Blood Lines wotl-3

by Eileen Wilks

  Blood. Close up, he saw flecks of rusty red at the tips of some of those spiky strands. Not her blood, since her skin hadn't broken when her skull did, but there wasn't enough for him to sniff out the original owner, not in this form.

  Still, the reminder helped. She was injured. And while he might have decided anticipation was intriguing, he was unaccustomed to waiting.

  Their breaths mingled. Their mouths met.

  Cullen meant it to be a quiet kiss—a taste, a sampling, letting fire brush without burning. Nothing that pushed either of them. He'd forgotten how badly he needed to run.

  The first skimming touch of lips made him smile..His tongue asked to be let in, and she did, and she tasted even better than she smelled. She put her hands on his waist and clamped her teeth on his tongue.

  ' He pressed her back against the door. She was a tall woman, and he liked that. He could feel that strong-soft body all along his, the warmth and pressure delicious to him. Then she sank his good intentions. She cupped his butt, holding him firmly against her as she rolled her hips.

  Wildness roared up and swallowed his brain. He forgot about asking and anticipation and all that rot. She was here and she wanted him.

  He dove in. His hands needed to learn the feel of her—the curve of her hip, the welcoming fullness of her breast, the heat between her legs. His mouth wanted the taste of her throat, her jaw. And the rest of him—"

  But her hand was pushing at him. Pushing his hand away from the zipper on her jeans. She got her mouth free. "The hall, Cullen. We're in the hall."

  "Right." Slowly he pulled away. He expected to see smugness. It would be mixed with pleasure, because she'd been right there with him, but she'd drowned him, purely drowned him, and she knew it. "Sorry. I mean… your head. How's your head?"

  "My head?" She blinked at him, her eyes dazed… with pleasure or pain? "Oh. It hurts, but…"

  But she hadn't cared. For a few moments there, she'd forgotten or hadn't noticed. His smile started small and spread. "Oh, we are going to have us one hell of a good time, shetanni rakibu." He brushed her jaw with his knuckles. "Soon. But right now…" He't?ok a deep breath and straightened. His jeans were much too tight.

  Hell, his skin was too tight. "Sleep well," he said, giving her cheek a last touch.

  She licked her lips. "You, too."

  Not likely—not right away, at least. He badly wanted to read the report Lily had gotten him, but first things first. As soon as he got his feral puppy settled, he was going running.

  "I told you earlier that I could be patient when I have to," he said, releasing her. "I lied. I'm not a patient man."

  TWENTY-FOUR

  SHETANNI rakibu. Demon rider.

  Cullen knew. He knew and apparently didn't care what that meant. But she cared, and the reminder had splashed cold water all over Cynna's hormones, so she didn't need to turn the faucet to chilly when she showered. She got into bed with her hair still wet, her head pounding, and her body dissatisfied.

  She didn't expect to fall asleep within moments of cuddling her sore head into the pillow, but she did.

  She did not sleep well.

  "… too far for a little one like you to go alone," Mrs. Johnson said. "Specially round here. Better you stay home an' hep your mama."

  "Amy Garcia's going with me and Sarita," she promised and hurried away before her neighbor could tell her more things she should or shouldn't do. Grown-ups were so full of shoulds and shouldn'ts. It made her glad she was a kid.

  The air was chilly, and her last-year's jacket was missing some buttons and didn't go all the way down her arms anymore. Mama said they'd get her a new one real soon, but "real soon" didn't mean much. So she walked fast to stay warm. She knew uhe way. Even if she hadn't been able to Find the park, she'd kuow the way.

  Cynna wasn't going there to swing or go down the slide. She wanted the leaves—dead leaves, brown and crisp, that crunched when you walked through them. She loved that sound.

  "Hey, Cynna!" Sarita called. "Wait up!"

  Cynna waited, shifting from foot to foot, as a girl her age but shorter, darker, and plumper hurried across the street. "Are you ready?" she demanded. "Where's your sister?"

  "Amy can't go. Won't go," Sarita corrected, making a face. "She's coloring her hair, and when Mama gets home from work she's going to be so grounded. Mama told her she couldn't dye her hair till she was sixteen, but she bought it anyway. Miss Clairo! Sunset Red. So I can't go, not without Amy."

