by Eileen Wilks
But it was a good thing Karonski would be here tomorrow. A damn good thing.
At this point Lily knew pretty much exactly what she’d known two hours earlier. Her family had been questioned and turned loose; most of them had headed to the hospital. “Nothing,” Rickie had told her. “The Big A and I got nothing from them worth repeating. No one saw or heard anything unusual until Mrs. Yu started screaming.”
The coven wasn’t here yet. Their head priestess had been in Mission Viejo, over an hour away, when Ida called her. CSI was still working the scene. Cullen was helping them by making sure everything they removed was magically inert. Ackleford and his people were interviewing the last of the restaurant’s patrons. Lily had told him that Friar was probably involved. There were special procedures to be followed in a case involving Robert Friar. For one thing, he was a powerful clairaudient—a listener. Lily’s Gift blocked him, as did Rule’s mantle, but the regular agents would have to be careful about what they said.
And Lily . . . Lily was feeling increasingly useless. She was also running out of reasons to avoid going to the hospital.
She ought to want to be there, but, oh, God, she didn’t. For once in her life, she wanted to play ostrich. She would put off going as long as she could, put off that moment when she looked at her father and her family, knowing she was probably the reason her mother had been attacked.
Coincidences happen, but this was not one. Not if Friar was involved. He hadn’t done this just to get at Lily, though. He and his damn mistress were too goal oriented for that, and their goal was the biggest makeover ever, using her specs for Humanity 2.0.
Lily didn’t see how robbing Julia Yu of most of her life gave them a leg up on the world-domination thing. Maybe this had been the test-drive of some new magical trick or device. A way to be sure it worked before turning it on his real target—Rule? Ruben? the president?—and to hurt Lily along the way. That made more sense.
No, it didn’t. Why would Friar show his hand this way? Why alert them that such a thing was possible? Robert Friar wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t risk having his real attack misfire just so he could shovel some pain into Lily’s life. Did that mean that somehow Julia Yu’s memory loss did help him? Had there been something in Julia’s life—something she used to know, but no longer did—that could derail Friar’s plans?
Whatever the hell those plans might be. She needed to stop speculating until she had more facts to build on. If she couldn’t get a handle on why, she’d look at how. Which meant pestering Cullen, because Miriam and her damn coven weren’t here yet.
She only hoped he wouldn’t be too bloody careful with her. Some of the others were doing that, and it drove her crazy.
Cullen was perched on a table in the center of the main dining room, legs folded in half lotus, watching the busy CSI techs like a grouchy Buddha. Every so often he sketched something in the air, though his air-writing didn’t glow like it usually did. Maybe he didn’t like to do that around so many cops. Technically, sorcery was illegal, though the law hadn’t been enforced for decades, and not just because most people didn’t think sorcerers existed anymore. The law was based on such poor understanding of what sorcery was—and how magic in general worked—that enforcing it was about as reasonable as arresting people for leaving their Christmas decorations up too long. Which, she’d read, was illegal in Maine, but no one got arrested for it.
He saw her coming and stood, then launched himself from the table, leaping over a startled tech using a hand vac. The table rocked slightly. He landed easily and scowled at her. “I hope to God you’ve got something for me to do.”
She should have known she could count on Cullen not to tread warily around her delicate feelings. “You can leave if you’re done.”
“No, I can’t. I’m waiting on Miriam. There’s a couple more elaborate spells I can try, but they require a full circle.”
“While we wait, I’ve got a few questions.”
“Of course you do.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve got precious few answers for you. Whatever was done to Julia, the spell or ritual took place elsewhere. No matter how carefully a spell or ritual is worked, it leaves traces. There aren’t any here.”
“You’ve abandoned the idea of a potion?”
“It’s just so damn unlikely. If Friar somehow hooked up with another of Dya’s people, someone who might be able to concoct a potion that would do this . . . but that’s not at all likely, is it? Plus any potion would have to have turned magically inert afterward, since I checked every glass at the table. That’s also hard for anyone but a Binai to pull off.”
