by Eileen Wilks
Rule was convinced Cobb couldn’t have been in the fury. Lily had to admit it was hard to see why a man who’d managed to keep his control for seventy-odd years turned homicidal when someone disagreed with his postgame analysis. But if not the fury, then what?
Sjorensen put her phone up and apologized again for the personal intrusion.
“It can be a real stretch, fitting in a personal life around the job,” Lily said agreeably. It occurred to her that she and Sjorensen were alone. She’d probably better bring up what she’d learned when they shook hands. Might not get another chance. “I need to ask you something. Have you had training for your Gift?”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“You’ve got a minor patterning Gift. Have you had training?’
Sjorensen turned icicle. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing. I’m not Gifted.”
“I’m afraid you’re wrong about that. Patterning is a rare Gift, so you might not have heard of it.”
“I haven’t.”
“And it doesn’t always manifest in an obvious way. Do you sometimes have runs of extremely good luck? Or extremely bad? Bizarre coincidences?”
“I don’t—” Her breath hitched, quick and telling. “I don’t believe you came to Nashville to discuss my luck, or lack of it.”
“No, but you don’t know anything about the case, so we might as well get this covered. Patterning can be a dangerous Gift if you don’t learn how to use it—and how to avoid tapping into it. Otherwise, a bad mood can turn into anything from a flat tire to a five-car pileup.” The young woman’s face was a mix of confusion and suspicion. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. I usually don’t, but patterning’s potentially a—”
“I was tested,” Sjorensen blurted out. “Before I left Quantico, I was tested. I know you’re a sensitive, but you’re wrong about me.”
Lily’s eyebrows rose. Testing for Gifts was not standard practice at Quantico. It probably should be, but there weren’t enough qualified testers. “You know why you were picked to be tested?”
She shrugged. “They never told me. They don’t test everyone, so I thought maybe . . . but they didn’t find anything. No magic at all.”
“That was before the Turning.”
“Well—yeah. It was just before I graduated, so that would be about six months before the Turning hit.”
“You do know that some people had a Gift wake up then, right? The theory is that they had a nascent or potential Gift, but until then lacked the magic to kick-start it. The power storms changed that.”
“I thought . . . I thought that was urban legend. They—this show I watched—they debunked it. And I haven’t been starting fires or anything else weird.” She frowned. “Everyone gets flat tires sometimes.”
“I don’t know what show you watched, but ‘they’ were wrong. As for doing anything weird . . .” Lily tipped her head, considering the way Sjorensen had been singled out for testing. “Did you ever consider joining the Unit?”
Big blue eyes blinked several times. “I did. I do,” she corrected herself firmly. “I know there are a few in the Unit who aren’t Gifted, so it’s possible. Though now you say I am Gifted, so I . . .” Confusion overtook her.
“Uh-huh. And you just happened to be assigned to babysit someone who could tell you that yes, you do have a Gift. Someone who works in the Unit. You don’t call that weird?”
Sjorensen’s jaw dropped. Alarm widened her eyes. “But I got the assignment because Matt came down with a stomach bug. He was supposed to pick you up, not me, but he . . . are you saying I made him get sick?”
“In a roundabout way, yes, that’s likely.” Lily was brisk. Sjorensen had to understand the possible consequences of her Gift. “As I understand it, there had to be a chance he’d get sick anyway. You’re not very powerful, so there was probably a good chance of it. Your Gift bumped it up from ‘a good chance’ to actually happening. That’s why you have to be trained. I’ll call Ruben.”
“What? What? You mean Ruben Brooks? You’re going to call him about me?”
“He’ll want to know.” The glow on the young woman’s face made Lily realize she’d raised hopes. “This isn’t a recruitment or anything. I can’t recommend you—I don’t know you. But you need that Gift trained.”
Sjorensen nodded briskly. She wasn’t smiling—but she was still glowing, dammit. Better follow through. Lily dug out her phone and called her boss. She used the office number, not his personal line. He’d probably gone home by now, but she could leave a message . . .
