by Eileen Wilks
“Take Scott and Mark.”
She grimaced but left without arguing—or answering any of the questions her family hurled at her retreating back.
SIX
“WELL, I like that!”
“That kind of cavalier attitude—”
“I can’t imagine you’re going to let her behave that way, Edward.”
“Of course he will not. Edward, I will go get Lily and tell her to come back here right now.” Mequi scraped her chair back.
Rule had had enough. “Stop!”
Faces turned toward him—incredulous, startled, and displeased faces.
He looked at them one at a time . . . and he let his wolf rise just enough that they would see it in his eyes. They might not consciously recognize what they saw, but their hindbrains would. “I am tired of this. You are Lily’s family. You love her—and you chide her as if she were a child. You have no grasp of her responsibilities or her abilities, and no respect for her authority. If she could have told you more, she would have. You are making a terrible time more difficult for her and for Edward. Stop.”
No one said a word. Mequi was rigid with affront; Feng was frightened and trying to hide it. Paul was uneasy, which made him look especially wooden, and Dr. Babbitt flinched away from Rule physically. Susan’s face flashed from alarm to disapproval. Jim frowned, but there was a thoughtful look in his eyes. Deborah was simply astonished. Madame Yu’s eyebrows lifted. She gave him a small nod.
Edward’s expression didn’t change. Rule realized he’d been wrong. Edward’s family wasn’t making things worse for him. He was barely aware of them, save when they spoke directly about Julia. He had no energy, attention, or emotion to spend on anything not directly related to his wife’s health. “Since Lily was called away,” Edward said as if nothing had happened, “it is your turn to speak, Rule.”
Speak about Julia, that is . . . who was why they were here. Who wasn’t here with them, helping them make this decision. They’d already deemed her unable to participate in her own care regardless of what the law said, which Rule intended to point out to—
Do not.
Sam could direct mindspeech to one or many. This time, Rule was sure Sam had spoken only to him. Sam was well able to pluck the thoughts from Rule’s head . . . or respond to his general confusion. Which was what he did next.
Do not point out that they have no legal authority to make this decision for Julia Yu. Li Lei would be displeased.
As far as Rule knew, only two beings called Lily’s grandmother by her first name: Sam and her companion, Li Qin. Rule followed Madame’s wishes when he spoke, not pointing out that they could not legally make this decision for Julia, so this meeting was pointless.
Why didn’t Madame Yu want them to realize that?
The question all but answered itself. If Edward decided against having Sam treat Julia, his mother intended an end run. She or Sam would tell Julia what Sam proposed—and Julia was legally able to direct her own treatment.
You are slow, Sam said, but you arrive at the obvious. Edward Yu believes he is keeping an open mind. He is not. He possesses a strong and visceral distrust of direct mental manipulation; he considers it an unholy violation of sovereignty. Were he in a better mental state himself, he would be able to reason that the violation has already taken place, and what I propose is similar to the violation of a surgeon’s knife, made to repair what has been damaged. He is not at this time capable of this level of reasoning.
However, it is not Li Lei or myself who will persuade Julia Yu to accept my proposed treatment. That falls to you. She trusts you.
Apparently persuasion did not violate Sam’s ethical standards.
Direct mental manipulation without consent abrogates choice. Persuasion does not.
To a dragon, choice was the fundamental value. All virtues and all sins flowed from it. The funny thing was that dragons were also great meddlers. Rule had sometimes wondered how Sam resolved the apparent contradiction. Apparently the key lay in how one defined manipulation.
If Sam disagreed with Rule’s conclusion, he didn’t say so. Rule finished the out-loud conversation by repeating what Lily had said about them having no choice. Sam was the only one who could help Julia. Edward listened carefully, but without giving any sign Rule had convinced him.
Dr. Babbitt was up next. He began to talk about his proposed treatment—antianxiety drugs, talk therapy, and sequestration in a mental institution. He padded that bleak picture with a great many words.
