Blood Challenge

by Eileen Wilks

  “He’ll listen, but he’ll grain-of-salt it. Beck’s your backup plan because he’ll believe you.”

  “Pretty much, yeah.” She grinned suddenly. “Cody and I do have that history you’re so curious about. He’ll take what I say seriously.”

  “Speaking of history, tell me about—”

  “Just a sec.” Lily’s phone had beeped. That meant a text message, which she didn’t usually check immediately. But she didn’t object to an interruption right now, so she bent and retrieved her phone.

  It didn’t take long to read. “Son of a bitch.”

  “What?” Then Cynna’s phone dinged.

  “That will be a message from Croft,” Lily said. “Looks like Jeff made it in to see Croft okay. The MCD is operating under Code 300 until further notice.”

  THE next time Rule was summoned to Isen’s office, Cullen went with him. He’d just finished the charms they needed for tomorrow—and, being Cullen, he was curious.

  Benedict was already there, leaning over Arjenie’s shoulder. “Good,” he said. “Take a look.”

  Arjenie began explaining before Rule reached her. “I’ve been running searches of several databases using Friar’s name and those of his key people. Breck’s popped up because Paul Chittenden purchased it last year.”

  “Friar’s West Coast lieutenant.” Rule peered at the screen, which showed another invoice. This one showed that Breck’s Disposal had purchased a high-end security system last April.

  “Now, Breck’s is a pretty small outfit.” She brought up another window, which showed a tax return. “They grossed a couple hundred thousand last year, and, as you can see, they actually had a net loss. So it seemed odd for them to buy such an expensive security system. It took some digging, but I found the address where that system was delivered.” The next window she clicked on showed an aerial map. “Right there.” She pointed at the red marker Googlemaps put at the address. “It’s a small house in the middle of nowhere. According to county records, that house is unoccupied . . . but it’s the only structure on the western edge of the mountain bordering Friar’s property. Or hill,” she added. “I don’t know if you call that a mountain or a hill.”

  “First clue,” Cullen said. “It’s in the mountains.”

  “That makes sense,” Arjenie said, “Only the elevation isn’t . . .” She glanced up at Benedict, who’d rested one hand on her shoulder. “And that’s not relevant.”

  No, it wasn’t. “Good find,” Rule said. “It looks like whatever Friar built under the guise of replacing his swimming pool, he’s got it wired against intruders.”

  “So it seems. Naturally, I wondered what Breck’s Disposal disposes of. Turns out it’s medical waste. And in the past year, they’ve particularly focused on disposing of unused portions of an intravenously administered MRI contrast agent that, until recently, was used to enhance images in MRI and MRA procedures.”

  He looked at her blankly.

  Patiently she said, “When the government began phasing out the use of gadolinium in MRI imaging agents, it also regulated the disposal of existing stocks of such solutions. That is the type of medical waste Breck’s has been handling lately.”

  Gadolinium. The key ingredient in . . . “Gado. The bastard is extracting the gadolinium and using it to make gado.”

  She nodded and pushed her glasses up. “Yes, I think he must be. The question is, why?”

  Rule’s eyebrows lifted. “Because gado renders us weak and unable to Change.”

  “I know that. But why does he need it? Um . . .” She looked at Benedict.

  He said it for her. “Why does he need gado if he’s got Dya to make potions for him?”

  Rule thought a moment, then said grimly, “Quantity.”

  Benedict got it immediately. “If Friar’s having Dya make the magical part of that Do Me drug the way Lily was talking about earlier, she probably can’t make a large amount of gado, too. Which brings up some interesting questions. Why does he want a large amount of it?”

  “And how much might he have?” Rule looked down at Arjenie. “How much gadolinum has he been able to access?”

  “I don’t know.” Her fingers sped over the keyboard again. “But I’ll see if I can find out.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  THERE were times when Rule wished his nadia wasn’t such a damnably stubborn woman.

