by Eileen Wilks
Lily drummed her fingers on her thigh. “They can’t all be right. What do sorcerers say?”
“Mostly we ignore the question. Spiritualism has that good and evil thing going on. Confuses things.”
“And sorcerers hate to be confused,” Cynna said. “They can’t see spiritual stuff, so they treat it the way ungifted humans treat magic—as if it isn’t real. And if it is, it shouldn’t be.”
Cullen gave a quick laugh. “Biased, but not completely inaccurate. Of course, the Msaidizi were faith based.”
“The what?” Lily asked.
“Dizzies.”
Oh. “What does this have to do with a hellgate?”
“The gates are magical constructs, like I said, but they were closed using a combination of spiritual and magical energies. To reopen a gate, we’d need spiritual energy as well as magic.”
“That’s what the Azá were doing, wasn’t it? They believed in their goddess, and that belief was part of what
She needed to get that gate open.“ That plus a little bonus from death magic.
“Exactly. We can’t supply a large faith-based community, so even if we knew how, we couldn’t reopen a gate.”
“But you’re planning to open one.”
“Open, not reopen. We’ll have to build a new gate. Cynna and I have been arguing about how to, ah, tether it. She thinks congruence is the only criteria. I agree it’s essential—we don’t want to step out into thin air or the middle of a mountain, so the two spaces have to be congruent. But I think that with a small gate, other relevancies can be used, too.”
Cynna spoke. “He means you.”
“What?” She shook her head. “That’s a joke, right?”
“Nope.” Cullen slowed. They’d reached her apartment complex. “Five fields of relevance, remember? Spatial, physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual. The more fields we use, the more stable the gate and the greater our control.”
“Theoretically,” Cynna added darkly.
Cullen ignored that. “The mate bond gives us two more fields to use—physical and emotional.”
“I… see. Sort of. Because Rule’s there and I’m here, the mate bond is already sort of a gate. But once I’m there, too, that won’t be true.”
“That’s why you need me,” Cullen said cheerfully, pulling into the space next to Lily’s car. “To figure out the hard parts. If I get it right, the gate will close behind us as soon as we cross. It will open again when you want it to, and nothing will be able to pass through it without your permission.”
Whew. Lily ran a hand through her hair. “What happens if I’m killed?”
‘Try to avoid that.“ He shut off the engine and opened his door. ”It’s a damned good way of keeping the other side from making use of our gate, though, isn’t it?“
“Theoretically.” She pushed her door open, too, and got out. The burn throbbed, protesting the pressure from the belt. She eyed the stairs to her apartment grimly and started forward. “You’ve convinced me it’s worth a try, though.”
‘i knew you’d see sense.“ She heard the click-click from the car’s lock behind her. ”If it’s any consolation, I couldn’t do it if you still had your Gift.“
She acknowledged that with a nod. She wasn’t ready to look on the bright side.
“If you were still Gifted, it might not have been a good idea for you to cross,” Cynna added, coming around the car. “Considering what they say about sensitives in hell.”
“What do they—hey!”
Cullen had swung her up into his arms. “Who says I’m not a thoughtful and considerate guy? You don’t need to climb those stairs. All right,” he added to Cynna as he headed for the stairs. “I’ll bite. What do they say about sensitives in hell?”
“ ‘Feendly armies in foul affray dide fighte,’” she recited, “‘ ’for who wolde holde the sixewitte hral. Bihood thes brutall beistis, who wolde their yvel powers incresen—and drinken of hir precious herte blood!‘ Here, give me your keys. I’ll go ahead and open the door.”
Lily dug them out of the side pocket of her purse. “I don’t know what you said, but I didn’t hear anything about sensitives.”
“Sixewitte was the medieval term.” Cullen started up the stairs behind Cynna. “The five senses were the five wittes. The way they saw it, sensitives had a sixth sense. Sixewitte.”
“Ah… if I caught the gist, that’s whose ‘precious herte blood’ the feendly hordes planned to drink.”
