by Eileen Wilks
She always put on her panties first, then her bra. She preferred to shower at night and seldom wore pantyhose. She bought toothpaste in tubes, pickles in bulk, and panties in every color. Her wound interfered with the run on the beach she was used to, but she adhered religiously to her therapy program. When it was time to leave, she’d slip on her shoulder harness before her shoes.
Small details, perhaps, but he was learning her. “Why do you wear a bra?”
She looked down at her chest and shook her head. “God only knows.”
He chuckled and moved closer. “I meant that a thong offers me some support. Keeps my dangly bits from bouncing around.”
Her glance skimmed his body, eyebrows lifting. No doubt she noticed that there was more looking up than dangling at the moment.
He placed his hand beneath one of her pretty breasts, covered now in stretchy white lace, and dragged his thumb across the tip. “I like everything about these, you know—the size, shape, texture … and the taste. Especially that.”
Her nipple ripened, and her eyes went smoky. That didn’t keep her from batting his hand away. “I have to go.”
“We have to go, you mean.” Resigned, he went to the closet—which was organized by color, season, and type of garment. She’d managed to find a few inches of hanging space for him, but his selection was limited. He took out a pair of black slacks. “You’re not wearing a bandage.”
“The in-sleep thing seems to have helped. My shoulder isn’t back to normal, but it’s better.” She joined him at the closet and took out one of the black T-shirts. “No need for you to get out this early.”
“Try again,” he said dryly, fastening his slacks. “Even if I were okay with you going without me when we know you’re a target—”
“You’re coming awfully close to the allow word.”
“Yet skirting it deftly, I believe. Temecula is an hour away, if the traffic is kind.”
“About sixty miles,” she agreed.
“The mate bond might stretch that far, but this isn’t a good time to test it.”
“Oh. Right.” She tossed her shirt on the bed, following it with a pair of tan slacks and a red jacket. “Why don’t you make us some coffee? You’ll bitch if you have to drink convenience store stuff.”
“I already did.” Surely even a human nose could smell it brewing. He looked at her in sudden, sharp suspicion. “Why don’t you want me to go with you? What aren’t you telling me?”
She sighed. “I was hoping to keep you from going all alpha and protective on me, but I guess it’s a lost cause.”
“Good guess. Keep talking.”
“The witness was out with the deceased last night. He identified Harlowe as the one she’d left the club with.”
“He knows Harlowe?”
“He made the ID from a photo they showed him.”
“Then they already had some reason to think Harlowe was involved.”
“Oh, yeah.” Her eyes were as flat as her voice. “He wrote a little note on the victim’s stomach with a felt-tip pen and signed it.”
“What did it say?”
“‘This one’s for Yu.’”
TEN
LILY was tired of being driven everywhere. It was hard to argue that she should get behind the wheel, though, even with the improvement in her shoulder. Rule was completely unimpaired. So she only grumbled a little about letting him drive.
No question he had a better ride than she did—a Mercedes convertible with buttery soft seats and a top-of-the-line sound system. She set her purse and laptop on the floorboard and put a mug of steaming coffee in the beverage holder. “Swing by the Holiday Inn on Harbor,” she said, pulling her door closed. “The district office was going to call Weaver. We’ll be picking her up.”
He made a noncommittal sound and backed out of the parking space.
She glanced at him. “I don’t have a problem with her, you know.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“If I let myself get bent out of shape every time I run across one of your old lovers, I’d spend most of my time pretzeled.”
“My reputation far exceeds the reality, you know. I haven’t been with nearly as many women as the tabloids like to claim.”
“I don’t suppose that would be physically possible.” Lily’s finger tapped on her thigh. “I’m wondering if we should tell her about the mate bond.”
“What?” He gave her a quick frown. “No.”
“I know it’s supposed to be a big secret, but we’re asking her to operate without full information. That doesn’t feel right.”
