by Eileen Wilks
“We’ve taken Joe for walks all over the place,” Scott said. “No one raises an eyebrow. People see what they expect to see. It helps that Joe’s wolf is smaller than most.”
Small for a lupus, yeah. Or for a Great Dane. Outsize for pretty much anything else, but Scott seemed to be right. The woman at the other end of the Pomeranian’s leash was more interested in checking out Barnaby and Steve than in their large but well-behaved dog.
Okay, time to call on the other member of their little force, if she was going to do it. Lily took a deep breath and did. “Drummond.”
“What the hell—is he here?” Rule scowled.
“He is now.” The misty form in front of her gradually coalesced into a lanky man with a receding hairline and a smirk. “What have you heard? What do you know?”
“Don’t know much.” Drummond’s mouth moved as if he was pushing words out the usual way. She tried to spot some difference between this and regular speech, but couldn’t. “I heard what you said at the airport and on the plane. You’re going to make a deal with someone named Machek, but it could be a trap.”
She nodded. “That’s enough for now. You still want to help?”
“Lily,” Rule said, “this is not a good idea.”
She glanced at him. “If Drummond’s still playing for the other team and this is an ambush, he’ll either encourage us to walk into a trap or he’ll try to buy our trust by giving up the bad guys. In the first case, we’re going in anyway. In the second, we get a warning. How do we lose?”
“You forgot the third possibility,” Drummond said sourly. “The one where I’m doing the right thing.”
“I covered that with the first ‘if.’ ”
Rule did not look as if he agreed, but he didn’t object out loud. Cullen was looking from Lily to the place where Drummond stood. Or hovered. Whatever. He muttered something and made a gesture.
Drummond turned to glare at him. “Shit! Tell your spooky friend not to do that. It itches.”
“You’re calling him spooky?” Lily looked at Cullen. “What did you do? Drummond said it made him itch.”
“Variant on a Find spell. Checking for ghosts.” He grinned. “It worked.”
“You couldn’t just take my word for it?” Lily shook her head. “Never mind.” She looked at Drummond. “You willing to check out that blue house in the middle of the block? Number 1129. Jasper Machek should be inside. He’s fifty-three, six-one, around one-fifty-five, dark hair and eyes. We need to know if anyone else is with him.”
“Should be within my range, but just barely. Don’t go wandering off.” With that he evaporated, or mostly. A wispy trace zipped off down the sidewalk.
“It’s so weird that you can’t see or hear him,” Lily said.
“Maybe I can make it so I can,” Cullen said. “It will take some tweaking, but if my Find spell works for him, I should be able to make him visible. At least briefly, and to me,” he added. “And it won’t help with hearing.”
“Aren’t ghosts connected to spirit?” Wiccan doctrine claimed there were five elements—air, earth, fire, water, and spirit. Spirit was different from the other four. Fire, earth, air, and water were types of magic, but spirit was something else or other or more. Lily didn’t know what, and no one had been able to define it for her, but that “something else” quality was why she could see and hear Drummond. Her Gift didn’t block spirit. “I thought your kind of magic didn’t work on spirit.”
“It doesn’t, but if I…do you really want me to explain?”
“Now that you mention it—no.”
“Lily.”
She looked at Rule, who was staring down the sidewalk, an odd expression on his face. “What?”
“I saw it. Him. For a minute it looked like a bit of fog moving down the sidewalk.”
“That’s almost weirder than you not seeing him.”
“It has to be the mate bond, doesn’t it? Somehow it let me share what you see, in a limited way. It hasn’t done anything like that in a long time.”
Not since they were captured by the Great Bitch’s agents, in fact. “The bond was new then. I thought that was why our abilities sort of slopped over onto each other for a while.”
“The newness made it possible. The Lady made it happen. Why would the Lady want me able to see Drummond?” He frowned. “I think you need to talk with the Etorri Rhej again.”
“I just did. What could I ask her that I haven’t already?”