“You got it,” Cynna said, sticking Lily’s key in the lock. “Feendly hordes being demons. Supposedly they get some special power from the blood of a sensitive.”
Cullen reached the landing. He wasn’t even breathing hard. Pretty good for someone pushing sixty. “I’ve never heard that verse. What’s it from?”
“ ‘The Furiel Pyne of Helle.’ It’s pretty obscure. Fourteenth century, and it might be pure fiction, but the monk who—oh. Good grief. What are you doing here?”
FIVE minutes later, Lily sat in her one and only chair petting Dirty Harry, who had his motor going full-blast. The cat had claimed her lap when the man who’d been keeping him company stood up.
“I’d offer you a sandwich, but Harry and I ate the last of your ham,” Abel Karonski said from her kitchen, where he was refilling his coffee cup. “Anyone want some coffee?”
“Why does everyone feel entitled to break into my place?” Lily asked the ceiling. “Sure, I’ll take a cup, since it’s my coffee and all.”
Karonski rejoined them, carrying two steaming mugs and looking around vaguely as if her place might have sprouted another chair in his absence. His gaze paused on Cullen. “Seaborne,” he said with a nod. “We met at your, ah, adoption ceremony. When you joined Nokolai, I mean.”
Cullen was wearing his inscrutable face. “I remember.”
“At the risk of repeating myself,” Cynna said, “what are you doing here?” She was silting on one of the floor cushions by Lily’s big, square coffee table, the only other seating in the pocket-size living room. Cullen occupied the other cushion.
“I’m not really here. Think of me as a figment of your overheated imaginations.”
“Nothing personal, Abel, but you’ve never figured high in my overheated imagination. Here.” Cynna scooted off her cushion onto the floor. “Sit down and give those old bones a rest.”
“Mouthy. Always mouthy. I’m only ten years older than you.” He handed Lily a mug that read, Don’t Make Me Release the Flying Monkeys! “You’re not looking so great.”
“Neither are you.” The pouches under his eyes were looking more like duffel bags.
“Tired, that’s all. We found the leak, and it’s big. The biggest I’ve seen. I’ve called a Gathering to close it.”
“A Gathering?”
“Multiple covens,” Cullen said. “Anywhere from three to a dozen. That’s a major working you’re talking about.”
“It’s a major leak.” He lowered himself awkwardly onto the cushion and then scowled at Lily. “I don’t know why you don’t own chairs. Everyone owns chairs.”
“My figments have never complained about the seating before,” she commented. “Or helped themselves to my ham. Maybe you’ll explain why I’m imagining you’re here.”
“Officially I’m still in North Carolina. I’ll be flying back as soon as we’ve talked.” He sipped. “Good coffee.”
“Rule’s picky about coffee. He buys some fancy blend and grinds it fresh.”
The silence that followed reeked of everything he didn’t say. At last he sighed. “I’m sorry about Rule, Lily. Damned sorry.”
She didn’t respond. Just waited.
His eyebrows lifted, “You aren’t going to insist that he isn’t dead?”
“I’m pretty sure you know that. Just like I know you didn’t fly twenty-five hundred miles to offer me your sympathy.”
“No.” He took another sip, heaved another sigh, and put the mug on the coffee table. “I’m here to tell you some things Ruben d
idn’t want to go into over the phone. Also to be sure you aren’t planning to do something stupid.”
Lily kept her face stony. “Ruben’s private line is as secure as any in the nation.”
“So it is. I’m going to give you some background you aren’t cleared for. Heavy duty stuff with lots of tops stamped in front of secret.” He looked at Cullen. “I figure you see the advantage in continuing to fly under the official radar.”
Cullen smiled pleasantly. “Just as you see the advantage in letting me hover there. Don’t worry. I’m not going to run to the tabloids with the story.”
“You won’t tell anyone, or discuss it with anyone except those in this room. And you’ll all be damned careful how you discuss it at all. You’ll see why.” He paused. “In the past year, two U.S. Congressmen and the under secretary of a major department have reported being contacted by a demon.”