Use whatever means seem best to convince Julia, Sam told Rule while the doctor spoke. This should not trouble your own ethical standards. You are accustomed to making decisions for others.
Yes, but Julia wasn’t one of his clan members.
You are also accustomed to manipulating others into making the desired decision themselves. Your father is better at this, but you have some skill. Lily Yu agrees that this is necessary.
That surprised Rule—both that Sam had already told Lily and that she’d agreed, considering how unhappy she was with Sam at the moment.
Lily Yu has grown fond of me. When fondness grows in humans, an innate mechanism transfers expectations along with the emotion. Because this transfer occurs without conscious recognition, she is unaware of the foolishness of those expectations and experiences only their violation. She is, however, capable of setting this reaction aside to do what is necessary. Once you have persuaded Julia, I will put Julia to sleep again. Bring her to my lair.
Sam wasn’t going to do this at the hospital?
I will need the protections at my lair. This will be a lengthy process and will leave me incapacitated in important ways. You do not see the ramifications. The Great Enemy is aware of me and at least some of my actions against her.
Dr. Babbitt finally finished. It was Paul’s turn. He surprised Rule by saying only that he was out of his depth and would support whatever decision Edward made.
Susan was up next. She wanted to allow Dr. Babbitt to treat Julia with antianxiety drugs here at the hospital and to bring in other experts, get more opinions. While she talked, so did Sam. It is reasonable to assume our enemy will be aware that I am partially incapacitated. Whether she can pass this knowledge to Robert Friar is unknown, but even if she cannot, his Gift will suggest to him that this is a good time to strike.
Shit.
Susan finished by emphasizing the need to have more information before making a decision. Deborah stood and began meandering through a teary account of an event from Julia’s childhood.
I speak to you now in your dual capacities as Lu Nuncio of Nokolai and as second-in-command of the Shadow Unit. You are aware that I monitor my territory in ways unavailable to those who are not dragon. You are not aware of various defenses I have in place, or of the matrixes I have established to alert me to sudden shifts in the probabilities. While I am treating Julia I will be unable to monitor my territory, any magical defenses outside my lair, or those matrixes. I will pass to Li Lei the monitoring of my territory. I do not explain the mechanism, which would be meaningless to you, but the senses involved in such monitoring are ill suited to her current form. She will change to her other form and she will be at my lair. I expect the procedure to take between fifteen and twenty-two hours. She will need to eat far more than usual during this period. She tells me she would prefer deer—whole but skinned, as she dislikes the hair, and freshly killed. You may leave the antlers on. She enjoys gnawing on them. Two small deer should do. The carcasses should be left immediately in front of my lair. Arrange this.
Ah . . . all right.
Deborah finished by surprising Rule. After wandering through various tales, ending with the story of how Edward and Julia first met, she sniffed and said that of course they would allow the dragon to do what he could for Julia, and she for one was very grateful to him.
If you consider any debt to be incurred for arranging for the
deer, Sam informed Rule, that is between you and Li Lei.
There could be no debt where Madame Yu was concerned . . . although finding, killing, and skinning two deer might take awhile.
I recommend haste.
Deborah’s husband, Feng, profoundly disagreed with her. No one should be allowed to go messing around in his sister-in-law’s head, however good their intentions might be, and how could a dragon know enough about human minds to tinker with them, anyway? He continued to say much the same thing for some time.
I also wish the use of Cullen Seaborne. Note that I make no request of you and will incur no debt. I offer you the chance to act in defense against our common enemy, Robert Friar, by providing me the use of your man. You can agree to this, in your capacity as Lu Nuncio of his clan?
He could, but why Cullen?
I wish to pass to Cullen Seaborne the monitoring and control of some of the magical defenses in my territory. He will not be able to carry all of them, but I judge him able to accept those sites I deem most vulnerable to attack. He will not be damaged by this task, but he will be incapacitated both during and afterward. I estimate that he will be unconscious for at least twenty-four hours and is likely to experience depletion for two or three subsequent days. If you agree to this, understand that I will not allow him to retain full knowledge of my defenses. I may permit him to retain some of what he learns if he does not annoy me too badly.
