he blew it outward.
The male dropped right away, but the female fought it, hitting the floor on her knees, the gun she held shaking.
He crouched in front of her. “Why do you fight me?” What schism changed the natural order? Azrael’s view of the outside world proved somewhat limited. The prison he’d endured never really changed.
“You won’t get away with this crime. There are cameras everywhere.” Then softly hushed, “You idiot. Run.” Sleep finally took her, and she pitched forward.
He glanced to the ceiling and spotted the cameras recording his movement. His lips pressed tight. He might have been seen. What did it matter? He’d be gone the minute he acquired Daphne.
He strode through the large room cluttered with desks, found stairs, and went down, seeking the dungeons. He quickly realized he needed to go up. More people had to go to sleep as they faced him with weapons. His irritation grew with every room he searched.
It was only as he stood in front of the cell where traces of her scent still lingered that he finally grasped he’d invaded for nothing. Daphne had been moved to another location. He’d lost her.
Fuck.
Chapter Six