Death Magic wotl-8

by Eileen Wilks

  “Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God,” Deborah whispered.

  “It’s okay. He’s just saying it like he means it. Ruben has to mean it, too.”

  For several heartbeats the two wolves didn’t move. Finally Ruben whined faintly.

  Rule lifted his head and looked at Lily. As clearly as if he’d said it, she read the “What the hell?” in his eyes.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know, but he’s the one the Lady picked.” She gestured at the black wolf, still lying submissively quiet. “When I got here . . . I’ll tell you later, but he’s got the mantle now.”

  Rule’s gaze went to Deborah, who’d gripped Lily’s arm again and held on tight. Back to Lily. He growled once.

  “Tough. If the Lady didn’t want Deborah to know about mantles, she shouldn’t have stuck one in her husband. Are you okay?”

  He nodded once, looking at her intently. After a second she guessed what his question must be. “I’m fine. Actually . . .” She paused, lifted both arms. Flexed her biceps. “I’m all the way fine.” No pain. No weakness in her right arm. None. She twisted that arm to look. There was a scar still, but no dent. The muscle had grown back. “Jesus, that’s weird. Scott? You okay?”

  The gray wolf nodded slowly. Not fine, maybe, but as okay as he could be with a broken leg.

  Rule moved off the black wolf, who rolled so his belly wasn’t exposed but stayed down, watching Rule intently. Tentatively he stretched up his head so he could lick Rule’s muzzle : wolf-speak for You’re in charge. Let’s be friends. Rule allowed that for a moment, then licked him back once. The black wolf wriggled like a puppy.

  Deborah was still breathing too fast. Still on the edge of panic. “I don’t know what’s going on. What happened to Ruben? What did you do? He’ll be himself again, won’t he?”

  “Eventually. I think. I, ah . . .” Lily struggled for words to explain the inexplicable. “The CliffsNotes version is that I’ve been babysitting a mantle—that’s a magical construct that Rhos use to unite their clans, and you need to not tell anyone, anyone at all, about mantles, okay?”

  “That will be easy. I don’t know anything to tell.”

  “Details later. I had to babysit this mantle for a while because the Rho of that clan died without an heir. For some God-only-knows-what reason, today the Lady decided to put the mantle into Ruben. Somehow that triggered him into going into First Change. I don’t know how. It sure didn’t do that to me, and he’s not lupus either, so—”

  Rule yipped.

  “You mean he is? He smells lupus?”

  He nodded.

  Deborah looked more baffled than ever. “Is he—is Ruben okay now?”

  Lily looked at Rule. “Is Ruben going to obey you? Because you need to clear out. I need to clear out. I came here because they’re going to arrest him. Did you get my message?”

  Rule yipped again, glanced at Scott, and made a little circle in the air with his muzzle.

  Lily frowned. “Why do you want Scott to Change instead of you doing it?”

  Scott wasn’t as blindingly quick as Rule, but fast enough. In a few seconds he stood there, entirely naked, cradling his broken arm. “Where’s the chicken?”

  “What?”

  “The chicken. Rule needs to feed him.”

  “The refrigerator,” Deborah said quickly and hurried to it. The black wolf shivered as if her movement excited or frightened him, but a glance from Rule kept him still. Deborah took out a package of chicken breasts. “Do I—”

  “No, I do.” Scott snatched the package, ripped off the plastic, and advanced a couple steps before going to his knees and scrunching down, his head bent low, to set the foam tray on the floor. He shoved it toward the wolves.

  He was underscoring Rule’s dominance, Lily realized. Baring his nape, submitting to Rule, showing the black wolf that all the other wolves in the room let Rule boss them around, too.

  Rule stepped away from the black wolf, who started to rise—until Rule’s head swung around, teeth bared. He went flat again. Rule then inspected the offering in a leisurely way, sniffing it thoroughly. The black wolf quivered but didn’t move.

  Rule-wolf selected one breast, crunched a couple times, then gulped it down. Then he used his nose to push the tray toward the other wolf—who looked at him as if asking permission. Rule stepped back. It’s all yours.