  The two of them rode in the backseat of Isen’s seven-year-old Lincoln with Cullen in the middle—a seating arrangement that pleased none of them, but served a purpose. At least there was plenty of room. They’d taken the shiny behemoth today because it possessed useful modifications. Technically the glass was bullet-resistant rather than bulletproof, but it would stop a slug from almost any handgun and most rifles.

  Benedict was driving. Arjenie sat in the front seat beside him. Having her at the circle was far from ideal, but with their mate bond so freshly sealed there was little choice. Benedict had wanted her to remain in the car, using her Gift to go unnoticed, but the thick bulletproof glass interfered with her Gift too much.

  Not that she was in danger from the other clans, although this particular bonding would come as a shock. No, it was Friar who worried Benedict. He worried Rule. Lily, too, of course, for she wasn’t stupid. Just stubborn.

  Rule’s wolf liked riding in his father’s car. It smelled faintly of Isen and more strongly of his big brother and his nadia. Cullen’s scent was known and comforting; Arjenie’s was new, but so overlaid with Benedict’s that she seemed familiar already.

  Rule the man was less comfortable.

  When he had first called for the heirs’ circle, he’d asked Lily to attend. Her injury should have changed that, but Ybirra had agreed to the new location only on the condition that the Chosen would still be present. Lily had insisted she could easily—as she put it—stand around symbolically. Reluctantly, Rule had agreed.

  But the situation had changed again now that they knew about Friar’s clairaudience and his alliance with their great enemy. Lily herself said that while Friar might have had to change his plans when the potion dumped in Nokolai’s well didn’t work, that didn’t mean he didn’t have plans. Those might well center on today’s meeting.

  Yet there she sat between him and Cullen. Rule knew she was needed. Without her, Ybirra would withdraw and there would be no circle. They’d have to begin negotiations all over again.

  And in spite of that, this morning he’d tried to talk her out of it. He’d told her that her presence increased his danger. Normally he knew she could act swiftly, but she wasn’t normal now. If they were attacked, he’d be focused on her safety, not his own. She’d looked at him for a long moment, then leaned forward and kissed him lightly. “Good try,” she’d said. “Help me with this stupid sleeve, will you?”

  His stubborn love was currently speaking on her phone with Aaron Gray from the local FBI office. She’d had to hand off her open cases after she was shot. One had gone to Gray—a case involving the theft of gadolinum.

  Lily believed Friar was behind that theft. Proving it was the trick.

  Whatever Friar was planning, he meant to move on a large scale. Arjenie had made a rough estimate of how much gadolinum might have been extracted from the imaging solution. Add that to what Friar may have obtained through outright theft, and he had enough gadolinum to make upward of four hundred doses of gado.

  The problem was that gado had to be administered through injection. Neither oral nor topical application had any effect. Rule doubted that Friar planned to trap lupi one by one and inject them with gado, but administering it en masse was supposed to be impossible.

  But Friar had Dya. Was Arjenie’s sister capable of creating a potion that could make gado effective orally? Was that what Friar had tried dumping into Nokolai’s well?

  Lily had tried asking Arjenie those questions last night. Unfortunately, Arjenie didn’t know. According to Lily, Arjenie’s lack of knowledge was expressed with a great deal of technical thinking about the difference bet
ween potions and other magical agents, with a side excursion into her theory about why gado worked as it did. Lily had claimed it was the tech talk—“like mainlining Cullen,” she’d said—that had given her a headache.

  Since this headache had arrived after fourteen minutes of mindspeech, just like the last one, Rule thought otherwise. Actually, so did Lily, however much she might like to blame it on something else. Fourteen minutes was probably the limit for how long Lily could tolerate kinspeech.

  “All right,” Lily said. “Let me know.” She disconnected and grimaced. “Frustrating. I’m going to text him some of what I couldn’t say.”

  They didn’t know if Friar could Listen now that they’d left Clanhome. Probably not—Rule’s mantle should shut him out—but they were watching what they said anyway. That had made for a good deal of silence during the drive.

