by Eileen Wilks
Three people dead, ten injured … and it wouldn’t have happened if Cobb’s Rho had known him, understood him, and been watching for the signs of an unstable anger. The clan experienced the mantle whether Rule was among them or not, but some needed that experience reinforced in a way only frequent contact could provide.
If Raymond Cobb had indeed fallen into the fury, it was as much Rule’s fault as Cobb’s.
Restlessness poured through him like a tide of ants. His legs twitched with the need to move. But this time he recognized what he was trying to run from.
You have to turn and face it. You always have to turn and face it, no matter how keen the claws or how bloody the teeth. And sooner works better than later. He spoke very low. “Tell me about them. The victims. The ones he killed and the ones he hurt.”
“I don’t know much.” Lily studied him. She knew something was moving inside him, even if she couldn’t sense the shape of it. “The Nashville PD is playing coy, not cooperating worth a damn. But the two men killed were both white, one middle-aged, the other a lot younger. The woman—”
“Woman?” Rule’s head jerked. “He killed a woman?”
“Four of the victims were female. One was killed outright. The other three were among the injured. I don’t have details on them specifically, but three of the ten people injured are in critical condition.”
“He attacked three women?” Disbelief sharpened his voice. Carefully he brought it back down. The people around them didn’t need to hear this. “You didn’t tell me that. Alex didn’t, either. He didn’t say there were female victims.” Alex must not know. He wouldn’t have left that out.
The pleat was back in Lily’s brow. “I know that’s hard for you to accept. Your people are big on not harming women.”
“It’s deeper than that. Women are to be protected, just like—”
“If you say ‘children,’ I’ll have to hit you.”
His grin flickered. “I was going to say, like you automatically protect civilians.”
“Good save.”
“It’s not training and custom, Lily. Or not just that. In the fury, we lose track of who’s friend, who’s foe. Instinct itself goes awry, but it’s not revoked. For that rage to focus on women does not make sense.”
“Men turn their rage on women all too often.”
“Not lupi. And especially not in the fury. The fury is a battle state. I could see Cobb falling into it if he saw a woman being threatened or harmed. He shouldn’t, but it’s possible. But if he were so twisted he could see women as enemy, Alex would have noticed. He would have been watching the man and he would have warned me about him.”
“Alex is Leidolf. He might not see what you would.”
He shook his head. “I despise the way Leidolf tries to subjugate their women, but they don’t beat them. It’s … it’s like the difference between intentionally frightening a child to correct him and eating one. The first is misguided. The second is insane. A lupus who is so distorted he could see women—not just one particular woman, but women in general—as his enemy … Alex would have noticed. Everyone would have noticed.”
She didn’t respond.
He grimaced. “You don’t accept that.”
“People miss the craziness in their neighbors and coworkers all the time.”
Frustration balled up his gut. How could she have lived with him for so long and not understand? “We don’t hurt women.”
“What about clanless wolves? They, ah—they don’t have the same stability.”
This was hard to explain without referring to the mantle. “A clanless wolf can see humans of either sex as prey when he’s four-footed. On four feet or two, he’d probably see human males as rival predators to be chased off, killed, or avoided. Pack wolves are more likely to chase or kill; lone wolves prefer to avoid. But neither a pack wolf nor a lone wolf would see women as competing predators. And none of that applies to Cobb. He wasn’t beast-lost or clanless.”
“What if a woman was attacking him, trying to stop him? Wouldn’t that put her in the enemy category?”
“Even if that’s what happened, it wouldn’t generalize. He wouldn’t go on to attack other women.”
“You know what a fight is like. People get hurt even if they aren’t the target.”
“If Cobb accidentally hurt a woman because he didn’t see her, perhaps … but three women? No. That’s not accident. And it isn’t possible.”
“Yet he did it.”
“Not because of the fury.”
“What, then?” she demanded. “What else could it be?”
“I have no idea.”