“What?” Lily’s coffee jiggled, spilling a couple of drops on Harry. He gave her an indignant look and jumped down. “That… is certainly not what I was expecting.” Demons didn’t just dial up Congressmen and offer them deals. For one thing, they couldn’t… or so everyone thought. “There hasn’t been a confirmed case of demonic tampering with government in… well, not since Hitler.”
Karonski nodded. “And that was a freak occurrence, the result of conditions unlikely to be duplicated in a thousand years. You can see why they’re keeping the investigation quiet.”
“They, not we?” Her eyebrows rose. “Who’s investigating?”
“The Secret Service. They’ve needed some expert help, so Ruben’s made a few of us in the Unit available to them on an informal basis. But it’s their investigation, not ours.”
“Are we talking about one demon?” Cynna asked. “Or more?”
He gave her a nod. “Good question. We’d like to know if we’re looking at a widespread change in the relationship between the realms, which is what contact by multiple demons would suggest. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you. The descriptions we’ve got don’t match, but demons have a nasty habit of changing their body size and shape, so that isn’t conclusive.”
Cullen slid him an unreadable look. “And what does this have to do with Lily?”
“Think about it. If one appointee and three elected officials report unsolicited demonic contact, there’s a damned good chance that others were contacted, too. And haven’t reported it.”
“Shit.”
“The ones who reported it were taking a risk,” Lily said slowly. “Supposedly demons can’t initiate contact themselves, right? They have to be summoned. The Congressmen must have wondered if anyone would believe that it wasn’t any of their doing.”
Karonski gave her a nod. “They showed courage, all right. We’re betting that others were contacted who didn’t take the deal but didn’t report it, either. Some would be afraid. Some probably persuaded themselves it never happened. Denial is a powerful force. But human nature being what it is, we have to assume there are people in powerful positions in the government who took the demon up on its offer.”
“What kind of offer?” she asked.
“The usual. Fame, wealth, power. The power to do good can be a strong temptation for even the best of us.”
Cynna shook her head. “Those pacts leave traces. It’s not that hard to find out if someone has been sipping demon blood.”
“Oh, yech,” Lily said. “Is that how the pacts are sealed?”
“Blood is both the seal and the way power is transferred,” Karonski said. “And yes, we can detect it. But it’s not feasible to run blood tests on every member of Congress, their staffs and families, all the Secretaries and Under Secretaries, maybe a few dozen judges and—”
“Okay, okay,” Cynna said. “But what is the Secret Service doing then? How do they investigate if they can’t run tests?”
For a long moment Karonski didn’t say anything.
“We’d hoped to bring in a sensitive,” he said at last. “Someone who could tell who was clean with a single handshake.”
Lily closed her eyes. Shit, shit, shit…
Cullen’s voice was hard. “You also didn’t fly twenty-five hundred miles to make Lily feel even worse about the loss of her Gift, I’m assuming.”
Lily spoke without opening her eyes. “He’s warning us. He thinks the acting director of the FBI may have been corrupted. That’s why Ruben didn’t say anything over the phone. Why Karonski is officially still in Virginia… and probably why the Secret Service is investigating, not us.”
Karonski spread his hands. “We’ve got no evidence. None. No reason to think Hayes was contacted, except…”
“One of Ruben’s feelings,” she finished for him.
“Yeah.” He picked up his coffee and took a drink. “Which was strengthened when Hayes put pressure on Ruben to close the investigation and declare Rule dead.”
“I’m not getting the connection,” Cynna said.
“You should. If Hayes is corrupted—” Karonksi interrupted himself. “That’s a big if, of course. He might have done one of his damned cost-benefit analyses and decided it was cheaper to write off Rule. He could be clean himself but getting pressure from others who aren’t. But if he is corrupted, he didn’t make the decision. The demon did.”
Lily’s head hurt. She rubbed her temples. “And this hypothetical demon doesn’t want anyone looking for Rule?”
“Either the demon… or the demon’s master.”
Cynna made a small sound.