“Ida Rheinhart,” a familiar, polished-steel voice said.
“Ida, this is Lily Yu. I—”
“Lily. You were on my list to call. I have some unfortunate news. Ruben had a heart attack approximately two hours ago. He’s in intensive care.”
NINE
RULE wondered which of his many sins in this life or any other caused him to have to spend so damned much time in hospitals. They were not a comfortable place for a lupus, stinking as they did of sickness and injury.
“This your first time in Nashville?” the cabbie asked.
“No, but it’s been a few years.” He was no stripling to lose control, he reminded himself. Nor did his wolf see humans as prey, but the smell of blood was . . . stimulating. And he hadn’t eaten.
“Guess you’re not here for fun, seeing as how you’re headed straight for Vandy,” the driver announced cheerfully.
“Not really, no.” Rule retrieved one of the strips of jerky and smiled faintly. Lily had planned ahead better than he had. Jerky wouldn’t fill him, but it would help.
“Even if you can’t make it to the Opry, maybe you can check out the General Jackson’s Showboat. Man’s got to eat, after all, and it’s—hey, would you look at that!” the driver exclaimed as he turned onto Medical Center Drive. “Somebody’s picketing the damned hospital. Whatcha think that’s about?”
“Have you heard of Humans First?” Thanks to the questions at his impromptu press conference, Rule already knew about the protesters ranged outside the oldest part of the medical complex. They were a wet, lonely little group at the moment. The TV cameras had already been and gone, getting a clip for the late news, and no one else seemed to be paying attention. But that clip would air, and probably nationally.
“They those folks that want to lock up all the weers?”
“Something like that,” Rule said dryly.
“Well, that’s kinda extreme, ain’t it? Though I can’t see why the government stopped registering them. Seems to me that worked pretty well. They couldn’t turn furry, so they didn’t cause any trouble.”
“Aside from the legal issues, there was a problem with the drug they used. It drove lupi insane.”
“No kidding? I thought it was supposed to stop them from going nuts.”
“Government doesn’t always get it right, does it?”
“You got that for damned sure right. Say, have you heard the one about the werewolf, the rabbi, and the priest?”
Rule listened and laughed at the punch line as they passed the protesters. The man finished just as they pulled up at awning over the entrance to the tower that held Cobb’s room. Rule checked the cabby’s license, making a note of his name, as he took out his wallet. “Do you mind if I steal that joke, Jake?”
“Hey, spread it around. Everyone needs a laugh, right?”
“Right. You might want to catch Jon Stewart’s show next Wednesday.” Rule passed the man a twenty for a ten-dollar fare. “If I get a chance, I’m going to use your joke. If so, I’ll mention you.”
“You’re what? You mean you’re gonna be on Stewart’s show?”
Rule smiled as he stepped out into the heavy drizzle. “Watch it and see.” He closed the door.
It was a small thing, maybe, but Rule was betting Jake would tell that story often to friends, family, and future fares—about how he’d had “that weer prince” in his cab and didn’t know it—and that Rule was a good sport
and used his joke on Stewart’s show. He’d probably tell them the joke, too. And a few of those people would begin to think lupi were more like them than unlike. That was Rule’s job: making his people seem less alien and scary.
Cobb’s killing spree was going to make that job a lot harder.
So would Humans First. At least, they were damn sure trying.
Rule had gotten a good look at the protesters as they drove by. A small but determined group, clearly, to be out in this weather—four men and two women, all white, mostly middle-aged. One of the women was clearly younger. She was pregnant. Between them they carried four signs. One read, HOSPITALS R 4 HUMANS; two others said, SUPPORT PEOPLE. PUT HUMANITY FIRST; and the pregnant woman held a sign with a single capitalized word in ragged red paint: UNCLEAN.
Good staging, Rule thought as he entered the hospital’s incongruously modern tower. Visually coupling that word with fertility tugged at sexual, racial, and religious fears. And Friar’s movement was all about fear.
