by Eileen Wilks
Her smile stayed stuck tight to her face.
“You can’t confirm or deny this binding,” Isen said gently. “You can’t speak of it at all, so you can’t let us know if we guess right. But it doesn’t make you lie, so you aren’t forced to deny it. That’s helpful.”
She looked at him gratefully. “You remind me of my uncle Clay. I wish you could meet him. I wonder how you would feel if there was something you really wanted to let people know, but you couldn’t speak of it.”
Isen nodded, understanding. “You want to get rid of the binding.”
She smiled like crazy.
Isen looked at Seabourne. “Can you do that?”
“Maybe, given time. The question is whether I can do it safely.”
Rule spoke softly in Isen’s ear. “Lily says Sam could.”
Isen nodded thoughtfully. “I wonder if Sam would be willing to take a look at this binding.”
Seabourne’s expression sharpened. “Good idea. The binding is tied to her blood, so it’s similar to what was done to me. Sam unsang that.”
Arjenie looked from one of them to the other. “Who’s Sam?”
“Sun Mzao. The black dragon.”
Her eyes widened. Her mouth shaped a silent “oh.”
Rule spoke so quietly Isen didn’t know if even Benedict could hear him. “Sam is, ah, out of pocket at the moment. He won’t be back for several days, and when he returns, he’ll probably consider this a favor. Nokolai hasn’t accumulated a favor from him yet. We’d have to bargain for this separately, and dragons tend to price their favors high.”
Isen answered him while appearing to respond to Cullen. “It’s worth finding out.”
“Conversational breadcrumbs,” Benedict said abruptly. His attention had never wavered from his Chosen. “You’ve been dropping some, haven’t you? The potions are connected to whatever you can’t reveal. Your father put this binding on you. Is your father connected to the potions?”
She started to say something, stopped, and began again. “When I was young I saw things much more in black-and-white than I do now.”
“The connection is indirect.”
She beamed at him.
“You said the potions wouldn’t harm us.”
“One of them was to mask my scent, like I said. The other one was intended to help, not harm.”
“Did you make the potions?”
She all but sang her answer. “No!”
“Can you tell me who did?”
“I need to change the subject.”
Benedict continued to circle around the forbidden topic with questions, trying to define its parameters. Arjenie looked harried and tense and tired. Seabourne had tuned the rest of them out and was frowning off into space. Rule was arguing with Lily. She wanted to check out of the hospital tomorrow and fly back here. Rule considered that incredibly foolish, though he didn’t put it in quite those words.
It was nice to know his son had some sense. Isen sighed. Rule was not going to be happy with him. He agreed with Lily. “Arjenie, you’re looking worn-out. Let’s sit down again. Perhaps some more coffee?” He offered her his arm rather than taking hers. He’d noticed that she disliked being handled. Was that a sidhe characteristic? He’d have to ask Seabourne.
Benedict gave him a quick glance—wondering why he’d interrupted, probably. Arjenie took his arm, smiling at him in a much more natural way than her too-bright smiles earlier. “I’d love some coffee. You’d think I wouldn’t be sleepy for hours after being unconscious for so long, but passing out doesn’t seem to affect my sleep cycle at all, and back home it’s midnight. Besides, I love coffee.”
“Then we’ll get you some.” He patted her hand, then pulled his phone out of his shirt pocket. As they started for the table he added casually, “I believe it’s time we all participated openly in this discussion. Rule, I’m putting you on speakerphone.”
Arjenie stopped dead. “What? You don’t mean—tell me you haven’t—has Rule Turner been listening?”
“I’m afraid so. So has Lily, indirectly.”
She blanched. “Oh, no. Oh, no. We agreed—”
“I agreed not to speak of your secret away from Clanhome,” Isen said. “I haven’t. Nor have those under my authority.”
“But Friar can hear! If he’s trying, he could have heard everything! Lily’s Gift might block him from hearing her—I’m not sure about that, but it might. But it wouldn’t keep him from hearing a phone near her! Someone … someone could be in terrible trouble.”
