Blood Challenge

by Eileen Wilks

  Track, Rule signed.

  Sammy nodded and padded silently around the pool, nose down, heading for the dim maw of the tunnel. He paused there, looking over his shoulder.

  Rule held up a hand to stop him, about to sign Change. Vertigo struck like a hammer a split second before the darkness all around swarmed in and swallowed him.

  ROBERT Friar’s house was as large and unlikely as Lily remembered: two stories of wood and glass with a staggered veranda—God forbid you should call it a porch—three gables, and camera-ready landscaping. Lights were on inside, she noted as they pulled up in front, and the landscape lighting glowed discreetly, but he’d forgotten to leave the porch light on for callers.

  Lily climbed out as soon as Cullen shut off the engine. Cynna’s door slammed on the other side, and Cullen climbed out on hers. As they started for the door, Lily half expected to see some of the militia types Friar had running around everywhere.

  Sometimes half-assed expectations come true. A burly cliché in fatigues, complete with blond, buzz-cut hair and shoulder-slung AK-47, stepped off the porch. “Mr. Friar isn’t available right now.”

  “Pity, but we’ll be going in anyway. Agent Lily Yu, Unit Twelve, FBI.” She held out her badge, and damned if he didn’t take it and study it. “I’d like to see your ID, also.”

  “Looks genuine, but I’ve seen some good fakes.” He handed it back.

  “You travel in interesting circles, Mr. . . .”

  “Brewster, Calvin.” He reached in his back pocket. “I’m complying with your request for ID, Special Agent, but after that I have to ask you and your companions to leave.”

  “Can’t do that.” She managed to brush his fingers as she took the driver’s license he pulled from his pocket. No tingle of magic. She handed the license to Cynna. “Jot down the number, would you?”

  “Sure.” Cynna dug in her purse.

  “The open gate gave you legal access to the property,” Calvin said, stony but polite. “But you have to leave when asked.”

  “Not when I’ve got a search warrant.”

  “I’ll need to see that.”

  “Actually, you don’t. Robert Friar does. You aren’t Friar.”

  “I’m responsible for the security of Mr. Friar’s place.”

  “You a relative of Friar’s? A member of his household?” She shook her head. “The law’s funny, Calvin. If you’d been inside the house when we arrived, I’d have to show you the warrant. But you aren’t. I have no reason to believe you have access to the house, which means you have no right to see the warrant. Got to protect Mr. Friar’s privacy.”

  His lips tightened into invisibility. He stepped back a grudging pace and pulled a phone from his shirt pocket. “Sergeant, I’ve got a situation here,” he said as Lily walked around him, with Cullen and Cynna right behind.

  She rang the bell. Waited. Rang it again, adding a firm knock.

  Nothing. No sound of footsteps, no television noise . . . “You hear anything inside?” she asked Cullen.

  “Not even a mouse.”

  She considered a moment. Glanced over her shoulder. Another militia guy was rounding the corner of the house, headed their way. She moved so that she blocked Cal’s view of Cullen, raising her voice slightly. “Odd that someone as security conscious as Mr. Friar would leave his front door ajar, isn’t it?”

  Cullen grinned. “Damn weird, if you ask me.”

  Cynna nodded. “Makes me think something’s wrong. We should check.”

  Calvin spoke sharply. “That door’s closed and locked.”

  “Was it closed earlier?” She turned to look at him. “Because it isn’t now. Is Mr. Friar in the habit of leaving his front door ajar?”

  “It’s not—”

  “Sure it is,” Cynna said. “See?” She gave the door a shove and it swung open.

  And that was another reason Lily had wanted Cullen along. He was very good with locks. “Looks like you’re wrong, Calvin.”

  “I’m going in with you.” He started toward her.

  “Nope.” She moved to block him, giving Cullen and Cynna a chance to go in. “Same deal. Not a relative, not a member of the household, so you stay out here.”

  “I’m going in with you.”

  She cocked her head. “Those allergies give you a lot of trouble?”

  “What the hell are you—”

  “Gesundheit,” Cullen said, pointing at him.

  Calvin sneezed. Sneezed again, and again—a paroxysm of sneezes that left him bent over.

