Mortal Ties wotl-9

by Eileen Wilks

  “I can’t hear him,” Rule said, his voice sinking to a growl. “I can see him, but I can’t hear him, and I can’t read lips.”

  “Can he see me?”

  Drummond nodded.

  “Yes,” Rule said.

  “And the map? Does he see that?”

  Again Drummond nodded. Again Rule repeated that aloud.

  “Good.” She marched over to the wall. “Mr. Drummond, do you know where Lily is?”

  Drummond nodded vigorously.

  “He does,” Rule said. His hands were fists at his sides.

  “We will play the hot and cold game.” She studied the map a moment then put her finger on it. “As I move my finger, Mr. Drummond will nod if I am getting warmer and shake his head if I am getting colder. If I touch the place where Lily is, he will speak again. Rule will report this.”

  Drummond shook his head and began to…it looked like he was pulling himself forward with one hand. A hand that gripped nothing Rule could see. He got close to Rule then stopped, his expression obviously frustrated. He waved at Rule with his other hand.

  “Wait a minute. I think he needs to be closer to the map.”

  Drummond waved at Rule again. This time Rule got it. He wanted Rule to move closer to the map. He did. And Drummond followed…slowly. As if each step was killing him. When he stopped he was hunched, one hand clutching his middle, the other one gripping nothing Rule could see.

  “Okay,” Rule said. “Go.”

  “I begin on the block where our hotel is,” Madame Yu announced.

  Rule was watching Drummond, not Grandmother, so he didn’t see where her finger went on the map. Drummond shook his head quickly. “Colder,” Rule said. A pause, longer this time. Drummond nodded slightly. “Warmer, but not hot.” Several more heartbeats…“Colder. Cold…okay, you’re back on track. He’s nodding. He’s…there. Stop.” Drummond’s mouth had moved, but now he shook his head again. “Back up. You were on it, but…that’s it!” Drummond was nodding and talking up a blue streak.

  “My finger,” Madame Yu said, “in on Crescent Street. On the block where that warehouse is.”

  Drummond nodded frantically.

  “The warehouse?” Rule said quickly. “That’s where she is?”

  Drummond nodded again, and mouthed one word, exaggerating the movement. Then he came apart—not just fading to mist the way Lily said he did all the time, but shredding.

  “He’s gone,” Rule said flatly. “The warehouse…” It was west of the hotel. Lily had told Rule she was east of the hotel. How could Rule take the word of someone like Drummond over what Lily herself had told him?

  “Tell me you aren’t seriously considering going there based on—on whatever the hell you think you saw,” Bergman said.

  Rule looked at her. She was competent, Lily said. Good at her job. She was probably right. But he couldn’t get out of his mind how Drummond had looked. How much pain he’d been in. He’d fought some kind of battle to get here, to pass on what he could. And the last word he’d spoken, the one he’d exaggerated, hoping Rule would understand…it had looked like hurry.

  “Lady,” he whispered. What do I do?

  The Lady had never spoken to him. She didn’t speak now. But he felt himself settle into a familiar state. Into certa, the battle state, where thought, decision, and action flowed smoothly and icy clear.

  He could go to Whole Foods with Bergman, but that was a cop thing to do, wasn’t it? Not a Rho thing. Not a lupi thing. “We’re going to 44191 West Crescent,” he said crisply. “Scott, we need our cars. Special Agent, a police escort would—”

  “Forget it. You’re nuts, and I’m not going to cater to insanity.”

  Rule stopped listening as a new thought flowed in. “Never mind. Scott, you’ll take the bulk of the men and meet me there. Mike, Todd—you’re with me.”

  “As am I, of course,” Madame Yu said.

  “Your aid is always welcome.”

  “You are nuts,” Bergman said flatly.

  Her comment was quickly followed by protests from the other agents. Even Beth looked worried, and his own people were variously alarmed or stony…but then, they were Leidolf. None of them had fought beside Madame. But their reaction made him see her for a moment as they must.