  The black wolf was on his feet and devouring the chicken like he was on fast-forward.

  Rule made a single, low noise, sort of a grunt. He looked at Scott. Scott frowned, then his eyes widened. “A car. I hear it now. It’s out front.”

  Drummond? Maybe. Probably. “Quick,” Lily said, turning to Deborah. “Go see who it is. Don’t let them in. See who it is and let me know.”

  For once the woman didn’t argue. She ran. Lily spun back to Rule. “You have to get Ruben out of here. They’re going to arrest him. If they find him here like that”—she waved at the black wolf, who’d polished off the chicken and was licking the wrappings—“he won’t be able to control himself at all. He won’t understand what’s happening. God. You’ll need clothes.” She flung the next words at Scott as she hurried to the back door. “Can you go with them? With your arm?”

  He was already bending, scooping up piles of fallen clothing with his good arm. “Of course.”

  Rule nudged Ruben with his nose. The black wolf snarled but stopped hunting for another scrap of chicken.

  Lily fumbled with the lock, then flung the door open. “Make sure you’ve got Rule’s wallet and phone. Hurry.”

  Rule gave Lily a single glance, then shoved at Ruben with his whole body before loping out the door. The black wolf followed as if he’d been told to. Scott was a few seconds behind with one arm circling their bundled clothing, the other one propped uncertainly on top of it. He hadn’t taken time for clothes, but he’d slipped on his shoes.

  Lily shut the door, grabbed the tray the chicken had been in, and jammed it in the trash. She raced to the sink, turned on the water, and yanked at the roll of paper towels.

  “There’s four of them,” Deborah said, slightly breathless as she ran back into the room. “I don’t know the other three, but I know Al Drummond. He interviewed me. They’re almost—”

  The doorbell rang.

  “Pour you and me some coffee.” Lily thrust a wad of paper towels under the tap. “Not full—as if we’ve been sipping awhile. Put the cups on the table. Pick the chairs up. I dropped by unexpectedly,” she went on quickly as Deborah hurried to the coffeepot. She bent and started wiping blood smears from the floors. “Ruben wasn’t here. He left to take a walk about an hour ago, shortly before I arrived.” Neither of the wolves had bled badly, but they’d smeared it all over, dammit. Lily went for more paper towels.

  “But you’ll be in trouble.” Deborah set two half-full mugs on the table and a plate of cookies. Good touch. She broke off a corner of one the cookies and crushed it to leave crumbs on the table then righted one of the chairs. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”

  “No choice.” Rule’s car was in front of the house. If she skipped out the back door, they’d look for him. She couldn’t let that happen. “We haven’t talked about the investigation or the events at Fagin’s house. Mostly about you—how you’re holding up, that sort of thing.”

  Deborah was carrying the other chair across the kitchen. “My parents are giving me a hard time. You can tell them that. The leg on this one’s broken.” She opened a door to what seemed to be a pantry and took the chair inside. “Where will Rule take Ruben? What’s going to happen to him?”

  The doorbell rang again.

  “Questions later. Better let them in.” Lily tossed her towels in the trash, then cast a quick glance over the kitchen. No visible blood. Even if she missed some and Drummond was psychic enough to run lab tests on it, the tests wouldn’t tell them much. Not with lupi blood.

  The kitchen island still rested against the cabinets. Lily hurried over to it as Deborah emerged from the pantry. “Get the
door. Hurry.”

  Deborah’s face was pale but composed. Or maybe she’d just shut down. Either would work for now. “The cup. The one I dropped. There’re pieces by the table.”

  “I’ll get it.” Lily shoved at the island. “Go.”

  Deborah did, her shoes clicking firmly on the floor. Lily left the island roughly where she remembered it being, hurried to the table, and bent to snatch up bits of broken coffee cup. Should have seen this when she was mopping up blood.

  Voices at the front of the house. No time. She crammed the pottery shards behind a spring green throw pillow on the banquette, sat in the only remaining chair, and took a bite of a cookie.

  “I told you,” Deborah was saying, her voice growing closer, “he went for a walk.”

