by Inked (lit)
“You get to be foolish sometimes.” Right after hearing of a close friend’s death, for example.
“On the plane, I wasn’t considering what I should tell you because I wasn’t really thinking, but also because…You’re so present to me now, so much a part of my life, that sometimes I almost forget that you haven’t always been with me.” He grimaced. “Foolish, as I said.”
Yeah. Also unbearably sweet. She didn’t realize she’d reached for his hand until she felt it close around hers.
For about a block, neither of them spoke. Then he continued in a more normal voice, “I don’t hang out here. I do, as Jason said, periodically check on the places the younger lupi like to hang out, and Del Cielo was popular with them for a few years.”
“Why? I mean, the chief of police wants to hurt them, the founder of Humans First lives here, and…oh. You mean that’s why. The thrill of danger. Defying authority.”
“Young lupi don’t precisely rebel, but they do need to test themselves. They’re allowed, even encouraged, to do so. You don’t learn much by avoiding all risk. Unfortunately, young lupi don’t always have any more sense than young humans. Some of them became too involved in Adele Blanco’s causes—and Adele was more interested in publicity than I liked.”
“You want to control the clan’s PR yourself.”
“Of course. But also, Adele’s ideas aren’t always sensible. I disbanded the lupus portion of her clique after she decided it would be a great notion to infiltrate Humans First. She persuaded one of Mariah’s friends, a human boy, to join the organization. At the time, he was sixteen.”
“Shit. Sixteen? If he’s a local, they would have found out pretty quickly he’d been hanging out with what they consider the wrong crowd. What happened?”
“Fortunately, Steve told me what was going on before anything went seriously wrong. I went to the boy and explained that the clan appreciated his courage, but I believed Adele had misjudged her opponent, and his input wouldn’t be helpful. He agreed to drop the project.”
“Before anyone beat him up, then.”
“I suspect Friar is too canny to allow that. He knew who the boy was and had been feeding him misinformation. He seemed to be setting up a nice, public confrontation in which Adele’s group would look foolish.”
She retrieved her notebook. “What’s this boy’s name?”
He glanced at her, smiling. “Dotting your i’s?”
“I never know what I’m going to need to know.”
“His full name is Keoni Akana. He’s Hawaiian. He lived here for a year with a cousin of his mother’s while his parents were in Uruguay—they work for some alphabet-soup scientific foundation. Something about insects—I don’t recall what. He’s back in the islands now attending college.”
“That was clear, concise, and useful. Do that for me with Adele Blanco and Mariah Friar.”
“Not Robert Friar?”
“Later, maybe. I read up on him on the plane, but the Bureau doesn’t have files for the others.”
“I…didn’t realize the FBI had a file on Friar.”
“Of course it does. He started a hate group.”
Emotions slid through his face, quick and subtle, impossible to read in the gathering darkness. “I hadn’t realized that a group formed to brand us as beasts would be classified as a hate group.”
“Humans First wants to kick out or keep out everyone who isn’t an officially designated human, not just lupi. But yeah, your people are the main focus. Of course we’re watching them. Not very closely,” she admitted. There was too much going on of greater urgency. “But we have a file on Friar and a few of the others in his group.”
“That’s oddly disconcerting.”
“I guess you’re more used to having the government persecute you.” And the government’s policies toward lupi were still a mixed bag, but they were trending toward fair these days. “Now, about Adele…?”
“Yes. Well. Adele would be forty-four or-five now, I think. She was born in Sacramento to an English mother and Hispanic father, who divorced when she was in high school. She moved here with her father at that time, left for college after graduating from Del Cielo High, then returned without getting her degree when her father was paralyzed in an auto accident. He has since died.”
Her eyebrows lifted. That was pretty complete. “Her mother?”
“Returned to England after the divorce. She helped Adele financially, I believe, when she was younger, but they aren’t close.”
“Speaking of finances, how does Adele get hers?”
“She owns a small store here—Practikal Magik, spelled with k’s instead of c’s—where she sells what Cullen considers crap.”