That hadn’t been his first thought. In the first instant of seeing her with that sign, he’d wanted to take it away, to carry it for her or get someone else carry it. No doubt she’d have spit on him if he’d tried, and he supposed she considered herself his enemy. But she was a life-bearer. She shouldn’t carry heavy things.
Lily knew his people were protective of women, yet she didn’t, not really. She didn’t understand how deep it went.
Cobb had attacked women.
Rule was surprised to see the pretty young agent waiting for him near the information desk. Her heels clicked on the linoleum as she approached. “Special Agent Yu asked me to wait for you,” she said crisply. “This place is a bit of a warren. I’ll escort you to Cobb’s room.”
“Thank you,” he said gravely. Anna Sjorensen was earnest as only the young can be, and trying so hard to be tough. Her attraction to him embarrassed her, especially since she wanted badly to impress Lily. Wanted, he suspected, to be just like Lily.
He doubted that Lily was aware of this. She could be oblivious to her effect on others. As they set off down a short hall he asked, “Is Lily already with Cobb?”
“She wanted to wait for you. Ah . . . he’s awake and uncooperative, I’m told, and is refusing medical treatment. Special Agent Yu was discussing that with his doctor when I came down here to wait for you. She believes you can persuade him to cooperate. You would be able to restrain him, I take it?”
“If necessary, yes.” They’d reached a stairwell. He’d expected either this or an elevator; his sense of Lily’s location told him she was belowground. “Though I trust he’ll respond to my presence and not need to be restrained.”
Ann headed down the stairs in front of him. “She said you’re the, uh, Rho of Cobb’s clan.”
“That’s right. Did you find out more about his condition?”
“They dug out the lodged bullet while he was unconscious. He had a collapsed lung, but apparently he healed that. They’re more concerned about the other bullet’s path, which includes damage to his colon.”
“Are the local police cooperating now?”
“They don’t have much choice. The Special Agent is Unit Twelve. Though the lieutenant—that’s Lieutenant Matthews—and Agent Yu argued about something. It was very polite, but they were clearly not agreeing. Then he left.”
“You don’t know the nature of their disagreement?”
“I couldn’t hear.” That was regret, surely, in her voice. “He took her aside for the discussion. Agent Yu wanted me to tell you something else.”
“Oh?”
“I guess you know who Ruben Brooks is? He had a heart attack earlier today.”
“What?” Automatically he gripped her shoulder, halting her. “Pardon me,” he said when she scowled up at him over that shoulder. He released her. “Is Ruben alive? Do you know if he’s alive?”
“He was when Special Agent Yu called.” Her voice was stiff. Since he could smell her reaction to his touch, he understood the cause of her discomfort. It was instinct for him to touch, but he’d need to restrain that instinct with her. “She said that Martin Croft will be handling the Unit while Brooks is incapacitated.”
He nodded absently. Croft was a good man and a good administrator, but he wasn’t Ruben Brooks. He tended to play things safe. To be fair, he had reason. Brooks could afford to gamble on a hunch, both because he had a good deal of political clout and because his gambles almost always paid off, thanks to his precognitive Gift.
Rule pried more information from her as they proceeded to the foot of the stairs and down two more hallways. And pry was the right word. He couldn’t tell if she disapproved of him because he was lupus, because he was a civilian, or if the disapproval she radiated was more about herself and the sexual buzz she did not want to feel. Still, Lily had told her to fill him in about Ruben, so she answered his questions.
It had been a major heart attack. No word yet on how much damage had been done to the muscle. Brooks had been in his office when it happened. Ida had responded with her customary efficiency, summoning an ambulance, summoning Croft, and putting an aspirin under Ruben’s tongue . . . possibly all at the same time, Rule thought. He’d met Ruben’s secretary a time or two.
Rule had never and would never experience a heart attack, but he knew pain. He knew how it felt for your body to turn into a hostile zone, as likely to kill as to sustain you. He knew how alien and terrible the tubes and beeping machines of ICU felt. And he knew what it was like to wait while someone you loved was tied to those tubes and machines. He ached for Ruben’s wife, Deborah. And as they turned down yet another hall, he began to tense up.