  Once they formed the circle, of course, they wouldn’t have to worry. That’s why Cullen was here. He would set the circle and act as Gatekeeper. This was usually done by the Rhej of the clan who called for the circle, but everyone knew the Nokolai Rhej was blind and didn’t leave Clanhome. They’d accepted Cullen as substitute—with some grumbling, but recognizing necessity. The circle might lack a Rhej to encourage good conduct, but there would be a Lady-touched present. Lily.

  Two Lady-touched, actually, but the others didn’t know about Arjenie. Rule was rather looking forward to their reaction to the news.

  Lily tapped away on her text screen. Benedict slowed for the turn. Nearly there.

  One of the conditions Wythe had insisted on was that the circle be held out of doors. This was an old tradition, frequently set aside these days, but it wasn’t unreasonable. Wolves dislike small spaces. Meeting outdoors lessened the tension. After some discussion, the others had accepted Rule’s suggestion of Los Penasquitos Canyon Reserve.

  The Reserve was a crooked arm of wilderness reaching up into San Diego’s city boundaries. It was a great spot for a run in human form—even on four legs, now and then, if one slipped in after hours—and was popular with mountain bikers, horseback riders, and dog walkers. But they wouldn’t be meeting down in the canyon. They’d hold their circle on top of the mesa overlooking it. No one could sneak up on them on that flat, open stretch of grass dotted with the occasional sage or sumac. Especially with Benedict minding the perimeter.

  Plus a few others. Each Lu Nuncio was allowed to bring one guard to act as escort and to secure the circle from without. The exception was Etorri. Rather than one guard, Stephen had brought five. Etorri had been asked to secure the site, and had camped on the mesa last night. Secretly, of course, for the human world had rules against that sort of thing.

  There were several entrances to the canyon trails. They would use the one closest to the mesa. It meant a short trek through the parking lot of an apartment complex, followed by a hike up a steep trail. Normally, Lily would have had no trouble with that. Since she was far from normal, Rule had wrung one concession from her: she would allow him to carry her up the worst of it.

  “Benedict,” Arjenie said suddenly, “I’m pretty sure that someone’s following us. That white SUV has been behind us for the last mile at least, and they turned when you did.”

  Benedict nodded approvingly. “Yes, it has. I’m glad you’re paying attention.”

  “If you’re talking about the Hyundai,” Lily said, still tapping out her message, “that’s Scott, Rule’s Leidolf guard.”

  “Oh.” She was disgruntled. “I guess everyone here knew about him.”

  “I should have told you.” Benedict flicked a glance her way. “The others are a short distance behind him. Save for Etorri, of course.”

  “They, uh, the Etorri are the clan everyone trusts. That’s why they got there first. They’re sort of holding the ground for everyone else.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, why? You all seem pretty suspicious of each other. Why are they exempt?”

  “It’s a long story and an old one. “

  “You’re good at summaries.”

  Rule heard the smile in his brother’s voice. “I’ll attempt it. Have you heard of Horatio at the bridge?”

  “Of course. Though his name was really Horatius. He and two other generals held off invading Etruscans until the bridge could be destroyed, then he leaped into the river in his armor and swam to safety despite a spear wound. He actually lived through it. I don’t think the other two did.”

  “Etorri performed a similar feat, though in worse circumstances and with far worse casualties. Their Rho sacrificed his entire clan holding off the dworg at a narrow pass. Had he retreated, as it seemed he must, the dworg would have attacked the rest of the force from the rear during a pivotal battle. The clans would have been decimated or destroyed, and our world might well have fallen to the Great Bitch.”

  Arjenie digested that a moment. “Dworg?”

  “Imagine the offspring of a troll and a demon.”

  Cullen snorted. “Only not as mellow and harder to kill. Happily, there aren’t any dworg left. At least not in our realm, and I hope not anywhere. Here.” He held something out to Lily. “We’re nearly there. Time to take up charms against the foe.”

  Lily accepted the small silver disk, etched on one side. “All I have to do is lick it?”

  “Or dunk it in any liquid—water, blood, lemonade. Doesn’t matter. Wetting it activates it, then slap it against someone’s skin. Got to be flesh to flesh to work.”