SEVEN
NASHVILLE had a different take on September than San Diego: hotter and wetter. At six ten local time, their plane was bumping its way through heavy cloud cover as it approached the airport. The pilot informed them it was eighty-two degrees and raining in Nashville.
Lily put up her laptop. She’d spent the last hour scanning online news sources for information about the shooting without learning much, except that the talking heads were having a great time speculating in shocked tones. She still didn’t have an official report, but she’d sicced Ida, Ruben’s secretary, on the local cops, so she expected to get one soon.
Rule was pacing. He’d found an excellent excuse for it, one Lily estimated to be about five months old. And teething.
Rule loved babies. They usually loved him right back. This one, a little baldy with chocolate-kiss eyes and dusky skin, had been screaming his head off back in economy. Rule—who’d been getting seriously restless—had decided to ask his mother if he could try to settle the boy.
Lily had been sure the woman wouldn’t hand her baby over to some strange man. She’d been wrong. The baby was sound asleep now, crumpled into a terrycloth lump on Rule’s chest, drooling happily onto the fine Egyptian cotton of his shirt. Rule cradled him there in two spread hands, humming quietly as he headed back down the aisle.
It made Lily’s chest ache. Some of that ache was for Rule, who would love to have a baby of his own again. He’d missed out on so much with Toby. But some of the ache was about her.
She didn’t know what to think about that. She didn’t want a baby … did she? Not now, certainly. How could she do her job if she had a tiny little human depending on her? Besides, she’d never been one to dream over babies the way some women did. Although she’d always assumed that one day …
One day might never come. Lupi weren’t very fertile.
Cullen thought that might change now that the level of ambient magic was increasing, but even if he was right, the increase was gradual. Even if he was right, there was no guarantee things would change enough, soon enough.
One of the flight attendants stopped Rule. Lily didn’t hear what the woman said, but it was probably a request that he take his seat. The seat belt lights had flashed on.
Rule answered with a smile. The woman—who was in her late forties, at a guess—smiled back shyly. That was better than slipping him her phone number, Lily supposed. Babies weren’t the only ones who adored Rule.
Her phone chimed the opening bars to “The Star Spangled Banner” as Rule passed their seats, no doubt returning the sleeping charmer to his mom. Lily answered. It turned out to be Ida, rather than Ruben himself, letting her know that a preliminary police report was in her e-mail in-box; they were booked into the Doubletree Hotel downtown; and they’d be met at the airport by an Agent Sjorensen from the local office.
Lily disconnected, ignoring the scowl of the pudgy man across the aisle. The FAA gave Unit agents a pass on the no-cell-phones rule. That was part politics, part practicality, because almost all Unit agents were Gifted.
Post-Turning, airlines used routes that didn’t directly overfly nodes, but ambient magic levels were rising even away from nodes, and magic was not good for tech. They’d discovered that having one or more Gifted aboard a plane meant a significant drop in the number of instrument malfunctions. The theory was that the Gifted unconsciously soaked up enoug
h juice to make a difference.
The theory was true in her case. Lily had found out the hard way that she not only sopped up stray magic the way dragons did—though on a much lesser scale—but she could do it intentionally. One-on-one.
Twice now, she’d drained another’s magic.
The first time had been an accident. A killer had used her Earth Gift to trigger an earthquake. Lily had stopped her without realizing what she’d done, much less how. Afterward, the woman’s Gift had been gone, but Lily had assumed she’d burnt out.
The second time Lily had done it very much on purpose. If she hadn’t acted, she’d have died, along with most of the people she loved. And at the very least, Southern California would have descended into unremitting nightmare so that an out-realm being could feast on human fear.
No regrets there. Nightmares sometimes—hello, Helen, back again?—but no regrets. Still, Lily wasn’t reconciled to everything she’d learned about herself recently. Turned out her Gift wasn’t a human ability. Like the mindspeech she was so far flunking, it came from another aspect of her heritage, one she hadn’t known about until last month.
The dragon aspect.
Sam did not want her calling him Grandfather—and thank God for that—but in terms of magical ancestry rather than DNA, that’s what he was.
