Curious, I headed out to investigate. The stones stood on a small rock island that had been built in the middle of the lily-filled pond. Water spurted from the top of each, then ran down their cuneiform-etched sides before trickling back into the pond.

As I approached the stones, they began to pulse with energy. This time, it was darker, more threatening. I hesitated, then mentally shrugged. I’d come this far—why stop now?

I entered the stones. Again the energy encaged my particles, then swept me not into brightness, but utter darkness. A darkness that was cold, devoid of sensation, and as frightening as hell. Then the energy surged, and I found myself in a very different garden. One that was lush and exotic, filled with plants and the happy calls of birds.

Where the hell was I? The air was hot and moist, and clung uncomfortably to my particles. Somewhere in the distance water bubbled, a soothing accompaniment to all the birdcalls. Yet no birds fluttered through all the greenery, and I soon realized why—the calls were being piped in from somewhere nearby. Then I saw the glass wall. I was in a greenhouse of some sort.

I moved in to the plant life. I had no sense that anything—living or otherwise—was close, but that didn’t mean caution wasn’t required.

After a few seconds I found a second glass wall, but this one looked out onto a backyard that ran down to sand and then sea. A sea that was blue and bright and vast and was nothing like Melbourne’s own bay even on the best of days.

And I still had absolutely no idea where I was.

I followed the wall until I found a set of double doors that opened out into the yard and slipped underneath them. The outside air was cooler, but it was still far warmer here than in Melbourne. I slipped across the manicured lawn, then onto the sand. The sea rushed to greet me, its foamy fingers crashing upward, spraying my particles with salt water.

I studied the beach that stretched endlessly before me and suddenly recognized the long line of high-rise buildings that crowded the shore.

I was in Queensland—the Gold Coast, to be exact.

To have come this far meant those stones held some serious magic. Most transport spells—or at least the ones created by human witches and white sorcerers—were restricted when it came to distance. There were very few people with enough power capable of producing a spell that could take you from one state to another. Which meant that even if whoever the hell had made these stones wasn’t involved with Lucian or the key quest, they were someone we needed to be very wary of.

I moved back through the greenhouse and into the house. As you’d expect of a property on such a prime piece of real estate, it was vast, bright, and expensive looking. The decor was minimal and modern, and this lower floor consisted mainly of a pool and barbecue area, as well as changing rooms and a bar. The entire first floor was devoted to a massive kitchen and living area, with panoramic folding glass doors opening onto a balcony that overlooked the beach. The second floor held all the bedrooms. There were no other standing stones that I could find, so maybe the ones in the greenhouse worked both as an entry and an exit point. The one we’d found underground certainly had.

The house was empty, and I could sense no other form of magic protecting it. Nor could I actually see any form of security system installed, which meant I could probably risk resuming my regular shape. I called to the Aedh once more, and the magic answered swiftly, sharply, sweeping me from energy to flesh in the blink of an eye before depositing me in an ungainly heap on the polished floorboards. Which was where I stayed, gulping down air, the pain in my head sharp enough to have tears rolling down my cheeks and my stomach jumping up my throat.

A heartbeat later, energy surged around me; then arms that were warm and familiar and oh so welcome wrapped around me and drew me close. As the side of my face pressed against Azriel’s chest, I closed my eyes and listened to the steady beat of his heart, willing my own to match it. After a while, the rapid pace of my pulse began to slow, and the pain lessened.

He shifted his grip and held me at arm’s length. “Are you all right?”

I took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Surprisingly, yes.”

His gaze swept me, and his expression suggested he wasn’t exactly believing that. No surprise, given he was connected to my chi and knew the truth. “Do you know where we are?”

I half smiled. “To paraphrase Dorothy: Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

“I’m bound to say that statement makes no sense.”

“Do any of my statements ever make sense to you?” I brushed the solo tear tracking its way down my cheek with a somewhat shaky hand. I might have felt stronger changing to and from Aedh form, but the aftereffects still sucked. Big-time.

He rose and held out his hand. “On rare occasions, yes, they do.”

I snorted softly and placed my fingers in his. He hauled me up gently, but the world did a brief three-sixty around me, and it was only his grip that kept me upright.

“Damn,” I muttered, swallowing bile. “I really am going to have to eat something soon.”