  She was so small. Small and thin and wrinkled. Madame Yu was an old woman, however large the spirit might be in that erect body…which was, of course, far older than the others dreamed. Rule smiled slowly as an idea arrived. He had to assume that Friar would know who Li Lei Yu was, but he had no idea what she was. “Madame, I have a part in mind for you to play. It is very dangerous.”

  She sniffed her disdain of that caveat.

  “Will their illusions affect you?”

  “I think not, but we shall see.”

  “Very well. I’ll explain en route.” Scott, however dubious he might be about Rule’s choice of fighting partners, was dutifully calling for the cars to be brought around. Rule started to turn to the special agent.

  “I’ll go with you, too.” That was Jasper. “Unless you’re going to run straight at guns again, which I wouldn’t be good at because I’d be dead too quickly to be much help. But stealth is usually better in a hostage situation, and I’m good at that.”

  Rule met his brother’s eyes. He saw need there, and determination. What could a human do against such as they faced? He didn’t know, and yet…“Are you willing and able to follow my orders?”

  Jasper nodded.

  And yet perhaps Jasper had the right to be there. And try. “Very well. It may get you killed.”

  Rule took out his phone to make his own call…to Cullen. Who had a helicopter. Much faster than cars in San Francisco’s appalling traffic.

  And Drummond’s last word had been hurry.

  FORTY-TWO

  SAN Francisco traffic sucked. Lily had never been so glad for a traffic jam in her life.

  The gun-toting elf drove the CR-V. The other elf had stayed at the apartment to keep an eye on the sleeping Sean. Alycithin rode in the backseat so she could keep an eye on Lily, who was stashed in the back. They’d added a rope to her ankles to go with the restraints holding her arms behind her back. It wasn’t comfortable, but considering what waited for her, she thought she should at least try to enjoy the ride.

  Mostly she thought about Rule. Had he been injured last night? Had any of the men been killed? Was Jasper okay? Several times she tried to reach Rule, but she could tell she wasn’t budging her dial. Whatever fuel mindspeech burned, hers was used up.

  He would come. As soon as Alycithin left and took her damn Gift with her, the mate bond should start working properly again. He’d feel her, and he’d come, but it didn’t make sense to just charge in. Plans took time. So the question was: Did Friar want to take his time with her? Or would he gloat briefly, then make her quickly dead in some hideous ceremony?

  He might skip the gloating and the ceremony and go straight to the killing. She didn’t think so. She didn’t think that would please the one he served.

  Drummond was still gone. Of course, he couldn’t show up when she was in the car anyway, from what he’d said, so maybe he was here but unable to materialize. What did he think he could do? That “thing between the two of you,” he’d said. Was he talking about the mate bond? He’d never said anything before about being able to see or touch it.

  What would happen to Drummond if she died in the next couple of hours? The thought startled her. Surely they wouldn’t still be bound. Even the mate bond didn’t endure past death. What would happen to him?

  The CR-V speeded up as whatever traffic snarl had had them crawling loosened up.

  “I have been thinking,” Alycithin said. “If Robert Friar does intend to use you to fuel death magic, he will not kill you while Benessarai is present. Nor will Benessarai allow him to abuse a hostage. However he feels about me, he has too much pride to so abandon his honor. Benessarai will be here at least another twenty-four hours. Our flight leaves at eight in th
e evening tomorrow…unless he has lied to me about that, too.” She laid a gently sarcastic stress on the word.

  “Alycithin, I appreciate you wanting to make me feel better, but why would Benessarai be at this warehouse? Robert Friar won’t want him around when you’re exchanging the prototype for me. He won’t want Benessarai to know he isn’t getting the prototype.”

  “No, he won’t be present now, but he will be there soon. This is why I had to hurry you. We must complete the exchange before Benessarai returns.”

  “And Benessarai is going to jet back to D.C. with you tomorrow without the prototype?”

  “Ah, but he will believe he has it. Sadly, it will turn out that the skull used for the device was damaged at some point in its adventures, so it isn’t working properly now. Robert Friar will apologize profusely for this. But I am assured your sorcerer does not know how to hide his spells, so the spellwork will seem to be intact. Benessarai will give the device to his father, expecting him to be able to duplicate it. Lord Thierath is highly skilled. He could certainly do so if he were given the actual device.”

