by Eileen Wilks
Reality popped like a soap bubble.
She was lying on her back in the dirt—dirt that did not glow—with her leg hurting like fire and Rule beside her and people shouting somewhere, and she knew that here, no time had passed. Because where she’d been there was no time, so she hadn’t really been gone at all. Two Drummonds, both misty white and grinning widely, hovered above her . . . and drifted together, until there was just one. Just one, with a glowing gold band on his left hand.
He gave her a quick salute and faded out.
Lily’s gaze cut to the sleeping man beside her, and beyond him, the lupus who held that damn sleep charm to his chest. She sat up and knocked the man’s hand away. The charm fell off and Rule’s eyes flew open.
Toby screamed.
By the time Lily saw that Friar had Toby around the neck, Rule was on his feet and diving for the enemy who threatened his son.
Friar went ever so slightly fuzzy. Rule’s hands passed right through him. And the knife, that terrible black knife, fell to the ground. Rule scooped Toby up in his arms, patting him frantically. “You’re all right? Are you all right?”
“I’m okay.” Toby’s voice wobbled. “He scared me more than he hurt me. I thought—he cut Lily and I thought—” He clung to his father.
“Lily?” Rule’s head swung toward her.
“I’m okay enough,” she said. “Toby saved my life.”
Friar tipped back his head and howled in frustration. Lily couldn’t hear him, but there was no doubt that was what he did.
Triumph brought a tight grin to Lily’s face. Friar couldn’t hold on to the knife when he was dshatu. That was why he’d stayed solid when they fought. He didn’t dare stay material to fight Rule, though, and he couldn’t take the knife with him when he wasn’t. His clothes, shoes, that gun—all those went out-of-phase with him, but the knife did not. Maybe because it was a named artifact. Maybe it didn’t want to go with him.
Lily clambered to her feet. Her leg was bleeding freely and hurt like blazes, but it held her. “Friar’s still here.” She pointed at him. “He’s gone dshatu, but I see him.”
Cynna yelled, “He’s dshatu?”
“Yes!” Lily’s head swung that way. The guards had put up their weapons, as Pete had told them to—but other orders remained operative. One guard gripped Cynna’s arms. Another held Julia and Li Qin. And that, she realized, was what some of the shouting had been about. Cynna did not like being restrained.
“Then I’ll exorcise the hell out of him. Om redne ish n’vatta—tol harvatay nil ombrum. Ils sevre—”
Friar’s eyes widened in sudden fear. He climbed back up on the deck and took off, jumping onto the upper level.
“He’s getting away!” Lily wobbled forward a step.
Cynna chanted faster and louder. It wasn’t Latin. It wasn’t any language Lily knew.
Rule was scowling at her. “Your leg.”
“Hurts, but I don’t think it’s serious.” She peered down at it. The slash was long but shallow, for all that it had nearly persuaded her she was dead.
Rule held Toby in one arm with the boy’s arms wrapped around his neck, but he had another arm. He wrapped it around her and put his face in her hair and breathed in deeply. “I don’t know what the hell has been happening. My father—”
“Is okay. Carl’s holding a sleep charm on him because Pete told him to, or maybe Miriam did, so he can’t not do that. Uh—most everyone can’t move because Miriam told them to stop. Plus, they’re all compelled to obey Pete, and he’s compelled to follow the orders Miriam gave him before she died. And Friar—” She couldn’t see the man anymore. “He seems to be gone.” He’d been heading for the slope, but she’d looked away for a moment. Probably he’d vanished into the darkness . . . unless Cynna really had exorcised him. Would that send him to hell? To the realm where demons lived, anyway. Could Cynna do that to someone who wasn’t a demon? God, she wanted to think so.
Friar had seemed to think it was possible. He’d run like a rabbit. She snorted at the memory, but sobered quickly. Six feet away, a long black knife lay on ground marked by black runes. All around her were lupi frozen in place because they’d been ordered to stop. And Hardy . . . she’d forgotten to check, and no one else was able to move. Maybe he was still alive. “I need to see about Hardy,” she said, pulling free from Rule.
