by Eileen Wilks
“Yes, but I can’t help wondering how they expect to keep their secret. People are going to notice if baby dragons start dive-bombing them.”
Amusement ghosted through Rule’s mind, so faint he couldn’t be sure he hadn’t imagined it. “We’ll leave that problem for the dragons to deal with. We have enough on our plates.”
“True. Getting back to that, what I was building towards before we got sidetracked is that Sam intended for us to tie these things together—Mika having babies and Smith’s plan to take down Unit Twelve.”
Rule’s eyebrows drew down. “I don’t see how.”
“I don’t, either, but there’s a link. There has to be. Sam wouldn’t have sent me to discover that body if—”
“I’m not arguing. I just don’t see the connection. Unless . . .” He frowned. “Is Mika threatened somehow? Or the secret of their reproduction? She’s temporarily impaired, you said.”
“She’s got no telepathy and very limited mindspeech, so she probably can’t use other forms of mind magic, either.”
“But if there was a serious threat, either to Mika or to their secret, surely Sam would deal with it. I know you said he can’t come in her territory now without repercussions, but if—”
Would you rape your son to save the lives of strangers?
Lily frowned. “You’ve got the weirdest expression on your face.”
“I suddenly thought of something Sam said to me once.” As in, Sam had only said it once.
“What?”
“I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to repeat it.” Absolutely certain. “But it makes me think that, to Sam, entering Mika’s territory now would be a violation so extreme it’s unthinkable.”
“Huh. Well, Gandalf said that dragon instincts overwhelm their rationality on this subject, proving they’ve got more in common with humans than they’d like to think. Sex muddles things for all of us.”
“I don’t know about that. Often it clears my head wonderfully.” He wouldn’t mind clearing his head right now.
Her mouth twitched. “You’re going to have to clear it on your own tonight. Too much company.”
“Not at the moment. Carpe momento.”
“First, Charles is still here. Asleep, but here. Second—do you really think the brownies left just because you told them to?”
He looked around quickly. “Are they—”
“Not in the barn, and I admit I’ve only seen one of them peeking through the doorway, but I’ll bet there’s more.”
When the attack comes, Lily must lead your side.
What? What did that mean?
She is Unit Twelve. The government must . . . The small, precise voice faded out, then returned. Too far. Cannot . . .
That was it. All Sam could say. The last part meant that Sam couldn’t maintain the connection any longer, but the rest of it . . . Rule shook his head, trying to think.
Lily shrugged. “I’m not going to argue about it. Listen, about the potion—Danny calls it a drug, but I’m sure it’s a potion. That’s obviously key to whatever Smith has in mind. I don’t know enough about potions myself, so I called Fagin to—”
“You used your bloody phone? Hell, we might as well send Smith a text, telling him where—”
“Chill! For God’s sake, how stupid do you think I am? Not with my phone.”
“Sorry.” His heart was pounding. Too much alarm and emotion today. Beneath the sudden infusion of fight-or-flight hormones, he suspected, lay exhaustion. “I’m twitchy on the subject.”
“Plus you’re muddled because you were just thinking about sex.”
He didn’t argue. He—or a portion of his body—was still thinking about sex, undeterred by either physical or mental eavesdroppers.
“I asked Danny if she could use her computer to place a call the NSA couldn’t track. She said she could. She’s an A-list hacker, right? One who’s managed to elude the NSA for nearly a year. She ought to know.”
“She’s probably a damn genius, but it still makes me nervous.”
“I also asked Fagin to use one of those crystal thingies Cullen developed that disrupt any listening devices.”
“Sheer paranoia on my part.” Probably. He waved that away. “What did Fagin say?”
“He’s going to look for historical accounts of potions that supposedly give Gifted people more power, more control, or both. It may take a while. He says that rumors of potions and other ways of getting a magical power boost have abounded for centuries. Most of them are bunk, but there isn’t exactly a database of credible accounts. I’ll call him back tomorrow to see what he’s learned.”
“He’s not looking for a mind control potion?”
Lily grimaced. “I did mention that, without going into detail, but . . . Rule, it seems so unlikely.”
It did. He hated to think of how it would affect Danny to learn that her friend had been a willing killer, but mind control was so very unlikely.
“But I did ask Fagin to keep an eye out for any mention of a potion credited with helping telepaths control their Gifts. He’s skeptical about finding anything. Very little is known about telepathy, except that nothing seems to help.”
“You’ve covered all the bases. I can’t think of anything to add.” His head felt too thick for thinking, period. He’d been right. The adrenaline rush was fading, and he was tired. Really tired. He rubbed his face. “If you were wanting to brainstorm together, I’m no help.”
She rubbed his arm. “Tomorrow will do.”
It would have to. “I should have thought about using Danny’s computer to call Alex. He can tell me who’s reported in.” He forced himself to stand. It was harder than it should have been. “I’ll do that now.”