Karonski looked at her, sympathy softening his eyes. “That makes the most sense, doesn’t it? More than assuming the rules have changed. A true master could put a demon in contact with ordinary humans.”
“You haven’t brought me in on it.” Her voice was tight, her eyes turbulent. “I’m the one person who could Find her, and you haven’t brought me in.”
“Ruben wanted to. The Secret Service refused.”
She looked away and then nodded.
“Which brings me to the other reason I’m here.” He drained the last of his coffee and put the empty mug on the table. “Just in case any of you are thinking of doing something colossally dumb, like crossing into hell without official sanction, you should know that the Secret Service’s chief suspect is Jiri Asmahani… Cynna’s old teacher. This isn’t a good time to renew that acquaintance.”
There wasn’t much to say after that. Karonski stood, told them all he’d see them later, and then paused in front of Lily. She didn’t get up. Or speak. He stood in front of her for a long moment, looking tired and sad and like he wanted to say something. But in the end he shook his head, bent and patted her shoulder, and left.
He took about every last drop of hope with him.
Take the next step, she’d been telling herself. What did you do when you ran out of steps?
Even if she’d been willing to endanger an investigation into the demonic control of highly placed national officials, there was a chance Cynna’s old teacher was behind the official ban on looking for Rule. She wasn’t likely to change her mind just because Cynna said pretty please.
Karonski wasn’t going to help them open a hellgate. Cullen didn’t know how.
God, she was tired. She closed her eyes and thought about keeping them closed. Just not opening them ever again. She heard Cullen push to his feet and start pacing, muttering to himself. It sounded like Latin.
“Cynna,” she asked without opening her eyes. “Is there any chance you could summon the demon who took Rule? Force it to take us to him, or bring him back?”
“No.” She sounded miserable. “I don’t have enough of its names.”
“Okay.” Cullen took a deep breath, let it out. “We’ve run out of other options.”
That startled her eyes open. “Other options? As in, you have one I don’t know about?”
“You know about it. Sort of.” He stopped in front of her. “It’s a long shot, but the only shot we’ve got left. You said the Rhej wanted to talk to you.”
Ba
ffled, she nodded.
“That’s what you should do, then. Go talk to the Rhej.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
CULLEN wouldn’t explain. He wouldn’t tell her why talking to the clan’s historian or priestess or whatever might help. He wouldn’t even tell her the woman’s name. It was customary, he said, for the Rhej to choose who would receive her name, and she was never referred to outside her presence by anything but her title.
He had the jitters. He kept pacing, but when she asked why the idea of talking to the Rhej made him nervous he raised his brows, astonished, and told her he was a jumpy fellow. He’d thought she knew that.
So she took a shower.
She was careful. Getting her burn infected wouldn’t help her or Rule or anyone, so she kept her bandages dry. But she needed the shower. She craved water, the feel and sound of it, and the notion, however foolish, that she could wash away some portion of last night.
She used Rule’s shampoo. Standing there with her hair lathered and the water beating on her feet, she suddenly understood why she’d needed this shower.
The sobs hit fast, and they hit hard. She put her back to the side of the shower stall and slid down until she was sitting on the hard tiles, head back, hands hanging limp between her knees, suds dripping on her shoulders. And wept.
No one, not even Cullen, would be able to hear her. She couldn’t hear herself. It was safe to let go, let the pain and helplessness wash up through her in huge, terrible waves.
The weeping ended more gradually than it had begun. She was still leaking slightly when she stood and carefully rinsed her hair. She washed her face and underarms, looked at her razor, shook her head, and shut off the water without shaving.
She wasn’t sure she felt any better, but maybe giving in to tears now would keep them from sneaking up on her later.
The mirror was fogged. She didn’t bother to clean it, combing her hair out quickly. It could dry on its own this time. In the bedroom, she pulled on her bra and a pair of bikini panties and then grabbed a plain silk sheath she seldom wore. Her burn would be happier now, with nothing touching it. She folded up Cynna’s things and took a breath.