Lily’s voice came through clearly on the phone’s speaker. “It shouldn’t be a problem. I confirmed that he’s in California now. I also checked with Cullen. No Listener can eavesdrop across that many miles.”
Arjenie was anguished. “He can.”
“You’re claiming that Friar is the strongest clairaudient on record?”
“I know he can hear things in D.C. when he’s in California, so he could Listen to you in Tennessee, too!”
“Well, even if you’re right, he can’t do it constantly, so the odds are good. And even if he beat those odds and was Listening to my hospital room, he didn’t hear much. I know that because I didn’t. Rule had his phone on speaker, so I heard Isen, but the rest of you weren’t close enough to Isen’s phone for it to pick up your voices much. Rule’s been typing a rough transcript for me. If I hadn’t had that, I wouldn’t have been able to follow things at all, so I doubt Friar could have, either.”
Arjenie was not placated. “You don’t know what he could hear magically, not for sure. You don’t have the right to risk someone else when there’s so much you don’t know.”
“Arjenie, that’s my job,” Lily said, her voice weary. “That’s what I do every day. I make decisions that either help or hurt people, and I almost always have way too little information.”
Ah, poor Lily. Isen knew it wasn’t really her injury dragging at her. That would frustrate and infuriate and worry her in the days and weeks to come—humans healed so slowly!—but it wouldn’t flavor her voice with defeat. In her head she knew LeBron had not been under her authority, but in her heart he had been, and had therefore been hers to protect.
Isen understood her new burden all too well, but this wasn’t the time for him to speak of it. It was time for clarity on another subject. He looked at Arjenie. “Lily believes there is an organized effort against the Unit. Ruben Brooks was nearly killed. He will be unable to resume his duties for some time, and may be unable to resume them at all, depending on the results of the healing performed on him. Then Lily was herself nearly killed. She has a responsibility to determine whether you were involved in the attack on Ruben Brooks or on her.”
“Me?” Arjenie was dumbfounded. “But I’ve been here! Here in California, I mean.”
“Isen,” Lily said, warning clear in her voice, “don’t—”
“I’m afraid you aren’t entirely in charge,” he told her gently. “Arjenie, Lily suspects a conspiracy that includes at least one perpetrator within the FBI. Who else could have reached Brooks to administer whatever caused his heart attack? But there could be more than one FBI agent or employee involved.”
Arjenie chewed on her lip and thought that over. He liked that about her. She was as chatty and confiding as Benedict was silent and reserved, but she knew when to stop and think.
No one else spoke, either. Lily’s silence was especially loud. Isen knew what she wanted to say: It was stupidly irresponsible to tell a suspect what you suspected.
She was right, of course. But whatever Arjenie Fox might be involved in, it did not include harming others. She knew or suspected something about the attack on Brooks, but she wasn’t conspiring to bring down the Unit or anyone within it. Not intentionally, and not due to the binding. She was, he thought, a practicing Wiccan in the deepest sense, one whose heart embraced their core tenet: and it harm none. If her actions had caused clear harm—even if she’d been unable to direct those actions—she’d be consumed by guilt. She wasn’t.
�
�I can’t think of anyone who’d betray the Bureau,” Arjenie said at last. She sounded almost as tired as Lily. “Of course, I might say that if I were part of a vast cell of traitors, all of whom I knew intimately, so that doesn’t help. Is Mr. Croft in charge of the Unit right now?”
“He is,” Lily said.
“Are you going to tell him about my Gift and my father and me being here at Clanhome and everything?”
“I haven’t decided.”
Arjenie sighed. Benedict moved closer to her, but not so he could counter a potential attack. Not this time. He wanted to hold her. Isen knew that as clearly as if Benedict had announced it.
After that involuntary movement, Benedict went still again, but Isen could almost taste his son’s longing. It hurt his heart. There was so little he could do. He settled for patting Arjenie’s hand. “If it helps, I don’t suspect you of anything nefarious. Rule, Lily’s right.”
“Quite often,” Rule agreed dryly. “But which specific instance did you mean?”
