by Eileen Wilks
“If this device could destabilize your realm, wouldn’t Lord Thierath know that?”
“Your people have a saying—like father, like son.”
“He’s a fool, too.”
“I am sure I did not say that.”
The CR-V slowed. Slowed more, and turned. And stopped. Lily’s heart began to pound.
“We are here,” Alycithin said.
She wasn’t ready. Her stomach went queasy, and her mind went blank.
The halfling used the knife on her belt to slash the rope at Lily’s ankles and seized her foot before she could lash out with it. Alycithin was brisk, efficient, and absurdly strong. She dragged Lily out effortlessly. Lily barely managed to get her feet under her in time to keep from landing on her butt. Dinalaran stood close by with his gun, and Alycithin seized Lily by the restraints and nudged her forward.
They were parked in front of a bare-bones style warehouse—concrete blocks painted a dingy yellow, with a regular door directly ahead and a dock and high-loading door several feet away. There was room for a semi to pull up at the dock.
A car drove by on the street behind them. She wondered what the elf looked like to its driver.
That driver wasn’t the only person around. The warehouse next to theirs was bigger and bustling—two trucks were being unloaded and another waited its turn. Lily had already tried getting the attention of passersby, though, on her way out of the apartment building. Alycithin was too damn good with her Gift.
Alycithin said something in her language.
The people-size door opened. A large, fat man stood in the doorway. He wore a trench coat, T-shirt, jeans, and boots. He was bald with a tattoo on his forehead, and he carried a sawed-off shotgun in one hand.
This wasn’t quite the way she’d intended to find Hugo.
“She’s here,” he said loudly, “with her half of the deal.”
Wait a minute. “How come he noticed you?” she asked Alycithin.
“Does your friend not know how to use her Gift selectively? I suppose little training is available to her here.”
Hugo moved out of the way, and a second man emerged.
Robert Friar was looking good. His deep tan hadn’t faded. The silver in his dark hair was as dramatic and attractive as ever. He wore tailored slacks and a good-quality cotton shirt, open at the throat. It was a deep, rich shade of blue that complemented his coloring. He carried a black bowling-ball bag.
He looked at Lily. Delight lit his eyes. Anticipation. Then his gaze shifted to the woman holding her. “Alycithin, how good to see you again. I hope you will excuse my haste, but we have only a short time before Benessarai and the others return.”
“I do not object to haste, but you must take down the wards on the building so I can confirm that we are alone save for our agreed-upon attendants.”
“I’m afraid I failed in part of my task. Benessarai refused to show me how to take down the wards.”
“Then we will not exchange here and now, Robert Friar. Dinalaran,” she said, adding something in her language as she took a quick step back, pulling Lily with her.
Lily didn’t see it happen. One second she was being tugged backward. The next a huge, hard shove sent her flying—and a gunshot shattered the air. A second shot boomed almost immediately as Lily landed on her knees, still falling, but she rolled so she ended on her side—and saw Alycithin facedown on the concrete, her back a bloody mess. With Dinalaran standing over her, gun in hand.
He’d shot her in the back. Her own man had shot her.
She’d shoved Lily out of the way. Whatever sense had alerted her, she’d used that split second to save Lily, not herself. The rounds in that SIG would likely have gone right through Alycithin and into Lily.
“That,” Friar said disapprovingly as he stepped forward, “was poorly done, Dinalaran. Do you know anything about that weapon in your hand? If Alycithin hadn’t quixotically chosen to— Hugo,” he snapped. “Get her.”
It was awkward to get to your feet quickly with your hands bound behind your back, but Lily managed it—only to be confronted by the elf’s SIG Sauer, all too quickly followed by the oversize Hugo, who pinned her to him with a forearm around her neck. He felt a lot harder and more muscular than he looked. He smelled like pizza.
Lily glanced quickly at the other warehouse. It was only fifty feet away, but everyone there continued to unload trucks. No one had heard the shots. No one had seen a thing. Someone was still hiding them. If not Alycithin, then who? She’d thought Dinalaran was one of the body-magic guys. Could he be that good at illusion, too?
