by Eileen Wilks
“A month?” Cullen was incredulous.
“I don’t know if the story is accurate,” Father Michaels said apologetically, “and I’m afraid the medieval Church took steps to alter the historical record, so you’ll be unable to verify it on your own. But Father Moretti takes that account very seriously.”
“I’m not buying it.” Cullen looked more grim than dismissive, however. “It would take massive amounts of death magic to fuel a dopplegänger for a month. Even if a practitioner was able to channel that much power—and that’s a big if—we’re talking at least a hundred people killed in a short time in a controlled ritual. I don’t see how anyone could do that—or how the Church could keep it quiet if someone did.”
“But it wasn’t done in ritual. Not once the dopplegänger had been created, that is. Father Moretti believes that the nex in vita can feed upon death directly, without ritual, to avoid dissolution. If a dopplegänger’s creator doesn’t dispel it—or if he is killed and no one controls it—then as long as it can keep killing, it won’t cease.”
“Until someone kills it,” Rule said.
Father Michaels shook his head. “They exist in a sort of half-life. Death-in-life, as it were. Because they aren’t fully alive, they can’t be killed.”
Lily’s eyebrows shot up. “At all?”
“Perhaps with modern weapons . . . but according to the historical record, they cease when they run out of power, but they can’t be killed.”
After a moment Rule said, “Are you sure of this, Father?”
“Father Moretti is, and I believe him.”
“Then how do we stop a dopplegänger? The Church must have found a way to do so.”
“I don’t know.” Lines grooved his face as if he’d aged a decade since he arrived. “The method the Church used back then isn’t one we’d want to repeat. I don’t want to see a second Purge.”
THIRTY-FOUR
LILY rubbed her face and thought wistfully about coffee. “For a while there, I thought you were going to tie him up.”
It was after ten. She, Rule, and Cullen were seated around the table once more. Father Michaels had just headed upstairs to the bedroom Cullen wasn’t using. Rule had been utterly insistent that the priest was in danger and should stay with them. At first Father Michaels had refused, but he had agreed to call Father Moretti from their house. That way they could answer questions—some of them, at least—and between Rule’s presence and Cullen’s debugging spell, they could be sure no one listened in on the call.
Father Moretti had spoken with Cullen and Rule, but hadn’t asked to talk to Lily. Quel surprise—there was sexism in the biggest, oldest boys’ club in the world. He’d then spoken privately with Father Michaels for nearly an hour.
The upshot of all that talking was that Father Michaels would stay with them, after all—and the Jesuits were sending specially trained priests to D.C. Lily hoped they were trained in something other than killing all the Gifted they could find. The first Purge hadn’t worked out well.
Not that Cullen had any doubts how to handle it. Mage fire, he’d pointed out, had destroyed an ancient staff created by an Old One. It could burn up some dead elf’s trinket, too.
Cullen had been known to be overconfident, but Lily was betting with him this time. At least on that score. On another subject, he was becoming a real pain.
“I’m not buying it,” Cullen said for the fifth time. “The Purge did not take place because some renegade German spellcasters managed to cobble together an evil, death-eating dopplegänger that the Church didn’t know how to deal with. I don’t care how good the Church was at hushing things up back then. There would have been rumors, speculation—something about it would have reached the magical community.”
“History is written by the winners,” Rule said. “The magical community lost that round in a big way. And Father Michaels didn’t claim that the Purge was caused only by the advent of these nex in vita. They might have been the deciding factor for the Pope, but God knows secular authorities were behind it, too.”
The priest believes what he said, a crisp mental voice announced.
Lily jolted. “Mika? You’ve been listening?”
Did you think my only function was to act as your personal e-mail service?
Rule raised his eyebrows at Lily. “I thought you knew. Mika chimed in with a suggestion about the wording when Father Michaels asked us for that promise.”
She grimaced. “He must have just spoken to you.”
Sam says that Arcan in Rome says that some priests there believe as this one does. Mostly the ones in the red robes.
“The cardinals?” The ones high enough up in the hierarchy that they were privy to most of the secrets.
In English they are so called. Were they named after the birds, or were the birds named for them?
“The birds were named for the red-robed priests,” Cullen said, still peevish. “People thought one gaudy creature resembled the other.”
English is a flexible language. Often confusing, but flexibility can be an advantage. Cullen Seabourne would do well to remember this.
Rule gave Cullen an amused glance. “That’s telling you.”
“Never mind about the Purge,” Lily said. “If the rest of what Father Michaels told us is true, our enemies have the ability to make dopplegängers that can last a hell of a lot longer than the two we know about did. Dopplegängers that want to kill so they can eat death magic and stay . . . I guess alive isn’t the right word. So they can continue. And they can’t be killed.”
A puff of feeling arrived, almost like a contemptuous mental snort. The priest is not right about everything. In the past it has taken an Old One to create any form of the undying. I do not believe abysmally ignorant spellcasters of a backwater realm succeeded in doing so.
“That’s telling all of us,” Lily said dryly. “I’m not about to get a big head now. But these dopplegängers may be hard to kill.”
Possibly. If so, Sam suggests you obtain possession of the focus.