“If it were up to me, I’d trust Cynna with that knowledge. But not even the Rho can decide to reveal some of the lore about our connection to the Lady. The Chosen are part of that lore.”
“You mean no one can tell, ever?”
“Not exactly.” He was silent a moment, frowning. “There’s too much you don’t know. You need to talk with the Rhej.”
“I’m supposed to in a few days, but we need to clear this up ASAP.”
“I’ll have to go to Clanhome. She doesn’t leave it, and she doesn’t care for telephones.”
“Sounds like Grandmother.”
Lily shifted uncomfortably. Was she expected to worship the Lady now that she was clan? Not likely to happen, but she didn’t want to get into that right now. “Tell me something. Weaver said you hadn’t changed. People say that sort of thing all the time, but I guess it’s pretty much true for you. How long ago did you know her?”
“Ten years. No, more like twelve.”
“So maybe Weaver’s more of a problem for you than for me. If she starts thinking about how little you’ve changed—”
“It’s going to come out.” He accelerated smoothly onto Harbor Drive. “Sooner or later, it will come out. Once enough of us stopped passing for human, it became inevitable that our longevity would be noticed. That’s one reason some lupi objected to going public.”
“How did it get settled that you would go public? Not by voting, I’m guessing.”
He gave her one of those hard-to-read glances. “No, we didn’t vote. The Rhos discussed, argued, formed alliances, and sometimes fought, but there was no consensus. Eventually my father decided to force the issue.”
She considered what she knew of Isen Turner. “He had a hand in the Borden decision?”
“That, too, but I was referring to Carr v. Texas.”
Lily’s eyebrows rose. Since its founding, the U.S. government had mostly ignored “the lupi problem,” leaving things up to the states to handle however they thought best. Until recently, the states had thought in terms of imprisonment, execution both formal and informal, even castration.
Carr v. the State of Texas had changed all that. The Supreme Court ruling had made lupi citizens when while in human form. Congress had promptly declared lycanthropy a public health hazard, ushering in more than a decade of forced registration and treatment. Now that, too, had been declared unconstitutional. Lupi’s four-footed status remained murky, but there was a bill pending about that. “Was Carr Nokolai?”
“You underestimate Isen.” His smile was tight. “William Carr was Etorri, one of our oldest and most revered clans. They have virtually no power. They’re too tiny. But they have great du. Honor,” he added, glancing at her. “Reputation, face, magic, history—du encompasses all that. Every lupus on the planet owes them, and will until the end of days.”
That sounded like quite a story, but it would have to wait. “And … ?”
“Carr wasn’t just Etorri. He was Rho. At that time, virtually any other lupus who did what he did would have been killed by those opposed to mainstreaming. Not the Etorri Rho.”
“And this was somehow Isen’s doing?”
“Yes.”
That was all he offered, a flat “yes,” no explanation. Lily’s finger tapped faster. “The Carr decision took place, what—twelve years ago? More like fifteen,” she corrected herself. “A few years before you and Weaver were
cozy. You would have been thirty-six or so.”
“Thirty-eight.”
“Were you already your father’s heir?”
“What are you getting at?”
“I’m trying to get things fixed in my mind, that’s all.”
His fingers flexed once on the steering wheel. “I was an adult fifteen years ago. You weren’t. That continues to bother you.”
“And that pisses you off.”
“I am not pissed.” He turned sharply into the drive that circled in front of the Holiday Inn.
She rolled her eyes. “Right. Do you see Weaver? She’s supposed to wait down front for us.”
“You’re always telling me what I am. I’m pissed, I’m promiscuous—”
“I never said that!”
“It lies behind your comments like the seven-eighths of an iceberg that’s submerged.”
“I haven’t called you promiscuous,” she insisted.
“You don’t have to call a black man a nigger to treat him like one.”
“Oh, now I’m a racist.”
“I didn’t say that. Just as you didn’t call me promiscuous.”
“What are we arguing about? Can you tell me that much? Just what is it we’re having this argument about?”