“It’s more what you’d tell her. Drummond says he can’t manifest at Clanhome. That’s what you told me, isn’t it? It makes me wonder if he’s contaminated by her. If he’s the Great Bitch’s agent, being at Clanhome might inhibit what he can do.”
“Wouldn’t your father know if he were?” If someone contaminated by her power crossed onto Clanhome, the mantle would alert Isen. At least that was how it was supposed to work.
“Does that apply to a ghost? I don’t know. Do you?”
If he didn’t, she sure as hell had no clue. “I guess I should call her. But not,” she said with a glance up the street, “right now.” A pale mist wafted quickly back down the sidewalk toward them. She waited until it reached them to say, “That was quick.”
The fog shaped itself into Drummond’s too-familiar form. “Doesn’t take long if I’m just counting live bodies. You glow.”
“Who does? What do you mean?”
“All you embodied types. From this side, you’ve got a glow. I don’t have to manifest to see it.”
“Huh.”
“Machek’s there, or someone who matches his description. No one else, except for the cats. Two of them.”
“They glow, too?”
He grimaced. “They’ve got bodies, so…yeah.”
She glanced at Rule. “He says Machek’s inside with two cats. No one else.”
Rule cast a hard look in Drummond’s general direction. “Guess we’ll find out.”
RULE didn’t feel sick. Maybe his stomach felt like he’d swallowed rocks, but that was not the same as feeling sick. He was tense, yes. His muscles were tight in a way that would interfere with quick action, if such were needed, so as he climbed the stairs he went through a quick relaxation routine…again.
Why was he reacting this way? He didn’t understand. He wished he would stop.
There was a narrow porch at the top of the stairs, overhung by the roof. The door was stained rather than painted, the wood mellow with age and sheened by a recent cleaning with mineral oil, judging by the faint scent. Lily stood to his right, Cullen to his left and slightly behind. Scott had his back. Lily had her weapon out.
Rule pressed the doorbell.
Footsteps on a wooden floor. The door opened. Rule looked into his own eyes.
“Rule Turner,” the man with his eyes said. His gaze drifted to Lily, snagged for a second on her gun. First his eyebrows shot up, then his mouth kicked up…a mouth not shaped like Rule’s. It was wider, with a mobile flex that spoke of easy smiles. “And company. More company than I was expecting, but come in, all of you.” He opened the door wide, then wandered away, apparently trusting them to follow.
Rule did, with Lily right behind him. Then Cullen, then Scott, who closed the door their host had apparently lost interest in.
The entry hall was small, dominated by a huge abstract painting—mostly orange, with geometric shapes dancing across it in a way that suggested fire. Beside the bit of wall that held the painting was a staircase; otherwise the entry was open to the living room on the left. That was eclectically furnished, with tables in both old wood and polished steel; African masks, ink drawings, and framed posters on taupe walls; an old church pew and two wing chairs grouped with a cream-colored contemporary sofa.
Jasper plopped down in one of the wing chairs and gestured at the sofa. His hair was the same color as Rule’s, but curly. And graying. “Come in and sit, and perhaps you’d like to put that gun away?” The last was accompanied by a roguish waggle of his eyebrows, as if he invited L
ily to some faintly wicked act.
“We’ll see,” she said pleasantly as she and Rule entered the room trailing Cullen and Scott. “You’re Jasper Machek?”
“And you’re Lily Yu.” That wide mouth stretched in an attractive smile. “I’ve seen you interviewed. You’re even lovelier in person, I must say, than on TV. But I don’t know the two gentlemen with you who are not Rule Turner.”
“Cullen Seabourne and Scott White.”
“Seabourne.” Machek’s eyebrows lifted. “How awkward, yet how convenient.”
Cullen answered him coolly. “Is it, now?”
Machek didn’t respond, apparently fascinated by the sight of Cullen. Rule glanced around the large room. Someone had poured quite a bit of money into the house, gutting this floor to create the kind of open floor plan beloved of designers these days. At one end, the big bay window held a cluttered roll-top desk, its top open. A pile of fur slept on top of an assortment of papers there…a cat, actually, but Rule wouldn’t have known that if not for his nose. Couch, church pew, and chairs in the middle. Dining at the far end, with the kitchen around the corner.