That made her smile. “Define crap.”
“In this case it’s popular books on witchcraft, voodoo, and less well-known traditions, as well as astrology and numerology. She also sells crystals, cauldrons, herbs, and other spell ingredients. The quality of those ingredients, again according to Cullen, varies widely. He didn’t think much of her, ah, professional qualities after checking out her shop, but he said she has an unusual Gift.”
“What kind?”
“I’m trying to remember. Earth, I think.”
“Guess I’ll find out when I talk to her.” Most Gifts were associated with an element, yet were talent-specific. For example, precognition was associated with Fire, but a precog had no special power over fires. Clairvoyants were associated with water, but didn’t control the waves.
Now and then, though, a Gift was strongly rooted in one of the elements, yet didn’t bring with it a specific magical talent. Like Cullen. He could call fire with a flick of his little finger, but his hunches weren’t any more reliable than anyone else’s.
But those with elemental Gifts sometimes became strong spell-casters, if they could find training. Lily drummed her fingers on her thigh.
They’d left the lights of Del Cielo behind about the same time the last of the light fled from the sky, and were winding along a narrow paved road. She couldn’t see much to either side—hills, mostly, with some kind of scruffy growth. Ahead was more curvy road. Empty road, no headlights. The darkness was punctuated by lights from houses here and there along the road, but she didn’t see any headlights.
It was unnatural. They were in California, for God’s sake. There was supposed to be traffic. “What about Mariah?”
“Idealistic, damaged, emotional.”
“Does she have a Gift?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think Cullen ever met her, and I wouldn’t have any way of telling.”
“She lives with her father?”
“No. She moved out when she was seventeen—or was kicked out. The story varies. She’d be twenty now. She dropped out of school and has worked a variety of jobs since, some of them probably intended to get her father’s attention, much as Jason said. She was working as a pole dancer, for example, the last time I saw her. But my impressions are a couple years old. I don’t know where she’s working now.”
“Boyfriends?” If Steve wasn’t her baby’s father, someone else was.
“In the plural, generally. Mariah is quite pretty, with a fragile air that many men find appealing.”
“You don’t.”
“No.” He shot her a grin as he slowed. She couldn’t see anything to slow down for, but she trusted that he had a reason. “I prefer warriors.”
A warrior? Was that how he thought of her? Lily decided she liked that. “Give me your take on Robert Friar.”
“Lupe was right. He hates. But he hates with patience and intelligence. He’s gregarious, but on his own terms—likes to entertain, but always with a goal in mind. He likes to stay in control, both of himself and others. And he likes to win.”
“You’ve met him?”
“We’ve been at a few parties. Political bashes—state, not national.”
“Has Cullen met him?”
“Not precisely met, no. If you want to know if Friar has a Gift, Cullen coul
dn’t read him.”
“What?” Her head jerked to look at him. “What does that mean?”
“Apparently Friar has some sort of natural shield. Cullen says that may indicate a blocked Gift of the psychic sort—telepathy, empathy, that sort of thing. There was something unusual about Friar’s shield, something that puzzled Cullen. He wasn’t able to explain what that was.”
She frowned, considering. “I need to shake the man’s hand. According to his file, his wife died eight years ago. He’s never remarried. He likes women?”
“He likes them compliant and well-endowed, from what I’ve seen. I believe sex is his weakness.”
“What do you mean? Shit. Hold on a minute.”
Her phone was chiming. It was the ringtone she’d assigned to Martin Croft, who was running the Unit with Ruben gone. She tapped the screen to accept the call. “Yu here.”
“Yes, I am. And you’ve got to stop answering your phone that way. It brings out the worst in me.” Croft’s voice was smooth, but the humor seemed strained. “Have you listened to the news this afternoon?”
“No. Kind of busy here.” Ah, there it was—a small gravel road, well graded, snaking off to the left. Opposite it was a small house with the porch light on. Lupe Valdez’s place, Lily thought, from what the woman had said at the end of that interview. Rule turned onto the gravel road. In the beam of his headlights, she could see that there was a gate across the road, but it had been left open.