  It was Cullen’s newest trick, one he was quite proud of. He and Cynna had cooked up the spell together, but she had trouble executing it—something to do with the difference between runic charms and spoken spells. Lily grinned and slipped inside, locking the door behind her.

  Her grin slid away. She listened a moment, then called out, “Mr. Friar? Special Agent Lily Yu here. I have a warrant to search your house and physically connected structures.”

  No answer. She looked at Cullen. He shook his head. “Can’t hear a thing. Either he’s playing hide-and-seek, or he isn’t here. If he isn’t here, I bet I know where he is.”

  So did she. Belowground someplace, either in his tunnel or at the node. Where Rule was headed. “Cynna?”

  “Ready, set, go,” the taller woman said, and shook out her arms. “I warned you this could take awhile. If he’s warded the entrance to the tunnel, it’ll be hard for me to Find.”

  “Understood.” Maybe Rule would be knocking on the other side of the tunnel’s entry before they found it. Maybe not. Either way, they had the best Finder on the planet looking for it. And while Cynna hunted her way, she and Cullen could try more common methods. Hands and eyes. “Let’s get started.”

  THE moon was half full. Plenty of light for lupus eyes on a clear night, enough to see the looming wooden ghosts of the mining operation that had died here over twenty years ago. Also the vehicles pulled up in the dusty yard in front of what had once been the office. And the men gathered to one side of the vehicles, near a fire pit complete with a small blaze.

  The wind was having fun with that fire, Isen noted, though they’d dug the pit deeper than usual. One of Stephen’s men hovered near it with a bucket and a blanket. Fire was traditional at a Challenge, and tradition carried great weight for Stephen.

  Isen’s driver pulled up at the end of the row of vehicles nearest the gathered men. He glanced at his watch and nodded. Two hairs past ten o’clock. Excellent.

  He did enjoy making an entrance.

  Jason got out on the far side of the car. The driver got out on her side . . . the driver being Nettie. Isen heard the exclamations from those waiting and grinned and opened his own door.

  The noise cut off. Eight startled faces stared at him—five Etorri, including Stephen; Myron from Kyffin; and the two Ybirra clansmen who’d driven in to support their Lu Nuncio and bear witness. Plus a ninth, furious face. Javier was not pleased to see him.

  “You seem surprised,” he murmured, moving forward. “Myron, how is Billy?”

  “Well enough, though he’ll—”

  “What trick is this?” Javier demanded. “Why are you here? And that woman. Who is she?”

  Isen paused, eyebrows lifted gently. “I believe Nokolai has been Challenged. Did you think I would allow my heir—who was injured today, as you must know—to fight in his condition?”

  Javier scowled. “He didn’t plead injury as a reason to delay.”

  Isen said nothing, but he allowed rebuke to enter his gaze.

  Myron snorted. “As if he could. You’d have screamed to high heaven that he was up to something. It’s Rule’s ribs were hurt, I think?” he asked Isen.

  Isen nodded. “They’ll mend, but not in time for the Challenge. You said Billy is doing all right?”

  “Didn’t even need surgery, though he’ll wear a collar for a while. Thanks for sending Nettie.” He smiled at her. “How interesting to see you again so soon.”

  “Ah, that’s right,
” Isen said. “I believe Javier asked about her.” He gestured for Nettie to step forward. “This is my granddaughter, Nettie Two Horses.”

  Stephen of Etorri spoke for the first time. “It’s irregular to bring a woman to a Challenge.”

  “Irregular, perhaps, but no one stipulated that we only bring male clan. Nettie is Nokolai. She’s also a doctor, healer, and shaman.” Isen beamed at them. “I expect to need her services, and hope that Javier will, also. I’ve no desire to kill you for being an idiot, boy.”

  “I’ve no desire to kill you, either, old man. Feel free to cry loss and submit.”

  Isen chuckled. “That’s telling me. Well.” He pulled off his shirt and handed it to Jason. The wind chose that moment to kick up its heels, stinging his bare chest with sand. “I assume the circle’s been drawn?”

  “It has,” Stephen said. “As mediator, I ask if there is any way your clans can reconcile this difference without Challenge.”

  “Nokolai owes a blood debt for their betrayal.” Javier’s eyes glittered in the firelight. “Ybirra means to claim it.”