The room smelled of cats, people, peppers, and ginger. Chinese takeout, he guessed, glancing at the square dining table, where a foam container held what remained of today’s lunch.
With his immediate territory charted, he took Machek up on his invitation to sit, choosing one end of the couch. The end nearest his newfound kin. He drew in a slow breath and learned that Machek was a good deal more anxious than he looked. And guilty about something.
Machek met his gaze. Blinked. “This is disconcerting, isn’t it? Especially when you look like my much-younger brother, not older. If you’ll tell me who does your work, I know any number of people who’d love to make him rich.”
Work? Oh—plastic surgery. Rule smiled a trifle grimly. “Clean living.”
Machek snorted.
Cullen sat while they were talking, taking the other wing chair. Scott fell back to the wall sheltering the stairway, where he could keep an eye on most of the room. Lily holstered her weapon, advanced toward Jasper, and held out her hand. “It’s good to meet you.”
His eyebrows flew up. “Is it?” But he rose automatically and accepted her outstretched hand.
“Well,” she said after they shook, “that’s a surprise.” She glanced at Cullen. “It’s a very slight Gift, but it feels like yours.”
Cullen leaned forward, studying Machek intently.
Machek frowned at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You must have seen the wrong news clips, or you’d know that I’m a touch sensitive.”
“Son of a bitch,” Cullen said. “You’re right. He’s a sorcerer.”
Machek stiffened. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m frequently ridiculous. You’re still a sorcerer.”
“But—” Machek drew a breath, exhaled, and waved one hand. “Never mind. I have a touch of the Sight. It doesn’t make me a sorcerer, but if you—”
Cullen didn’t let him finish. “What do you think a sorcerer is, anyway?”
“The legal definition is someone who sources their spells outside themselves. Since I don’t have any spells—”
“The legal definition is bullshit. You must know that. You’ve stolen enough texts to understand—”
“I steal them. I don’t read them.”
Cullen looked astonished. “You must.”
“Why?”
“Never mind,” Lily said, finally sitting down herself next to Rule. “Whatever you call your Gift, it must come in handy in your profession. No one can pass a dummy magical item off as the real thing when you can see the magic, or lack of it.”
He cast her a wary glance. “Yes, well, I’m retired, actually. Or was. Is he”—a nod at Scott—“just going to stand there?”
“Yes,” Rule said.
Machek’s eyebrows lifted. “What is he—a bodyguard? Do you trail bodyguards everywhere?”
“Yes,” Rule said again. “Every so often, someone tries to kill me or Lily. I’d like to hear about the deal you wanted to make.”
“We should get to it, shouldn’t we?” But instead of launching into explanation, he leaned forward, head down, rubbing his hands together as if they ached. “I want,” he began. Stopped, and muttered, “No, I’m making this too complicated. Keep it simple.” He drew a ragged breath and raised his head. “This would have been easier if you’d brought Cynna Weaver. She could have found…they took something of mine, you see. Something I want back. But you wouldn’t bring your Finder, so I have to ask for my side of the deal first. After that, I’ll tell you everything. Do whatever you ask.”
Rule’s lips twisted. “We’re supposed to give you what you want and trust that you’ll honor your end of the deal afterward?”
“I’m afraid so.” He glanced at Lily. “You did insist on bringing the authorities along, in the person of your fiancée. Once I’m all officially confessed, I may not be free to retrieve what’s mine.”
“Speaking of which—” Lily began.
“No. We won’t speak of it. Not at all.”
Very softly she asked, “Where’s Adam?”
His eyes widened. Just for a second, so briefly she would have missed it if she hadn’t been watching closely. “Out of town.”
“They’ve got him, don’t they? Whoever ‘they’ may be, they’ve got your partner, Adam King.”