Lily drummed her fingers. Why did things have to keep changing? There’d been so much of that this past year. Things she’d always known about herself had turned slippery. Not quite false, but not quite true, either.
Did she want a baby? Yes, she admitted, looking out the small, thick window obscured by cloud. Or no, not really, at least not now. Or maybe that was a yes, however heavily qualified. But it wasn’t really up to her, was it?
Rule slid into the seat beside hers. “Seems to be raining in Nashville,” he observed, pulling his seat belt around him.
“Seems to be. You’re relaxed. Jiggling a screaming baby calms you?”
“Cute little bugger, isn’t he?”
“Were you ever a tender?” That’s what lupi called those of the clan, male and female, who tended children at Clanhome. There were a few permanent tenders, but most only worked for a year or two to give everyone a chance at it. Tending was a sought-after position.
“For a while in my late twenties, yes.” He smiled reminiscently. “I had four months with the babies and three with preteens. Later I had a brief stint tending the toddlers—that’s real work.” But his face said the memory was pleasant.
“You weren’t Lu Nuncio yet?”
He shook his head. “Once I was named, I had other duties.”
She hesitated. “Rule, back when we met, you told me that a Lu Nuncio had to prove himself through blood, combat, and fertility. I wasn’t clan then, so you couldn’t mention the—uh, the thing I can’t mention here.” The mantle, that is. Only those connected by blood to the Rho could carry it, so that was the “blood” component. Combat meant exactly what it sounded like, but fertility … “You were named Lu Nuncio well before Toby was born.”
His expression faltered, flattened. After a moment he said, “A lady I was with when I was thirty became pregnant. The child was mine. She miscarried, but technically, my fertility had been proven.”
Lily took his hand. She said nothing, asked none of the questions that pushed at her. The miscarriage had happened over twenty years ago, but his pain was still palpable.
His grip tightened on hers, then relaxed. “Her name was Sarah. She miscarried in the fourth month.”
Cautiously Lily ventured a question. “No one doubted your word about it? I mean, you knew it was your baby, but there was no proof.”
His eyebrows lifted. “It wouldn’t occur to anyone to doubt me. It’s … all but inconceivable that any of us might lie about siring a child. Even if I had, however, I couldn’t lie successfully to my Rho.” He stroked the side of her hand with his thumb. “I should have told you about this earlier.”
Probably. When he told her Toby was his only child and would probably always be his only child—that would have been a good time. But… “You didn’t keep it from me on purpose.”
He slid her a glance. “I only learned last month about a man you once loved.”
She smiled. “I didn’t keep it from you on purpose.”
He squeezed her hand.
The captain came on the intercom to tell them they’d be landing shortly, then a stewardess began announcing gates for those who had a connecting flight.
“Rule …”
“Yes?”
“Does it ever get easier? I mean …” She groped for words. Rule might look thirty, but he’d turn fifty-five in a couple of months. He ought to know stuff she didn’t. “Do you ever get your feet planted solidly enough that you don’t lose your balance when something new turns up? Something you didn’t know about yourself until—pow! There it is, right in your face.”
He looked at her a moment, his eyes dark and serious. Then he smiled, raised her hand to his lips, and kissed it. “No.”
AGENT Sjorensen met them inside the security perimeter. She had icy blond hair, red-framed glasses, and creamy skin; looked about twenty, but had to be older. Good jacket. Her skirt was too long for her height—which was short, about the same as Lily’s—and she wouldn’t be able to run in those heels.
But they were great heels. Red patent leather peep-toes.
Her mouth was a pink cupid’s bow. Her eyes were big and blue. She compensated for these professional drawbacks with a short, no-nonsense hairstyle and a ban on smiling. “Special Agent Yu.” She nodded briskly, but didn’t offer to shake hands. “And you’re Rule Turner.”
“I am, yes.” Rule seemed to be trying to hide amusement.
“And these are—?” She gestured at LeBron and Jeff, who were standing behind Rule.