He stopped abruptly enough for her to lurch against her seatbelt. “I don’t know. Nothing. There’s Cynna.”
“Great. Good.” Lily stopped herself before she could blurt out something stupid like, “I guess she never called you promiscuous.” For one thing, it was probably true. For another, it would have sounded entirely too petty and jealous. Which she wasn’t. Not exactly.
But Rule had been promiscuous. Maybe not by his standards, whatever those might be, but by hers, he’d been quite the little honeybee, flitting from flower to flower … and he’d been flitting a lot longer than she’d realized. About twenty years longer.
His honeybee days were over, though. That’s what counted. Maybe that’s what had him on edge, too. Maybe trading every woman for one woman didn’t seem like such a great deal this morning. He hadn’t been given a choice, after all. The mate bond locked them both in this relationship, and however right it felt on the deepest level, there were all sorts of other levels that could play hell with happy-ever-after.
“Morning,” Cynna Weaver said, opening the back door on the driver’s side. She tossed in a scruffy black tote, slid inside, and glanced from one to the other of them. Her eyebrows lifted, rearranging the whorls on her forehead. “Whoa. You two arguing, or did someone die?”
Lily lifted her own eyebrows. “Kimberly Ann Curtis. Caucasian, brown and brown, five-seven, one-thirty. She turned twenty-two last March. Went by Kim.”
“Okay, don’t tell me. None of my business, I guess.” Cynna settled back against the seat. “I’ll admit the ‘someone died’ comment was stupid when we’re headed to a murder scene—”
“Possible homicide,” Lily corrected automatically.
“Whatever. It’s godawful early yet. Don’t expect clever from me for another couple hours.”
“I can wait,” Lily said dryly as Rule pulled away. “Fasten your seatbelt, please.” The other woman muttered something about “seatbelt enforcer” but complied, so Lily ignored the comment. Chances were that Weaver had never responded to vehicular crashes. She wouldn’t know what a face looked like after impacting with a windshield. Or traveling through one.
“So what do we know about this possible homicide?”
“She was found about three-thirty this morning by Mike Sanderson, a coworker who says they dated sometimes but were not exclusive. Nonetheless, he was sufficiently bothered by it when she left the Cactus Corral last night with someone else that he went to her dwelling around three. He found her dead and called the police. No obvious signs of violence. No cause of death determined.”
“Huh.” Weaver unzipped her tote. “This Sanderson the one who ID’ed Harlowe? It was him she left with, right?”
“Right.” Lily frowned at the tote. “I thought you didn’t need any ingredients, that your spells were in your tattoos.”
“You thought right.” She took out a thermos. “Hot chocolate. Want some?”
“No, thanks. I’ve got coffee.” Which was probably cold now. Lily picked up her mug, taking a sip to check. Yep. Cold.
“Don’t know how anyone drinks that stuff.” Cynna took a slug of her chocolate, which did smell good. “I’m wondering why Rule’s driving. No offense, Rule—you’re great eye candy, but you’re a civilian. What are you along for?”
“Emergency sex,” he said blandly.
She exploded into laughter. “Yu, you’re getting some bennies I didn’t think the bureau offered. I’m jealous.”
Lily felt her cheeks heat and thanked God for thick skin. Blushing didn’t show. “He’s a civilian consultant.”
Cynna snorted. “Never heard it called that before. I thought maybe he was bodyguarding you, what with Harlowe leaving you love notes now.”
“That, too,” Rule said. “You know about the note?”
“Yeah, I heard. Yu—” She grimaced. “If there’s a way to say your last name so that it doesn’t sound like a pronoun, it’s beyond me.”
There were three ways to say her last name in Chinese, two of which were beyond Lily, much to Grandmother’s disgust. “I’m used to people having trouble with my surname.”
“Let’s use first names, then.” She delved into her tote again, this time coming up with a foam takeout container.
“Okay.” Though it wasn’t, not really, but that just made Lily determined to get over it. “You should know that we acquired some new information last night.”