  Isen’s good humor fell away. He looked at Javier and allowed his mantle to rise. “Rule has explained what happened. You will not listen, blinded by anger and grief and the unwillingness to know yourself wrong. In your blindness and arrogance, you aid our ancient enemy. Our Lady’s enemy.” He paused, letting his voice drop to a growl. “When we step into that circle, know that you will have to kill me to win. I will not submit. Nokolai will not abase itself, submit to a lie, to satisfy your refusal to deal in reality instead of rage.”

  For a moment, doubt flickered in Javier’s eyes. Uncertainty. Isen smiled grimly. “I will bleed you, boy, but I’ll only kill you if you give me no choice. I don’t want Manuel to lose a son. I don’t want our people to lose a fighter—for believe me, the time is coming when we will need every fighter. Come. Our Lady needs us, all of us. You can still withdraw your Challenge.”

  That was a step too far. Javier’s head jerked back, as if Isen had struck him. “I do not withdraw.”

  Bloody young idiot, thinking withdrawal meant cowardice. And a bloody old fool he was for mishandling the boy. Ah, well. He looked at Stephen. “Ybirra will not withdraw. Nokolai will not submit. It looks as if we had better get started, doesn’t it?”

  FORTY-FOUR

  RULE came to with the same suddenness he’d passed out. He lay utterly still, allowing no muscle to tighten, using his other senses to gather information before opening his eyes.

  Piss. That smell was so strong it took a second to sort out the rest, but Benedict was close. José, too, was near. And Sammy, Paul, Lucas . . . was that Brian? Yes, though his scent was so smeared with the stink of illness it was almost unrecognizable. He heard a heartbeat . . . no, two heartbeats, both of them unnaturally languid, but strong and steady.

  He was lying on a hard, rough surface. The air was chilly and calm. His ribs ached, but nothing else hurt. Benedict was on his left, also lying down. José was on his right. Either they were still unconscious or they were faking it well. Better than he was, for he was sure his own heartbeat had speeded up.

  “Rule? You awake?”

  Brian’s voice. Rule opened his eyes. “So it seems.”

  He was in a cage. No, only one wall was barred; the others were rock. Someone had made use of a handy cubbyhole in the rock to form a cell. The stone of the ceiling glowed—mage light, but fixed to a surface instead of floating free.

  That ceiling was much too close. Only two feet from Rule’s head when he sat up. Too low to stand.

  Panic twitched at him, a puppeteer demanding that he move, run. He breathed in slowly, deliberately, and looked around.

  The stink of urine came from a bucket at the back of the cell, not far from where Brian sat, leaning against the stony wall The sanitary facilities, it seemed. Their cell was about twelve by eight, just enough room for their captors to lay everyone out neatly and naked . . . no, not everyone. Only the lupi. And not entirely naked. Rule touched his ribs. They’d left his elastic bandage on. How thoughtful.

  On the other side of those bars . . . “Someone’s redecorated,” he murmured. He couldn’t see the whole place. His cell was at one end of the long, narrow cavern . . . a cavern he recognized, though the altar, the chanting Azá, and the electric lights strung on cables were missing.

  In their place were mage lights and elves.

  One, two, three, four of them . . . they had to be elves. One stood quite close, about fifteen feet from the bars, watching them with a drawn sword in one hand. His hair was blue. The others . . . Rule moved closer to the bars, crouched to avoid the low ceiling, to get a better look.

  Their hair was long, too—white hair on one; the soft, taupey gray of a dove on another; yellow on the third. Not blond. Pale yellow, like freshly churned butter. They wore sleeveless tunics and trousers in bright colors. The tunics were belted at the waist; from this angle Rule could see that at least two of them had sheathed knives hanging from those belts. Thin and lovely, graceful and androgynous, those three were absorbed in what they were doing. Whatever that was.

  One sat, eyes closed, lips moving. Another crouched ten feet from the first, patting the ground rhythmically, as if it were a drum. The third moved one step, stopped. Moved one step. Stopped. The three formed a rough triangle around . . . “Is that a gate?”

  Rule had never actually seen one. He’d been zapped to the hell realm by other means, returned while unconscious, and hadn’t visited the one official gate on Earth in D.C. But he’d heard them described as a shimmer in the air, like heat waves. That’s what he saw over the spot that had once held the Azá’s altar.

