The Devil's Wolf

They landed on the rooftop of the tallest, gleaming glass and steel tower, running across the textured concrete of the exposed roof surface to press themselves against the cold brick work wall of the stairway entry. Ashlynn brought out the pouch containing the glamour, shivering in the cold and fighting against the wind that picked up their hair and ruffled Cael's feathers.

"Windy up so high," she observed, certain that she could feel the tower creak beneath her feet.

"The tall buildings create wind tunnels," Cael explained. "And their shadows decrease temperature as the air lowers, which results in an increase of wind as there is friction between warmer air rising and cooler air lowering." "So, yes, in other words," she smiled at him to take the sting from her words. "I am, however, very impressed by your knowledge."

"We learn about the movement of air," he shrugged a shoulder. "In order to fly more efficiently."

"My devil, the scholar. Now what have we got in here?" She dug into the satin lined pouch.

Alatar had bound the magic into two rather gaudy amulets, the sort of twisted metal without meaning that were sold to vampire fans who liked to dress in crushed velvet and fishnets and hang out in the Vampire Square hoping to lure a vampire into turning them. She imagined that Alatar had picked them up cheaply and it had tickled his sense of human to bind real magic into them.

"It is hideous," Cael complained ducking his head so that she could hang one around his neck. It actually looked good, she thought, nestled on the chest of her devil, but then there was very little that would not be accentuated by being worn by Cael.

"It is the texture of the amulet that is important when spell casting," she told him, adjusting its lie on his chest so that she could stroke the man beneath it and feel his heartbeat against her palm. "And the stone. The texture holds the spell to the metal, and the stone gives it a focal point. See," she smiled. "I am a scholar too." Magic had been the one class she had paid attention to.

"Slave magic," the devil was disdainful turning the amulet over in his hands as he examined it.

"I have yet to see you do anything impressive with your magic," she pointed out, slipping the second amulet over her head.

"I don't have to do impressive, I am impressive," he was haughty but she saw that his lip curled a little and his eyes danced with humor. He was, she thought, making fun of himself. "But, if you must know, I am reserving my magic until it is actually needed," he added..

"Of course, you are, my love," she fed her power into the amulet to activate it. "Can you see the glamour?"

"Glamour does not work on me," he replied, a fact that did not surprise her as it never worked on her either and she assumed that to be because of their mutual heritage. "But I can see the edge of the slave magic, so I presume it is working." She saw the stone on his amulet light. "What can you see?"

"I just see Cael," she replied, frustrated. "No difference."

"It is active, whatever it is," he grimaced as he retracted his wings. "So unnatural," he muttered. "And f-king painful to be bringing them in and out constantly."

The wind blew its chill over them, carrying the hint of rain and lifting their hair and the edges of the shirt Cael wore. Ashlynn shivered, and he moved closer, positioning his body to protect her from the wind and offer her his body heat. She looked up at him and smiled fondly, laying her hand on his chest.

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"Thank you," she lifted onto her tip toes to kiss his cheek.

"We should go in," he replied. "You are cold."

"Yes," but she did not move, instead putting her arms around his neck and tilting her head back in order to kiss him. He leaned into her, pulling her tightly to his body, and returned her kiss with enthusiasm until she eased back to stroke his hair back from his face.

"What was that for?" A slight smile curled the corner of his lips.

"You just looked pretty," she took his hand, not wanting to admit that the kiss had been a goodbye kiss. She wished she'd had the opportunity to do the same to Elior. Don't be negative, Ashlynn, she scolded herself. "Let's go."

She used a spell to unlock the door, and they entered the steep concrete stairwell, the heavy door closing overloudly behind them, the echo dully rebounding off the raw brickwork and concrete moulded stairs, the edges painted bright with reflective yellow, designed to aid those using the staircase to flee in the event of emergency. There was a terrible quiet to the staircase, and they both stilled, heads tilted as they listened.

"Surely there should be some noise?" She whispered. "It is awfully quiet."

As they reached the first landing she hesitated at the door, pressing her ear against it and listening. "I can't hear anything," she breathed. "It could mean nothing more than the door is too thick to hear through, or it could mean that this floor is empty. But going top to bottom makes sense, doesn't it, seeing as we are at the top?"

"I am not entirely sure what we are looking for," he replied indifferently. "So, I guess."

She sent him a glance. The devil had no investment in the outcome of their adventure, he was along for the ride because she had taken him there, and, she suspected, because he had been bored reading magazines and her diaries in her bedroom and this, at least, was more interested than that had been.

But he also had a point. She was not entirely sure what she was looking for either.

"Other vampires," she decided. "So, we can overhead what they say, and see if anyone drops anything of interest."

She opened the stairwell door into the top level and peeked out. "All clear."

They stepped out into an entrance of glossy marble tiles. Two elevators, doors closed, also opened into the rectangular space. A heavy dark wood door was the only other opening, its gold handle almost gaudy in the way that it caught the eye. Art hung on the walls, lit from above and three chairs upholstered in dark grey fabric were positioned next to a narrow, elegant marble topped hall table, on which a floral arrangement was beginning to wilt, as if it had not been refreshed for some time, the flowers dropping orange pollen dust onto the marble beneath the vase.