Lily rose with him. “You look ready to fall over.”
“It’s been a long day.” A long few days . . . how many? When had he learned about Lily’s capture? He added it up and was amazed. “Three days. It’s slightly over three days since you were taken. It seems so much longer.”
“Three days I spent sleeping while you were doing everything but sleep, I bet.” She reached for his hand. “You know, José might have just lost his phone. He might even have thrown it away because he couldn’t use it.”
“Perhaps.” If José had turned suddenly as stupid as his Rho, unable to think beyond the immediate crisis . . .
“Shut up.”
His eyebrows lifted. “I beg your pardon.”
“Whatever you were thinking, you need to shut up about it. Not to me. To yourself.”
“Ah.” It was good advice. He wasn’t sure he could take it, but it was good advice.
The moment they started to move, Charles joined them. The old wolf had been so quiet Rule had forgotten about him. “You can go back to sleep, Charles. I’ll watch out for Lily.”
Charles looked from Rule to Lily . . . and shook his head.
Impertinent pup! Rule bared his teeth. “I said—”
“Rule.” Lily squeezed his hand. “He’s not yours.”
No. No, Charles was Wythe, and Ruben’s to command. He closed his eyes and took a slow breath. “I’m having some trouble with my temper.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” she said dryly.
He’d been angry for days, banking that anger, waiting for the chance to use it to destroy the enemy who’d snatched his mate. Suddenly that enemy . . . wasn’t. He couldn’t rampage among the brownies, who’d been fulfilling a racial duty. Nor could he attack Mika, who’d been fulfilling a different sort of racial imperative. For one thing, the latter would be suicide. But it would also be wrong.
“Charles,” he said, opening his eyes to see that the wolf was hunkered down submissively, “are you under the impression that the Lady put Lily in your charge?”
Charles nodded.
Rule sighed. “Come along, then.”
Lily had been right. There were lots of brownies lurking near the barn. Rule saw about a dozen, but there might have been dozens more using dul-dul so he couldn’t see t
hem. At his request, a couple of them ran off happily to tell Little John and Bert they could return to the barn. Some of the others went with him and Lily to find Danny.
She and Mike were together, and sound asleep. Danny lay on her side, curled up protectively around her laptop. Mike lay on his side, too. And Danny’s out-flung hand rested on Mike’s furry back.
Mike was wounded. He should not have been able to sleep with Danny touching him. Even if the healer had put him in sleep—a healing trance of a deeper state than normal sleep, but not unconsciousness—he should have roused at the touch of anyone not clan. Any touch at all, really. Mike had been schooled in distrust by an expert.
The little brownie sitting nearby was braiding several strips of leather, using her feet as well as her hands. Rule recognized her, though they hadn’t been introduced. She was the healer who’d offered to help Mike. She looked up as they approached, smiled in a motherly way, and whispered, “They look so sweet when they’re asleep, don’t they?”
* * *
LILY lay on her side with her back to Rule’s front, his arm draped over her, listening to his soft, even breath. It was rare for him to fall asleep ahead of her, proof of just how exhausted he’d been.
The barn was dark, but not wholly silent. Now and then one of the horses moved or an owl hooted outside. She shifted slightly. Straw didn’t make a very comfortable bed, but that wasn’t why she was still awake.
The world hadn’t really come right again, however much it had felt that way the moment Rule’s arms closed around her. There was one whole hell of a lot seriously wrong, and her mind couldn’t stop turning over the facts, looking for what linked them. She couldn’t stop thinking about dragons and a mysterious potion and a man who considered himself a true patriot.
A few stalls down, someone shifted on his straw bed, making it rustle. Bert, she thought, from the location. Charles was in the stall on her left, Little John on the right, with Bert one stall beyond Little John. Mike and Danny weren’t here. Mike needed to remain in sleep to speed his healing, and Rule hadn’t been willing to wake the girl. He could wait until morning, he’d said, to call Alex.
Danny mattered to him. Mattered enough for him to wait another night to find out how many of his men lived. Let it be all, Lily thought at the darkness around her. Please let it be all of them. However unlikely that seemed, it was possible, so until she knew otherwise, she would think of them all as alive.
Especially José. They all mattered, but losing José would hurt—hurt her and wound Rule, leave him limping worse than Mike. Some breaks couldn’t be mended by a healer. So for now, she’d believe José was all right, just as she’d told herself it didn’t matter that she and Rule couldn’t make love tonight. They’d have other nights. Mornings and afternoons, too. She intended to go right on thinking that though she knew no one was guaranteed another breath, much less another day.
But what did it help to think about that? Pain wasn’t paint. She couldn’t thin it out by starting on it early, as if there were a fixed amount she could spread around so no one spot got too much. Starting on the hurt before she lost someone just meant she’d hurt longer. She knew that; she’d tried it, and it had crippled her, and how was that useful? So she’d go on thinking that José was alive and that she and Rule would have another day. And then another. To hell with the odds. He was here now, and . . .
