by Eileen Wilks
Toby slipped his hand into Rule’s and nodded once. “Okay. I’m ready.”
RULE arranged them on the porch swing—Toby on his right side, Lily on his left, and Mrs. Asteglio on Toby’s far side. One of the television vans had brought portable spots; the tech was setting them up on either side of the swing, which faced the yard. The porch’s elevation would put them approximately on a level with their interrogators, even while seated.
“Good grief,” Mrs. Asteglio muttered, smoothing her shirt. “I don’t even know half those people.”
He assumed she meant the crowd gathered to watch the press uphold their right to be informed. “The bystanders will leave when the TV vans do,” he told her quietly, then raised his voice. “If you’re ready, I’ll give a brief statement first, then we will accept questions.”
“Give us another sec, here,” the brunette anchor from one of the TV stations said. “Let them get the lights fixed. Joe,” she said, turning to her cameraman, “you still getting that shadow?”
“Mrs. Asteglio,” the scandal-rag reporter called from the rear of the crowd, “is it true that Turner seduced and abandoned your daughter? And that you’ve been raising her love child?”
Rule just smiled and waited.
“Love child,” Mrs. Asteglio sputtered. “Love child? Why, I—”
“Shh,” Lily said. “He wants a reaction. Don’t give him one.”
If Toby objected to being called a love child, it didn’t show. “Look,” he piped up, “here comes Mr. Hodge. Bet he’s going to make them all go away. You think they will? Maybe he brought his shotgun to scare them.”
“His shotgun?” Lily exclaimed. “Where? Where is he?” Rule was on his feet. Without intention, without knowing he would do it, he’d stood, his nape cold and bristling. There. There, at the back of the crowd, stood an older man, dark-skinned, nearly hidden by people and by the large oak tree—stepping forward now, holding something, bringing it up—
“It’s okay,” Toby said, reassuring. “He never loads it, right, Grammy? He just likes to—”
Time slowed as Earth magic surged up through Rule to join, with a sudden snap, with the moonsong always present—join and pull. Between one second and the next he fell into certa, a place of ice and clarity, where sensation is sharp enough to cut and action flows too swiftly for thought.
And held himself back, by sheer will, from the rest of the fall.
“—make out like he’s all mean, but he really—”
Rule used one arm to sweep Toby and his grandmother off the swing, onto the porch floor. He was aware of everything—the reporters just starting to react, not to the threat behind them, but to Rule. Toby squawking. Lily on her feet, reaching under her jacket, shouting, “Down!” at the crowd.
But he was already in the air, sailing in one leap over the head of the brunette reporter, letting the vicious pull have him as Earth and moon finished their dance and dragged him through the twist they’d made in reality. The blast from the shotgun smacked his human ears—
—and echoed in the much better ears he landed with, the incandescent pain of the Change already gone. Landed amid screams and blood-scent, steady on all four feet, ready to launch himself forward—but people were in the way. People scrambling, falling, yelling, standing frozen. Too bloody many people between him and the threat to his mate and son.
Another concussion of sound—the shotgun’s second barrel. It tipped him out of certa and close to frenzy, but he held on, held back, gathering himself on his haunches—and leaped again.
Over the people.
He lacked the elevation of the porch this time, but he was a very large wolf. He couldn’t high-jump the whole crowd, but he leaped over the two people immediately impeding him and darted through the rest—who would doubtless have given way for him if they’d had time, but he moved too fast for their human reactions.
There. The enemy. Senses merged into a single data flow as Rule saw/scented the man, the gun, and something else. Something unutterably foul.
The man saw him, too—the gun’s barrel swung toward Rule as the man’s eyes widened, his face contorting. “I didn’t know!” he cried, dropping the gun, stumbling back. “I didn’t know!”
In his backward retreat, he tripped. Fell.
The enemy was down. Rule leaped on him, snarling, teeth reaching—
The man tipped his head back, sobbing as he bared his throat.
Rule froze. Need strove with need, clashing instincts mounting an explosion barely capped by will. Blood! screamed the loudest part of him—he needed blood, needed to finish the enemy.