  “Was that before or after someone smashed your window?” Drummond asked.

  “I didn’t know it had been broken until you asked me about it just now. I haven’t been at the front of the house.”

  Lily washed down the bite with a sip of cold coffee just as Drummond strode into the room with Deborah a pace behind. Three more men followed behind the two of them—two she didn’t know, plus Mullins, who was looking especially dense and dull.

  “I’m sure Ruben will be back soon,” Deborah said. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”

  Drummond stopped when he saw Lily—but not like he was surprised. He smiled, cold and nasty, his eyes glittering with anger. “Look who beat me here. What a coincidence. You dropped by to chat with a suspect just before I came to arrest him.”

  “You’re arresting Ruben?”

  “He doesn’t seem to be here, does he? You know anything about that?”

  Lily looked at those glittering eyes and her stomach lurched as if she were in an elevator headed down way too fast.

  That wasn’t anger she saw. That was triumph. Drummond had just gotten exactly what he wanted. “How could I? I’m not part of the investigation anymore.”

  “You got the last part right. Special Agent Lily Yu, you are under arrest.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  IN the cold darkness beneath the oaks and hawthorns and elms, the world was moist and fragrant. Two wolves walked under those trees. Leaves crunched and released their mélange of scent-messages with every footfall. Impossible even for Rule to walk silently here, much less the raw new wolf who trailed him.

  Enough leafy canopy remained above them to hide the stars . . . though not the moon, not entirely. Fat and pale and so nearly full Rule’s eyes could barely limn the missing sliver, she lit their way and flooded them with moonsong. Behind him the new one paused as he had from time to time, so intoxicated by the scent-torrent the world poured upon him in shimmering abundance that he had to stop and smell. Just smell.

  Rule paused patiently with him.

  Tomorrow was full moon. The three days and nights leading up to full moon were the normal period for First Change. And that was the only normal thing about this particular First Change.

  Rule didn’t think of the wolf who followed him as Ruben Brooks because he wasn’t. Surely he would be again. This First Change couldn’t be that different. But it would be a few days, perhaps a week, before memories and thoughts of his other form began to surface; another week before he was able to resume his original form for a time. That would happen at the new moon following First Change. Brand-new wolves often needed help with that Change, or at least strong encouragement.

  Those first two weeks were a heady time, each moment brimming with newness and delight. Or they should be. The wolf keeping pace with Rule had known all too much confusion and fear. It boded ill for how man and wolf would weave their joint life in days to come.

  Of course, until now, no lupi had ever been a forty-six-year-old man when First Change hit. They could hope that would make a difference.

  Rule and the wolf who used to be Ruben Brooks wound through the trees along the west side of Dumbarton Oaks Park, roughly forty acres of woodlands in the middle of Georgetown. It had taken them hours to get this far. Some of that was due to the careful, roundabout way two wolves must travel in a populous city, but some had to do with the new wolf’s need to play.

  Normally new wolves were born at First Change into bodies as gangly and unfinished as the boys they were before that moment—not puppies, no, but not fully adult, and with a youngster’s need to play and explore. This wolf needed that, too, though his body was fully mature. He and Rule had romped in Rock Creek Park—Mika was away from his lair, unfortunately, but Rule made sure they left their scent near it—and rolled in the creek as they followed it south. Once they reached Dumbarton, they’d snapped at scampering field mice near the Naval Observatory, then flushed a rabbit in the wooded area between the embassies of Denmark and Italy.

  The new wolf had been very excited about the rabbit. He’d lost him quickly, of course—rabbits were fast and agile, and this wolf was still unused to his body. But he’d had a marvelous time making the attempt.

  Rule rather regretted that rabbit now, though. He was hungry and getting hungrier by the minute.

  It wouldn’t be long now. Immediately in front of them lay the Citibank parking lot. Rule approached close enough to watch the lot while remaining hidden himself, covered by the shadow of a large elm. With the wind at their backs, they’d have scent to alert them of intruders from behind.