This was clearly not a patient section. Labs and storage, from what he saw and smelled. “Cobb is supposed to be a patient,” he said sharply. “Where are we going?”
“Um . . . the room he’s in . . . it was used for your people back when the government registered you.”
“Gado,” he said, disgusted. “They put him in the room where lupi were held so they could be injected with gado.” It might even be the same room where Cobb had been confined years ago when he was given the drug. “No wonder he’s refusing treatment.”
“No, no, he knows he isn’t here for that. They explained, so he knows.”
“I doubt very much he believes them.”
One more turn in the hall, and he saw Lily. She was at the end of the corridor, standing in front of a steel door with a small, barred window. She was talking with a uniformed officer. The instant he saw her, she turned her head—met his eyes—and started toward him.
Rule stepped up his pace and met her several feet from the door. He touched her arm. “I heard about Ruben. Are you all right?”
She waved that aside. “I called Nettie. She said it would take her too long to get to D.C. and the timing’s critical for this kind of thing. Most healers can’t do much about damage unless they get to the patient within an hour of the attack, but she knows someone, this healer who’s kind of a recluse. He’s good, he’s powerful, he’s not far from D.C., and he owes her a favor. She’s going to get him to go to Ruben. Ida’s making the arrangements. She has to make sure this guy isn’t seen by the press—he’s fanatic about his privacy. I don’t know his name. Nettie wouldn’t tell me his name. But she thinks he’ll do it.”
She was shaken. It was clear to him, maybe not to others. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, but she’d call that unprofessional—which he translated as don’t look weak. He understood the need to conceal weakness in public, but the urge to hold and comfort was strong. He settled for squeezing her arm. “You’ve done all you can.”
She nodded, but the pleat remained between her brows. She glanced at Sjorensen. “Thank you for escorting Rule. Excuse us a moment.” She jerked her head at Rule—come on—and went through the nearest open door.
The room appeared to be used for storage of old office furniture. Lily stopped a few paces inside and looked at him. “You know what that room is where they’ve go
t him?”
His mouth tightened. “Yes.”
“It’s a bad place for him, but I see why they did it. They’ve got a violent lupus, a killer, but he’s wounded. The law says he gets medical treatment. Where else can they put him? But that’s a really small room.”
“You’ve looked in on him?”
“It’s small,” she repeated. “Eight by ten, maybe. No furniture, nothing he could break up to use as a weapon, so he’s lying on the floor. I don’t think he’s dealing with confinement well. That’s why I told Lieutenant Matthews he couldn’t go in with us. Too many people, too small a space.”
Ah. That’s what she’d argued about with the lieutenant earlier. “Is Cobb mobile? Agitated?”
She shook her head. “He’s just lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. According to the guard, that’s all he’s done since he came around. He’s not responsive. The only time he did speak was to tell the doctor not to touch him and to get out.” Her frown deepened. “I’m thinking you’d better go in first.”
That was both sensible and atypical. “You’re worried about something you haven’t mentioned.”
She lowered her voice. “They’ll have to shut us up in there with him. It’s a small room, Rule.”
Oh. He felt foolish. He admitted—to himself, not out loud—he was already a bit uncomfortable simply because he was underground. That was a relic of Dis, when he’d done a good deal of crawling around in small, underground spaces. He didn’t think Lily was aware of that mild, lingering discomfort, and didn’t intend to tell her. “I’ll be all right.”
“You’ll hold my hand.”
Appreciation and amusement bloomed into a smile. “I am always happy to hold your hand, nadia.”
Lily spoke briefly with Sjorensen, letting her know what they intended to do—some of what they intended, at least. The police officer guarding the door had the key. He gave that to Lily, but insisted on keeping his weapon out and ready. Lily didn’t roll her eyes, but her voice suggested she wanted to. “Just don’t shoot Rule.”
Rule turned his attention to the mantle coiled in his gut, preparing himself to use it, if necessary, to subdue Cobb.