“LeBron Hastings and Jeffrey Lane,” Lily said. “They’re Rule’s bodyguards. It’s a clan thing.” She held out a hand. “You’re Agent Sjorensen, I take it. First name Anna?”
The woman’s pale cheeks flushed. “Yes, of course. I should have …” She noticed Lily’s hand and belatedly took it.
Oh, my. Lily had only touched that sort of magic once, but that once had been memorable. Lily released Sjorensen’s hand.
“You pronounced my name correctly. People mostly don’t, since my grandfather didn’t Anglicize the spelling.”
Lily made a mental note to discuss what she’d learned from that handshake when she and Sjorensen were alone. The woman deserved privacy for that discussion. “I had a Swedish roommate one semester. It drove her nuts when people put a hard j in her name instead of y. Jeff and LeBron won’t be going with us—I just wanted you to be aware of them.” As she spoke Rule nodded to the guards, and they moved off. The two of them would pick up the luggage and meet them at the hotel.
“I see.” Clearly, she didn’t. “I’ve been told to put myself at your disposal while you’re here, Special Agent.”
“I appreciate it. We’ll head to the hospital first. I understand Cobb is at Vanderbilt?”
“Yes, it’s the one medical facility with a containment room considered sufficient for a lupus prisoner.” She darted a glance at Rule. “Not that he’s in any shape to fight his way out, but I understand your people heal quickly.”
“We do. Do you know what his injuries are?”
“He took a bullet in the chest. That’s all I know.” She switched back to Lily quickly. “Do you need to stop for your luggage?”
“No, the guards will get it.” Was Sjorensen uncomfortable talking to Rule because he was a civilian, or because he was a lupus?
Sjorensen’s lip curled, but whatever it was she disapproved, she kept her commentary silent. “My car’s this way.” She turned, her heels clicking as she set off down the concourse.
Lily and Rule exchanged a glance. Neither of them cared to trail after the young woman. Lily caught up with her on her left side; Rule bracketed her on the right. She didn’t look at either of them.
&nb
sp; Lily wondered what she smelled like to Rule—angry? Frightened? “I scanned the police report while we were landing. Cobb took two bullets from a hunting rifle. One passed through, puncturing his lung on the way. The other bullet lodged somewhere unspecified. There’s nothing about what treatment he received, which is a concern.” Lupi couldn’t be put under anesthetic, so operating on them was almost impossible without a healer who could hold them in sleep.
The Leidolf Rhej was such a healer. Rule had sent for her, but she hadn’t been able to leave right away. She had a baby to deliver.
Agent Sjorensen frowned. “You got the Nashville PD to cough up a report already?”
“It’s been about fifteen hours since the incident occurred. That isn’t exactly speedy, and I had to pull out the big guns to get it.”
“You won’t find local law enforcement eager to cooperate. There’s some history between our office and them which, uh … to put it bluntly, they don’t like us. And you don’t exactly have clear jurisdiction.” She darted a glance at Lily. “Frankly, I’m not sure why you’re here.”
“In part, to determine jurisdiction. Like you said, it’s a muddle. If Cobb had Changed, he could be charged with using magic to commit felony murder. Since he didn’t …” She shrugged. “A muddle. Legally, though, I get to poke my nose anywhere I want, if I think it might be a case for the Unit. According to the report, the police don’t have a confession.”
Sjorensen’s carefully darkened eyebrows climbed. “They don’t need one. They’ve got plenty of witnesses.”
“A confession always helps. That’s another reason I’m here.”
“What could—oh, crap.” She stopped. Just beyond the security checkpoint—right beside a small stage, unpopulated at the moment, in front of the Ernest Tubb Record Shop—people with cameras and people with mikes peered down the concourse. “You think they’re waiting for us?”
“Bet on it,” Lily said grimly. “How did they know my arrival time? They shouldn’t even know I was coming, much less when I’d get here.”
Sjorensen glared at the reporters. “I don’t know. I’m guessing Chief Grissim arranged a leak, but I don’t actually know that.”