Dya’s people made the most sophisticated potions known to the sidhe, which meant they were very sophisticated indeed. But the Binai were few and lived in the sidhe realms, and the two Queens came down really, really hard on anyone in their realms who so much as spoke the Great Bitch’s name. None of the Binai would knowingly give aid to her.
All of which made it, as Cullen said, damn unlikely. “So what—ah. At last.” Lily started for the restaurant’s front door.
It had opened to admit five people. The one in the lead was a tall woman, what some might call statuesque, others lush. An insurance chart would likely peg her as thirty pounds above optimum, but she wore those pounds the way another woman might wrap up in a sarong.
Miriam Faircastle reminded Lily a bit of Nettie Two Horses. They were about the same age, two self-assured, forty-plus women who’d never married or seemed to feel the need. Mostly, though, it was the hair. Miriam’s was every bit as long and frizzy as Nettie’s and a similar shade of coppery brown. Their styles were vastly different, though. Miriam liked color. Lots of color. Tonight she’d pulled her hair back with a blue scarf. She put that with a floaty turquoise skirt, an orange tee, and a second scarf wrapped around her hips, that one mostly yellow with some green and blue. To make sure she didn’t leave any part of the spectrum feeling neglected, she’d added several strands of bright red beads around her neck.
Lily had met three of the people with Miriam. The fourth was new to her—a short, square little woman with thick glasses and a blond braid. Lily gave the group a nod. “I know Jack and Gail and Warren,” she said, “and this is—?”
“Abby,” Miriam said and clasped Lily’s shoulders in her hands, looking down at her with dark brown eyes. “Abby Farmer. You haven’t worked with her before. She’s new to the coven and is an extremely strong and capable Earth witch. Lily, I am so very sorry about your mother.”
Sympathy affected Lily the way peanuts did some people. Her throat closed right up. She nodded stiffly. “Thanks. She’ll be okay. Now, I’m sure Ida or Ruben briefed you, but—”
“It has to be terrible for you, working this as if it was just another case. Anything I can do to help, I will. We all will.” Miriam glanced at the others, who murmured agreement or nodded.
She could start by not looming over Lily. Miriam’s personal space dial was set to Italian or something. She always stood too close. “Thank you,” Lily said again. And if you hug me, I’m going to belt you. “We need to know several things that I hope you can help with. First, though, I need you to certify that . . . damn.” The electronic gong muffled by Lily’s pocket was a ring tone she didn’t hear often. Grandmother did not like talking on the phone. “I need to answer this,” she said, pulling out her phone. “Cullen, could you brief Miriam and the others?”
“Sure. Here’s the deal, Miriam. Once you’ve run the basic tests for the record, I’d like to try a variation on a seek spell with . . .”
Lily stopped listening, moving away as she thumbed the answer button. Her heart pounded. If it was bad news, surely it would be Rule calling, not Grandmother? “This is Lily.”
“Do not be alarmed,” Grandmother said crisply. “Julia is resting. However, there is disagreement about her treatment. I may revoke my approval of doctors. You are needed here.”
&n
bsp; * * *
RULE had always known his people were at war.
Long before his First Change, he and Steve and the others in their age cohort had killed thousands of dworg. Dworg made satisfying monsters because they were not wholly imaginary. Extinct, yes—or so everyone believed—but the clans had fought the real thing in the Great War. Sometimes Rule had died heroically in those battles, like Arnos of Etorri, but mostly he’d preferred to emulate Kierran or Tel—heroes who survived to fight another day. Those ancient tales were the stories he’d listened to, played out, and grown up on. All lupi did.
Human history had no record of the Great War. Not surprising, given that it ended over three thousand years ago . . . or so its other participants thought. Not the lupi. War didn’t end until your opponent was dead or had submitted irrevocably. The enemy they had been created to defeat was an Old One, as incapable of real submission as she was of dying. She might have been temporarily defeated and locked out of their realm, but the war hadn’t ended.
