by Eileen Wilks
She also wasn’t entirely human herself.
Her thoughts hitched—just this quick, mental hiccup that interrupted her as thoroughly as a siren.
She understood why it bothered her. It upset her sense of who and what she was. Until last year, she hadn’t even thought of herself as Gifted. People didn’t think of sensitives that way because blocking out magic seemed the antithesis of working it.
Then she’d found out that being a sensitive was a type of Gift. That had unsettled her, but not for long. Once she thought about it, it made sense. This, though, was like . . . It was like finding out she was mostly female, but not entirely.
What did it mean to “partake of dragon nature”?
You have already begun to manifest one ability common to dragons, Sam had said. He’d said something about her overlooking it, too.
Mindspeech? She hadn’t done that except with him, and her conversations with the black dragon were hard to overlook. How could it be possible for her to use mindspeech with non-dragons when her Gift prevented her from using magic? Did she even want to?
Automatically, Lily started to jot those questions down. She stopped with “how would.”
Her notebook could be produced in court. She didn’t want to be cross-examined about mindspeech or partaking of dragon nature on the witness stand.
She went back to the original question. How could she stop the Chimei?
From what Li Qin had said, the bond between the Chimei and her lover had something to do with keeping the Chimei physical, or with her ability to affect people’s minds, or both. Lily needed to know more about that.
Grandmother, she wrote. And underlined it. And added Cullen’s name beside it. Either the Chimei or her lover considered him a real threat. He might have some ideas about how to break that bond without resorting to murder.
Okay, assume she found the sorcerer. She knew a few things about him now, and she had a lead to follow, thanks to Dr. Davis. Assume she learned how to break his bond with the Chimei . . . big assumption there, but was that bond anything like the one she knew so much and so little about? The mate bond that tied her to Rule?
If so, did the Chimei have to be physically close to her lover?
She underlined that question. It would sure be handy if the answer was “yes.” Separate the two and maybe both would be weakened or incapacitated.
Skip past the assumptions, though, and the question was: how did she arrest a sorcerer? His magic couldn’t affect Lily directly, but if he started a fire, she’d burn. And if he knew how to call mage fire . . . A shiver of remembered pain turned her hands clammy.
Last year, Cullen had used mage fire to destroy an ancient staff. They weren’t certain if the scar on Lily’s stomach came from the mage fire itself or from the intense heat it produced. Supposedly she was immune to magical fire, but mage fire was different. Black fire, it was called. Cullen said it could burn anything.
Another difference with mage fire was that the heat was oddly contained. Localized. Cullen thought that the black fire consumed most of the very heat it produced. But the staff had been touching her when Cullen zapped it, so even highly localized heat could have burned her.
They couldn’t very well test the two ideas to see which one was right. Aside from the general danger—mage fire was hard to control—Lily had no intention of letting Cullen try crisping some part of her.
Enough of that. Did this sorcerer know how to call mage fire? It was supposed to be a lost art, but Cullen had rein-vented it. Someone else could have, too. She made a note to ask Cullen about that and what other tricks the sorcerer might possess.
And how did you lock up a sorcerer, anyway? Back in the days of the Purge they’d made life simpler for themselves by cutting off hands, chopping off tongues, that sort of thing. Not options the federal penal system could adopt.
Clearly she’d been shaken after hearing Sam’s story. She’d missed asking several questions. If Sam couldn’t or wouldn’t answer them, Li Qin might be able to. Or Grandmother.
Where was she? Lily underlined Grandmother a second time. That was one question she might be able to answer . . . with a little help from a friend. Cynna was one hell of a Finder.
And what in God’s name was Sam up to?
He was manipulating them. She was sure of it. Maybe he had to because the geas forced him to be devious. Maybe he had, like Li Qin had said, a good goal in mind. But she didn’t like it.
“You so deep into your scribbling you didn’t see me?” T.J. demanded. “If I’d been a bad guy, I could’ve popped you.”
