He spun and led the way across the remaining access road. Silence immediately closed in around us, and the acrid scent of smoke and decay began to fill every breath. Underneath those foul scents ran the biting edge of magic.

But there was something else here, something that had the hairs along the back of my neck rising. It was the sense of expectation. I really didn’t want to discover who or what it was coming from.

I increased my pace and moved up beside Sam. “This might well be a trap.”

He glanced at me briefly, his expression giving little away. “I don’t think there’s any ‘might’ about it.”

“I doubt it’s the cloaks waiting for us,” Jackson said. “Regular fire does kill them, even if it takes a little longer. Surely not even they are stupid enough to stand immobile while their flesh burns.”

“It probably depends on what—if any—orders Luke gave them before he died.” There was just the slightest edge to Sam’s tone, one that spoke of sorrow and regret. He might have wanted Luke dead, but, in the end, they’d been brothers, and some part of him still mourned the loss. “And remember, the cloaks with the scythe don’t appear to be capable of autonomous thought, so if there were no orders, they might well be immobilized.”

“Given what happened in the Carlton Gardens—” Jackson paused. “You were advised of that, weren’t you?”

A slight smile touched Sam’s lips. “I’m still lead investigator, so yes, I was.”

“Just why are you still lead investigator?” I asked. “You should by all rights still be in the hospital. Those runes did a hell of a lot of damage.”

His gaze came to mine. Something dark and dangerous flared in his eyes, but it was anger and frustration—maybe even regret—that stung the air. “Had I still been human, I undoubtedly would be.”

Meaning the virus had gifted him with fast healing. I guess that, at least, was something good to have come from the infection, even if it was outweighed by all the bad.

I pulled my gaze away from his and skimmed the lonely street. The buildings seemed more decayed than ever before. Wind keened through shattered windows and rattled loose roof sheeting and broken doors, but nothing else stirred in this place. Nothing other than the ever-present plastic bags that pirouetted down the street, anyway. The only real difference this time to all the other times I’d walked into this place was the soot that fell like black snow all around us, and the orange glow of the fire that was somehow contained within one area. That area might be protected by Frederick’s magic, but why, if there were items within the barrier that Rinaldo wanted, would they contain rather than erase the inferno? It made no sense.