For over three thousand years, each generation of lupi had been raised knowing they could be the ones called upon to resume the war. So Rule had always known that his people were at war, yes, and that his could be the generation called into battle . . . much as he’d grown up knowing the Russians might decide to drop nuclear bombs on his country. It could happen. It probably wouldn’t, but it could.
Unlike the lupi’s war, the Cold War had ended. And as year rolled into year it had been easy to believe that his generation, too, would live out their lives in relative peace.
One year and four months ago, the Azá tried to open a hellgate.
He and Lily and a great many others had stopped them, but they’d known she was behind the attempt. Persuading the other clans of this had been difficult until last September, when the Lady spoke through the Rhejes to announce the resumption of the war. In October, the battle had gone hot. Even humans knew a little about it now—at least, they knew about the battles at the Humans First rallies. Most had some idea of Friar’s connection to that carnage, though they didn’t know about the Great Bitch and her plans for their world.
A few did, however. At the FBI and in the White House, they knew.
It was one thing to know you might be called to war. It was another to fight it.
Rule leaned his head back in the uncomfortable chair beside Julia’s bed and closed his eyes, relieved that she slept at last. Relieved for both of them. Dealing with a sad, frantic twelve-year-old was not easy. But with his eyes closed, the sickness came back, a sickness that pounded in him like a drumbeat.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
What had been done to Julia was hideous, obscene, wrong on the deepest level. And his fault.
That wasn’t true. He knew that, dammit. How could he have anticipated such a thing, much less kept it from happening? He pushed to his feet and then stood there, trying not to pace. Deep inside where that drumbeat pounded, words held no sway. Deep inside, he knew only that he’d failed. Failed Julia and failed Lily. Julia was part of the war because of him. It had been up to him to protect her, and he’d failed.
He took a slow breath to calm himself. God, he hated hospitals.
His eyes fell on the black leather purse sitting primly on the beside table. Edward Yu was a highly logical man, yet he’d insisted that Julia should have her purse. That made no sense. All the familiar detritus of Julia’s life had no meaning to her now, but logic broke down under such an onslaught of emotion.
There was a slim leather folder tucked into one outside pocket of that purse. His heart heavy, Rule pulled out that folder. He knew what it held—a notebook containing all the plans for the wedding, written in Julia’s slanting, impeccable script.
Lily often found her mother difficult, he knew. He understood why, but he’d enjoyed collaborating with Julia on the wedding. She was pushy, yes, and inclined to hold a very high opinion of her opinions. But once they’d established that Rule could not be pushed somewhere he didn’t wish to go, they’d dealt with each other quite well. Julia was a natural organizer, and she’d taken such pleasure in arranging her daughter’s wedding. Every detail interested her. Every detail mattered.
Every detail was written down in the notebook he held now. That was fortunate, for Julia remembered none of them now. Sorrow tightened Rule’s throat. He tucked the folder into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.
On the other side of the door to Julia’s room, Chris spoke. “Madame Yu is coming with a lady who looks like the one you’re expecting.”
“Very good. Admit them when they arrive.” Grandmother had arranged for a family member with a nursing degree to relieve Rule. The woman had been chosen for her training, of course, but also because the twelve-year-old Julia hadn’t known her. Julia was most distressed by those she’d known who were now so much older. Rule had asked Grandmother to escort the woman here herself. He had guards at the door to Julia’s room and guards with the rest of her family . . . guards who would be useless against the kind of attack that had struck Julia, but it was all he knew how to do. All he could do.
Rule heard Chris’s respectful greeting. He carefully smoothed out his face. The door opened, and Madame Yu entered with a woman in her forties with the kind of cushiony body that made children think of laps, hugs, and cookies.
Madame Yu looked at Julia, then at Rule. She frowned. “You must stop that.”