“You’ve told all this to Sam and the other dragons?”
Of course. We have informed most of the Shadow Unit, also.
“By focus,” Cullen said, “are you talking about the artifact used to make the dopplegängers?”
Yes. You will need to destroy it. Ah. Sam has reminded me of something.
“Is Sam listening to us now?” Rule asked.
Sam is monitoring several situations. Be quiet while I speak with Lily Yu. Lily Yu, you will be unable to absorb power from the dopplegängers or the amulet. Sam believes it is best you are aware of this so you can plan your tactics properly.
“I wouldn’t want to try. It’s death magic, isn’t it? Ugh.”
Your understanding is as dangerously inadequate as Sam suspected. Absorbing death magic would turn you into a creature we would have to hunt down and kill. Sam believes that under sufficient stress—to save Rule Turner, perhaps, or the lives of young children—you would violate this ban. To ensure you do not, during our recent session I created a barrier.
“You did what?”
Do not be alarmed. I am young for such advanced and delicate work, but I did an excellent job. I am unusually skilled at perceiving and manipulating the . . . bah. Your language lacks a word for this. I refer to the interface between power and physicality. I cannot manipulate your Gift directly without destroying you, but I was able to place a barrier in this interface. You are still able to use your Gift in the way normal for you, but you will not be able to pull power from others.
Lily was on her feet. “This was Sam’s idea?” she demanded. “Sam wanted you to do this? Without asking me—you deceived me, tricked me—”
It is unlikely you would give permission without a great many explanations we were and remain unable to offer. I tell you now so you can plan accordingly. Oh, and I will need to remove it later, or your Gift will burn itself out attempting to override the barrier. Now I must go. I have a great deal of distance to cover by dawn
.
“What? What do you mean, you’re going?”
Neither I nor any of the dragons in North America will be available to pass on messages for two or three days.
“Mika!” Rule was on his feet, too. And furious. “You’re leaving at a critical time, and without notice or explanation! Is this the way allies support each other?”
The mental voice was fainter. I regret the lack of notice. I have trouble differentiating threads in . . . from the not-now. I had intended to give you more . . . as well, perhaps. You would have . . . quite annoying. I am nearly out of range, so . . .
And that was it. Mika was gone.
“Son of a bitch.” Rule spat out the last word.
“Has everyone been messing with my head?” Lily was so angry she was shaking. “The Lady, the dragons—is there a sign on my head that says ‘please tamper with my brain?’ ”
Cullen leaned back in his chair, frowning. “Once the two of you are done cursing the damned know-all, see-all, tell-nothing dragons, we might try to figure out why they’re taking off so suddenly. It isn’t for one of their sing-alongs. They wouldn’t have kept that a secret until the last moment.”
Lily drew a shaky breath. She was okay. At least she thought she was. How could she tell anymore? “What’s to figure? We don’t have anything to go on.”
“We know Mika’s traveling a long way, but expects to get there by dawn.”
“Do you know how fast a dragon can fly? I sure don’t.”
“There were fighter jets pacing the dragons when we returned from Dis.”
She remembered. In retrospect, it didn’t make sense. How could wings carry dragons anywhere near as fast as a jet? Even if those jets were intentionally going well below their top speed . . . she turned to Rule.
Who had an odd look on his face. “This is farfetched, but . . .” He looked at Lily. “Mysterious Rhej business?”
She blinked. “It has to be coincidence. Doesn’t it? The Rhejes don’t take orders from the dragons. Or vice versa. I doubt they’re in contact at all.”
“No,” Cullen said slowly. “But what if the dragons are in contact with the Lady?”
THE land was rock and dirt without a shred of green, lit by the eerie fluorescence of a sky lacking sun, moon, or stars. Lily crouched behind a rocky outcropping, firing an M-16 at the nightmare swooping down upon her from that empty sky. The horrific blasts from her weapon had her head pounding as if something was trying to get in, but the creature kept coming—
Cheep, cheep, cheep.
Her eyes popped open. It was dark—dark as in nighttime. Normal night. She was not in Dis . . . stupid damn nightmare. Blindly she groped for her phone on the bedside table, sitting up. Rule was gone. Maybe it wasn’t the middle of the night, after all. Her hand connected with the phone and she thumbed it on. “Lily Yu here.”
“Lily, I’m so sorry if I woke you.”
It was Deborah Brooks. Lily glanced at the clock. 6:35. It wasn’t night anymore, though it was still dark; sunrise was thirty or forty minutes away. Rule must have messed with the alarm again, dammit. He did that when he thought she needed sleep. “Not a problem,” she said. “Something’s wrong, or you wouldn’t have called.”
“It’s the elemental. It’s leaving.”
“Everyone’s leaving.” No, wait, Deborah didn’t know about the exodus of dragons and Rhejes, and this couldn’t be connected. Could it? Lily reached for the lamp and switched it on, hoping light would get her brain working. “What do you mean?”
“It’s difficult to put what it tells me into words, but it’s being called—or maybe offered something. I think someone has promised it something. Or perhaps it wants to see the others. There are other earth elementals there. I’m not sure how many, but it wants to go where they are. I think I should go with it.”
