by Eileen Wilks
Lily watched him back.
Finally Isen’s mouth crooked up. “Tried that on you once before and it didn’t work. All right.” He raised his voice slightly. “Benedict.” He continued in his normal voice. “I’ll sniff for you, but not in this form, so I won’t be able to speak. I need to give Benedict some instructions first.”
Benedict was at the other end of the field. Could he really pick out Isen’s voice from so far away?
Apparently so. He started toward them at a trot. “When I look at you,” Lily said, “one nod means the witness is telling the truth. Shake your head if they lie.”
“They won’t. Did you know those are the signals a Lu Nuncio gives?”
She hadn’t, but it made sense. They were what Rule had suggested. “Do you act as judge when you’re in wolf form?”
“Ah. Now you ask a better question. No, I do not.”
In other words, his people weren’t going to react as if he were judging them because he’d be in wolf form, so what he’d said earlier was misdirection. “Then what’s your real objection?”
He sighed, a teacher unimpressed by his student’s progress. “You should be able to figure that out by now.”
She huffed out an impatient breath. “You’re going to make me guess, aren’t you? Fine. My first guess is that it’s a status thing. You don’t think a Rho should do the work of a Lu Nuncio.”
“Not status.”
“Authority, then. But you have the mantle. Nokolai lupi know you for their Rho in a way I can barely imagine.”
“Ah, but Rule now has a Rho’s mantle, too.”
“Not the Nokolai mantle, and Rule would not dispute your authority over Nokolai. Not for a second.”
He nodded. “True. But he and I do not convince Nokolai of that by announcing it. Our actions must make it clear to them. My assuming his responsibility will not reassure them.”
“Why didn’t you just say that?”
He smiled and patted her on the cheek. “Ask your grandmother.”
THE mountains cradling Nokolai Clanhome were scarcely mountains at all compared to their larger brethren to the north or south, but they were every bit as rugged as those higher ranges. Dirt and rock crumpled by some giant’s petulant fist was mounded in ridges, hills, crags, and gullies—a rough, broken land, hardened by heat and drought.
In spite of the dryness, there were trees—oak and sycamore, manzanita, juniper and pine. The ridge where a single man paced, however, was bare. Perhaps the top of this ridge was too often scoured by wind for seeds to linger and root. This, too, was Clanhome land, but another ridge lay between him and the lights of the interrupted party. That ridge was lost to sight now, invisible in the night.
It was quiet, but not silent; wind fingered the branches of trees and tickled weeds, raising vegetative whispers all up and down the slope. The man’s athletic shoes kicked up little scuffs of dust.
He stopped, peering out at empty air. Riding the darkness was a new sound, the measured beat of wings shushing the wind. His eyes tracked that beat, but there was nothing to see—no blurring of the darkness, no occlusion of stars. Still he watched, his feet shifting restlessly. Eagerly.
Nothing landed on the ridge’s crest—yet dust swirled as if thrown up by unseen wings. He rushed forward, exclaiming in Chinese, “Well? He’s dead, yes? He must be!”
The air shivered. Where there had been nothing, there now stood a woman.
She was tall and thin and nude. Her skin was white—truly white, not some version of beige, however pale. White like the white of an eye. Even the fluffy cap on her head was white, but it was a cap of down, not hair. There was no matching fluff on her pubis, which was as bare as a child’s.
She was no child, though. Her breasts were high and full, set on a prominent rib cage and tipped by nipples that looked pink only because they were set against such a purity of white. Her arms and legs were thin and oddly elongated, her torso brief in comparison.
Her face was beautiful. Asian in cast, perfectly symmetrical, vaguely childlike with the features set low beneath a high, curving forehead. Her eyes startled. They were black, as truly black as her skin was white.
“He lives.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper, yet so clear and lovely the words seemed more a stroking of the air than sound shaped for speech. Those words had a profound effect on the man, who cried out. He threw himself in the dirt, prostrating himself at her feet. “I have failed you! Oh, my beauty, my love, punish me. Hurt me. He is a danger to you, and I failed.”
She bent and stroked his back. “Ah, my little man, do not fret yourself. You did not fail. Your knife was true, and he may yet die. Yet these wolf demons have more magic than we knew.”
Slowly the man rolled over and sat, then stood. He clutched her hand. “You are gracious to forgive, but I do not forgive myself. I will not fail again. The sorcerer will die, but I know what pain it is for you to delay your revenge when—”
She struck out casually. One hand smacked his cheek, sending him tumbling. Her voice was calm, her expression soft and fond. “You do not know. In another hundred years or two you may begin to understand, but not now. Such a thin word, revenge. A human word, as weak as human bodies. You do not know what I mean by revenge, no more than I understand your laughter when things break.”
At that he giggled. “No, you do not understand humor. So wise in so much, but laughter wasn’t given you, was it?” He stood again, brushing at his clothes. “Even if I do not understand fully, I know revenge is like blood for you. Necessary. The delay—”
“I do not delay.”
“But the sorcerer—”
“May die, and if not . . .” She shrugged. “He will be occupied with his healing for some time. You will try again to kill him, but only when it is safe. You will not endanger yourself with haste.”
“Ah, but thanks to you, I am very hard to kill or even to injure.”
“It is not a chance I am willing to take. You say you worry for me. I think you do not like the competition.”
He smiled, placating. “If I worry for myself, well, I am human. But that worry is a dash, a tiny pinch, compared to my feelings for you. If you will not countenance an immediate attack on the sorcerer, what of the sensitive? She is a lesser threat, but still—”
“You know my plans.”
“But if you could alter some small part of them . . .” He came to her then and clasped one of her hands in both of his. “My beauty, my beloved, you will do as you must, but if you could hasten that one aspect of your revenge . . . ?”
She gave a little sigh, a very human-sounding sigh, and wrapped her long, thin arms around him. She was taller by several inches, so she rested her cheek on top of his head. He began stroking her back, and her eyes slitted, almost closing, like a cat’s when it purrs.
“I worry,” he murmured, his voice soft. “I worry for you.”
“How can they harm me? You will kill the sorcerer when it is safe to do so, and I will consider some slight alteration in my plans, to please you. But nothing major, not unless you can give me some reason other than these vague fears. This is a rich place, so much to feed on, and the kine so unwary. I will eat my enemy’s fear, and not rush my meal. And you, beloved . . .” She smiled down at him, both hands moving to cup his face. “You will have your city. Just as I promised.”
EIGHT
BY the time the deputies arrived, Lily had checked out the trampled grass near the spot where Cullen had fallen. She’d also done preliminary interviews with seven witnesses and was about to start on number eight.
Working with Isen was different from working with Rule. Efficient as hell, but different. For one thing, Lily had never seen Isen in wolf form until today—an omission that surprised her once she noticed it. Was that a courtesy on his part, to always meet her in the form she best understood? Or did he just not Change all that often? If so, was that a matter of age or personal inclination, or connected to his position as Rho?
She banked those questions for now.
Isen made a gorgeous wolf. Smaller than Rule, though still larger than a normal wolf, and very strong through the chest and shoulders. His coat was a reddish brown, almost foxy, which struck her as appropriate. But he was very much a wolf.
When Rule was wolf, Lily was so conscious of who he was that what he was seemed secondary. With Isen, she was aware every second that a large, strong wolf stood beside her. She wasn’t frightened. Just really aware.
The witnesses were uniformly courteous and responsive. And—as Isen had said they would—they told the truth.
The truth as they knew it.
Lily had two witnesses—Mike Hemmings and Sandra Metlock—who had seen Rule stab his best friend with a poisoned blade. She had a witness who’d seen Cynna do it. Three others had seen three different attackers—Mike Hemmings, Piers, and “some stranger. Never saw the guy before.” And yet another wit was convinced the knife had been thrown because no one had been standing behind Cullen when he collapsed. He was sure of that.
No one had seen an Asian man anywhere near Cullen.
The knife itself was still missing.