She was too late. She saw that right away. Maybe it had been too late from the moment Friar blasted a hole in Hardy’s chest. Probably. And she couldn’t have done anything differently, but regret squeezed hard at her heart as she looked down on the empty face that had held such life. Hardy looked peaceful still . . . but dead. No more songs.
Rule had come up onto the deck with her, still holding Toby. He was asking Pete exactly what his orders from Miriam consisted of. Good. If they knew what they had to work around, maybe they could figure out a way—
“Halt!” someone called from the upper deck.
Oh, good, more company.
“Who or what is it?” Rule demanded.
“The Queen of Winter sends us here, with Isen Turner’s permission,” a man called back from somewhere farther up the slope. “Winter and the one you call Sam.”
“Let—” Rule stopped. Scowled. “Pete, tell him to let the Queen’s people pass.”
Apparently that didn’t contradict Miriam’s orders, because Pete repeated it. A few minutes later a man and a woman jumped down onto the upper deck. They looked oddly alike—brother and sister, maybe? Both were tall and rangy. He was darker; she was more striking, with an angular face, a stern blade of a nose, and warm brown hair pulled back in a braid. She wore a long tunic, a heavily embroidered vest that reached her knees, and baggy pants tucked into boots, all in shades of brown and gold. The tunic was belted in brown leather; a knife-size scabbard hung from the belt, partly hidden by the vest.
Her shoulders were broad for a woman. His were broader. He wore similar clothing in shades of blue but without the vest, and he had two scabbards—one at his waist like hers that held a knife, and one fastened to a harness crisscrossing his chest that held one honking big sword on his back. His face lay on the ordinary end of attractive—pleasant but unmemorable—except for his eyes. They were a clear and startling gray.
His eyebrows lifted above those clear gray eyes. “That was easy,” he said to the woman. He spoke ordinary American English.
“You’re disappointed.”
He glanced at her without answering, but his mouth tucked up in a small smile.
Not brother and sister, Lily realized. Not when he looked at her like that.
“It’s here, then?” the woman said.
“They have it.” He looked down at them. “I had expected a hunt, and I see you have the knife waiting for me. But you are much too close to it. You need to get away. Quickly.”
“If you mean Nam Anthessa,” Lily said, “you might say it has us. Some of us. The woman who wielded it is dead, but the knife’s still enforcing her commands. I’m free and so are Rule and a few others, but the rest . . . before she died she told them not to move, so they can’t. Where’s Sam?”
The man glanced at the woman beside him. She gave a small nod. He looked back at Lily. “On his way. He travels differently than we do. I was told Isen Turner was in charge of this land and people. I would speak to him, or to the one named Li Lei.”
Rule spoke. “I’m Rule Turner. Under these circumstances, I can speak for my Rho, who is currently caught by a sleep charm. The man holding it to him is one of those who can’t move. Li Lei Yu isn’t here now.”
“I’m unsure how to proceed. I was given a way to identify myself to Isen Turner or to Li Lei.”
“Hey, I know you!” Cynna cried. “Rule, I know them both. They helped us in Edge. They’re cool.”
“If you’ve come to destroy the knife,” Rule said dryly, “you’re welcom
e. But I was expecting a hellhound.”
“I am the Queen’s Hound. Do you accept my authority to deal with Nam Anthessa?”
Rule hesitated, but only for a second. “I do.”
“Then—”
“Nathan,” the woman said, her voice strained, “Nam Anthessa is reaching for me, and I can’t—”
Just like that, chat time was over. The man launched himself as fast as any lupus, drawing a dagger the color of bleached bones as he raced forward and leaped from the upper deck to land on the bare ground below. Right next to the black knife.
He didn’t look ordinary now. His face contorted in a snarl. His eyes blazed, shedding color until they were as pale as the blade he raised overhead, gripping it in both hands as he growled—words, there were words in that loud growl, but none Lily knew, nor were they spoken in a man’s voice—and plunged his bone white blade into the black one.
Nam Anthessa shattered.