Croft wanted an update on her investigation. She complied, wondering about the connection between the news and Hilliard’s death. When she’d finished, Croft said, “So there is reason to suspect magic was involved, even if gado wasn’t. That the tattoo was some kind of spell.”
“That’s what I’m thinking. I’m waiting to hear from Arjenie in research, see if the design is on record as being spell-based.”
“We’ll need that, since your personal ability doesn’t give us admissible evidence. Be cautious in interviewing Friar. He’d like to take a bite out of us.”
Then he told her why he’d called. It wasn’t good news.
Rule spoke as soon as she’d disconnected. “Two days isn’t much time.”
“No.” She drummed her fingers on her phone’s case, unsurprised that he’d heard both sides of the conversation. He usually did.
Croft had told her that another Unit agent, a precog, had played a hunch that hadn’t worked out. That happened; precognition was probably the least consistent Gift. Unfortunately, she’d climbed out on a limb backing her hunch, using her authority to override the local cops in a ham-handed way. As a result, the real culprit had fled the country; the man she’d arrested had had a heart attack in jail; and the press was after blood. Croft was preparing for some congressional critters to use the incident to try to cut back the Unit’s authority.
So he’d given her two days for her investigation. Two days to find concrete evidence that magic was involved in Hilliard’s death, making this a federal crime. With luck, Arjenie’s research would provide that evidence.
But luck was a fickle bitch. Lily didn’t like to count on it.
Rule eased the car to a stop. They hadn’t quite reached their destination, but it lay directly ahead. Looked like Friar went for what Lily called millionaire rustic: two stories of wood and glass; an enormous, staggered veranda; three gables; and steeply pitched roof sections to slough off the snow that so seldom arrived. The exterior was professionally lit and landscaped. The gravel road made a wide curve in front of the house before heading to the back, where presumably there was a garage.
An elderly, mud-spattered Bronco was parked directly out front. It didn’t look like a rich man’s car, not even as an off-the-road toy. “Help usually parks out of sight. You think Friar has company?”
“Friar has a live-in housekeeper who parks in the five-bay garage out back. That isn’t her car, or one of his. You still want me to come in? My presence in the investigation may give him ammunition.”
She glanced at him. Sounded like he was keeping pretty careful track of Robert Friar. Maybe she should ask to see his file on the man.
But for now…did she play it safe, keep Rule in the car? Or give Friar something to bitch about, knowing he might bitch to the press? “Ammunition be damned.” She slid her phone back in her pocket, clipping it so it wouldn’t fall out. “You say he likes control. I want to rattle his cage, and since I’m short on ammo of my own, you’ll have to do. Pull on up to the door and let’s go have a chat with him.”
The live-in housekeeper answered the door. She was fiftyish, stocky, with dark skin and a lovely Jamaican accent. She led them to an enormous open living area, the sort people usually called a great room.
There were two men in the room. One was tall and thin, midthirties, with even features and sun-bleached hair trimmed close to his skull. His Wranglers and J. Crew shirt seemed to go with the Bronco out front. He looked vaguely familiar.
The other man was shorter, maybe five-ten. He looked husky but fit, Lily thought, especially for a fifty-five-year-old. His jeans were damned sure not Wranglers. His shirt was loose, white, probably a linen blend. No shoes. His hair was black and shaggy with white streaks, and his skin was so deeply tanned he looked Mexican. According to the file, he wasn’t. Both his parents were deceased, but there was one brother, Shawn, who’d been in rehab a couple times. Shawn lived in San Francisco and worked for an IT firm.
Also according to that file, Friar had made his fortune in the dot-com bubble of the nineties and had sold his firm for nineteen million before the bubble burst. He’d kept busy since by playing in the commodities markets, raising horses, and getting involved in right-wing causes, especially those dealing with immigration. When the Supreme Court’s ruling made lupi citizens, he’d dropped his other to-do’s to devote himself to Humans First.