Something dropped to the concrete with a metallic thud. She looked quickly that way and saw Dinalaran sink to his knees, tears streaming down his face. He’d dropped his weapon. He looked up and began to sing.
He had a high, pure voice. His song was clearly a lament, the melody simple and haunting.
“Can’t have that,” someone else said. “It is not fitting that my cousin’s murderer sing her death song.”
Another person had emerged from the warehouse. He was tall and slim and beautiful and dressed all in white—loose white tunic-length shirt, white leather pants, white boots. His long hair was loose and the color of a new penny. It shone brightly in the winter sun, as if it were indeed made of metal instead of collagen. The tips of his pointy ears poked through that copper curtain. He wore what looked like an enormous blue sapphire on a chain around his neck. One slender hand rose gracefully to touch the stone. He murmured a few words.
Dinalaran hushed and stiffened. Slowly his hand moved to his boot. He pulled a knife from it and closed his eyes and rested the tip of the knife on one eyelid. He adjusted the angle slightly and plunged it up into his brain.
His own body fell across Alycithin’s.
“Poor Dinalaran. He has atoned as much as he was able,” the copper-haired Benessarai murmured.
“Ah, well,” Friar said. “We have a saying: all’s well that ends well.”
“Time to tidy up.” Benessarai stepped away from the doorway and gestured. Four more elves flowed out the door. They wore leather pants in a variety of hues, but their shirts all matched his—white and long and flowing. They had great, long knives sheathed on their backs. He spoke to them in his language and gestured at the bodies.
None of the four spoke. Their lovely faces were serene, unmoved by what was supposed to look like a murder-suicide. But when they reached the bodies, they handled them with great care. Dinalaran was shifted off Alycithin. Both were lifted, moved several feet away, and laid down once more. The elves began arranging their clothing and their limbs with finicky precision.
Benessarai spoke sharply. The elves stopped and backed away.
Friar looked at him and raised one lazy eyebrow. “You do not want the bodies placed in stasis?”
“I must first assure myself that she is dead.”
“Ah. You aren’t confident your people can tell the dead from the living.”
The insult rolled off the thick armor of Benessarai’s arrogance. He answered with the sublime indifference of one who knows that little can be expected of the lesser beings around him. “You would not, of course, understand. She was an abomination, but half that abomination was Rekklat. With Rekklat, one always makes sure.” He glided forward.
Robert Friar approached Lily. Behind him drifted a white, indistinct cloud.
Drummond was back. It was ridiculous to be so relieved.
Friar stopped in front of her. “Much has changed since we last spoke.”
“Yeah, the last time I saw you, you were too busy escaping to stop and chat.”
“Strange. I seem to recall you doing the running. You and all your wolfish friends.” His stroked her cheek with one finger and lowered his voice. “You won’t be running this time.”
Lily’s mouth went dry. He sounded relaxed. He looked calm and at ease, but his eyes burned with feverish intensity. And with that single casual touch of his finger, he’d let her know he was brimming with
power. Overflowing with it, power like nothing she’d ever touched before.
She didn’t want to fear this man, but she did. “Benessarai did something to make Dinalaran kill Alycithin. A compulsion spell, maybe.”
“Very good,” he said, as if she were his pupil and eager for his approval. “He is a wonderfully talented seurthurin. That is one who practices the arts of the mind. Benessarai would say that today’s events were Alycithin’s own fault. She failed to make sure her people took adequate precautions.”
“Blame the victim? How very human of him.”
“You may not want to say so where Benessarai can hear. I’m afraid he’s quite shortsighted about our species.”
The copper-haired elf had knelt beside Alycithin’s body and was drawing shapes in the air over her open, staring eyes. He uttered some syllables, paused, then nodded with satisfaction, stood, and spoke to his people in his own language.
“Really most completely dead,” Friar murmured.
