by Inked (lit)
“Now and then I’d wait for him to come home after a long day’s work—he’s divorced, lives alone—have a little chat, and leave as soon as he fell asleep.”
She stopped walking. “He fell asleep with you there? You broke into the chief of police’s house, and he went to sleep instead of arresting you?”
“It was an apartment, actually, and he wasn’t the chief then. And I had a little charm Cullen made for me.”
“A sleep charm.”
“Worked beautifully, too. So did the other charm Cullen gave me.”
“And that was?”
He smiled, but his eyes were hard. “A confusion charm. Poor Pete wasn’t sure of anything. What time did he see me? What day? He had a couple patrollers keeping an eye on me by then, but they swore I’d never gone near his place on the night he thought I’d showed up.”
“He didn’t even know which night you were there? Surely he could work it out.”
“He’d wake up with the last few days jumbled. He wasn’t sure when anything happened.”
“That’s…chilling.”
“He was the chief detective in a town that borders Clanhome. Steve wasn’t the first lupus he’d picked up for trivial or manufactured reasons and beaten. We heal so conveniently well, you see, that there are never any marks later. He needed to know he’d pay a price for indulging his little hobby.”
“Did he do that to you?” she demanded. “Did he beat you?”
Something flickered in his eyes, too brief for her to read it. “No. But those he did hurt were mine to protect.”
She frowned as she started walking again. “I’ve never heard of a confusion charm. How hard is it to make?”
“The confusion charm is Cullen’s own creation, and he called it fiendishly difficult. I doubt anyone else has one, at least in this realm, though I suppose it’s possible Cullen traded one for something at some point.”
“Hmm. He probably wouldn’t trade the spell itself.”
“He’s possessive about that sort of thing,” Rule agreed. “We’ve reached the car.”
So they had. It was a plain white sedan that all but shouted “I am a government vehicle.” One of the regular agents assigned to the San Diego office had brought it to her at the airport. Someone from Nokolai was bringing Rule his car, but she wasn’t sure who or when.
Just as Lily clicked the lock, Rule’s phone chimed. He pulled it out, frowned. “I missed a call. Reception’s not great in the mountains, but I’ve got bars here.”
“Could be a bit of magical interference.” One of the things magic interfered with most easily was cell phones. “Is there a node nearby?”
“A small one, I think. I’d better return this one,” Rule said. He did so while they both got into the car. Lily started the engine, thinking about what she knew about sleep charms.
They worked on demons, though not as well as they did on humans.
They had to be touching whoever they were used on.
They weren’t hard to make—at least not for Cullen, but sorcerers were at least as rare as sensitives. Cullen was the only one she knew about. Sorcerers had an edge on other practitioners in that they could see the magic they worked with. According to Cullen, that was like the difference between an electrician who could see the wiring and one who couldn’t, but had a good idea of where the wires were supposed be.
Something had persuaded Hilliard to hold still while he was tattooed. She wasn’t ruling out the possibility he’d done so voluntarily, but considered that less likely than force or coercion. With force…lupi could be knocked out, and the evidence was hard to find afterward, given the way they healed. But it took a lot of force. A sleep charm would be easier.
Would it be more certain, too?
Lily was pulling out of the parking lot when Rule disconnected. “Do sleep charms work on lupi?” she asked.
“Yes. They don’t trigger our healing, since sleep is a natural state, so the effect is the same on us as it is on humans. Lily, we need to go to the jail.”
“We are. I want to talk with Chance. If sleep charms work on you, why aren’t they used when you need surgery?”
“They work, but not that comprehensively. Cullen’s charm won’t keep a lupus asleep through surgery. We’ve tried. Theoretically, someone could make a stronger sleep charm than Cullen can, but—”
“But I won’t tell him you said so.” She smiled to show she meant it. Cullen would return and she’d have the chance to avoid mentioning that, theoretically, someone might be better at one of the magical arts than he. “Tattoo needles don’t penetrate as far as a surgeon’s scalpel. Maybe they wouldn’t hurt enough to interfere with a sleep charm.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps. A higher level of pain might break the charm. Cullen believes it’s the sheer disruption of surgery. Our healing takes no notice of spells, but it pays keen attention to our being cut open.”