“I saw you,” Lily said without looking up as she finished jotting down one more thing. “Even if I hadn’t, the server’s headed this way with our plates, so it stands to reason you’d be here.”
He grinned and pulled out his chair. “I’ve got great timing. That’s what Camille always tells me, and she ought to know.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“Have I given you any reason to think I’d want to hear about your sex life?”
“I’ve seen you checking out my ass. Did you order me . . . Ah, here it is. Extra jalapeños. Thanks, sugar.”
T.J. could not be brought to believe that waitresses didn’t always like being called sugar. Lily accepted her plate with a nod of thanks, turned the page in her notebook to a blank one, and said, “Let’s talk about the Xings. What have you got?”
RULE finished his account of what he and Lily had learned. There was a long pulse of silence.
He had three listeners—Cullen, Cynna, and Max. Jason was present, but sound asleep; Nettie had left to arrange for Cullen’s release and transport by ambulance. Cullen would go to Sam’s lair this afternoon. Various bits of medical paraphernalia would be traveling with him, as would Nettie and Jason. Nettie wouldn’t stay at the lair, but Jason would.
So would Cynna, of course. Rule wondered if Sam had anticipated such a large contingent of guests when he agreed to host Cullen.
Cynna broke the silence. “So we’ve got two bad guys, and one’s a sorcerer. Lily saw him, so we’ve got a physical description, but it’s kind of vague and may not help much if he can make everyone except Lily think he’s someone else. The other bad guy is some kind of out-realm being hundreds or thousands of years old. She’s a heavy hitter magically who eats fear and can’t be killed.”
“Except by dragons, apparently,” Rule agreed.
“Good thing I’m leaving,” Cullen said. “Won’t take him long to find me.”
Rule looked at his friend. Cullen’s skin was waxy, his breathing shallow. An oxygen mask dangled from the corner of his bed. He hated it. After some discussion, Nettie had agreed he could leave it off for brief periods. He’d interpreted that to mean whenever he was awake.
He wasn’t healing. According to Nettie, Cullen wasn’t any worse, but he wasn’t healing. “Lily’s taken every precaution she can to keep your location secret. You’re here under a different name, you don’t have any hospital staff caring for you who might gossip about your presence, and—”
“And the killer’s a sorcerer.” Cullen snorted faintly. “Think he can’t find his own spell, which just happens to be in the middle of my damned chest?”
“Shit!” Cynna said explosively. “I’m a Finder. I should’ve thought of that. Why didn’t I think of that?”
Cullen smiled faintly. “You’re used to no one being able to do what you do. And maybe a little distracted.”
Cynna gripped his hand and gave him a long, intent look full of the things lovers can say in silence. Rule could see worry and promises in that look. No doubt Cullen saw much more.
She spoke quietly. “No point in me trying to jazz up the room ward now. I’m not as good at that as you. By the time I had anything with a hope of deflecting a Finding spell, you’d already be lazing around the dragon’s lair.”
Cullen’s eyelids were beginning to droop. “Where Sam’s wards will do a fine job of keeping out anything he doesn’t want around. Though I won’t mind if he lets tha
t bastard get close enough to be his afternoon snack.”
“Sam has wards?” Rule said, surprised. “I didn’t think dragons did that.”
“The young ones like Micah don’t. Don’t think they can. Their ability to shape magic . . . seems a . . . product of age. Sam’s wards . . . are elegant as hell. I’m looking forward to . . .”
“Oxygen,” Cynna said firmly, grabbing the mask.
Cullen grimaced. “I don’t—”
“Want to be a baby about this,” she finished for him, slipping the mask on.
Rule grinned. He liked watching these two together.
Cullen took a couple slow breaths, then pulled the mask aside to say firmly, “Food.”
Rule glanced at Cynna. “What arrangements has Nettie made?”
“He can eat pretty much whatever he wants,” she said. “To avoid any chance of his tray being poisoned, we’re supposed to go get it from the cafeteria downstairs.”
“Not we,” Max said. “Him.” He jerked his thumb at Rule. “He’s the least useful person here.”