“She needs to come home. She is in serious and ongoing danger, and a hospital room is difficult to defend. In addition”—he put a subtle note in his voice so Rule would know his Rho spoke—“I need her and you here. Unless Nettie is utterly opposed, I want the three of you to return tomorrow. The meeting with the other North American clans is more vital than ever, and without Lily’s presence as guarantee of our peaceful intentions, Ybirra will withdraw. Lily, I hope you don’t object to my stating my wishes, since they agree with your own.”
“Object? No. But you’re up to something.”
“Arjenie is right, too. There are some things that shouldn’t be discussed over the phone. I’ll say only that I disagree with you in one respect. I don’t think your Unit is the target of a conspiracy.”
“I’d be interested in hearing your reasoning.”
“We’ll discuss it when you return. I do believe there is a conspiracy.”
“But not against the Unit.”
“No. Against us. Lupi. All lupi, not just Nokolai, and all who might aid us or otherwise interfere in her plans. You can guess which enemy I’m thinking of.”
Lily’s breath caught. Rule didn’t make a sound. Cullen Seabourne swung to face Isen, his eyes narrowing. And Isen’s oldest son looked at him with dawning relief. “Of course.”
TWENTY-THREE
ON the other side of the continent, Lily sat up in her hospital bed scowling at the computer screen. Rule sat on the bed beside her, his laptop balanced on his thighs. He’d just ended the call to Isen.
“I can’t believe he told us that,” Lily said, frustrated, “then wouldn’t say why he thinks she’s involved.” She drummed the fingers of her good hand on her leg. “We’ll find out tomorrow, I guess.”
“We will not. You aren’t flying across the country so I can attend that damned meeting a few days earlier than otherwise. You’re barely out of surgery.”
His jaw was set stubbornly. His eyes were dark, shadowed by sleeplessness, and brimming with emotion … emotion that for once she had no trouble reading.
Rule had been on high alert for over twenty-four hours. He was worn-out and wired up and afraid that wouldn’t be enough. That he wouldn’t be enough. That he’d miss something or sleep at the wrong time or be less than omniscient, and whoever wanted her dead would succeed.
Isen was right. A hospital room was hard to defend. There were too blasted many people around, and the other side of her door was public territory. Rule knew this. He was determined to keep her here anyway. He had some control over their small territory—more than he would in an airport, at least. But more importantly, her wound scared him.
She held out her hand. He took it. She let the contact ease them both, wishing he could climb into bed so she could hold him and be held. “I do heal, you know,” she said gently. “I don’t heal the way you do, but I do heal.”
“You haven’t healed yet. It’s too soon.”
“Rule, this isn’t your decision.” She let that sink in, then added, “I’m not an idiot. If Nettie nixes the trip, I’ll stay here. My own opinion—which I confidently expect both you and Nettie to ignore—is that I can do it. I’ll hurt, sure, but I’ll hurt if I stay in this blasted bed, too. It won’t harm me to sit in an airplane.”
“We can’t go strictly by what Nettie says. If my father tells her he wants you to return home, she—”
“You know better.” She squeezed his hand. “Nettie won’t adjust her medical opinion to suit Isen or anyone else.”
He looked at their joined hands and sighed. “I don’t like it.”
“I know.” It was her left hand he held, her right arm that was damaged, and that was a bitch. She was right-handed. But for that one instant, she was glad he could hold the hand that wore his ring. “You’re going to wear one, too, you know.”
Puzzled, he looked up. “One what?”
“Ring.”
He smiled slightly. “I am, yes.”
She took a breath and jumped. “I’ll stay at Clanhome. Not the whole time I’m healing, because that’s going to take way too long, but while I’m officially on sick leave. You can guard the hell out of me there.”
His eyes searched hers. Some of the tension eased from his face. He lifted her hand and kissed it. “I love you at all times. Sometimes I like you tremendously, too. Thank you. I know you’d much rather be at our place. I also know you’re planning to investigate as much as possible while you’re there.”
She didn’t have a case. She’d been pulled from the Cobb case and she couldn’t just show up in D.C. to hunt for whoever had tried to kill Ruben and she was going to be on sick leave and … and did that matter?