  "But we have to go today" There was only a little time when the leaves crunched. After a while they'd get all soppy, and they weren't fun anymore.

  Sarita rolled her eyes. "You don't ever want to wait. Amy said she'd take us Saturday. That's only two days."

  "But if she's grounded—"

  "Mama never keeps her grounded all that long. She cries at her, and Mama gets mad, but then she ungrounds her."

  But Amy might not be ungrounded in time. It could rain, couldn't it? If it rained, the leaves wouldn't be any good anymore.

  … no, don't. Don't go to the park. Not this time.

  Like a swimmer running out of air, Cynna forced herself up, fighting to break the surface. Open your eyes, dammit. But it was hard… so tired…

  The light turned green. She shot out into the street, dodging around the grown-ups. She liked running. She was fast, too. Her legs were long, and she could beat most of the kids in her class.

  Sometimes it really helped, being able to run fast.

  Sarita's big sister was going with Tom-Tom, so it would be safer to go with her, but she could take care of herself. She had to, didn't she? Mama wasn't well enough to take her to the park like she used to. Mama wasn't well enough to do much at all anymore.

  The sky was gray all over, like it might rain or even snow. She really needed to get to the park today. Grown-ups talked about how great spring was with its new grass and flowers, but no one where she lived had grass, and the only flowers were in plastic pots at Thompson's up the street, where they went for groceries. Food stamps wouldn't pay for flowers, so they never got any of those.

  Cynna liked fall. School started then, and school was almost safe. You had to watch out for some of the big kids, but she could hold her own with the ones her age. The days got cooler, too, and after a long summer with no air-conditioning those first cool evenings were heaven.

  Most of all, she liked when the leaves fell. After hanging on way overhead all summer, they turned loose and joined her on the ground.

  For sure it was better to go to the park today than stay at home. Mama was passed out again.

  Her mama was sick. She couldn't help herself. That's what Mrs. Johnson said, and maybe she was right, but Cynna couldn't help her, either. She'd tried and tried, but she couldn't. She used to think she could—that if she took better care of her she'd get her real Mama back, the one who used to read to her and fix supper every night and take her to the park and push her in the swing.

  When she got home from school today Mama had been sprawled on the couch, out cold and stinking of Jim Beam. She'd been so mad. All-over mad. She'd shaked her and shaked her, but Mama wouldn't wake up.

  Cynna had wanted to hit her. Mama wouldn't even know. She could punch her right in her stomach, and Mama wouldn't know. It made her own stomach knot up to feel like that. Better to go to the park and kick around the dead leaves.

  The problem with the park wasn't the number of blocks you had to walk. It was the big kids who hung out there. Kids who'd started wearing colors, like Tom-Tom and Raphael and Derek. The park was their turf, and you had to pay a toll.

  Cynna didn't have any money of her own, so she stole a five and three ones from the coffee can where Mama kept her cash. Might as well. Mama'd just drink it or smoke it. The five could go for supper, 'cause the refrigerator was empty except for some mayonnaise and pickles and something in an old butter bowl that was green on top. The ones were for her toll.

  If she was lucky, Derek wouldn't be there. Tom-Tom was okay
, and Raphael wasn't too bad. But Derek scared her. He got bored easy, and he liked to pick on whoever he could when he was bored. Unless he was using. Then he just got mean. If Amy had been with her to get kissy with Tom-Tom, she wouldn't have needed a toll, but she wasn't.

  Cynna did not know why Amy liked to kiss Tom-Tom…

  Wait, wait. I do know. I like kissing now. I just kissed someone. Cullen. Yes. He fried me but good, and I'm… I'm…

  This time she got her eyes open. Dark. It was very dark, but there was a sliver of light… drapes, yeah, the drapes weren't closed tight. She was in a hotel. Which one? Where?

  She tried to care, but she was so tired. The dream pulled at her, dragging her back down. She didn't want to go there. Not again. But her eyes wouldn't stay open, wouldn't…

  … she waved her arms and. the leaves crackled and crunched all around her. She was lying right in them, in the pile she'd made. Usually there weren't enough for a pile, but today…

  Had there been a pile of leaves that day? She stopped, confused. That part was different, but the rest was the same. Something bad was going to happen—had happened, was happening again…

  A pair of black high-tops stopped near her face. "What you doin' on Angel turf, little girl?"

  Derek's voice. Derek's sneakers. Her heart thudded in fear. "I paid the toll." She started to scramble to her feet, but one of those great, huge shoes landed on her belly, holding her down.

  "Didn't pay me."

  "I paid Raphael."

  Suddenly there was something wet in her ear. A tongue. "Miss me?" a woman's voice said. "You're a cute little thing with your skin all bare."

  Jiri? No, it couldn't be. Not here, not now. Jiri was…

  Hunkered down beside her, grinning that wide grin. She had big, flat teeth, very white and straight. Her skin was so dark, like she'd been dipped in night. Her hair was super-short but her head wasn't shaved, so this was an early Jiri, before… before…

  "Hey, I can show up however I want to. It's your dream, but it's my body, isn't it? More or less. Watch out. He's about to—"

  The big foot slammed into her side. She cried out and curled around it, pain blocking everything else—sight, sound, and Jiri. Who couldn't be here. She didn't meet Jiri until…

  The big foot landed in her side again. Again. Pain exploded. No! This isn't how it happened! He kicked me, but then I got away.

  "That was then," Jiri said. "This is now. This time you didn't get away."

  / will. She twisted away from the sneaker and pushed to her feet, and she was her right size—an adult, not a little girl. Her own foot flashed out in a sideways kick, and she broke Derek's kneecap. Derek howled and fell to the ground.

  "Listen to that pop," Jiri said, straightening to her full height, which was almost exactly Cynna's height now. "You really want this to end the way it did before?"

  No. No, she didn't. "What are you doing here?"

  "You can change it, you know."

  Can't change the past.

  "But this isn't the past. This is now, and you're dreaming. Dreams can change."

  Dreaming. Yes, she was—but Jiri was really here. That was wrong. There was something terrible that could come of talking to Jiri in her dreams. She couldn't remember what, but she began to fight, willing herself to wake up. Wake up.

  "God, you're stubborn," Jiri said, and grabbed her arm. Cynna tried to pull free, but it was one of those molasses moments, when all the will in the world didn't affect your dream body, and you couldn't move.

  "Keep this for me." Jiri pressed something in her palm.

  Cynna looked down. A dead leaf. Jiri had given her a dead, brown leaf. She clenched her fist around it, crunching it into scratchy specks, and yanked her arm free, and she was—

  Opening her eyes on darkness.

  Her head ached, and so did her side, and in the first, nauseous confusion, it wasn't clear which was real and which was a hangover from the dream. She shoved the covers back and swung her legs off the bed, then just sat, leaning her forehead into the cradle of her palms.

  God. Hadn't had that one for a while.

  At least she'd managed to wake before the final sequence… hurrying back to her apartment with her side hurting, wondering if something was broken inside. Finding the ambulance out front. Watching them carry her mama out on a stretcher.

  Cynna stood. Her head wasn't happy, but her side didn't hurt. That had been memory, of course, and her head wasn't as bad as she'd expected. The Rhej had done quite a job on her, and if she was still uneasy at the idea of stolen or borrowed magic, she couldn't argue with the results. A couple ibuprofin ought to fix her up pretty well.

  The light leaking through the imperfectly closed drapes was dingy gray. Either it was really early still, or the day had woken up in the same mood as her. Either way, she might as well stay up.

  She padded over to the window and peeked out. Daylight, but not enough of it. Looked like it would be one of those grizzled days when Mother Nature was feeling the ache in her knees and was pissy about it.

  Another discomfort made itself felt and she headed for the bathroom, unclothed but not feeling bare. Magic coated her skin like invisible fur, and the intricate patterns holding it there were a shield of sorts, too.

  She didn't bother with a light, knowing her small space too well to need one. She emptied her bladder and washed her hands, then splashed water on her face. It didn't help. The dream clung like cobwebs, sticky strands of memory and emotion.

  The more things change… No one got away with kicking her these days, but the adult Cynna still lashed out too quick, too hard, trying to stop a beating that had taken place twenty-five years ago. And she hadn't been able to save her mother. After a couple years of meetings she'd accepted that it hadn't been her job, but the anger still slunk back at times, growling.

  Old news, all of it. She didn't know why she kept revisiting it.

  As for Jiri… her unconscious wasn't exactly subtle. She was scared of her former teacher, but she was going to have to suck it up and go after Jiri anyway. No surprise if her dream jumbled those fears together with even older ones.

  What time was it, anyway?

  She was heading back to her bed and the clock beside it when her phone chirped. She veered, bending to dig into the tote she'd dropped at the foot of the bed. It was buried under the clothes she'd stripped off before falling into bed last night.

  Caller ID told her who was calling. "Hi," she said. "Listen, if I'm late I'm sorry, but—"

  "It's 8:42 on Saturday. I was afraid I'd wake you," Lily said.

  "Oh. No, I'm up. Not exactly wide-awake yet, but I'm up." Three steps took her to the bedside table. She clicked on the lamp and stood blinking in the sudden light.

  "How's your head? Are you up to driving? Grandmother has something she wants to tell us."

  Cynna frowned. She was still groggy, but… "You called because you want me to meet your grandmother?"

  "Sorry. I forgot that you haven't met her, so that sounds peculiar, but Grandmother is hard to explain. If she says she has something we need to hear, though, we'd better listen. I've briefed her on what's been happening, and—"

  "You briefed your grandmother."

  "Ruben won't object. Grandmother has worked with the Unit before, unofficially. She… ah, she stays below the radar. Can you be here in an hour or so?"

  "Sure, I suppose." Cynna's jaw cracked in a huge yawn. Curiosity was beginning to rouse a few brain cells. "My head's a lot better, so I could drive, but I'm without a car. Cullen's got yours."

  "He didn't stay there? Somehow I got the impression…" Lily let that trail off delicately.

  "We're working our way up to that."

  "I'll have him pick you up, then. Oh—Rule says not to worry about breakfast. He's doing something with eggs. We've so many to feed already that a couple more won't make a difference."

  They told each goodbye and disconnected. Cynna put the phone down, wondering about this grandmother who wa
s hard to explain but worked with the Unit unofficially. She reached up with her other hand to scrub her face. And froze, staring at her palm.

  Her naked palm—or it should have been. But it wasn't. Scrolled across the fleshy mound at the base of her thumb was a new kilingo, a delicate tracery that looked like the veins of a dried leaf.

  One she hadn't put there.

  Jiri had.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  THE kitchen smelled of onion, parsley, paprika, and people— people Rule knew and loved, people who mattered. Lily was chopping the potatoes she'd peeled; Benedict leaned against the wall near the door, watching; and Toby sat at the round table, reading. Rain drizzled down outside as it had, off and on, all night.

  Rule was happy.

  "What did you say this was called again?" Lily asked.

  "A frittata." Rule looked over his shoulder. At Lily's insistence, he'd begun teaching her basic kitchen skills. It wasn't that she'd developed an interest in cooking. She just got twitchy if he did all the work.

  At the moment she was dicing potatoes… slowly. Meal preparation took longer with her help than without it, though he had hopes she'd pick up speed eventually. "Would you like a measuring tape?" he asked politely as he whisked the eggs.

  "That's sarcasm," she observed without looking up. Another careful slice. "You said you wanted a half-inch dice."

  "It's okay to be off a millimeter here and there."

  Toby looked up from his book. "Is it almost ready?"

  "No. You can get out the bread and slice it, however. We'll use the two round loaves in the pantry."

  "But I'm—"

  "Toby."

  His son sighed heavily, turned the book facedown, and went to the pantry.

  Lily's contribution to the influx of relatives were in the front room. Lily said that Li Qin would happily help out if asked, but she wouldn't offer. To offer would be rude, implying that her hosts weren't able to handle things without her. She hadn't had to explain that her grandmother was incapable of helping. Madam Yu could take over. She couldn't assist.