Rule’s eyebrows lifted.
Max chuckled. “Don’t like that, do you? Sure, you could jump someone faster than the rest of us—if you could see who needed to be jumped. You can’t, I can, end of story. As for the rest of this crowd, Cynna here can tell if her wards are disrupted. Jason can deal with medical problems if needed. You’re just not that necessary.” He grinned evilly. “I’ll have a cheeseburger and fries with the works.”
Max was obnoxious, but right. Rule took down the others’ requests. Jason woke up and placed an order, too, though he had to be persuaded it was okay for his Lu Nuncio to fetch his food. “You won’t be able to eat all that,” Rule told Cullen when he ordered three double-meat cheeseburgers plus fries. “You’ll fall asleep before you finish.”
“Then I’ll enjoy smelling it. What did you and Lily fight about?”
“So that’s what it is!” Cynna exclaimed. “I’d wondered.”
Rule spoke coldly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Fought about something,” Cullen observed. “First, you’re here without her. Second, you’re pissed. At everyone. About pretty much everything. Got mad at Max for yanking at you, and you never bother to get mad at Max. What’s the point? Third—”
“You are intensely annoying.”
Cullen managed a grin. “See? You’re pissed.”
Rule decided to ignore the subject. “I think I’ve got everyone’s requests. I’ll be back with food as soon as I can. Be wary. If this sorcerer has located Cullen—”
Max snorted. “Telling your granny how to suck eggs, boy.”
“Have grannies ever sucked eggs?” Cullen asked. “Seems like a peculiar thing for them to do.”
“I’ll go with you to help carry stuff,” Cynna offered.
“That’s not necessary. As Max said, you’re needed here to monitor the ward.”
“I’ll have to reset it once you cross it, anyway. I might as well walk you to the stairs.”
Perhaps, if he tied her up, he could escape without the conversation she was determined to have. Since he was unwilling to do that, he capitulated. “I’ll take the elevator.”
“Okay, but the cafeteria’s in the basement.”
“I believe I’ll survive riding down five floors.” Damned if he’d feed his phobia by avoiding the experience again. Doing it once was excusable. Repeating it was a step on the road to creating a habit.
Cullen spoke again as Rule reached the door. “Rule.”
He paused, looking over his shoulder at his friend.
“The bastard hit me because he knows I could see him. Maybe he knows about my shields, maybe he doesn’t—but he knows I’d see the magic he uses, see that he’s a sorcerer. Lily can see him as he is, too.”
“According to Sam, Lily should be protected from direct attack by the treaty.”
“Protected from the Chimei.”
That sank in one shudder at a time. They’d assumed—or Sam had led them to believe—that Lily wouldn’t be attacked. Sam believed the Chimei understood and respected the possible repercussions of attacking Lily directly. But would her lover?
They didn’t know. They had no damned clue, and Rule had allowed pique to keep him from standing by her. He gave Cullen a single grim nod and left to get lunch.
TWENTY-FIVE
THE quarantine rooms were set along a short hall, almost an alcove, off the main hall. Rule moved briskly to the intersection.
Cynna moved right along with him, having followed him out. “Feels like crap, doesn’t it? Fighting with someone you love, I mean.”
“I didn’t actually want to have this conversation,” he said as politely as he could.
“I know. But I wanted to tell you that me and Cullen fight all the time, but we like to argue, and mostly we argue about the small stuff. With important shit we get real careful with each other, groping around in the dark wearing our kid gloves.”
There was an image that almost made him smile. “Ah . . . we aren’t private, you know. There are patients in most of these rooms, people at the nurses’ station—”
She snorted. “The nurses’ station must be half a block away. This is one long hall. As for the other patients, even the ones whose doors are open won’t catch more than a word or two as we walk by.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Rule often had trouble figuring out what humans could hear and what they couldn’t. “Did you want mustard or mayonnaise on your hamburger?”
“Sure. Either or both. Now, our style of arguing works for us, but you and Lily have a different deal going. You don’t sweat the small stuff, and it’s cool the way you two can negotiate instead of fighting. But now and then any couple is going to bump heads over something that matters.”
They’d reached the elevator. He punched the button. He wouldn’t be closed up long, he reminded himself. “This argument mattered.”
“Had a feeling it did.”
“And I was right.” That came out a bit too strongly.
Cynna snorted.
“But I was wrong, too. Wrong to bring it up at the time and in the way I did. I hadn’t realized . . .” He’d been almost as surprised as Lily at what he ended up saying. It was all true, but he hadn’t meant to say it. “I didn’t intend to dump all that on her now. My feelings were hurt. Once I started I couldn’t seem to let it go.”
“Be strange if the person who matters most in the whole world couldn’t hurt your feelings, wouldn’t it?”
“You just reminded me why I like you so much.”
Cynna grinned. “Good for me.” She stretched up—it wasn’t a big stretch for her—and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Give her a call. You’ll feel better.”
He didn’t grin back, but he already felt better. “Go ward something.”
“Will do.” She gave his butt a pat. “Don’t tell Lily I did that.”
Now he grinned.
She fluttered her fingers in a little wave and set off back down the hall. The elevator dinged.
Two people got off. He studied them as he got on, however pointless that might be. Neither was someone he expected to see, or anyone he’d seen before. Maybe that meant they were who they appeared to be. One was an older man with dark hair and skin, in khakis and a short-sleeve shirt; the other was also male and wore a navy suit with a name tag. Both smelled human. They didn’t speak to each other or make the small gestures that acknowledge a friend or acquaintance.
Just to be sure, Rule kept the elevator doors from closing until he saw which way they went—straight to the nurses’ station, where the suited man was greeted as doctor somebody and the man in khakis asked about room 421.
He let the doors close and punched the button marked B.
The elevator was slow. It creaked to a stop on the third floor, where a young candy striper got on. She was blond and perky and smelled human . . . and interested. She glanced at the buttons and gave him a flirty smile. “I’m h
eaded down for lunch, too. Want some company?”
“That would be delightful,” he said as the doors closed again, “but I’m afraid I’m taking food back to some friends, so I won’t be eating in the cafeteria.” The elevator lurched into motion. I’m fine, he told himself.
The girl’s smile didn’t diminish. She had dimples. “Any of those friends female?”
He smiled back. He had to place a firm but gentle no in their exchange, but she was sweet and pretty and she smelled delightful. How could he not let her know he appreciated her?
“One of them is, yes. Though she is just that—a friend—my fiancée will be—”
The lights went out. The elevator jolted to a stop. A siren sounded, and the candy striper screamed.
“We’ll be all right,” Rule said soothingly, even as his heartbeat jumped into panic mode. Trapped—he was trapped—
“Th-that’s the fire alarm,” the girl said. One small hand connected with his arm and gripped it. “There’s a fire. We’ve got to get out. There’s a fire.”
She was right. Standing in the pitch blackness of the tiny box, his senses heightened by fear, Rule smelled the girl’s panic—and smoke. The smoke-scent was faint. With no electricity, the fan in their hanging prison wasn’t drawing in air.
There’s enough air, he told himself firmly. Plenty of air.
“There’s an escape hatch, isn’t there?” she said, clutching him tightly. “I can’t see. I can’t reach it. There’s supposed to be light, emergency lighting, but I can’t see anything!”
“Shh.” Rule patted the small hand clutching him and tried to ignore the wolf’s panic. The man had to be in charge now. “We’ll be okay. I need to think a moment.”
Could the flirty candy striper be the killer? As soon as the thought occurred to him, he dismissed it. He wasn’t the target. Cullen was, and no sensible killer would trap himself in an elevator away from his target. No, he’d be on the fourth floor already, or heading for it on the stairs.
But the fire . . .
He frowned. Why a fire?
It didn’t make sense. Why would an assassin who could wander around unnoticed knock out the electronics and start a fire to get to his target? Did he plan to pick off Cullen as he evacuated?