Lily hadn’t needed the confirmation. The mate bond was working freely again. She knew where Rule was—and he was close. Very close, but not yet here. They needed to stay out in the open a little longer. “Where’s Adam King?”
“Inside.” Friar smiled. “I’ll introduce you.” He raised his voice slightly. “If you’re quite satisfied, I suggest we move inside. I’m not happy being so exposed.”
Benessarai spoke without looking at Friar. “Patience. Who will attack when none can see us? We will have the remains in stasis quickly, but then the blood must be collected.” He waved at his people, who moved close to the bodies once more.
“I am unable to help with that,” Friar said, “so I will await you inside where there is more tidying up to do.”
“Oh, as you will, then.”
“Hugo, bring her along.”
The mass of fat and muscle gripping her arms shoved her—and she let the momentum take her to her knees.
“Really, Lily, you can do better. If you don’t, Hugo will carry you.”
The elves had stopped waving their arms. Two of them bent and tenderly picked up the bodies and started this way. Benessarai spoke to the other two. Lily raised her voice. “Benessarai, he intends to kill your hostage!”
The elf glanced her way. “Hostages are not killed.” He waved at the two remaining elves as the two carrying the bodies passed Lily.
She tried again. “He’s going to kill me, too, and feed me to his goddess.”
“That is true.” Benessarai cocked his head, curiosity brightening his eyes. “It is rather a waste. I have never encountered a sensitive. Bring her to me.”
Friar spoke softly. “She is my prize, not yours.”
“Of course. My apologies, Robert. That was thoughtless of me.” He began to saunter toward them.
Out of the corner of her eye, Lily glimpsed movement. A flash of orange. She ducked her head and shook it as if confused…which let her look that way without Friar noticing.
A tiger peered around the far corner of the warehouse. Just the head showed—that enormous, orange and black head with green eyes slitted against the sunshine. The tiger nodded at her once and pulled back out of sight.
Grandmother? Grandmother was here?
Thank God she’d ducked her head and her hair was hanging down, hiding her face. She had a moment to get her expression smoothed out, a moment to try to figure out what that nod meant. Distract them? Be patient? The latter, maybe, she decided. No one was rushing to the rescue right away, so maybe they had more preparations to finish.
Benessarai stopped in front of her. “With your permission, Robert, I would like to try something before you make your offering. It would be too late afterward.” He chuckled at his own wit. “Your man will need to let go of her and step back, or he will be affected. He wouldn’t like that.”
“Of course not.” Friar didn’t put much effort into the lie. He sounded downright brusque. “If it won’t take long.”
“Not long at all.”
“Hugo, release her but keep her covered.”
The big man grunted and dropped his hold on Lily. The smell of pizza retreated with him. Her shoulders ached.
“Hugo won’t shoot to kill if you try to escape,” Friar told her. “He’ll aim for your stomach. A gut full of buckshot would kill you eventually, but not so quickly I would fail in my duty to the Great One.”
“Do step away just a bit, Robert. There, yes.” Benessarai wiggled the fingers of one hand at Lily.
Magic prickled over her face. It felt like a breeze with feathers in it. “Air magic, only slightly shaped. Mind-magic is connected to Air, isn’t it?”
He frowned slightly and wiggled his fingers again.
The gust of magic was stronger this time, more prickly. “Why is it okay for Friar to kill me? I’m a hostage.”
“No, you aren’t.” Benessarai studied her the way a scientist might study a lab rat that was not reacting in the expected way to a stimulus. He started in with more hand waving, this time accompanied by a short chant.
Friar smiled slowly. “Allow me to explain. An abomination can’t make a true covenant. If Alycithin was unable to make a true covenant, she has no family. If she has no family, she is not party to the code. If she is not party to the code, then alas, you are no hostage. Only a prize.”
“I see. Yet I’m a valuable prize, aren’t I? I’m surprised Benessarai is willing to let you kill me without learning where sensitives come from.”
This time the elf answered. “I am curious. Do you claim to know?”