  He lay down—not curled up for sleep, but keeping his head erect. The other wolf settled close to him, their sides touching, and licked his muzzle. Rule allowed that for a moment, then sniffed along the other wolf ’s muzzle and jaw and gave his ear a single lick: You’re safe. You’re not alone. You’ve done well. I will look out for you.

  The new wolf wagged his tail once, then rested his head on his forelegs with a tired sigh, relaxing.

  He needed the physical contact. He needed a great deal more. A new wolf should be surrounded by clan—by their scent, the feel of their bodies, with even their pulses coursing in time with his.

  Rule could give this wolf only a small taste of that comfort. He’d done what he could. He’d defeated him, dominated him, and fed him, so the wolf trusted him now. But instinctively, the new wolf would be longing for many, and Rule was only one. One who did not smell like Wythe.

  Rule had hoped the new wolf might accept non-Wythe wolves. No luck with that. When Rule had paused in the scrap of woods near Ruben’s house to contact his guards stationed there, the new wolf had snapped and snarled at them. In spite of that, Rule had signaled the others to circle the new one, knowing what would happen when he Changed so he could give them instructions. Sure enough, when the only wolf he trusted turned into a man, the new wolf had tried to flee. The others hadn’t let him, but it had been a near thing. Rule had given his instructions, sending Scott to the house to relay some of them, and Changed back quickly.

  Three Changes in close succession, and only a single, gulped chicken breast to eat. No wonder he felt half-starved. Rule continued to wait upon the company that would arrive soon.

  That company would please him more than his charge. Wolves who were not-Wythe did not comfort this wolf—who instinctively tried to gather them under his own dominion, and never mind how bad an idea that was. The new wolf didn’t know that, didn’t know much of anything yet, but a new wolf had to be controlled. Not only because he was dangerous, being all power and instinct and no control, but because he needed the security of knowing he was guided by one able to dominate him.

  Very few could dominate this wolf. Only those with a mantle.

  A new wolf with a full mantle—what was the Lady thinking?

  Rule wasn’t surprised Scott had submitted. The surprise was that the black wolf had chosen to cripple rather than kill. That was remarkable restraint in a wolf fresh from First Change.

  But then, Ruben the man was highly dominant. As a wolf he had the same instincts, even without memory’s guide.

  Lily, he thought, wouldn’t understand the connection. She didn’t understand dominance. It frustrated Rule.
How could she not understand, when she herself was so clearly dominant? But she confused dominance with the need to control others—and that was part of it, yes, yet naming the whole for the part distorted meaning into incoherence.

  He suspected she saw dominance and submission in vaguely sexual terms. She considered submission a surrender of autonomy. But autonomy as humans used the term seemed absurdly artificial to Rule. He understood personal responsibility. He also understood that “no man is an island.” He did not understand why so many humans embraced the myth that individuals could and should stand alone. It was as if they thought everyone should be dominant.

  No, at its heart, submission simply acknowledged fact: the other had the skill and power to kill you . . . and the skill and power to defend you. The two were inseparable. When you submitted, you placed your life in the other’s jaws. If the other was truly dominant, he accepted this. And would then defend that life as if it were his own.

  That’s what he must tell Lily, Rule realized. A dominant wolf controlled, yes—but the need to control arose from the need to protect.

  Lily.

  His heart bunched itself up tight in his chest, sending a tremor of hurt and fear rippling through him. The hurt was the wolf ’s. It was good Lily wasn’t here. Necessary. She was much too human to be around such a new one, who would know her only as threat or prey. But he knew she was distressed, in trouble, and he ached for her, ached to be with her.

  The man was more frantic. Words, always words, for the man, but fewer than usual this time: What had happened to her? Did they know she’d tipped Ruben off? They would guess, surely. She wasn’t supposed to be at Ruben’s house. What would the authorities—her own Bureau—do to her?

  The new wolf raised his head, rumbling deep in his throat. There are as many kinds of growls for a wolf as there are smiles for a human; this one betokened anxiety, not anger or challenge. Muscle by muscle, Rule denied his fear. He was used to this discipline, to the need to physically mask his emotions, but doing so came hard tonight. He wanted to howl, to run. To Change and go to Lily.