The grass and ground where the perp must have stood gave off the kind of furry tingles she associated with lupi. Normally lupi didn’t leave traces of magic on objects, not unless they Changed, but strong emotion sometimes made them leak a bit, maybe because they pushed the lupus toward Change. There was a very faint trace of the dancing tickle she associated with sorcery, but that wasn’t surprising. Cullen was a sorcerer.
Shannon brought the next witness to her. This one didn’t come solo, but hand in hand with another wit. Lily sighed. “Jason, I’ll speak with you separately.”
“I’d like him to stay with me,” Beth said. Her chin had a defiant tilt.
“Sorry, that’s not possible—not unless he has a law degree and you’re wanting a lawyer present.”
“Maybe I do want a lawyer.”
Lily looked at her sister for a long moment, then gestured at Jason. “Go back and wait. Shannon, escort him, please.”
Jason started to protest. The big, reddish wolf standing beside Lily gave him a single glance. He left, Shannon trailing him.
Lily moved close to Beth and spoke quietly, though Isen would hear every word anyway. “All right. What’s going on?”
“I just . . . I don’t want to say, that’s all.”
“Did you see what happened?”
Beth didn’t answer out loud, but the wincing around her eyes said “yes” pretty clearly.
Lily took her arm, running her hand up and down in a light, soothing way. “Beth. You know you have to tell me.”
Beth swallowed and looked away. “It was Freddie,” she whispered. “I told you he was here. F-Freddie stabbed Cullen. I saw him. I know it doesn’t make sense, because why . . . But he did.”
“Never mind about that now. You’re sure? Where were you standing?” Lily took Beth through the same questions she’d used with the other wits, getting her sister to place everyone she remembered in a diagram. “Okay. Okay, that’s good. Listen, Beth.” She gripped her sister’s shoulder. “You’ve helped. You’ve helped a lot. Don’t worry about Freddie. He wasn’t here.”
“But I saw—”
“I know, but trust me, okay?” She glanced at her watch. “Shit. I need to call Ruben.”
Benedict came up. “You wanted to know when the sheriff’s department showed up. They just passed the gate.”
Thirty-eight minutes. Thirty-eight damned minutes it had taken them to respond to an attempted homicide. Never mind that their absence made things smoother for her. “Thanks. Ah—Isen, I’ll need to talk to the deputies before I question anyone else, so if you want to . . .” She made the little circular motion she’d seen lupi use to refer to the Change.
He did. By the time she’d pulled her phone out of her bag, a two-legged and entirely naked Isen Turner stood beside her. He was less hairy in this form, but not by a lot.
Lily pretended she was fine with people standing around naked. She pressed seven on her speed dial.
Cynna picked up right away. “We’re not there yet. We’re about six blocks away.”
“I hear a siren.”
“We’ve got an escort. Police escort. I called Ida before we left Clanhome and she arranged it. They caught up with us on the highway and Rule wasn’t crazy about it because he had to slow down some—either their cars aren’t as fast as his or they just won’t drive that fast—but it helped once we got off the highway.”
“You’re holding up. You’re okay.”
“He’s not dead. I made Nettie promise to call if he—if he got worse. She hasn’t called, so I know he’s not dead.” Lily heard Rule speaking in the background, then Cynna added with a thread of humor in her voice, “Rule says Cullen would almost have to try to die for him to kick off at this point.”
If a lupus lived through the first thirty minutes after an injury, he usually made it—especially if he had Nettie watching over him. The problem was, Cullen’s healing was being affected by an unknown poison. The thirty-minute deal might not apply.
Lily forced a smile so Cynna would hear it in her voice. “I’m not going to worry. Cullen’s too ornery to die.”
A single sheriff’s car pulled into the parking area along the east side of the field. She told Cynna to hold on a sec, then asked Benedict to have one of his people bring the officers to her. Normally she’d have met them halfway—but not when it had taken them nearly forty minutes to show up. And they’d sent a single car?