EIGHTEEN
JASPER Machek shook his head. “You’re wrong.”
Lily studied him. He had good control, but he didn’t do stone-face as well as his brother. He couldn’t keep the fear out of his eyes…eyes so much like Rule’s, except for the crow’s-feet, the subtle toughening of skin that comes with age. “Easy enough to prove. A phone call would do the trick.”
“I don’t have to prove anything.”
“You might want to rethink that. Kidnapping’s a felony. Failure to disclose a felony is a felony.”
“There’s nothing to disclose. Adam likes to get away from everything sometimes, doesn’t even take his cell phone. I won’t tell you where he is because, well, I don’t want him to know about this. Any of this.”
“I suspect he’ll notice when you go to jail.”
“I’m hoping you won’t arrest me.” He rubbed both hands along his thighs and essayed a smile, directing it at Cullen. “That would be in part up to you, I imagine. If you get your item back—with damages,” he added quickly. “Payment for the, uh, insult and inconvenience—maybe you won’t feel the need to press charges.”
Cullen responded to that with a scornful curl of his lip.
Machek just smiled. “Money’s useful. Think about it.”
He didn’t really care, Lily thought. Staying out of jail wasn’t what mattered at the moment. Later it might, but not now. “Okay,” she said, mildly. “We won’t talk about Adam. How long has your stolen whatever-it-is been missing?’
“You’ve got things switched.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg at the knee. He had long legs, much like his brother’s, to go with a similar build—tall and lean, with wide shoulders and slim hips. He was lighter than Rule, though—less muscular, with elbows and shoulder blades and knees providing an emphatic punctuation where bone met bone. He slid a glance Rule’s way. “I won’t discuss my stolen property, but I love to talk about Adam. That would be a distraction, though, wouldn’t it? A waste of time, and I have a deadline. I have to give them what they want or they’ll destroy my property.”
“And you don’t have the prototype anymore. Or so you told Rule.”
“We should make that deal before I say more.”
“My boss will have to approve any deal I make. At this point you haven’t given me much reason to push him for any kind of deal.”
He frowned. Fidgeted with his hands—long fingers, a little longer than Rule’s—rubbing them on his legs again. “I need to stay free until my property is recovered. After that I can talk abou
t all kinds of things, and we can renegotiate. If you can agree—or get your boss to agree—to that much, we have a deal.”
“The timing of an arrest is up to me. I can agree to delay it until you have your property back.”
“Good.” His breath gusted out. “That’s good. We have a deal.”
“You need the prototype to get your property back, but you told Rule you don’t have it anymore.”
“That’s right.”
“Who took it? How? Where were you?”
He shook his head. “I’ll answer all that gladly, but not yet.”
“We can’t recover it if you won’t tell us anything.”
“Oh, I don’t expect you to. I had to tell them the prototype was missing. These aren’t people you can lie to.”
“They?”
“Their identities will be up for discussion later, not now. Fortunately, they agreed to a substitution. Instead of the prototype, they’ll take the man who made it.”
Cullen barked out a laugh. “First you steal from me, then you want me to exchange myself for your lover? With balls that big, I don’t see how you get your jeans zipped in the morning.”
“It’s a wonder,” Machek said agreeably. “But I thought…I may be all wrong about this, but I thought this wasn’t entirely up to you. If Rule orders you to do something, you have to do it, don’t you?”
Rule’s eyebrows lifted. “And you thought I’d exchange Cullen for what you insist is an object, not a person?”
“Well…” He spread his hands. “I thought you’d come up with a way to make the exchange, then reclaim him. I leave it to you to figure out how to do that. As to why you’d go to all that trouble—”
“And a certain amount of risk,” Rule said dryly.
“And risk,” Machek agreed. “Judging by your actions in Washington in October, I’d say you’re willing to risk quite a lot to protect others. But perhaps there has to be some self-interest involved, too. Something of importance to you or your people, such as the man you claim was behind the attacks in October. You’d want to find him if you could.”