An enemy who reeked of perversion. Of death magic. Dimly, Rule recalled the name for the stink coating his nostrils, but the wolf was more interested in destroying such foulness than naming it. But the man’s action had tripped another switch.
Rule’s enemy had acknowledged him, subordinating himself.
The immediacy of bloodlust faded. The man was his now, his to kill or to spare. Killing made sense. It would eliminate any future threats, and anything that stank of such perversion deserved death. Besides, what would he do with the man if he let him live? Rule couldn’t keep him. He was human, not clan.
And yet there was some reason, some important reason, for sparing him. Only he couldn’t quite . . .
I know him.
No, he didn’t. Beneath the reek of death magic, the man’s smell was unfamiliar. Confused, the wolf hesitated.
“Rule!” Dimly through the clamor he heard and felt her coming. His mate. Lily. “Don’t, Rule—I need him alive.”
He would wait. She knew . . . knew both of him, he remembered, and suddenly Rule-the-man was present again. Not in charge, but present, and echoing Lily’s command to spare the man.
Lily reached him, put a hand on his back, and her scent calmed him in spite of the traces of fear-stink that clung to her skin like a burr caught in fur. Her fear didn’t worry him. Lily was warrior. She could both fear and act.
“He’s down,” she told him, low-voiced. “I need you to keep him down while I—oh, shit.”
The enemy beneath him was convulsing.
Lily shoved at Rule, who stepped off. She touched the man’s throat, then ripped open his shirt and started CPR.
FIFTEEN
IT takes time to clear away the detritus of violent death. The patrol cars arrived first, then the ambulances, followed eventually by the same ERT Lily had summoned to another death scene early that morning.
An hour and twenty minutes after turning wolf, Rule was back in his human form, back in his clothes, and back in the house where his son had grown up.
Toby’s grandmother was upstairs, showering off other people’s blood. There had been two wounded—one with relatively minor injuries, one critical. Mrs. Asteglio might not have worked as a nurse in years, but she hadn’t forgotten much. As soon as the shooting stopped, she’d hugged Toby, then sent him to get a sheet for bandages.
Hodge hadn’t died, thanks to Lily’s quick action. Two others had. A boy, perhaps sixteen, with three silver rings in one ear, had taken a shotgun blast to the back of his head. He’d died instantly. Jimmy Bassinger, who’d asked about Rule’s “love child,” had been hit in the chest and throat. He’d bled out.
Lily was still outside, interviewing witnesses or directing her people or perhaps bossing around the city cops who’d shown up. Rule wanted to be with her. He also wanted to be exactly where he was—sitting on the couch in the den with Toby snuggled up against him, savoring the little-boy warmth against his side. The radio was on. The orderly beauty of a Mozart piano concerto soothed both wolf and man.
Classical music was one of the pleasures he’d shared with Alicia in their infrequent liaisons. He wondered if she still listened to Bach when she was on deadline. He wondered why she was in Halo, what she meant to do.
Mrs. Asteglio had called Alicia before heading upstairs to shower, letting her know Toby had survived the shooting. Rule had heard Alicia burst into tears on th
e other end of the phone. She’d sobbed out her relief.
He didn’t understand her. He supposed he never would. How could anyone give up this sweetness?
Rule inhaled deeply. Copper, earth, and mint, he thought. That’s what Toby’s scent reminded him of, or maybe those scents reminded him of Toby . . . who had been glued to him ever since he Changed back. The boy needed this closeness, the physical contact.
That was all right. So did Rule.
He could have lost them. Toby, Lily—one of them or both of them. He could have lost them.
Toby stirred. “Dad? How did you know? About—about Mr. Hodge. Was it just ’cause he had the shotgun?”
“Instinct,” Rule said, sifting his hand through Toby’s hair. “Though I suppose that’s not a very satisfactory answer, is it?” He felt Toby shake his head. “Let’s say, then, that my human part reacted to the sight of a gun, but the wolf had already recognized wrongness. I can piece that recognition together logically now, but I didn’t at the time.”