The sound of its breaking was small, like the crunch of a cracker. The feel of it . . . Lily reeled as shards of power stung her face, her hands, every bit of exposed skin.
All around them, lupi staggered. Some went to their knees. Some moaned. “It’s gone,” Pete whispered. “It’s gone. Oh, God, oh, God . . .”
The woman came forward then and jumped onto the lower deck. “We didn’t finish introducing ourselves,” she said apologetically. “He’s Nathan. Nathan Hunter. I’m Kai Tallman Michalski. I think you have need of me, too. I’m a mind healer.”
FORTY-THREE
THERE weren’t that many places to hold a really large wedding in San Diego. Tres Puentes Resort, slightly outside the city, was the poshest and one of the most beautiful. It was named for the three bridges crossing the artful little creek that wandered through the large, open lawn and lush gardens, any or all of which could be reserved, along with the banquet hall, ballroom, smaller dining rooms, and one or more rooms to get ready in before the ceremony. Tres Puentes was usually reserved for over a year in advance, but somehow Rule had booked the place anyway. Part of the deal was that the resort wouldn’t provide the food or serving staff, due to having a smaller event that had already booked the kitchen . . . hence Philippe and the feuilles des pommes et grenades.
And she was not, Lily told herself firmly, going to think about what it cost. Not today.
“Hold still,” Beth said—not for the first time.
“I am.”
“No, you aren’t. You’re as fidgety as I’ve ever seen you. Twice as fidgety.” Her sister yanked on the hair she’d brushed back from Lily’s face. “I could almost think you’re nervous.”
“I’m supposed to be nervous—”
“That’s right,” Susan said. “It’s traditional.”
“But I’m not.” A bit jittery, maybe, but not nervous. They weren’t the same thing at all. “What time is it?”
“Five minutes since the last time you asked,” Cynna said. “Which proves what a puddle of amazing calm you are. If you were nervous, you’d be asking every minute instead of every five.”
“Don’t complain. You’re the official timekeeper. It’s your job to tell me what time it is.”
“There.” At last Beth released Lily’s hair. That was her third attempt. “All done but the orchids, and you need to have your gown on before I put them in.”
Lily studied her reflection. Her hair was pulled back from her face and fastened in a deceptively simple way at her crown. It hung down in back, long and perfectly straight—at least that was what Beth told her after wielding the straightening iron. “You don’t think it’s too severe?” she said in sudden doubt, raising one hand to touch it.
Beth swatted her hand. “It’s perfect. Don’t touch.”
“Lily,” Aunt Deborah said, “I brought my diamond drops, in case you needed them.”
Lily touched one bare ear. The hairstyle called for earrings, but . . . “No. Thank you, but no.”
“She’ll be here,” Aunt Mequi said. “There’s still time. She’ll be here.”
“Of course she will.” Lily said that as if she believed it. She almost did.
At the instant of the knife’s destruction, memory had rushed in on the amnesia victims. That sudden restoration did not instantly heal the trauma their minds had been through, however. Kai Michalski had been very busy. Not all of those who’d lost then regained their memories needed her, and not all of those who needed help would let her give it. As long as the person was competent to make a decision—and Kai had some way of determining that to her satisfaction—the mind healer wouldn’t act without permission. But she’d helped a lot of them. She’d also helped a few of the lupi who’d been under the knife’s control. She’d even been able to help Officer Crown, though he would need additional therapy, she said.
But she couldn’t help Julia Yu. Not until Sam returned, anyway, and maybe not then. She had Julia’s permission, but ironically, the restructuring that had saved Julia’s mind now kept her from being able to access the memories that Kai said were present, but buried. Until Sam loosened things up, Kai had said, she couldn’t do anything . . . and she wasn’t sure if Sam could undo what he’d done. She’d never seen anything like it.
The black dragon had finally returned that morning. When he did, Rule and Lily had offered Julia a choice. Did she want to attend the wedding as her twelve-year-old self? Or did she want to undergo Sam’s ministrations first, even though it might mean missing the wedding?