Yes, she decided. But maybe not as much as it ought to. “Speaking of planning …” She glanced around, spotted her takeout cup, and disengaged her hand so she could pick it up. Then frowned at the few cold drops remaining in the bottom of the cup. “Maybe you could send the guard for more coffee.”
“Or maybe not. It’s nearly eleven, and you should sleep at some point tonight—especially if you’re going to persuade Nettie you’re well enough to fly home tomorrow.”
She was tired, and she was tired of being tired, and he was right, and the whole thing sucked. “Do you buy Isen’s idea? Do you think the Great Bitch is behind the attacks on me and Ruben?”
The twin slashes of Rule’s brows drew down. “I don’t know. Maybe more yes than no. Isen’s right an awful lot of the time, and you’ve been her target before. You don’t sound convinced.”
Lily wobbled her hand back and forth, miming uncertainty. “Sure, it could be her, but we’ve thought that before and it wasn’t. I don’t think the attack on me really suggests her. When she went after me before, she wanted me alive so she could eat me or my magic or something. Last night’s shooter wanted me dead.”
Rule’s face closed down, which meant he was upset. “You thwarted her earlier plans, not once but twice. She holds a grudge.”
“Maybe, but surely she’s imaginative enough to know that there are lots worse things she could do than kill me. If I was more useful to her alive a few months ago, why would killing me be a good idea all of a sudden?”
“Because her plans have changed. Not her goal. I doubt that has changed since she was defeated in the Great War. Three thousand some-odd years isn’t a long time to an Old One.”
“And that goal is—?”
“To possess the Earth. To remake it to suit her values, her notions of what is good and proper.”
Lily drummed her fingers. “Having her avatar eaten by a hell lord may have set back her world conquest schedule.”
“Unless that’s what she intended. A year’s delay in nothing . She may have needed that time to subjugate the demon lord who ingested whatever portion of her was held by her avatar. A demon lord would make a much more powerful avatar than one born human.”
That was the problem with dealing with a perp who had, supposedly, been around since the universe kicked off—o
r maybe before that. The Great Bitch wasn’t omnipotent or omniscient, but her knowledge, experience, and abilities were so far beyond the human it was impossible to guess her plans. “If the Old Ones fought a war to stop her once, wouldn’t they step in now if she were trying to take over Earth?”
“Not directly. Neither they nor she can enter any realms where humans live. The Great War was fought, in part, so that those on my Lady’s side could impose just that restriction.”
“The good-guy Old Ones restricted themselves? Permanently?”
He spread his hands. “We are taught that they amended their reality in order to allow the younger races a chance to create their own.”
That was too mystical entirely for Lily. She drummed her fingers again. “Why Ruben? Why would she want him taken out?”
“I don’t know. I can speculate. His precognitive ability combined with his position may be a threat to her plans. But I don’t know.”
It was all too mushy. They had no real reason to suspect the Great Bitch’s involvement, but almost anything could be made to fit that scenario when they knew so little about her plans, methods, and capabilities. It reminded Lily of the way people in medieval times thought the devil was behind every illness and misfortune. “If your milk cow dries up, blame it on her,” she muttered.
“What?”
“Never mind.” Maybe it was her brain that was mushy. Hot licks of pain kept grabbing her attention, disrupting her train of thought. Damned pain. Couldn’t God or evolution or whatever have arranged things so pain didn’t have to hurt quite this much?
Rule was frowning, more in thought than temper. “It’s possible the attack on Ruben was her agent’s idea and promotes his plans, not hers.”
“What do you mean?”
“If Robert Friar is her agent—”
“Whoa. That’s a giant step.”
“She has to act through agents, just as my Lady does, since she’s prohibited from acting directly. Why not Friar? He’s cunning and wary and wealthy. He already has followers, an organization of sorts, and he hates us.”
She looked at him, ruffled and irritated and not sure why. “You realize you’ve stepped off into pure speculation? There’s a suggestion that Friar could be involved, but it’s wispy. Enough to justify looking into the possibility, no more. We don’t have even a wisp to say that she’s involved, much less anything linking her to Friar.”