“Tell me about the logical part, ’cause I don’t get the instinct part.”
“Franklin Hodge was hiding behind a tree. A man who intends to bluster and threaten doesn’t hide himself. He’d brought his shotgun. A man in his right mind doesn’t bring a gun to his neighbor’s house to make a point.”
Toby picked at a loose thread in the seam of Rule’s slacks. His voice was small. “Mr. Hodge wasn’t in his right mind, was he?”
“No. We don’t know what happened to him, but he was certainly not in his right mind.”
“Dad, when you . . .” Toby’s voice trailed off. “You were going to kill him, weren’t you?”
Rule stilled. But there was only one answer possible. “Yes.”
“I’m glad Lily stopped you.”
“So am I.” Glad, very glad, that Toby hadn’t had to see his father kill an old man, however murderous. Yet on another level, it was as well the boy knew that Rule’s wolf was capable of such an act. Toby was tired of hearing warnings about First Change. He thought he understood what it would be like for the human to be swallowed by the wolf. He didn’t. Couldn’t. Yet. “Although I stopped needing his death before she arrived.”
“Yeah?” Toby turned his face up. “How come?”
Rule picked words as carefully as a rock climber chooses handholds. “I was wholly wolf for a brief time. Somewhere between leaping from the porch and spotting my enemy, I lost the man. It was a combination of factors, I believe, that tipped me over. The threat to you and Lily, of course. But there was also the stink of him . . . death magic reeks.”
Toby looked scared. “I don’t know what that is.”
“Cullen calls it power sourced by death.”
“Mr. Hodge wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.”
“I don’t know that he caused it. Just that he stank of it.”
The creak of the wooden floor turned Rule’s attention from his son to his son’s grandmother, entering from the foyer. She moved slowly. Her face was taut, the lines around her eyes and bracketing her mouth deeper than usual, but her makeup was freshly applied.
She smelled of soap. She sounded pissed. “I suppose they’re all still out there.”
“The police and FBI are, yes. Most of the reporters are probably gone.” One to the hospital, one to the morgue, the rest to file their stories—unless they hadn’t yet been interviewed by whichever officers were handling that.
“I am not going to feed them.”
Rule understood this for the radical statement it was. “You aren’t expected to,” he assured her.
“Well, it seems very strange to have people on my property and not . . .” She hesitated, shrugged, and continued into the kitchen. “I don’t suppose any of us are hungry, but we’d better eat something. I’ve got plenty of roast from last night. Toby, you can help me put together some sandwiches.”
He bounced up. “Okay. Dad needs extra meat on his, and prob’ly extra sandwiches, too. Right, Dad?” He gave Rule a look half searching, half stern. “After a Change you’re supposed to eat. Especially meat.”
Toby didn’t see the fear that flickered through his grandmother’s eyes, but Rule did. The woman had never seen him as wolf before. This had not been a good introduction to his other form. “That’s right.”
Mrs. Asteglio gave one short jerk of a nod and opened the refrigerator. Rule heard another door open, and stood. Toby heard it, too. “Is that Lily? Lily!” he called as he raced for the foyer. “Is Mr. Hodge going to be okay? Do they know what went wrong with him to make him go crazy?”
Lily looked startled when Toby careened into her, but she bent and hugged him. “He’s at the hospital. We don’t know yet what went wrong with him, but evidence indicates it wasn’t really him who shot those people. Something or someone made him do that.”
Toby pulled back, frowning hard. “They took him away in an ambulance, not a police car.”
“According to his Medic Alert bracelet, he has a pacemaker. What happened seems to have disrupted it—magic can do that—which made his heart act up. That’s serious, but he’s getting good care.”
“Did someone do death magic on him?”
Her eyebrows went up. She glanced at Rule. “Death magic is involved, but we don’t know how.”
“How could that make him crazy? Why would someone want to make him crazy?”
“I don’t know yet. It’s my job to find out.”
He was silent a moment. “That’s a big job.”
“Yes, it is. Good thing I have plenty of help.”
“And a sandwich. You should have one. Grammy and me are gonna make some.” Toby gave her a firm nod. “You like pickles, right?”