Julia had chosen door number two. Sam and Kai had been with her all day. No word on how it was going, and the ceremony would start at four thirty—though they needed to be down ten minutes before that. “What time did you say it was?” Lily asked.
Cynna sighed. “Two minutes until four.”
“You’ll let me put on the necklace now,” Aunt Mequi announced as if Lily had argued against this.
“Don’t mess up her hair,” Beth warned.
Aunt Mequi ignored that for the unnecessary comment that it was. She came up behind Lily and carefully shifted her hair so she could place a single strand of pearls around her neck. It was choker-length and much older than Lily. Lily’s other grandmother—the one who’d died long before she was born—had worn it at her own wedding.
The necklace was part of a set. Mequi had inherited the choker; Deborah had gotten the bracelet, though she’d broken it years ago; and Lily’s mother had been bequeathed the earrings. Pearl drops. Julia had worn the necklace and earrings when she married Lily’s father . . . and Lily would either wear those earrings, too, handed to her by her mother, or none at all.
“The timekeeper says it’s time for the dress,” Cynna said.
Lily didn’t move. She didn’t want to put on her dress. Her mother wasn’t here.
“Do not cry,” Mequi said severely. “Your mascara will run and you will have to clean it off and redo it and—”
A knock on the door interrupted her, followed by her father’s voice. “Someone with me would very much like to come in.” Having said that, he didn’t wait for permission but swung the door open and stepped inside.
Julia Yu came in with him. She wore the sunny yellow suit she’d bought for the ceremony months ago. Hair, makeup, nails—all were perfect. She looked like Lily’s mother, not like the twelve-year-old girl Lily had gotten to know and like, but . . . Lily stood slowly, her heart pounding. “Julia?”
“I do not approve of children addressing their parents by their first names, Lily. You know that.” And Julia Yu opened her arms to her daughter.
* * *
“. . . AND so now I have seven friends!” The small orange being beamed up at Rule. Gan wore a blue-and-green-striped gown that plunged nearly to her waist in front, revealing a great deal of her truly amazing breasts. She’d accessorized the gown with a purple vest, seven bracelets, five rings, and two necklaces. One was the medallion of her office in Edge. The other
was an absurdly large sapphire pendant surrounded by diamonds. She was about an inch taller than the last time Rule had seen her, and she’d started growing hair. Blue hair. He’d complimented her on it the moment he saw her. She’d looked smug. Hair, she’d said, was very tricky, but she thought she had the hang of it.
“You are becoming quite wealthy,” he told her now.
“Well, yes”—Gan touched the large sapphire that dangled between her breasts and scowled—“I’m rich these days, but that isn’t why they’re my friends!”
“Rich in friendships,” Rule explained. “My people consider that true wealth.”
“Huh!” She thought that over. “Your people are weird. Does Lily think about it like that, too?”
“I believe so.”
She thought some more, then announced, “Lily’s richer than me, then, but I don’t think all these people are her friends.” She waved broadly to indicate the guests all around them on the resort’s wide green lawn. “I bet a lot of them are just half friends.”
“Half friends?”
“You know—people you like, but you don’t really trust. Like you and me.”
“Ah.” He smiled. “You know, I suspect we are on our way to becoming actual friends, not just halves.”
Gan’s eyes widened. “You do? I’m not at all sure about your wolf. Do all these humans trust your wolf, even when it’s really close to the top like it is right now?”
That startled Rule. Surely Gan was just guessing. “What do you mean?”
The former demon snorted. “As if I couldn’t see! He’s right there in your üther. In your eyes, too.”
Apparently Gan saw more than Rule had realized. “My wolf is good at waiting. He’s helping with that.” He glanced at his watch.
“You really are eager to get married with Lily, aren’t you? Even though it means you don’t get to fuck anyone else.”
“Even so,” Rule agreed solemnly.
“Huh.”
“It’s almost time for me to take my place for the ceremony. Can I introduce you to someone before I go?” Gan had come with Max, but Rule didn’t see his half-gnome friend anywhere. He didn’t want to abandon Gan in the midst of a crowd she didn’t know who were wary of her.