  Lily thought that over. “Wrong skull?”

  “I do not have Lord Thierath’s skill, but once I have the original in my possession I can create a close enough facsimile to fool Benessarai.”

  “If this device could destabilize your realm, wouldn’t Lord Thierath know that?”

  “Your people have a saying—like father, like son.”

  “He’s a fool, too.”

  “I am sure I did not say that.”

  The CR-V slowed. Slowed more, and turned. And stopped. Lily’s heart began to pound.

  “We are here,” Alycithin said.

  She wasn’t ready. Her stomach went queasy, and her mind went blank.

  The halfling used the knife on her belt to slash the rope at Lily’s ankles and seized her foot before she could lash out with it. Alycithin was brisk, efficient, and absurdly strong. She dragged Lily out effortlessly. Lily barely managed to get her feet under her in time to keep from landing on her butt. Dinalaran stood close by with his gun, and Alycithin seized Lily by the restraints and nudged her forward.

  They were parked in front of a bare-bones style warehouse—concrete blocks painted a dingy yellow, with a regular door directly ahead and a dock and high-loading door several feet away. There was room for a semi to pull up at the dock.

  A car drove by on the street behind them. She wondered what the elf looked like to its driver.

  That driver wasn’t the only person around. The warehouse next to theirs was bigger and bustling—two trucks were being unloaded and another waited its turn. Lily had already tried getting the attention of passersby, though, on her way out of the apartment building. Alycithin was too damn good with her Gift.

  Alycithin said something in her language.

  The people-size door opened. A large, fat man stood in the doorway. He wore a trench coat, T-shirt, jeans, and boots. He was bald with a tattoo on his forehead, and he carried a sawed-off shotgun in one hand.

  This wasn’t quite the way she’d intended to find Hugo.

  “She’s here,” he said loudly, “with her half of the deal.”

  Wait a minute. “How come he noticed you?” she asked Alycithin.

  “Does your friend not know how to use her Gift selectively? I suppose little training is available to her here.”

  Hugo moved out of the way, and a second man emerged.

  Robert Friar was looking good. His deep tan hadn’t faded. The silver in his dark hair was as dramatic and attractive as ever. He wore tailored slacks and a good-quality cotton shirt, open at the throat. It was a deep, rich shade of blue that complemented his coloring. He carried a black bowling-ball bag.

  He looked at Lily. Delight lit his eyes. Anticipation. Then his gaze shifted to the woman holding her. “Alycithin, how good to see you again. I hope you will excuse my haste, but we have only a short time before Benessarai and the others return.”

  “I do not object to haste, but you must take down the wards on the building so I can confirm that we are alone save for our agreed-upon attendants.”

  “I’m afraid I failed in part of my task. Benessarai refused to show me how to take down the wards.”

  “Then we will not exchange here and now, Robert Friar. Dinalaran,” she said, adding something in her language as she took a quick step back, pulling Lily with her.

  Lily didn’t see it happen. One second she was being tugged backward. The next a huge, hard shove sent her flying—and a gunshot shattered the air. A second shot boomed almost immediately as Lily landed on her knees, still falling, but she rolled so she ended on her side—and saw Alycithin facedown on the concrete, her back a bloody mess. With Dinalaran standing over her, gun in hand.

  He’d shot her in the back. Her own man had shot her.

  She’d shoved Lily out of the way. Whatever sense had alerted her, she’d used that split second to save Lily, not herself. The rounds in that SIG would likely have gone right through Alycithin and into Lily.

  “That,” Friar said disapprovingly as he stepped forward, “was poorly done, Dinalaran. Do you know anything about that weapon in your hand? If Alycithin hadn’t quixotically chosen to— Hugo,” he snapped. “Get her.”

  It was awkward to get to your feet quickly with your hands bound behind your back, but Lily managed it—only to be confronted by the elf’s SIG Sauer, all too quickly followed by the oversize Hugo, who pinned her to him with a forearm around her neck. He felt a lot harder and more muscular than he looked. He smelled like pizza.