  “Yeah, afraid so.”

  Brian’s voice was weak, strained. Rule turned.

  Brian wasn’t a large man, no more than five-ten, and had always been slim, full of energy. Now he looked gaunt, his cheekbones jutting out sharply.

  Rule crawled over the unconscious José to reach Brian. He gripped his friend’s hand. The stink of illness was so wrong, blended with a lupi’s scent. “You’re hurting.”

  “Dya’s kept me going, but I think . . . not much longer. Oh. She’s Friar’s servant or slave or something. She doesn’t like being called a slave, but he for damn sure controls her. She’s, uh, she’s not from our realm.”

  Rule nodded neutrally. Best, maybe, if he didn’t mention Arjenie. She wasn’t with them. He prayed that meant she’d somehow escaped whatever knocked them out, that she was okay. There were other possibilities, worse ones. For now, he wasn’t going to think about them. “Is she the one who called Isen?”

  “I shouldn’t have asked her to. She got caught, and you . . .” His face spasmed. Sweat popped out on his upper lip and forehead.

  “The pain’s bad.”

  “Comes and goes.” His voice had sunk to a thread. “More coming than going lately. Rethna likes to experiment. Gado and . . . variations. He wants to control the Change. Not just shut it off, but call it up when he pleases.”

  “Rethna?” Rule said sharply, glancing over his shoulder. The elves were still busy with their odd tasks. “What about Friar?”

  “Friar’s around. Rethna’s bigger and badder, though. He’s an elf. Not one of those three—they’re flunkies. He’s some kind of big muckety-muck. Likes to be called ‘my lord.’ I told him he wasn’t my lord.”

  Rule smiled. It hurt, but he did it. “Bet he didn’t like that.”

  “Not much.” The ghost of Brian’s usual cocky smile crossed his face.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “I think . . . ten days? Hard to tell, underground.” He squeezed Rule’s hand. “There’s things I need to tell you. Rethna and Friar aren’t exactly partners, but they’re working together. They’ve both made deals with her. The Lady’s enemy.”

  “I knew about Friar and her. I’ve been trying to convince the others . . .” He thought of his most recent attempt. Of his father, who must be fighting for his life by now. Of Br
ian’s older brother, who’d fallen to a complicated madness. “I’m so sorry about your brother, Brian.”

  Brian closed his eyes. “Felt it, of course. When what Edgar carried came to me, I knew he was gone. I haven’t told them about that.” He opened his eyes. They glowed with sudden intensity. “About the Lady’s secret. They’ve done things to me, but I haven’t told them the Lady’s secret.”

  The mantles, he meant. “Good. You’ve done well.”

  Brain snorted, sounding so much like he always had that it pinched Rule’s heart. “No, I haven’t. I told them too much, but he—the elf—Rethna can do things you wouldn’t believe. He calls it body magic. Mostly it’s pain. Good thing he doesn’t have much mind-magic, or . . .” He shook his head. “Never mind. I need to tell you before they come. The deal Friar made—he gets paid tonight. They’re setting up this big ritual to give him some kind of major Gift. I don’t know what. Once that’s done, Rethna will clear out. Now that he’s got you, he’ll go home. He means to take you—all of you he caught—with him. To sell.”

  Nastiness twisted in Rule’s gut. “It was a trap, then. Dya’s phone call. They were ready for us.”

  “No! Dya didn’t . . . she’s a friend. She didn’t trick you. But Friar knew about the call somehow . . . maybe one of Soshi’s pets. Soshi’s one of Rethna’s flunkies. They’d planned to lure some of you down here soon. Dya didn’t know how, but she thought if you got here quickly they wouldn’t be ready yet.” He grimaced. “They were.”

  “Soshi’s pets?”

  “Spiders. They’re big, the size of a tarantula, but they aren’t from our realm. Soshi links with them, sees from their eyes.”

  The spider that had run across Arjenie’s foot—had it been watching them? “You’re sure this Rethna plans to sell us? We, ah—we had reason to think Friar and a sidhe allied with him were breaking something called Queens’ Law. The one about genocide.”

  Brian’s eyebrows lifted. “You know about Queens’ Law?”