“Nettie can put you in sleep deeply enough to last through surgery.”
“Nettie is a healer, and a Gift is always more effective than a spell-wrought effect. Plus, that particular skill of hers depends as much on the spiritual as the magical.”
Lily knew that, since Nettie had actually put her in sleep. It shouldn’t have worked. Magic did not affect her.
But Nettie’s version of it did. Lily chose not to think about that. She signaled for a turn. “Who was on the phone?”
“Hal Newman.”
“The defense attorney. He’s with, uh…Cone, Levy, Rayner and Newman.” She’d seen Newman in action once, though thankfully not on a case of hers. He was far too good at what he did.
“That’s right. My father uses their firm, and Hal is representing Jason. He’s arranged bond. Jason will be released as soon as Hal presents the necessary papers to the jailer.”
“That was fast.”
“Hal’s a good attorney. He’s meeting us at the jail. I need to be the first one into Jason’s cell.”
“What?” She glanced at him as she slowed. They’d reached the city jail, which was part of the local cop shop. “You know I can’t arrange that. They’ll have a guard bring him out.”
“Jason has been locked up for twenty-four hours. He is uncomfortable in small, enclosed spaces.”
Uh-oh. She should have thought of that. “As uncomfortable as you are?”
“Somewhat more so.”
5
HAL Newman’s white hair, silver-rimmed glasses, and charcoal gray suit fit the image of a top-flight defense attorney. He was California-fit and probably had his plastic surgeon on speed dial, judging by the smooth skin and general lack of sagging. He had the handshake down, too—just firm enough, neither hasty nor lingering.
The distinct tingle of magic when their palms touched didn’t go with the image. It went with someone who turned furry on occasion—and would never need a plastic surgeon.
Lily shot Rule a glance. He smiled blandly.
No wonder the clan used Newman. He was clan. “Mr. Newman,” she said, “I understand you have some recommendations concerning Mr. Chance’s release that Chief Daly is reluctant to allow.”
The chief looked smug. “We follow procedure here.”
They were in the chief’s office—her, Rule, Newman, and the chief jailer, a morose fellow named Hawes. It was crowded. Daly was no neatnik, and he hadn’t bothered to shift the piles of papers from the single visitor’s chair to let any of them sit.
Lily gave Daly a nod. “It’s usually best to do so. What are your procedures for releasing a lupus after he’s been incarcerated for over twenty-four hours?”
“We’re supposed to treat them like everyone else now, so that’s what we’ll do. Follow the same procedure we would for anyone else.”
“Under the law”—Newman had a deep, rolling baritone—“equal treatment does not necessarily mean identical treatment. Some classes of prisoners require different treatment. A wheelchair-bound prisoner, for example. Minors, obviously. And the courts have consistently ruled that visuall
y impaired persons must be—”
“Stuff the legal mumbo-jumbo.” Daly leaned back in his chair, convinced he had the upper hand. “Jason Chance isn’t blind or in a wheelchair. He isn’t a minor. He’s an able-bodied adult and he can walk out of here just fine on his own two legs.” He smirked. “Once he’s on two legs again, that is.”
And that was the problem. Under the law, Chance had to be treated as having all the rights and responsibilities of citizenship when he was shaped like a human. Unfortunately, Daly now had a wolf locked up. Shortly before his lawyer arrived, Jason Chance had succumbed to his instinctive response to his race’s claustrophobia. He’d Changed.
If Daly weren’t a turd, that wouldn’t matter. Rule could tell Chance to Change back. Rule possessed the heir’s portion of the clan’s mantle; even beast-lost, Chance would obey his Lu Nuncio. But Daly refused to allow Rule into the cell, or even into the jail itself. He refused to allow Newman in, too—“can’t take chances with a wild animal like that. He’s vicious. Likely he’d savage you.”