  Lily glanced quickly at the other warehouse. It was only fifty feet away, but everyone there continued to unload trucks. No one had heard the shots. No one had seen a thing. Someone was still hiding them. If not Alycithin, then who? She’d thought Dinalaran was one of the body-magic guys. Could he be that good at illusion, too?

  Something dropped to the concrete with a metallic thud. She looked quickly that way and saw Dinalaran sink to his knees, tears streaming down his face. He’d dropped his weapon. He looked up and began to sing.

  He had a high, pure voice. His song was clearly a lament, the melody simple and haunting.

  “Can’t have that,” someone else said. “It is not fitting that my cousin’s murderer sing her death song.”

  Another person had emerged from the warehouse. He was tall and slim and beautiful and dressed all in white—loose white tunic-length shirt, white leather pants, white boots. His long hair was loose and the color of a new penny. It shone brightly in the winter sun, as if it were indeed made of metal instead of collagen. The tips of his pointy ears poked through that copper curtain. He wore what looked like an enormous blue sapphire on a chain around his neck. One slender hand rose gracefully to touch the stone. He murmured a few words.

  Dinalaran hushed and stiffened. Slowly his hand moved to his boot. He pulled a knife from it and closed his eyes and rested the tip of the knife on one eyelid. He adjusted the angle slightly and plunged it up into his brain.

  His own body fell across Alycithin’s.

  “Poor Dinalaran. He has atoned as much as he was able,” the copper-haired Benessarai murmured.

  “Ah, well,” Friar said. “We have a saying: all’s well that ends well.”

  “Time to tidy up.” Benessarai stepped away from the doorway and gestured. Four more elves flowed out the door. They wore leather pants in a variety of hues, but their shirts all matched his—white and long and flowing. They had great, long knives sheathed on their backs. He spoke to them in his language and gestured at the bodies.

  None of the four spoke. Their lovely faces were serene, unmoved by what was supposed to look like a murder-suicide. But when they reached the bodies, they handled them with great care. Dinalaran was shifted off Alycithin. Both were lifted, moved several feet away, and laid down once more. The elves began arranging their clothing and their limbs with finicky precision.

  Benessarai spoke sharply. The elves stopped and backed away.
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br />   Friar looked at him and raised one lazy eyebrow. “You do not want the bodies placed in stasis?”

  “I must first assure myself that she is dead.”

  “Ah. You aren’t confident your people can tell the dead from the living.”

  The insult rolled off the thick armor of Benessarai’s arrogance. He answered with the sublime indifference of one who knows that little can be expected of the lesser beings around him. “You would not, of course, understand. She was an abomination, but half that abomination was Rekklat. With Rekklat, one always makes sure.” He glided forward.

  Robert Friar approached Lily. Behind him drifted a white, indistinct cloud.

  Drummond was back. It was ridiculous to be so relieved.

  Friar stopped in front of her. “Much has changed since we last spoke.”

  “Yeah, the last time I saw you, you were too busy escaping to stop and chat.”

  “Strange. I seem to recall you doing the running. You and all your wolfish friends.” His stroked her cheek with one finger and lowered his voice. “You won’t be running this time.”

  Lily’s mouth went dry. He sounded relaxed. He looked calm and at ease, but his eyes burned with feverish intensity. And with that single casual touch of his finger, he’d let her know he was brimming with power. Overflowing with it, power like nothing she’d ever touched before.

  She didn’t want to fear this man, but she did. “Benessarai did something to make Dinalaran kill Alycithin. A compulsion spell, maybe.”

  “Very good,” he said, as if she were his pupil and eager for his approval. “He is a wonderfully talented seurthurin. That is one who practices the arts of the mind. Benessarai would say that today’s events were Alycithin’s own fault. She failed to make sure her people took adequate precautions.”

  “Blame the victim? How very human of him.”

  “You may not want to say so where Benessarai can hear. I’m afraid he’s quite shortsighted about our species.”

  The copper-haired elf had knelt beside Alycithin’s body and was drawing shapes in the air over her open, staring eyes. He uttered some syllables, paused, then nodded with satisfaction, stood, and spoke to his people in his own language.