Page 405 of Shadowblood Souls
A silent wail of refusal fills my mind—and a whisper of a shriek spills from my lips, cutting the first bird down.
Four
Andreas
Idrift from one end of the sitting room to the other, absorbing the scene around me. Letting the impressions settle in my mind in the hopes I’ll understand the itch niggling at me, insisting that something’s out of place.
A thin gray light seeps over the antique wood and ornate upholstery of the room’s furnishings. Silence reigns through the vast villa, nothing reaching my ears but the occasional chirp of a bird outside and the soft rhythm of my own breath.
In the first couple of days after our introduction to Balthazar’s home, I’ve found myself waking up just before dawn and meandering through the rooms. Searching for any clue I can find about the mansion’s owner and associates while I don’t feel quite so monitored.
Of course, for all I know, he’s got hidden cameras covering every inch of this space. He could be watching me right now from his protected office, wondering what I’m up to.
My skin creeps, and I rub my arms. Frustration winds through my chest with a deepening squeeze.
We’ve ended up trapped yet again. Treated like objects for this sick bastard to toy with.
He might say it’s not a game, but he sure seems to enjoy toying with our emotions.
There has to be something I can learn from his chosen residence, though. I can’t believe he set up the whole house just for us to occupy it.
It has a lived-in feel to it, with little traces of human occupation that wouldn’t have been left by someone staging the house for sale. Patches of wear show on the thick rug by the fireplace. Scuffs mark on the floor beneath chair legs that have scraped at the varnish.
And also…
I stop by one corner and take in the room again, trying to avoid any assumptions. Just letting every aspect of it seep into my consciousness.
The niggling sensation expands, and my gaze narrows in on specific objects. That side table between two of the chairs… it has a style that doesn’t quite fit with the others in the room. A little bulkier and clunkier-looking.
A floor lamp in another corner gives me a similar impression—that it’s more modern and industrial than the main vibe of the furnishings. Kind of like the house was mainly decorated by one party, but someone else insisted on adding their own, different touch here and there.
If that’s true, who would Balthazar have let share the responsibility?
I glance around again and sigh. The revelation—if I’m even right—doesn’t get me very far. It could easily simply be the mark of an interior designer handling most of the décor with Balthazar sticking a few of his own purchases into the mix.
But it’s possible he has a collaborator he treats as more of an equal than an underling. Someone he shared responsibility over the décor with.
I have no idea whether that would be a good thing for us or a bigger problem than we’re already facing.
As I’ve done in the other rooms I’ve examined, I move to the sideboards and cabinets along the walls, opening them up to poke around inside.
Here, I find some dusty leatherbound books behind a glass door, a sheaf of blank linen paper in a drawer next to a baggie of faded potpourri… and on the shelves beneath it, a record player with a small stack of records.
My heart skips a beat at the final treasure. I have no idea if the device works, but amid the memories I’ve gleaned from so many minds over the years, I have a visual of how to work the thing.
Riva has gone without music since we arrived here—and I doubt she had much chance to enjoy it on the island either. Once she’s awake, I’ll bring the player to her room and set it up for her.
It won’t make that much of a difference to our situation, but when you’ve got next to nothing, you have to hold on to the little things.
With the small victory warming me, I pad over to the door. Just as I rest my hand on it to ease it open, the faint whisper of footsteps reaches my ears.
I nudge the door ajar just a crack. Peeking through the thin gap, I make out Toni’s tall, slimly toned form striding past me down the hall.
She has no idea I’m here. It’s a perfect opportunity to peek inside the mind of the woman who appears to be one of Balthazar’s most trusted associates.
I train my gaze on her, grateful when she momentarily slows to peer through the doorway of one of the rooms down the hall.There’s no need to narrow my search this first time; I want my first glimpse of her past to be totally unedited.
You never know what might turn up in a person’s head.