He blinked. “Ah—stop what?”
“Never mind. We have no time now, but you and I will talk later. Jin, do you require anything?”
“Not a thing, Grandmother.”
Madame Yu was not this woman’s grandmother. Jin Zimmerman was the sister of a woman who’d married one of Lily’s cousins. But “cousin” was an elastic term in Lily’s family, encompassing first, second, and third cousins as well as their spouses, offspring, and sometimes other relatives. It could be confusing, especially since not all cousins were called cousin. Those of Lily’s parents’ generation or older were “aunt” or “uncle” to her generation—a more respectful title to indicate their status in the clan.
Not clan, he reminded himself. Family. The similarities between her family and his clan were obvious, but the differences mattered. Madame Yu might hold a position similar to Rho, but she had no mantle to enforce her will, nor would challenges to her authority be settled physically.
“Rule,” Madame Yu said, “this is Lily’s cousin Jin Zimmerman. Jin, this is Rule Turner. I go to the meeting room now. Rule, you will bring Lily there when she arrives.” Having delivered her instructions, she left.
“It’s good to meet you, Mrs. Zimmerman,” Rule said.
“Make it Jin,” she said placidly. “How’s my patient?”
“Physically well enough. Sam says she’ll sleep for at least eight hours, so your duties should be light.”
“Who’s Sam?”
“The black dragon. He put her to sleep.”
“Oh. Yes, I was told about that. He will take some getting used to. I’ve never had a dragon treating one of my patients.”
She didn’t seem alarmed at the prospect. “I’m not sure one can get used to Sam. He probably won’t bother you, however. I can’t say the same for some of the doctors.” Julia now had four physicians consulting on her case. He pulled out his card case. “You may want my number.”
Jin took his card and glanced at the bed where her patient slept. “Anything else I should know?”
Rule, too, looked at Julia. She was curled up on her side, one hand tucked beneath the skimpy pillow the hospital provided. There were still traces of makeup around her eyes. Her eyelids twitched in some dream, but she didn’t stir. He looked at her and all he could think was Wrong, wrong, wrong.
“I don’t think so,” he told her nurse. “Professionally, of course, you must obey the doctors. For anything that does not fall under their authority, heed what Madame Yu told you.”
Rule blinked. “She what?”
“Like a baby duck.” She wound yarn around one needle. “Madame said you were the first friendly face Julia saw after being robbed of her memory, and that was that. She fixed on you, just like a baby duck. Should I call you if Julia wakes and asks for you?”
“She shouldn’t wake before I return, but yes.” Rule gave her a nod and left, closing the door behind him. Two of his men waited there. Two more waited near the nursing station. He nodded at the two who would remain on guard and went to speak with José, who was in charge of the squad. Rule checked quickly with the mate-sense to see how close Lily was. There was time to update his father, so he made that call first, then said, “Everyone is in place?” to José.
José nodded, so Rule gestured at Barnaby and the three of them headed for the stairs. Barnaby had point; José followed three yards behind Rule.
It felt good to stretch his legs. They were only on the eighth floor, so he wouldn’t get to stretch them for long, but he savored the sensation. That was not the main reason he was avoiding the elevator, however. Their enemy could have tracked them to St. Margaret’s, and a gunman waiting outside the elevator could spray the interior with bullets the moment the doors opened. Rule didn’t consider a physical assault here likely, but why take a risk so easily avoided?
Especially when it felt so good to move. Defensive wars sucked.
Taking the fight to the enemy was sound strategy. Pity it had proved impossible so far. They had no way of reaching the Great Bitch, and her agent in this realm was a patterner, capable of twisting probabilities to his advantage. In other words, Robert Friar always had extraordinarily good luck. Neither the Bureau nor the clandestine group known as the Shadow Unit had been able to turn up a single lead to his whereabouts, so they were always reacting to their enemy’s latest attack, never able to attack first.