“Oh, yes, I know. You have humans in your realm, right?”
“Your kind are everywhere.” He said that the way a New York apartment dweller might speak of roaches: try as you may, you can’t get rid of them. “Tell me,” he said.
“Make me your hostage so I don’t get fed to Her Evil Nastiness and—”
Friar slapped her. Hard. Way harder than he should have been able to. She fell to the ground, dazed, with black fluttering at the edges of her vision.
“You do not—”
He kicked her in the ribs. She gasped and curled around the sudden pain.
“Speak of—” His leg drew back for another kick.
A tiger roared.
Hugo screamed.
Five hundred pounds of Siberian tiger raced straight at them.
Friar’s eyes widened. He reached for her. Lily tried to scramble out of the way, but she was dizzy, slowed by the blows. He got hold of her arm and started dragging her, and he should not have been able to do that. Not as fast as he was moving. She caught a glimpse of Benessarai fleeing through the open door of the warehouse, heard the two elves call out something, but she was fighting, kicking, squirming, trying her damnedest to stay out of the warehouse.
She failed.
Friar dragged her across the threshold. Just as her skin tingled from the magic of the wards she heard the raucous boom of a shotgun.
Friar slammed the door shut.
FORTY-THREE
LILY’S side hurt. Her cheek throbbed. Her hip burned from being dragged across concrete. But Friar had let go for the moment. Cautiously she sat up.
“We need to leave,” Friar said. “Now.”
“But my people—” Benessarai waved at the door. Someone screamed.
“Are you going out there to rescue them? No? Then we must depart.” When Benessarai stood staring at the closed door, Friar snapped, “It saw you. Saw all of us. It looks like a tiger, but I don’t know what it is. It wasn’t fooled by your illusions. How long will your wards keep it out?”
Benessarai drew himself up, offended. “The wards are strong.”
“Good. That means you have time to— No, you don’t.”
Lily had quietly scooted away and started to gather her feet under her. Friar grabbed her arm again and pulled her up. It hurt. He shook her. “What do you know about that tiger?”
“Do you think,” Benessarai said nervously, “that those lupi are behind this?”
There was another scream outside. It ended abruptly.
It was silent inside, too. Lily’s heart was hammering, but she took advantage of the quiet to look around.
From the outside, the warehouse hadn’t looked very large. Inside it seemed oddly bigger, maybe because of the way the lights were hung on the rafters, pointing down. That left the high ceiling in shadows, making it seem even more distant. Lily gave those shadowy heights one quick glance. A misty white cloud hung motionless up there.
She couldn’t see very far into the warehouse because of the way the shipping crates were stacked; the nearest row blocked her view. The immediate area was set up like an office, with short partitions on two sides. There was a counter flanking the door, an ancient vinyl sofa, some filing cabinets, a water cooler, and two desks.
There were also two bodies.
Alycithin and Dinalaran had been laid on the floor in the open space before the rows of crates started. A large, perfect circle glowed around them…glowed from the floor up, as if the cement had decided to luminesce. Their dead hands had been folded around the two knives that rested on their chests. Mage lights hovered at the head and foot of each corpse.
No sign of Adam King. If he was here, he wasn’t making any sound.
Friar broke the silence. “I believe,” he said, “you forgot this.” He held out the bowling-ball bag. Lily had forgotten all about it. Friar had remembered even while being charged by a Siberian tiger. The prototype must be in there.
Benessarai accepted it and replied with icy precision. “I appreciate your care for my property.”
Friar let his shoulders droop. “I”—he ran a hand over his hair—“I’m sorry for how I spoke to you. I was…the beast shook me badly. I admit it.”
Benessarai thawed, but only slightly. “Courtesy means little if you possess it only when all is well.”
“You are right,” Friar sighed, a man who saw his limitations all too clearly. He knew how to play the elf, even if he’d forgotten in the stress of the moment.
The thaw continued. “I suppose we must go. That beast shattered my concentration. Its presence will draw attention here.”