Friar stood near the flagstone-faced fireplace, a snifter in one hand, and dominated the huge room. He turned to face her, his eyes cutting quickly to Rule, then away. “Miss Yu. I was beginning to think you meant to neglect me.”
“Special Agent Yu,” she corrected him, moving forward. “Am I supposed to be surprised that Chief Daly called you?”
His eyebrows climbed. “My, you do jump to conclusions. Turner,” he said, looking directly at Rule. “I’d offer you a drink, but I’d have to throw out the glass afterward, and I abhor waste.”
“Speaking of jumping to conclusions,” Rule said as he kept pace beside her. “I could only contaminate a glass if I were moved to accept your hospitality. I’m not.”
Friar smiled. His eyes were dead cold. He lifted his snifter slightly in a salute.
Lily stopped a few feet from the two men. Before she could speak, Rule brushed her wrist lightly. “Ray,” he said to the tall man in Wranglers, “I’m surprised to see you so far from Sacramento. Lily, I don’t know if you’ve met. This is Ray Evans of the Sacramento Star. Ray, Special Agent Lily Yu.”
The man nodded. “Special Agent.”
“Mr. Evans.” Shit, he was a reporter. A shark of a reporter, too. She’d seen his byline on some sensational stuff. He did his research, though, and he wasn’t anyone’s pet. He just went for the blood wherever he scented it.
What was Friar up to? “Don’t you usually cover state government?”
“I cover politics,” he corrected. He had a smooth, warm voice. “This…” He gestured at Rule, then Friar, then her—“shows all the signs of being very interesting, politically. I understand you’re investigating the murder of a lupus, Agent Yu.”
“I have no comment at this time.”
“You might want to change your mind. Otherwise, I’ll go to press with what Robert has told me. Oh, and Chief Daly had a few things to say, too.” He shook his head, his eyebrows lifted ever so slightly. “I don’t think that man likes you.”
Lily’s lips almost twitched. Evans was good. Get her smiling, get her relaxed, get her talking. “Tell you what. I’ll give you a statement after I’ve interviewed Mr.
Friar.”
“Sure. But…” He glanced at the silver watch on his wrist—a pretty nice watch, too, for a guy who drove a ten-year-old car. “I should warn you that I don’t have much time to get my story in. I can wait maybe thirty minutes.”
“I don’t structure an investigation around your deadlines.” She looked at Friar. “I have a few questions for you, Mr. Friar. We need to step into another room.”
“Actually, we don’t.” He picked up a thin folder from the end table nearby. “This statement should answer your questions. I’ve signed it, with two witnesses—Ray was kind enough to serve that function.”
She glanced at the reporter. “And did you read what you were signing?”
He smiled. “I have a copy.”
Friar’s smile was thin and basted with gloat. “My lawyer assisted me in preparing the statement. He also witnessed my signature, as you’ll see. If you have any questions after reading it, you may ask them with my lawyer present. Call my secretary for an appointment.”
“Most people don’t request a lawyer unless they have a guilty conscience.” She took the folder from him, but couldn’t manage to brush his fingers with hers. Was he avoiding contact on purpose? Her Gift wasn’t widely known, but it wasn’t a secret. Not anymore.
“I’m afraid I don’t trust you.” He sipped his brandy, meeting her eyes over the rim of the glass. His irises were as close to true black as human eyes get—in other words, not as black as Rule’s eyes turned when he was fighting the Change. “You brought this Turner creature into my house. You allow him into your body. What is that, if not bestiality? You make him part of your investigation. That certainly looks like bias, evidence of the unnatural hold he has over you.” He sipped again, smiling.
“Now, that wasn’t nice.” He didn’t have enough wrinkles, she decided. A few around the eyes, but his skin was too taut. That much sun over the years made sags and wrinkles on Anglo skin. She bet he’d had work done. Rule hadn’t mentioned vanity when he described Friar, but that’s what she saw. “I have to ask myself why you’re going out of your way to insult me.”