“Right.” Lily watched him scoot back into the kitchen, her expression baffled, as if she’d tripped over love unexpectedly and wasn’t sure what to do about it.
Rule felt himself smiling. It came as a surprise amid the day’s shocks. He went to her, slid an arm around her waist. “Children have a way of making parents feel helpless at times.”
She tilted her face up, perplexed. “I’m not . . . well, not exactly. There isn’t a word for my relationship with Toby.”
The lack of a word for her role bothered her. Possibly it struck her as untidy. He smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Parent will do. Parenthood isn’t always biological.”
“I guess not. As parents, then, shouldn’t we be feeding him instead of the other way around?”
“He needs to contribute.”
He could see that click in place. Lily would understand such a need. “I’ll have to eat fast. My backup’s here—four agents from the Charlotte office. That’s good, but they’re regular FBI. No experience with magic, no background or training in this sort of thing. One guy’s pretty senior.” She paused, frowning. “I had them start interviewing the neighbors. I’ll interview Toby and Mrs. Asteglio myself—that’s half the reason I came in now.”
“And the other half?”
“I could use your nose.”
“It’s at your service, but what do you want me to sniff for?”
“I need to check out Hodge’s house before the ERT does. I need to know if he’s had company in the last day or two. We’re asking the neighbors about that, but you should be able to smell it if he’s had visitors recently, right?”
“As long as he hasn’t scrubbed with one of those ghastly pine-scented cleaners.”
“If you do pick up a scent, you’ll know if they were human or not.”
Rule’s eyebrows lifted. “You think you’re looking for an inhuman agent?”
“Maybe. Cullen called this morning, gave me some possibilities. One is that we’re dealing with someone or something from out-realm. Some kind of death magic creature. Will you do your sniffing on two legs?”
Death magic creature? Far be it for him to argue with the expert, but that sounded . . . just barely possible, he decided. “The wolf’s nose is much better than the man’s. I’ll Change again, though I should ea
t first, if there’s time.”
“Sure. Try not to shed in his house, okay?”
“I’ll do my best. Lily . . .” His voice dropped as his heartbeat picked up, a quiet drumbeat of unease.
“Yes?”
“I would have killed him. Hodge. He stopped me. It doesn’t make sense, but he did.”
“I guessed the first,” she said dryly. “As for the second . . . how could he stop you?”
“He tipped his head back, exposing his throat. He said—called out—that he didn’t know. I have no idea what he meant, but then he submitted to me. He’s not lupus, Lily. Beneath the smear of death magic, his smell was wholly human.”
She frowned. “So how could he know that baring his throat to you would work? I guess the information could be in an article he read, but . . . no.” She shook her head. “That’s not enough.”
“No, it isn’t. Human instinct is to protect the throat. I’ve a hard time believing a man in the grip of whatever had him pumping shotgun pellets into strangers could remember some article he once read and act accordingly with a wolf about to rip out his throat.”
She winced. “Getting a little graphic there. Why were you going to kill him instead of stopping him, Rule? I’ve seen you in bad situations before. You didn’t stop thinking, didn’t lose control.”
“I’ve never had both you and Toby at risk. And there was the stink, the smell of death magic . . .” But this time the explanation tasted false in his mouth. He shook his head. “I don’t know, exactly.”
“Could it have something to do with the mantles?”
“I don’t see how. If anything, the presence of two heir’s portions should give me better control, not worsen it.”
“But the new one, the Leidolf portion . . . you said mantles take on some of the qualities of their holders, and that one has belonged to a ripe old bastard for a very long time.” Her eyes widened. “Rule—if Victor Frey can somehow influence you—”
“No. No, that isn’t possible. The mantles . . .” He ran a hand over his hair, frustrated. Lily kept blaming the mantles for every oddity or irritation. True, the new mantle had influenced him a couple of times . . . When I snapped at her about Toby, he thought with a flash of guilt. But that was a different situation entirely. “There isn’t time to explain, and possibly not words, but Victor can’t influence me that way, and I can’t influence him.”