by Eileen Wilks
Mick laughed. “Same old Cullen. But there’s more to you than I’d realized, isn’t there? The Madonna here tells me you tinker with sorcery. For shame.”
“Speaking of shame, why are you out there, chatting up the Madonna? I expect that kind of behavior from me, but you’re supposed to be a cut above a lowly clanless type.”
“Don’t be comparing yourself to me.” Mick’s voice throbbed with a sudden influx of emotion. Anger, mostly, with a healthy serving of contempt. “I’m fighting to save my clan. You’re just trying to save your own sorry hide.”
“Forgive me for being dense, but I’m not quite following you. You’ve allied yourself with our hereditary enemy and are doing your best to kill your father and destroy your brother . . . for the good of the clan?”
“You always were a fool. The Rho would destroy us all with his political pipe dreams. He’ll destroy the Challenge and turn us into imitation humans, pale copies of those who have never heard the Lady’s call. I won’t let that happen.”
Mick’s voice was hard now. Determined. It reminded Cullen of Rule . . . a sad, twisted version of Rule. “Well, to each his own. Um . . . I can’t help wondering. My lamentable curiosity, you know. You are aware she can read your mind, aren’t you?” At the very least. It was supposed to be impossible to actually take over another person’s mind, but she had a lot of power in that staff . . . though he couldn’t imagine any lupus allowing such an abomination to touch him.
Mick laughed. “Not mine, or any other lupus’s. You really are a fool, aren’t you? She whom the Madonna serves can’t affect us that way.”
But She didn’t have to. The cold bitch who was Her priestess had her own Gift—possibly augmented by power from the goddess, but not originating with Her. Cullen suspected this wasn’t the time for a lecture on the differences between sorcery and the Gifts, however. “Did you stop by to buck up my spirits? How considerate. I’m feeling better already.”
“I wanted to see you in your cage. I thought I’d enjoy that—and I was right.”
The Madonna spoke. Her high voice came through the glass softly but quite clearly. “Mick has a notion about how to use you. I had planned another means for you to prove yourself, but I rather like his idea. It allows me to make sure of you and advances our cause at the same time, and we wouldn’t have to wait until your eyes finish regrowing.”
“Beguiled by efficiency, are you?” Cullen spoke lightly, but his heartbeat accelerated. He wasn’t ready. The grid wasn’t under his control yet. Though he was close—
“It all depends on how flexible your sense of loyalty is,” she went on. “Mick assures me it’s extremely flexible. But you consider yourself a friend of Rule Turner, don’t you?”
“Sure. Rule’s a female magnet. Not that I have any problems attracting women, but they fall over him in such numbers, he couldn’t possibly service them all. I take care of the overflow.”
“I don’t care to hear about your sexual habits.” Distaste thickened her voice. He’d noticed that the lovely Helen hated any reference to sex. “Are you willing to lure him to us?”
He smiled. “What do I get in return?”
“Aninnas wishes to eat him. If She doesn’t get to, she might settle for a werewolf sorcerer.”
“You do know how to motivate a guy.”
AT eleven-thirty, Rule was on his way to see Ginger. With Lily, of course. He’d won the toss for who would drive, so they were in his car.
Croft was pulling more data on the Church of the Faithful. Karonski was going to pay a visit to Internal Affairs and see what they’d learned about Mech and Randall. Lily had wanted a shot at Ginger.
It would have been practical to split into a different set of pairs—Lily with Croft, Rule with Karonski—but the mate bond made that impossible. Even if it hadn’t, Rule had no intention of letting her out of his sight. Lily was a threat to the killers and to the rogue cop working with them. He wasn’t taking any chances with her.
They’d gone looking for Cullen first. He still wasn’t home, and a call to Max confirmed that he hadn’t seen or heard from Cullen, either. Rule was annoyed with himself for worrying. Cullen went off for weeks sometimes, playing with some snippet of a spell he’d uncovered. He was always rooting around in old manuscripts and journals looking for that sort of thing.
“You’re sure Seabourne’s a sorcerer?” Lily asked for the third time. “Not just someone with a bit of a Gift who wants to sound interesting?”
“Lupi don’t have Gifts.”
“You aren’t supposed to be sorcerers, either.”
True. “He casts spells that are sourced outside himself. That’s the definition of sorcery, isn’t it?”
“How do you know where they’re sourced? You can’t see or sense magic.”
Out of patience, he snapped, “He was stripped of his clan because he wouldn’t give up sorcery, which suggests his motives go a little deeper than wanting to sound interesting. They must have thought he was the real thing. And that,” he added with a sigh, “is more than I should have told you.”
“I’ll keep it private, unless—”
“Unless you can’t. Understood.” He was beginning to regret telling her about Cullen. But when he’d realized the identity of the Old One that was stirring this pot, he’d felt she and the two Feds needed to know everything he did.
Cullen had been studying what he called disturbances in the flow that made him think the relationships between the realms were shifting. He’d sensed a connection to Nokolai, some kind of conspiracy, and come to Rule. Using Rule as the focus for a more complex spell, he’d discovered a plan to kill the Rho—slightly too late.
She touched his arm. “I won’t out him, Rule. Not unless he’s guilty of more than practicing an illegal art. Though I have to say, this is the first time my privacy policy has protected a sorcerer.”
“Cullen says sorcery has gotten a bad rep. That it’s not inherently good or evil, no more than electricity is.”
“That’s what I always thought, too. Magic doesn’t carry a moral charge; it’s how it’s used that matters. But what I touched in Therese’s room . . .” She shook her head as if trying to throw off a bad memory.
When he reached for her hand, it was already waiting. The bond was working, he thought. It would continue to work—if only she’d let it. “So what does it feel like to touch magic?” he asked, glancing at her.
She smiled wryly. “Tell me how it feels to Change.”
“Wild. Painful. Right.”
“Okay, you’re better at finding words than I am. Magic feels like . . . texture. Sand or glass, wood or stone or leaf . . . when I touch something or someone that holds magic, it has this extra texture.”
“Not always the same one?” he asked curiously.
“Oh, no. For example, lupus magic feels a little like fur, a little like teeth.”
That made sense. Sort of. If he could imagine something feeling furry as well as hard and pointed at the same time.
“Which is why I don’t understand what I felt in Therese’s room. Texture isn’t good or evil—it just is. I suppose you could have a texture that hurt, like ground glass. But pain and evil aren’t the same thing.”
“Not once we pass the age of three or four,” he agreed, signaling a turn.
“I guess . . .” She seemed to notice that she was holding his hand and pulled hers back. “Hey, didn’t you just drive past Ginger’s place?”
Patience, he reminded himself. “I didn’t see any parking spots.”
“Oh. Good. I mean, it’s good to know you’re only human—oh, that didn’t come out right. Mortal like the rest of us, I should say. I never find a parking place when I need one.”
His humanity, or the lack of it, bothered her. He didn’t know what to do about that. Did she find his nature hard to deal with because she felt ambiguous about her own? “What’s the hardest thing about being a sensitive?”
“Being neither one thing nor the other, I suppose.”
/>
“I’m not sure what you mean.” He pulled into a parking place. “You’re certainly human.”
“What does that mean? Where do you draw the line and say, everyone on this side is human—the rest of you are something else? You’re comfortable being outside that line. I just want to know where it is.” She opened her door and got out.
Why did she need lines? he wondered, climbing out. Maybe it was a consequence of being clanless. He’d always known who he was.
But in some ways, her family was her clan. That reminded him. . . . He spoke as he joined her on the sidewalk. “Wasn’t there something you needed to ask me?”
“Frequently, but not right this minute.”
“You were going to ask me for a date.”
“Oh.” She shot him an annoyed glance. “I gather you heard both sides of my conversation with my mother.”
He smiled.
“All right. Would you go to the blasted rehearsal dinner with me?”
“I’d be delighted. I was beginning to wonder if you meant to ask Karonski.”
“I thought about it.”
Her surly tone amused him. “How formal is this dinner? I have a tux.”
“You would. No, a suit will be fine. It’s being held at my Uncle Chan’s restaurant. Maybe you’ve seen it? The Golden Dragon in the Gaslamp Quarter.”
“I’ve been there. Excellent moo shoo pork.” He glanced at her. “You’re less than enthused. Am I an embarassment?”
“No. No, it isn’t that. Actually,” she said, a small smile starting, “I’m looking forward to seeing Mother’s reaction to you.”
“So you invited me to irritate your mother.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Pretty much. Mother insists she isn’t prejudiced, but of course she is. Not against lupi in particular, but let’s face it. You aren’t Chinese.”
He let out a laugh. “No, I’m not.”
“It would help if you were a surgeon. Or a lawyer, as long as you worked for a prestigious firm. She’s big on personal achievement. But a playboy . . .” She shook her head. “Though she’ll like the part about you being rich.”
“I’m not rich.”
She glanced back at his car, then at him, her eyebrows raised.
“A prop for the image.”
“Which you enjoy very much.”
He grinned. “I do.”
“You’ll also be meeting my father, but he’s pretty easygoing. My sister Susan—the one who’s getting married—is perfect, so she won’t be a problem. My younger sister, Beth, will probably flirt with you. Um . . . then there’s Grandmother.”
“You have just the one?”
“No, but Grandmother is one of a kind. She . . .” Lily sighed. “There’s no explaining Grandmother. You have to experience her.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
“Shows what you know,” she muttered.
They’d reached their destination—La Jolie Vie, an upscale salon owned by Ginger Harris. “Lily.” He put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her from opening the door. “What’s wrong?”
Her eyebrows expressed polite surprise. “You mean, aside from being bound for life to a man I barely know? Or finding out that the perp behind the killings just might be an immortal goddess?”
His lips twitched at hearing Her described as a perp. “An Old One. I prefer not to honor Her with the other term. You’ll have trouble making an arrest, I’m afraid, since She can’t enter this realm.”
“You said something about that earlier, but how can you be sure? Your knowledge is based on legends so old there’s no telling when they originated.”
“If She were here,” he said grimly, “you wouldn’t have to worry about our mate bond. I’d already be dead. So would most of my clan, along with the majority of lupi on the planet. Not to mention any humans she considered a threat—the president, Congress, some portion of the military.”
“Okay, you’re starting to scare me.”
“Good.” But she’d been scared before. The closer they got to the salon, the more fear scent he’d picked up from her. “You aren’t going to tell me why seeing Ginger upsets you, are you?”
She looked away, her face closing down. “Memory’s a bitch sometimes. Sure you don’t want to get your hair or nails done while I talk to her? No one’s going to jump me between the hair dryers and the mud room.”
“My nails are in fine shape, thank you.” He wondered if she knew she’d put her hand on his waist. “I won’t interfere, Lily.”
She looked up at him, grimaced, and pulled her hand back. “Don’t stand so close. It doesn’t make the right impression if I’m rubbing on you while conducting an interview.”
TWENTY-TWO
GINGER had done well for herself, Lily thought as she stepped inside the salon. Venetian plaster on the walls, slate tiles on the floor, a crystal chandelier overhead, and a receptionist who looked like a blonde Julia Roberts seated at an antique desk.
“May I help you?” the woman asked with a warm smile. Amazingly, she barely glanced at Rule.
There were disadvantages to being an expert consultant. Lily’s hand started to reach for her ID before she remembered. “I’d like to speak with Ms. Harris. I’m sure she’s busy, but I’m an old friend.” Lily smiled. “Tell her Lily Yu is here to see her.”
“An old friend?” Rule said, very low, while the woman spoke into an in-house phone.
“Later.”
The receptionist had already finished and was standing. “Come with me, please.”
Lily followed six feet of fashionable blonde skinny into the main part of the salon—a trendy place with eight-foot potted palms, decorative tile, chemical smells, and women. Lots of women. Every one of them stared at Rule as they passed.