  Weapons were strictly prohibited at the circle . . . but a sleep charm was not a weapon. Cullen had made one for each of them, holding on to Lily’s until the last minute because her Gift would slowly leach power from it. A very small amount, true, but Cullen had fashioned the charms to hold very little power—so little that they wouldn’t trigger a charm designed to detect magic, if anyone bothered to check.

  Arjenie was still focused on Etorri. “So you trust them because of what one man did a long time ago?”

  Rule answered this time. “We honor them for that, and always will. We trust them because, in the three millennia since, their honor remains unstained.” He did not glance at Cullen. “It’s not that they’re saints. An individual Etorri can be selfish, misguided, self-righteous., prickly, arrogant . . . but he will not break honor. Etorri agreed to camp on the mesa last night and hold it as neutral ground for the rest of us. They will have done so.”

  Arjenie frowned. “Isn’t Nokolai honorable?”

  Cullen chuckled. “Sure. But Nokolai is taking sleep charms to an heirs’ circle.”

  “What he means,” Lily said, slipping her phone back in her purse, “is that Nokolai likes to be tricky. We don’t intend to use the charms. They’re a last resort. But we’re sure as hell exploiting a loophole in the ‘no weapons’ rule by carrying them. I guess Etorri wouldn’t do that.”

  We. She’d spoken of Nokolai as “we” quite automatically. Warmth flooded Rule. “I doubt it would occur to Frederick or Stephen to do such a thing.”

  “Honorable and thickheaded,” Cullen said. “That’s Etorri. I prefer a clan known for thinking. Looks like we’ve arrived,” he added.

  Benedict had pulled to a stop in the turnaround, but not at the curb. He got out, leaving the motor running, and moved several orange traffic cones out of the street, then climbed back in and parked so that those in the car had a view of the street leading to the turnaround.

  The traffic cones had not been placed with the approval of the California Department of Transportation. Lily had winced when she learned how Nokolai intended to secure parking spaces for everyone, but she hadn’t argued. She understood the need to keep innocent bystanders at a distance.

  Rule pulled his phone from his shirt pocket and placed a call. “Scott,” he said, “as soon as you’ve parked, take my compliments to Stephen and tell him Leidolf and Nokolai are here and await the rest.”

  “Will do. Kyffin’s a block behind me,” Scott said as the white Hyundai pulled up behind their car. “I think Y
birra’s a few cars behind them.”

  “Excellent.” Rule disconnected and looked over his shoulder. A wiry man with short hair and gold-framed glasses climbed out of the Hyundai and set off at an easy lope for the apartment complex to the north. The glasses were an affectation—there was nothing wrong with Scott’s vision. He liked the geek look. It helped him pass for human.

  “Why don’t you just call the Etorri guy?” Arjenie asked. “Doesn’t he have a mobile phone?”

  Rule had done that, of course, earlier. He was confident the others had, also. But . . . “There’s a political and a practical reason,” he said, settling back against the seat to wait. “The political reason is that the other clans have insisted on following old protocols, developed when travel was time-consuming and arduous, for this meeting. I observe that respect for the formality of the past by using another old protocol and notifying Etorri personally.”

  “That’s sarcasm, lupi style,” Lily added. “What he means is that Wythe and Ybirra have been jackasses, so he’ll make them wait while we do things ceremonially.”

  Rule flashed her a grin. “More or less, yes.”

  “And the practical reason?”

  Benedict answered tersely. “Friar. We don’t know what he’s capable of. Best to have someone check on Etorri in person. Kyffin has arrived.”

  “I noticed.” A black Impala was easing into the turnaround. When Rule saw who was behind the wheel, he couldn’t help grinning. In defiance of all protocol, Myron had driven himself to the meeting, leaving his guard to ride shotgun. There was some logic to this. Myron—in spite of being Lu Nuncio—was a terrible fighter. Best to leave his guard’s hands and eyes free for any threats, because Myron was not the man to counter them.