“Wait. Go with it? Where and why?”
“The National Mall. I’m almost sure it’s going to the National Mall. That’s where those Humans First people are. That can’t be good, can it? So I need to go with the elemental. I thought you and Rule should know. I wasn’t sure who else to tell.”
“You did right.” She threw back the covers and headed for the chest of drawers. “Stay where you are. We’ll be—”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. I need to go now, Lily. It likes me and is happy for me to go with it, but it won’t wait for me. You won’t be able to call me because it doesn’t like cell signals. It says they itch. I have to go now.” The line went dead.
Lily didn’t waste time cursing. She called Rule loudly as she grabbed underwear from the drawer. She never slept naked when there were people in the house, but last night they’d made love so late and she’d fallen asleep without dragging on a T-shirt or anything else and . . .
The door slammed open. “What is it?”
“Deborah Brooks called. Fagin’s elemental is headed for the National Mall. At least that’s where she thinks it’s going, and she’s going with it.” How? Deborah couldn’t ride on the thing. Follow it in her car? On foot? Lily had her panties on and was fastening a bra. “I tried to get her to stay put, but she wouldn’t. She said there are other earth elementals there now. And someone’s offering them something.”
“Cullen,” Rule called as he moved to the closet. “To me. José! Send someone for the van, double-time. I want ten guards downstairs and ready to leave immediately. The rest here and on high alert.” He pulled something dark from the closet and tossed it at Lily.
She caught it. A T-shirt. Good. She pulled it on and went to get her weapon. A pair of jeans sailed her way, but landed on the floor.
Cullen burst in. He was wearing even less than her—as in nothing.
Lily grabbed the jeans as Rule continued briskly, “Earth elementals are headed for the National Mall—we think. So is Deborah Brooks, who called Lily with the information. Can you stop or interfere with a summoning?”
“Depends on what they’re doing, how far along it is, and how close I can get.” He scrubbed at his face with both hands, clearly trying to wake up. “Why would Humans Firsters summon elementals?”
“Bet it will look like me or Ruben is doing the summoning,” Lily said, fastening her slacks, then reaching for her shoulder harness. “They plan to use the elementals to inflict damage—the Washington Monument, maybe? The Smithsonian? —and blame us. The Gifted in general, but specifically the Unit. They want the Unit completely discredited.”
“It won’t be you doing the summoning,” Rule said. “Ruben. He’s in hiding so he won’t be alibied, and too many people know that sensitives can’t work magic.”
“Shit.” Cullen said. “Yeah. I’ll get dressed.” He dashed out.
“Dammit,” Rule said. “Where’s my phone?”
“Here.” Lily plucked it from the dresser and handed it to him. “Do we have a plan?”
“We’re winging it.”
“One good thing. They can’t know we’ve been tipped. They don’t know about Deborah, so . . .” Her phone beeped. A text. She grabbed it. Maybe Deborah had something to add to their too-short conversation.
It wasn’t from Deborah. It was from Doug Mullins:
Found Anna. Still alive. Others too. Need backup at 1225 N Hammond in D.C. Approach from FRONT. Bad guys behind me on Webster.
THIRTY-FIVE
HE woke nameless and naked and clogged with dreams. The images choked him. He whined, but the sound frightened him. It was wrong. He was wrong. Shaped wrong. Bare and furless and—
“Shh.” A comforting smell, a heartbeat and presence he knew, drew near. The leader. He was in his tall-shape, the furless one where his forelegs could grasp and hold things. At first that had been terrible, seeing the leader’s proper form vanish, replaced by the alien shape, but the leader kept doing it.
After a while he’d understood that the leader wanted him to acknowledge him no matter what. To know that this one was leader no matter how he was formed. Once he understood that, it made little difference which
shape the leader took.
“You slipped into your other form while you slept,” the leader murmured. “That’s unexpected for both of us, but you’re okay. You’re all right.”
Dimly he struggled after the words, the sense of them. Oh—he remembered words. Language. He hadn’t known he’d forgotten until this moment, when he remembered. He needed words now. “Dreams . . .” he whispered.
“You dreamed?” The leader laid a hand on his shoulder.
“We . . . go. We go.” He tried to sit up, but he’d forgotten how this form worked and thrashed awkwardly before managing it. “Stop them. Must stop them.” He panted as if he’d been chasing for hours instead of sleeping. Then more words tumbled out, surprising him because he didn’t know what they meant. “Albany. D.C. Albuquerque. S-San Diego.”
The leader thought for a long moment. He smelled calm, and that helped. But he had to understand. Had to help. They must go.
“Well, you’re breaking enough rules all on your own,” the leader said at last. “Why shouldn’t I break one, too? Ruben,” he said firmly.
Something yanked at him. Something inside that twisted his thoughts, opening . . . opening . . .
“Ruben. It is time to remember. You are Ruben Brooks.”
THIRTY-SIX
“IT’S a trap.”
“Maybe.” Lily gnawed on her lip. Was it really from Mullins? She had—maybe—been tricked by someone using Sjorensen’s phone. She texted back:
Why do you have to beat women off with stick?
He replied: