by Eileen Wilks
Lily’s eyes widened. “You’d risk burning nosy kids?”
“It won’t burn anything.”
“I thought you couldn’t do illusions.”
“It’s real fire. It just doesn’t burn anything.”
“But—”
Cullen rolled his eyes. “Look, let’s skip the explanations. You wouldn’t understand ’em anyway. I’ve got three wards on the workshop. The first one’s the keep-away. There’s layers to that one, but it’s basically a single ward. It makes anything with a nervous system deeply reluctant to go farther. A motivated adult—or a kid being egged on by his buddies—can summon the determination to keep going. Or you can hit it at a run and be through before you have time to stop.” He stopped, his scowl returning. “The rat bastard wasn’t running, so he—”
“You know that how?”
“Tracks. He left some clear prints, so I know he walked through the first ward. But like I said, if someone’s determined enough, he can do that. But then he should have set off my second and third wards. The third ward worked. That’s strictly a warning to me that there’s an intruder. But the second one didn’t. No pretty flames.”
“Pretty flames that don’t burn,” Lily said. “Maybe he knew that and kept going.”
“It’s real fire,” Cullen said again. “Even if he somehow knew it wouldn’t burn him, he’d have a hard time talking himself into walking into it. He wouldn’t just see it and hear it—he’d feel the heat. It should have at least slowed him down. But that doesn’t matter, because the ward wasn’t triggered.”
“You’re sure? With the way your workshop’s tucked away in this cleft, you wouldn’t have seen the flames from Big Sister, and since they don’t burn anything there would be—”
He snorted in disgust. “What do you think I was doing just now? I can see the power loss if one of my wards gets triggered. That one wasn’t, so I was looking for signs of tampering.”
“Did you find anything?”
“No, but someone dragged me away before I could finish.”
“Okay. We’ll come back to that. Tell me about this prototype the rat bastard stole.”
“Have you listened to me at any point in the last month?”
“You’ve been working on a thingee that shields tech from ambient magic. You thought you had it figured out, but the device didn’t work.”
“Oh, it works, aside from a little problem with sporadic discharge. Unfortunately, the side effects preclude using it.”
“Did you tell me about side effects? Because I don’t remember that. I remember you found out it had a problem when you did a demo for some bigwigs from a tech company.”
“The demo didn’t go well.” He brooded on that a moment. “T-Corp knew it wasn’t ready for production—I told them about the unpredictable discharge—but they wanted a demo anyway. I agreed. We’d tested it plenty here at Clanhome. How was I to know it would affect nulls that way?’
He definitely hadn’t told her this part. She’d have remembered. “What does it do to nulls?”
But she’d lost him. His head came up, alert and listening. Without a word, he spun and sprinted back down the slope, nimble as a deer or a cat—more like the cat, she thought sourly, since he could see in the dark. “Am I about to be blown up?” she asked the empty air.
“Merowitch gave the all clear,” David said from behind her—right behind her, though she hadn’t heard him approach. “I imagine that’s why Seabourne took off.”
Cullen might have taken two seconds to mention that. “I need to get down there before he tramples over any evidence the thief left.”
EIGHT
LILY had never been to Cullen’s workshop. He discouraged visitors of any sort, but especially her. That wasn’t personal. The minute trace of magic her touch siphoned off made no difference normally, but there were some spells and charms that were fragile enough during some stages that even the slightest alteration might affect the outcome.
On the outside, it wasn’t much to look at—a plain cinderblock rectangle with a shingled roof. There was no electricity, and water was supplied by a cistern that had been filled through a combination of magic and muscle. Eventually the building would be connected to Nokolai’s water supply, but that was delayed for now. Too much other construction going on.
On the inside, it was a cluttered visual cacophony. Aside from the intricate circle inscribed in the center of the cement floor, it looked like a junk room with a few odd outbreaks of order. And it smelled like…everything. The scents were too many and jumbled for her to sort—herbs, ashes, leather, ozone, coffee, all mixed in with stinks both organic and chemical.
No wonder it had taken Merowitch awhile to check the place.
Lily had wrested an agreement from Cullen: she’d stay in the doorway if he would refrain from touching things. The door where she stood was set precisely in the center of the north wall. She could see well enough; a pair of mage lights bobbed around on the ceiling. There were three windows placed with equal precision in the middle of each of the other walls. Two of the windows held window boxes where a few brave herbs struggled for survival. In addition to being a sorcerer—which meant he could see magic—Cullen was Fire Gifted. Not a good match for growing anything but flames. Cluttered shelves sprouted along the two longest walls, almost as miscellaneous as their contents—three of them wood, two metal, one plastic, and one an incongruously elegant glass étagère.
The corners of the room held a ratty old recliner, a woodstove, a sink, and a cage. On one side of the circle laid into the floor was a long table—counter height, not dining. On the side nearest Lily was a perfectly ordinary looking pair of filing cabinets and a desk. The top of the desk held a lizard—alive—three Nerf balls, an ornate spoon, a surprisingly healthy aloe plant, a litter of papers, two pencils, a paperback book by Douglas Adams, a broken clock, a bottle of ink, and a small cauldron. And Cullen’s grimoire.
It was large, covered in black leather, with a runic symbol of some kind on the front. Anyone looking at that would guess what it was. “Why didn’t he take your grimoire?” she asked.
Cullen was squatting in front of one set of shelves, frowning at its contents. Apparently that wasn’t enough. He leaned forward to sniff them, too. “He didn’t see it.”
“A lookaway spell?”
“Yeah. Though the one you’re looking at is a fake.” He rose to stand with his hands on his hips, scowling around at his invaded domain.
“I take it he didn’t find the real one, either.”
“I don’t keep it here.” He dropped to his haunches suddenly. “If that dung-begotten abortion of a thief got hold of my—” He started to reach under the table.
“No hands!” Lily reminded him firmly. “No touching.”
Cullen swung his scowl around at her. “And how the hell am I supposed to know if he found my copy of Czypsser’s grimoire if I don’t look?”
“Smell?”
“Shit, the whole place stinks of him!”
She frowned confused. “Does he have an unusually strong odor, then?” The perp couldn’t have been in here long. “Or did he touch a lot of things?”
“No.” Cullen grudged that answer. “Go investigate somewhere else for a while.” He turned away and stalked over to the glass étagère.
“Have you found anything else missing?”
“No.” Cullen bent to study one of those outbreaks of order: an empty shelf. His worn-to-a-thread jeans looked ready to give up the battle for intactness any moment. His running shoes were equally ragged, and his spice brown hair stood up in spikes. He was as pretty a bit of eye candy as any woman was likely to see, and he was in a rage.
Not just pissed off. He’d been that earlier. Maybe it was a lupi thing, set off by the smell of an intruder in his space? Whatever the reason, he all but vibrated with anger. “Not,” he added crisply as he stopped scrutinizing the barren shelf, “that I can tell for sure without touching things.”
She nodded. “Makes sense, if he’s a
pro.”
“A pro?” Brilliant blue eyes focused on her. His lovely mouth sneered at her. “He left behind my copy of Czypsser’s grimoire! Do you know what that thing’s worth?”
“He came here for one thing, got it, and got out. Didn’t let greed make him linger because he knew he didn’t have much time.”
His eyes were even wilder than his hair, the blue flame-bright—and starting to darken. The pupils seemed to be growing as black ate into the irises. “If the rat bastard is a pro, he’d better be ready to be professionally eviscerated. When I—”
“Cullen.”
“—get my hands on him I’m going to ask real nicely how he got past the flare ward, and if I like his answer maybe I won’t—”
“Cullen!”
Cullen stopped midword. Closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and ran both hands through his hair. Again. “I’m okay.”
The black had receded from his pupils, so she believed him. “Good. Let’s step outside. I need to call the CSI team in. While we wait for them, I’ve got some questions about your prototype.”
He fell into step beside her. “When I think about all the hours and hours of work I put into it, and then some—”
“Best if you don’t think about all those hours right now. Think about how you’re going to condense what you know about the prototype so you don’t drown me in explanations.” She paused on the other side of the doorway. David and one of his squad had taken up positions there. She checked her phone. No bars. She put the phone back and pulled out her flashlight. “Looks like I’ll have to head up out of this ditch your place is in to use my phone.” She glanced at David. “You’ll keep the scene secured until my CSI people get here?”
He nodded. “I checked with Pete. Until further notice, I’m under your orders.”
“Good. That includes keeping Cullen out.” She started for the trail she’d come down a few minutes ago. “Cullen?”
“No one put me under your goddamn orders,” he grumbled, but he followed. He even brought the mage light with him.
It provided plenty of light, so she flicked her flashlight off and stuck it back in her purse. “So what’s the side effect that makes the prototype not ready for prime time?”
“It can create persistent, temporally displaced illusions in nulls.”
“Temporally displaced…unpack that for me.”
He shrugged. “Memories. Vivid, hallucinogenic memories of shit that never happened. Usually shit that couldn’t have happened, like flying rats in goggles and aviator jackets.”
“Flying rats.”
“With wings. Dressed up like World War I pilots.” He sighed. “That one came from the VP in charge of development. The really weird part was how little it bothered him. He clearly remembered seeing those rats flapping along beside the plane when he flew in that morning—he’d had a window seat—but the memory didn’t strike him as odd. After we talked things out, he agreed that there couldn’t really be any flying rats, so it had to be a hallucinatory memory, but he seemed to think I was making a lot of fuss about something pretty trivial. So did the other two.”
“The other two?”
“I did the demo for four execs from T-Corp. Three of them were nulls, not a whiff of magic to ’em. One was a practicing Wiccan—Air Gift, not strong, but well trained. The Gifted guy didn’t experience any hallucinogenic memories. The three nulls did. The fabricated memories all involved events that really occurred on that day between seven and four hours prior to the demo.”
“If they didn’t recognize the, uh, fabricated memories as bizarre, how did you find out about them? No, wait—I want to know that and a bunch of other things, like what the prototype looks like. But I need to call the CSI team first.” She reached for the phone in her jacket pocket. “Do you have a photo of it?’
“No photo.”
“What does it—”
“I’m afraid you can’t call CSI,” Rule said from the shadows partway up the slope.
She frowned at him. “Sure I can. If I don’t have any bars here I’ll head up the hill.”
“Isen forbids it. That means less to you than to the rest of us, but this isn’t a Unit matter. No magic was used in the crime.”
Her first reaction was to call it in anyway. Rule was wrong; MCD could only investigate felonies committed using magic, but she was Unit. She could investigate anything connected with magic, including the theft of a magical object. But if he wanted to, Isen could make investigation impossible. If their Rho told them to, every lupus at Clanhome would insist there had been no explosion, no intruder, and nothing was missing. Every damn one of them, including Cullen.
Including Rule.
“Cullen,” she said, her voice tight, “how about you go burn something while I chat with Rule?”
“Oh, stop and think, Lily,” Cullen said crossly as he brushed past her. “It’s obvious why Isen doesn’t want outsiders involved.”
Not to her, it wasn’t. “Well?” she said to Rule.
He sighed. “How did the thief know where to find the prototype?”
Ah, shit. Double shit. She should have thought of that.
There were other possibilities than the obvious. The thief might have conducted aerial surveillance. Photos that showed Cullen going to and from the workshop, for example, would locate it. But that was not the only way for him to find out. Not the easiest way, nor the most certain. Not the likeliest way. Her stomach hurt when she said it out loud. “Isen thinks there’s a traitor in the clan.”
“He believes it likely, yes. Or among our guests. Isen has called all three clans present at Clanhome to the meeting ground.”
Her eyes widened. “All of them? Will everyone fit?”
“Some of the tenders are excused to care for the children, as are those guards needed for patrol and those still fighting the fire on Big Sister—which was under control but not out, the last I heard. Otherwise, every adult must attend. He asked that I include my Leidolf guards. I agreed, with the stipulation that Leidolf be questioned first.”
Rule was Lu Nuncio to Nokolai—heir and enforcer, basically. Obedient to his Rho. He was, however, also a Rho in his own right. Rho to Leidolf, Nokolai’s longtime enemy. Two-mantled, some were calling him. Even at Nokolai Clanhome, Isen couldn’t command the Leidolf guards. He couldn’t order his son to bring them. He could only request. “Why first?”
“Most of those present will already be blaming my Leidolf guards. They must be shown quickly and publicly to be untainted. Lily, we need to go to the meeting field now.”
“In just a minute. First I need to—”
“This isn’t the time to argue. We have to go. My father is very angry.”
“He would be.”
“You don’t understand. You’ve never seen him deeply angry.”
No, she hadn’t. She’d seen Isen laughing, kind, ruthless, annoyed, tender, and ready to kill. But deeply angry…“How mad is he? Are you worried he’ll lose control?”
He hesitated. Only for a second, but that scared her as his words hadn’t. “No. Of course not.”
CULLEN accompanied them. The guards didn’t. They were among those excused, which reassured Lily somewhat. Isen might be throwing a Rho-sized hissy, but he hadn’t stopped thinking entirely. He’d left essential personnel on duty.
Some of them, anyway. The guards were guarding the scene, not investigating it. That’s what Lily should have been doing instead of tramping back down half a mountain. That and calling in the crime scene techs, dammit.
For several minutes none of them spoke. Lily was thinking hard and not liking the answers she turned up. She figured the others were in the same boat.
It was a brisk, clear night. The sky was heavy with stars the way you only see it this far from the city. The moon was a thin fingernail clipping lodged high overhead. That would have been plenty of light for the two men with her, but fortunately Cullen had remembered that it wasn’t enough for her. He’d held onto one of the mage lights and kept i
t bobbing a few paces ahead, giving her a good view of the ground and throwing weird shadows. The wind was soft, brushing at her hair and cheeks with airy caresses. It smelled of burning.
It would take them about twenty minutes to reach the meeting field, going at her slow, human pace. Might as well make use of that time. “Did you learn anything from the perp’s scent trail?” she asked Rule.
“Yes. José and his squad followed the strongest scent trail. Usually that means the most recent, but not this time. The thief had laid a false trail earlier by taking off his shoes and going back and forth barefooted along one stretch. Had José been less distracted by his own loss of smell, by the sudden blare of the klaxon, he’d have seen that the footprints changed from shod to bare.”
“Clever. He expected his pursuers to trust scent over sight. He knows something about lupi.”
He nodded grimly. “Too much.”
“There may be a traitor, but don’t lean on that idea too heavily. Yeah, the perp could have learned about lupi from a confederate here at Clanhome. Or he might know someone who knows a lot about lupi—an ospi friend or girlfriend or whatever—or maybe he hacked into the FBI database. There’s a lot about you there. Or he could just be damn good at research. He’s a planner. Cullen.”
He didn’t answer. She glanced back at him—he was trailing slightly behind her and Rule, frowning faintly as if he found the ground ahead of him perplexing. She suspected he didn’t even see it. “Cullen,” she repeated.
His frown tightened as he looked up. “What?”
“Who knows about the prototype?”
“That it exists? Four executives at T-Corp and whoever they told. Also most everyone here at Clanhome—most all Nokolai, anyway. No one was supposed to speak of it outside the clan, so our guests aren’t supposed to know, but some of them probably do.”
“People will talk,” Lily agreed. “And kids repeat stuff they hear—especially if they think it’s a secret.”
“Which is why,” Rule said evenly, “silence was part of the agreement between Laban, Vochi, and Nokolai. They are bound not to reveal anything they learn while staying here, except to their Rhos, should they ask. Children can’t be bound by such an agreement, but the Laban and Vochi children have had no opportunity to speak with anyone outside Clanhome since they arrived.”