Maybe the receptionist was gay.
They passed through a door at the rear into a more utilitarian zone—a brief, carpeted hall with doors at either end. Lily made a halfhearted effort to persuade herself it was relief making her heart pound. She hadn’t been at all sure Ginger would see her.
But relief doesn’t make your palms damp.
They stopped at the door on the east end. The Julia clone gave it a quick rap, then opened it and stood back, still smiling.
Ginger’s office was furnished in expensive kitsch: a neon palm in one corner, pink fuzzy chairs for visitors, a chrome and glass desk. Ginger wasn’t behind the desk but stood at the window as if she’d been looking out. She wore a brief, stretchy top in fuchsia and snug cropped pants that showed off her belly button ring.
She turned as the door closed—and her eyebrows climbed. “Rule. I wasn’t expecting you. Since you’re here . . .” She glanced at Lily, and her lips curled up at the corners. “We could try a threesome. The love seat’s too small, but there’s always the floor.”
To her intense aggravation, Lily felt herself blush. “Does that mean you don’t mind having sex with a murderer? Or that it doesn’t worry you to get naked with a man you tried to frame for murder?”
“Ooh, you talk tough these days.” She shook her head, and for a second Lily thought hurt flashed through those big eyes. “I guess you’re not here to talk about old times, after all.”
“Good guess. I should mention that I’m not here as a cop, either. I’m assisting the FBI in their investigation.”
“The FBI?” Ginger ran a hand through her cropped red hair, fluffing it. “How scary. Have I mentioned that I swing both ways?” She gave Lily an up-and-down look, that cat smile curving her lips. “Nice jacket.”
“Thanks. Who persuaded you to lie about seeing Turner last night?”
“I didn’t lie.” She glanced at Rule, shrugged. “Didn’t mean to get you in trouble, sweetie.”
“As you see, the trouble was of short duration.” His smile was sharp enough to cut glass. “I understand that lying to federal officers creates more lasting problems.”
“Could be I made a mistake, but it sure looked like you.” She waved at the fuzzy pink chairs
. “Let’s do sit down. Can I offer you anything? We’ve a nice Chardonnay, or you could have some fizzy lemon water, if you’re being all prim and proper and on duty.”
Letting Ginger set the dial to chat wasn’t going to help. The other woman would keep control that way, flirt with one or both of them, and tell them nothing.
Lily walked up to her. “These people—the ones you’re protecting—are killers. Do you know what they did to Therese Martin? Ripped out her guts. Made a real mess of her, right there in her home, where she thought she was safe.”
Ginger’s tongue darted out, touched her upper lip. “That’s awful, I’m sure, but nothing to do with me. Maybe I made a mistake about who I saw come out of that building, maybe not. Either way, I’m not guilty of anything.”
“What were you doing there? Not that night—I understand you’d been at the club. The next day, when you just happened to see the cop cars outside Therese’s place and wandered over to see what had happened.”
“My, it does sound odd, the way you put it.” Ginger tilted her head to one side, then brushed Lily’s cheek with her fingers. “You know, sugar, your skin’s good, but I don’t think that shade of foundation is working for you. Makes you look sallow. I could work you up a personal palette with the brand we carry. You’d love it.”
Lily wasn’t wearing foundation. “You didn’t answer the question.”
“For someone who isn’t here as a cop, you’re sure sounding like one.” She shrugged. “Why not? I told the other officer about it. I’d left my purse at the club, which I didn’t realize until I tried to pay the cabbie.” She grimaced. “He was not very understanding, let me tell you. I had to wake up my neighbors and borrow some money, and they weren’t understanding, either. I went back to get it the next day.”
“Why did you take a cab home?”
Ginger rolled her eyes. “Just between you and me, sugar, I’ve had a little trouble with my license. I take cabs everywhere these days.”
“Club Hell is two blocks away from Therese Martin’s apartment. How could you see Turner clearly enough to identify him from that distance?”