In spite of everything, Rule’s mouth crooked up. Cullen wouldn’t just be okay with this—he’d be furious if Rule didn’t give him the chance to drain himself into oblivion in exchange for learning something, anything, about Sam’s mysterious “magical defenses.”
Precisely. Sam’s mental voice was, for once, not wholly unflavored. A whiff of wryness came through.
At last Feng stopped repeating himself and sat. Madame Yu did not stand to make her case. She looked at Edward. “You know my counsel. I have offered it to you already. I add only that there is no benefit in delay and much danger.”
The room was silent as everyone looked at Edward.
He will not agree, Sam said coolly. He is very torn, very muddy. He is aware of his muddiness and will delay, hoping for clarity in the future. Julia’s condition deteriorates too quickly for such delay.
Rule looked at Madame Yu. She met his eyes and again gave a small nod. Maybe Sam had directed that last bit at her as well as Rule. Or maybe Sam had been talking separately to her all along. He was capable of carrying on multiple mental conversations.
Edward looked down at his hands, clasped on the table. He looked at his mother, then away. “I thank you all for sharing your thoughts,” he said slowly. “I appreciate Deborah’s reminder that we must be grateful for what Sun Mzao has offered and I understand why some of you urge me to accept that offer. I may do so later, but at this time I agree with Susan. I do not have enough information to make a decision. I will ask Dr. Babbitt to continue treating Julia here for now, and also to give me the names of other experts who may be helpful. Sun Mzao, you said . . . earlier you told me that sleep offers her mind some protection. If you can keep her asleep for now . . .”
I can.
“Thank you. I . . . she is confused by my presence, but I can at least be with her when she sleeps without upsetting her.” Abruptly he stood. “Dr. Babbitt, if you would get those names for me . . . but you can give them to me later. Text me or . . . I’m going to stay with Julia awhile.”
“Father?” Susan said. “Do you want me to—”
“Not now,” he said. “Not now.” He left quickly.
Chairs were scraped back. Voices were kept low, as if they were at a funeral. Paul began talking to Dr. Babbitt. Feng and Deborah formed their own little knot of disagreement as Rule made his way to Madame Yu. He quirked an eyebrow and spoke very softly. “Are we kidnapping her, or do we do this openly?”
“Openly.” She glanced at the door that had shut behind her son. “This will be difficult enough on Edward. I will be sure he lies down somewhere here to rest in an hour or so. Sam will need that long to prepare. Then it is up to you to convince Julia.”
“In the meantime, I will arrange for deer.”
“Good.” Her eyes were troubled, but her voice was as crisp as ever. “Skinned.”
“But with the antlers.”
She nodded, but he didn’t see the flash of mischief in her eyes he’d expected. “He is shutting me out,” she said abruptly. “Sons must do this with mothers sometimes.”
“Mothers don’t have to like it.”
“No.” The faintest of sighs. “I will speak with Mequi now. She is more vulnerable than the others.”
Mequi was more pigheadedly certain than anyone else in the room.
As if she’d read his mind—which he was almost positive she couldn’t do—Madame Yu patted his arm. “Certainty hides many things. You should know this. Mequi raised Julia after their mother died. She needs something to do.”
Mequi wasn’t the only one who needed that, he thought as he watched Madame Yu head for her daughter-in-law’s sister.
He took out his phone. He’d speak with his father about the deer. There were three herds that included Nokolai Clanhome in their range, so the clan should be able to accommodate Madame’s requested menu. Then he’d call Cullen. But where was Cullen supposed to—
At my lair, Sam said. I will be there. I will now complete my warning.
There was more?
My territory and some of the defenses will be monitored. There is no one who can monitor the probability matrixes. As second-in-command of the Shadow Unit, you need to be aware of this. There will be an increased vulnerability to attack by Friar and his organization while I am incapacitated.