“After you left the ER?”
“Yes. Seabourne paid me a visit.”
“I have got to meet that dude. A sorcerer.” She shook her head and opened the container, which turned out to hold a bagel. “Hard to believe, but reality’s often a stretch. Some people find me hard to believe.”
“He thinks you’ll have trouble finding Harlowe, that the staff is shielding him.”
“Won’t know until I try, but I’m pretty good.” She took a big bite.
Lily tried not to stare longingly at Cynna’s bagel. She could have brought some food along … if she ever went to the store and bought stuff. “He also says he scried for Harlowe and found him in—ah, in hell.”
That sent Cynna’s eyebrows up. “No shit?”
“I don’t think Seabourne was making it up. But he doesn’t know if Harlowe is there now, was there recently, or will be there soon.”
“Fire scrying, huh? Well, that is interesting.” She licked a crumb off her thumb. “Ties right in with the demon who conked you on the head.”
“So it seems. I have a question for you.”
“Shoot.” She took another bite.
“In order to Find something, you have to establish a connection with it, right?”
“That’s how it works.”
“I want you to hunt for Harlowe, then, not the staff. I’ve got some concerns about you connecting with it. It’s … tainted.” Lily was getting better at reading the expression beneath the tattoos. Cynna obviously didn’t think much of Lily’s caution. “Have you ever encountered death magic?”
Cynna frowned. “No. Nasty stuff.”
Rule spoke. “The staff reeks of it.”
“Yeah? What does it smell like?”
“Putrefaction.”
Cynna made a face at her bagel. “You’re killing my appetite.”
Rule smiled. “You’ve grown more delicate. I can remember a time when it would take actual decay, not the mere mention of it, to have an effect.”
Cynna grinned at the back of his head. “I’ve always had healthy appetites. Remember that night on the roof?”
“Weaver,” Lily said, forgetting the first-name bit.
“Yeah?”
“Are you trying to annoy me, or is annoyance the usual by-product of your personality?”
The woman laughed. �
�Usual by-product, I guess. You two really do have an exclusive thing going?”
“We really do.”
“Hmm.” She looked at what was left of her bagel. For a moment there was no expression at all on that odd, striking face. “So what’s this Seabourne like?”
“He’s annoying, too. Also incredibly gorgeous.”
“I really do need to meet him.” She popped the last bite into her mouth, chewed, and then said, “You don’t have to worry about me getting ‘tainted’ if I do sort something connected to the staff. I’ve got all sorts of protection written in. When I sort, I take the patterns I want to Find on my skin. The energy doesn’t go any deeper.”
That sounded a little like what Lily experienced when she touched magic. She felt its texture, but the magic itself slid off her as if she were greased. Still, unlike her, Cynna didn’t remain entirely unaffected. “Your skin’s part of you. I don’t want you trying to find the staff.”
She shrugged. “Harlowe’s a better target, anyway.”
Was she agreeing or evading? Lily gave one last warning. “Karonski has good protection, too. Helen went right through it. She couldn’t get past Seabourne’s shields to his mind, but she was still able to use the staff against him. It caused excruciating pain.”
“You’re going somewhere with this.”
“She was also able to kill with it. She tried to use it on me that way. It had no effect.”
“Because you’re a sensitive. I get that.”
“I hope you also get that standard arrest procedures won’t work with Harlowe. I’m the only one the staff can’t affect, so when we do find him, I go in alone.”
Cynna snorted. “You may be immune to the staff, but there are plenty of other ways to get killed.”
“She’ll have backup,” Rule said grimly.
“Thirty feet away and out of sight.”
“That’s too far. Cullen said Helen had to be within fifteen feet to affect him.”
“Cullen’s a sorcerer. What’s safe for him may not be safe for others. Not that I’m convinced he knows the meaning of safety,” she added, thinking of what he’d said about experimenting with mage fire.
“Why are you so bloody careful about everyone’s safety but yours?”