She bit back her anger. For now. “Listen, the locals have finally arrived, so I don’t have time to explain, but there’s reason to suspect the perp is capable of changing his or her appearance radically. I know illusion isn’t supposed to be possible—”
“Not in this century. Not unless we’ve got a killer elf hanging around. One with a grudge against Cullen—which, admittedly, is possible. The grudge part, I mean.”
“I don’t know what we’ve got. It isn’t making sense yet. But for now, I want you to be paranoid. Stay with Cullen and . . . is there some way you can check out everyone who comes in contact with him? Use those spell patterns of yours somehow to make sure they’re who they seem to be?”
Cynna was the best Finder in North America. Her Gift allowed her to track what she sought, but for most things she first had to create a pattern. She did that with a spell.
“Hmm. Maybe. It would help if I knew something about the perp—his age, whether or not he’s human. Something specific to check for.”
“I don’t have anything for you. I can’t even say ‘he’ for certain. But . . .” Lily hesitated, then tossed the dice. “The perp may be an Asian male. Does that help?”
“Asian?” Cynna’s surprise was supplanted by haste. “I didn’t see—okay,” she said, possibly to Rule. “Listen, we’re there. I’ve got to go. I’ll stick with Cullen—well, except for surgery. I don’t think they’ll let me in there. But I’ve got to go.”
The line went dead. Lily put up her phone, frowning. Had she helped, or added a ridiculous complication?
Why had Cullen been attacked in the first place? He had enemies, sure. But why this enemy, at this time and place? Why come after him in the middle of a few hundred lupi?
The deputies were headed across the field toward her. She frowned. She needed to interview the people Rule said he’d been speaking with when Cynna cried out. She knew he was telling the truth, but she had to confirm it.
Not yet, though. She had to go be diplomatic with the uniformed assholes headed her way.
“Lily,” Isen said.
“What?” she snapped.
“Don’t bite the nice officers.” Someone had brought him a pair of jeans, which he’d pulled on while she was talking to Cynna. He zipped them now. “We haven’t encouraged the sheriff’s department to come calling.”
“You have some kind of understanding with them so they won’t rush out to investigate
?”
“Of course not.” He was bland. “That would be wrong.”
She snorted and returned her attention to the two men crossing the field.
She couldn’t see faces. There wasn’t enough light. But she could see that both deputies were male; one was white, the other black. Both looked fit. The white guy was tall, maybe six-two, and slim; the black guy was shorter and wider. Not fat, not a bit of it, but built husky, like a smaller version of Benedict. He moved like a big cat, smooth and effortless.
Lily’s body caught on before her mind did. She was still wondering why the black guy looked familiar when her breath hitched. A second later, she knew.
From ten feet away she could see that the taller deputy had sandy hair, a rookie’s spit and polish, and the stiff expression of someone who hopes he looks tough. The other man had a wide nose, deep-set eyes, no hat, and hair buzzed close to the skull. He didn’t have to try to look tough. He was the real deal . . . even if he did have a butterfly tattooed on his left cheek.
Not the cheek on his face. The one currently covered by his crisp khakis.
Lily waited until they stopped in front of her. She didn’t bother wishing Isen away, but she did wish—fleetingly but fervently—that her sister wasn’t here. “Hello, Cody. It’s been a while.”
NINE
HOSPITALS were tricky places for a lupus. The smells of blood and sickness are exciting to a wolf on a fundamental level; the injured and ill are the easiest kills. Not that Rule’s wolf would wrench free to wreak havoc. His control was excellent, and besides, his wolf was no crazed adolescent, too easily excited to understand the risks or forget that humans are not prey.
But the scents kept Rule’s wolf edgy in spite of three of the most god-awful tuna sandwiches he’d ever eaten. And the man . . . the man did not like waiting. It gave him too much time to think. To remember.
The first time Rule set foot in a hospital, he’d been only a little older than his son was now. Before First Change, a lupus was almost human. With his wolf still sleeping, the smells hadn’t been as acute, or affected him the same way. He’d waited in a room much like this one, waited with his father and brother and a few other clan while Benedict’s Chosen struggled for life.