And when Newman insisted he was entitled to see his client, Daly had said, “Wolves don’t have attorneys.”
Legally, he was right.
“What,” Rule asked in a low voice, “do you intend to do with Jason?”
“Why, not a thing. But that wolf, now, he can’t stay here. That’s obvious. This is a jail for humans. Don’t worry—I wouldn’t do anything inhumane.” Blue eyes glittered with malice and pleasure. “He’ll be tranq’ed before we move him. Got an expert coming with a dart gun.”
Rule’s voice dropped even lower. “Tranquilizers don’t work on lupi.”
Daly’s eyes opened wide in mock surprise. “You sure? Because if he can’t be sedated, we do have a problem. The way that beast is acting, well…” He shook his head. “Can’t take chances, and that animal is dangerous. I’ve already had to move the other prisoners out of that cell block, which creates a hazard. Can’t keep them stacked up three or four to a cell.”
This time, Rule growled. The sound was eerily like a wolf’s, not the weak imitation a human throat makes.
Lily put a hand on his arm. His muscles were rigid. But a quick glance told her his eyes were still brown, not black-swallowed. He was in control.
She took a few seconds to consider options. Was Daly crazy enough to think he could get away with shooting Chance in wolf form? Maybe he just intended Rule to think he would. Maybe he wanted Rule to jump him so he’d have an excuse to lock Rule up, too.
Or maybe he meant it. He might really have one of his people shoot Chance. It wasn’t illegal to shoot a wolf—not if the animal could be considered a danger to others. Not even if it was only a part-time wolf, and killing him meant killing the human, too. Daly might believe he could get away with it—a beast-lost lupus was a danger, no doubt about that.
If he had been free he would be, that is. Which was the whole problem.
“All right,” she said crisply. “You’ve made your position clear, Chief Daly. Officer Hawes, please escort me to your prisoner.”
The jailer blinked. “Uh—don’t have a prisoner now. He’s a wolf, and a wolf isn’t a prisoner.”
Which meant that legally they could do all sorts of things to him. Things that would keep him panicked and furious, unable to reason, unable to understand that he was better off in his other form. They’d keep him beast-lost because Daly wanted him that way. “Then let me put it this way. You have a witness I need to see in one of your cells, and I don’t care what form he’s wearing. I require immediate access to that witness.”
Daly remained complacent. “Sorry. Can’t do it. That animal’s crazy, and until we have him subdued—”
“Chief.” She stepped up to his desk and looked down at him. “You can’t stop me.”
“I for damn sure can. This is my jail, under my authority, and I’m responsible for—”
“I’ve presented you with my badge. You’ve had time to confirm that I am, indeed, an agent of Unit Twelve of the Magical Crimes Division of the FBI. Under the Domestic Security and Magical Crimes Law as amended on January tenth of this year, you cannot stop me. If you continue to try, I will arrest you for impeding my investigation.”
His mouth opened. Closed. Red arose in a vascular tide to suffuse his face. Finally he spoke in a voice all but strangled with fury. “You wouldn’t dare.”
There were all sorts of things she might have said or done to defuse the situation, ways she could show respect for his position while insisting on her own authority.
Lily didn’t even try. She planted her hands on his desk and leaned forward until her face was a foot from his. His breath smelled like stale chili. The veins stood out in his neck and forehead, and his freckles were pale splotches in his red face.
Her lips curled up. Softly she said, “Try me.”
Hatred burned in his eyes. “You’ll regret this. You’re going to regret this for a real long time.”
The Del Cielo jail was larger than expected for a town this small, but the city rented spaces to the state—and given the state’s overcrowded system, it had no trouble funding the operation of its jail this way.
The setup was pretty standard. Probably built in the fifties, Lily thought, with cinderblock walls and cement floors. There were two cell blocks, each opening off a small control center with three screens—one for the hall splitting each cell bock, apparently. The third was dark.
Lily had suspicions about that dark screen. “Got a problem with your cameras?” she asked as Daly jammed a key into the old-fashioned lock on a heavy steel door.
He didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at her.
The moment the door opened, she heard the growling. Daly stepped aside and gestured for her to precede him.
She didn’t like that, didn’t want the man at her back. He hated too much; she didn’t know his limits. But neither could she afford to look weak. She walked through the door.
There were three cells plus a shower on one side, four cells on the other. And two officers with high-powered rifles trained on the occupant of the fourth cell.
Something too pure to be called anger sizzled through Lily. She felt as if her hair should have bristled. She felt as if she could growl, too.
The sonofabitch. The stinking sonofabitch had intended to do it. He’d meant to arrange Chance’s death. The stage was all set.
Unconsciously she brushed the large shirt she’d donned in lieu of her jacket. Rule’s shirt, imbued with his scent. How far would Daly’s hatred take him? Lily walked slowly down the short hall, watching the men with the guns. They were nervous. Their eyes flicked to her. One said, “Chief—”
“Shut up, Mills,” Daly said from behind her.
“Agent Yu, FBI,” Lily said crisply. “Your chief isn’t happy with me right now, or he would have introduced us. Stand down with your weapons.”
The two men looked at their boss. “No,” he said tersely. “You don’t command my men, Agent.”
“Idiot,” she said just as crisply. Then she reached the cell.
The wolf was small, for a lupus—which meant he was only twenty or so pounds heavier than an average wolf. His teeth were whiter than usual for a canid—but then, he brushed them in his other form. They were also large and bared. He had a lovely coat, brindled gray, with the hackles raised fully. His ears were flat. A continuous growl issued from deep in his chest.
He was backed up against the far wall.
A beta, Rule had said. He’d fight if threatened. He felt extremely threatened at the moment, and who wouldn’t? He was also a man, even if the man was buried deep at the moment. He knew what those rifles meant.
Lily moved close to the bars of the cell, positioning herself carefully.
“Agent Yu?” one of the officers said. “You’re blocking my shot.”
“That’s the idea. If you shoot that wolf, I will arrest you.”
“He’s dangerous, ma’am.”
“He wouldn’t be, if he’d been handled correc
tly. I’m sorry to say that your chief is a bloody, bigoted fool. If he’s given you orders to shoot if the wolf moves”—and he had, the craven bastard; she saw it in the way the officer’s gaze flickered—“you will disregard those orders. Jason Chance is my witness, and I will not allow you to tamper with my witness.”
The man was confused, uncertain. The other one was cut more from Daly’s cloth. He sneered and shifted position, keeping his rifle trained.
She moved with him, blocking his shot—and took her phone out of the shirt pocket. “Perhaps I should mention that I’m on an open line right now, transmitting images to FBI headquarters in Washington. Smile for the camera.” She held out her phone.
Daly took an involuntary step back. “That’s a phone, not a web cam.”
“That’s right. It’s my new iPhone. Cool, isn’t it? Want to see?” She turned it so he could see the screen—which showed his two men with their rifles trained on the cell’s bars.
The rest was anticlimax.
Daly left. His men stayed, but lowered their weapons. She sat on the floor and waited, carefully not looking at the wolf. Sure enough, after about five minutes he approached—still bristling, still growling, but with his ears pricked.
He wanted to know why she smelled like his Lu Nuncio. She told him, subvocalizing—which both kept the officers from hearing and let him know she was clan. No one outside the clans would think to do it.
He stopped growling.
She showed him the necklace she wore, the toltoi charm she’d been given to mark her status as Chosen.
He dropped to the floor, whining submissively.
“You’re getting out,” she assured him. “Rule’s here. Your lawyer’s here, and bail’s been posted. But we need you two-legged. Can you Change back?”
Ten minutes later, Lily left the cell block with a young man who looked like every cliché of a California surfer dude—sun-streaked blond hair, athletic body, and a quick, white grin. He wore ragged jeans and a blue T-shirt with a stylized wave.
The clothes had been on the floor of his cell. And he probably wasn’t as young as he looked.