“I will refrain from saying I told you so.”

“That’s mighty big of you.” I turned and studied the room. We were in what had to be the master bedroom, given it was twice the size of the other four. It was pin-neat, almost sterile, with little sign that anyone lived here. But someone surely had to—why else would the stones transport us here?

“I cannot say whether someone lives here or not,” he said. “But there is magic in this place.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Really? I didn’t sense any when I was in Aedh form.”

“That is because the magic has some form of sensory boundary around it. It is very subtle.” He motioned toward the closet. “And comes from there.”

I studied the double doorway somewhat dubiously, then pushed my feet into motion. The closet turned out to be another room—one as big as my bedroom and filled with enough designer shoes and clothes to make even Aunt Riley’s heart sing. One side held feminine things, the other male, and in the middle stood several long, intricately carved Chinese sideboards. Now that we were close, the magic within them was easy enough to feel. It radiated from the drawers and cupboards in gentle waves, caressing my skin with an electricity that felt as dark and as dangerous as the stones in the greenhouse below.

I stopped and rubbed my arms. “Wonder what these things hold.”

“The accoutrements of a dark sorcerer, from the feel of it. I would suggest you do not attempt to view them.”

“There’s not a chance in hell of me doing that.” Even if part of me wanted to.

I swung away from the troubling source of magic, donned my gloves again, and went through the clothes, trying to find some clue as to the identity of their owners. Interestingly, all the male clothing—while exquisitely made—tended to be rather old-fashioned in design. If it weren’t for the modern labels, it would have been easy to believe they belonged to a time when breeches and waistcoats were all the rage. In fact, they were the sort of clothes Jane Austen’s men would have been perfectly at home in.

But again, there was nothing—not even a scrap of paper in pockets—to suggest that the clothes had ever been worn. It was as if we were dealing with a ghost.

But while a ghost could certainly haunt this place, one couldn’t actually own it.

Frowning, I spun around and checked the other bedrooms. The result was, as I’d expected, more big fat zeros.

We headed downstairs. The kitchen was all shiny black and fitted out with silver appliances, and while the result was pretty spectacular, all I could envisage was the multitude of fingerprints and dust that would show unless you were vigilant about cleaning. Which whoever owned this place obviously was, because there wasn’t a speck to be seen.

Thankful I hadn’t ditched the gloves at the warehouse, I carefully opened the drawers and cupboards. All of them contained the usual kitchen paraphernalia, and all of them were as neat as the rest of the house.

“Whoever lives here doesn’t seem to agree with your philosophy when it comes to storing things,” Azriel commented.

I glanced at him as I moved over to the pantry. He stood in the middle of the oversized living area, arms crossed and expression wary. Like he expected something to jump out at us at any minute—and things certainly had during past investigations of places where we weren’t supposed to be.

“And what philosophy would that be?” I said, opening the pantry door.

“To dump items wherever and worry about finding them again later.”

I flashed him a grin over my shoulder. “Do my untidy tendencies bother you?”

“No. I just find them illogical.”

“And now you sound like Spock. And I know that makes no sense because you have no idea who he is.” I paused, my gaze falling on the small black organizer attached to the other side of the door. “Bingo.”

He was beside me in an instant. “You’ve found something?”

“Bills.” I plucked one out and opened it up.

My stomach dropped.

The person who owned this mansion was no stranger.

It was Lauren Macintyre—the dark sorceress who was Lucian’s lover.

Chapter 4

“If you were looking for a connection between our dark sorcerer and Lucian,” Azriel commented, “I think you just found it.”

“But Lauren isn’t the sorcerer we’re looking for. Her magic felt different from the magic I sensed when that first key was stolen.”

“And yet the cuneiform on all the stones—both the ones you discovered today and the one you and Jak discovered underground—bear the same markings and energy quality.”

“Which suggests she’s involved, not that she’s the one we’re looking for.” I shoved the letter back, making sure it was in the exact same position. “Besides, it was a man I saw snatching the key, not a woman.”

“You could have been mistaken. We were under extreme pressure at the time.”

Extreme pressure was putting it mildly, given we’d been under attack from a horde of insane mutant shifters. “Yes, but I’m not mistaken. It was a man.”