Rule wondered if Sam had told Ruben . . . Lily’s boss at the FBI, the head of Unit Twelve, who was also the creator and first-in-command of the Shadow Unit.
Mika has informed him.
Mika was the D.C. dragon. Rule frowned. Sam was going to an immense amount of trouble for Julia. Rule knew he’d already delayed his departure for some important gathering of dragons. He meant to render himself vulnerable, leave a possible opening for their enemy. If Sam considered that a debt was owed him for all this, it would be one whopping huge debt.
I do this for Li Lei, that cold, crystalline voice said. There is no debt. There can never be debt between myself and Li Lei.
SEVEN
THE coffee in Lily’s cup was black, burned, and bitter. Suited her just fine. Maybe that was because it fit her mood, or maybe it was the comfort of the familiar. How many cups of bad coffee had she drunk when she was a local cop like the man who’d just handed her this one?
“If that doesn’t work, you’re gonna need toothpicks,” Officer Perez said.
“It’ll do. Thanks.” They were in the tiny alcove of a room where visitors to the patients on this floor could get coffee or a soft drink. Scott and Mark—her designated bodyguards, though she preferred to think of them as mobile backup—were just down the hall. Lily had snarled her way into this abbreviated privacy after interviewing the newest vic, needing a moment alone to gather her thoughts.
A moment was all she’d gotten, too.
The second victim, Ronnie Winsome, was being moved up here from the emergency room, but hadn’t arrived yet. Lily sipped nasty coffee. “Your sergeant clear you to help me out?”
“She did,” Perez said. “She cursed, but she cleared it. She wants to be kept informed.”
“She can know what you know. She won’t be brought into the case further at this point.”
Officer Ramon Perez wasn’t quite a rookie, but his big brown eyes hadn’t turned cop yet. He was a patrol officer, but he wanted to be more, and probably would be. Called to the scene of an ordinary rear-end collision with no injuries, he’d realized that the at-fault driver was confused. Lots of cops would have noticed that much, but Perez h
adn’t thought he seemed intoxicated, and the man had passed the breath test. Winsome hadn’t wanted to go to the hospital, but Perez had persuaded him he needed to be evaluated.
Meanwhile, unknown to Lily, Ruben had been hit with one of his hunches. He’d instructed the SDPD to put out an alert for all units to watch for “impairment or memory loss of an unusual nature.” They were to report same to FBI Unit Twelve. Perez had heard the alert about an hour after the ambulance carried Winsome away and he’d gone the extra mile, heading for the hospital to reinterview the man.
That was when he discovered that Ronald Ralph Winsome, known to friends and family as Ronnie, didn’t know what year it was.
Winsome had only lost three years, not most of a lifetime. Lily didn’t know of any connection between him and her mother, and the accident had taken place more than ten miles from Uncle Chen’s restaurant, so there was no obvious geographical link. But the time fit. Winsome had rear-ended the car in front of him at roughly 8:15. Julia Yu had started screaming at 8:20.
Lily had just finished interviewing Winsome. He was upset by the memory loss, but otherwise seemed okay. She’d talked to his doctor, too. Amnesia was rare and the MRI didn’t show any head trauma. The ER doctor was mystified, but he would have released Winsome with a recommendation to seek counseling if Perez hadn’t persuaded him to hold off until Lily arrived.
Lily planned to take advantage of Perez’s competence, his big brown eyes, and his bilingual abilities. “Winsome’s wife is with him—Cara Winsome, fifty-one, brown and black, five-five and one fifty. She’s the second wife. First wife is Anna Caraway. Winsome and Number One have one son, thirty-two, named Brian. Brian lives in Santa Ana and is on his way here. Cara has two daughters, both grown, both living here in San Diego. She says he’s been under a lot of stress because of overwork—he’s in management at a national clothing chain—and he worked late tonight. He was presumably on his way home when he had the accident, though of course he doesn’t remember.”