Something brushed across her mindsense, making her shiver. Mika, checking. Making sure she was still around.
What did the dragon need from her? What did Mika’s changed state and the eggs Lily hadn’t been able to see have to do with Edward Smith? Where were the Gifted children Smith had perverted to his ends?
No, being with Rule again hadn’t made everything right. So much was wrong and scary and bad. But the world made sense again. Not the figured-things-out kind of sense, but a deep-down sort which made the figuring-out seem possible.
That was good. There was a lot to figure out.
THIRTY-EIGHT
LILY had fallen asleep still trying to figure out how the potion, the dragon, and the patriot connected. She woke up knowing.
“Son of a bitch,” she said, sitting up. “It fits. It damn sure fits.” She paused. “I think it fits.”
Rule wasn’t there. Her mate sense told her he was in the village. When she stood, she could see that no one else was in the barn, either, except for Charles. Even the horses were gone—but maybe not far. She heard brownies giggling nearby, and comments that suggested they were doing grooming things with one or more horses. The light streaming in from the open doorways was bright and strong.
How late had she slept? Didn’t matter, she supposed. She spared one wistful thought for the coffee she didn’t have and stuck her feet in her shoes, then grabbed the little plastic glass, toothbrush, and toothpaste the brownies had provided when she was a prisoner instead of a guest.
Charles awoke, stood, and stretched. She took a moment to scratch behind his ears, which he seemed to appreciate. Then she headed out to the pump.
Four brownies were brushing one of the horses. Two of them sat on his back, one working on his mane, the other on his hips. One of the others was doing something with his hoof; the last one was combing out his tail. They greeted her without pausing in their work and asked if she was hungry.
“Getting that way.”
“Hot dogs at the green!” one of them piped up. “For you and the wolf. You just tell someone. They’ll get you hot dogs.”
Hot dogs were an unconventional breakfast, but at least they weren’t trail mix. She pumped water, brushed her teeth, and drank a glass of water. The whole time she was turning her theory over in her mind, looking for holes. She found one. A big one, too. And yet the rest of it fit so well . . . she didn’t have enough data, but she knew one place to get more.
Teeth brushed, she went back in and got her comb and an elastic from her purse. In a few moments she was as presentable as she was going to get. She donned her shoulder holster, but left her jacket draped over the side of the stall. It was going to be hot today. She set off for the village with Charles.
There was something odd about the path she followed. She hadn’t noticed last night, but this morning the difference between it and the land around it was obvious. It was harder than it should be, and lighter in color. She bent and tapped it. It was hard, almost like adobe. Brownie magic did feel a lot like Earth magic. Not identical, but as if that was its basis. Had they spelled their path to resist water?
Shortly before she reached the village green, she ran into Mike. He was standing on all four legs—much to Shisti’s displeasure. “You are not to be walking on it!” She shook a finger in his face. She had to reach up to do that. The little brownie could have walked under the wolf’s stomach without ducking her head.
Mike looked confused and took a step back.
“Use three legs! You—oh, hi, Lilyu!” The little brownie beamed at her. “I’m practicing my nagging.”
“That was pretty good,” Lily said. “But if you want a lupus to mind, you need a Rho to back you up.”
“A dada has to be able to nag her patients herself,” Shisti said seriously, and turned to frown up at Mike. “Your healing is good. My geeshai is very good. But that bone isn’t hard yet. Use three legs!”
Lily kept going. There weren’t many brownies around, and the few she saw seemed to be in a hurry to get someplace else. They all greeted her; one of them called out that breakfast would arrive soon. A few minutes later, she saw Rule, Danny, and Little John just inside the mossy village green. Also four more men. After a second she recognized one of them. Jason was a high-ranking Leidolf guard. Another man looked familiar, though she couldn’t think of his name.
Looked like the brownies had already found a handful of Rule’s men. She hoped they’d find more. Find everyone.
They were all staring intently at the laptop screen. As she got closer, she heard a voice coming from the speaker. She couldn’t hear clearly—the speaker was a
imed away from her—but she recognized Alex’s voice and caught some of what he said. Her heart twisted.
“Not Saul!” Danny cried suddenly.
“I’m sorry,” Rule said. “But James confirmed it.”
“No!” She shook her head. “He was nice! He let me borrow his flute. He—” Her face crumpled.
Rule tried to put an arm around her. She pushed it away, turned, and ran.
A huge, dark wolf raced past Lily, running after the girl—on three legs.
Rule watched them for only a moment before looking back at the laptop. “Thank you, Alex. You won’t be able to reach me, so I’ll call again later.”
The men parted to let Lily come close. They looked grim. Her mouth was dry when she asked, “How many?”
Rule had his face in lockdown. No emotion in his voice, either. “Thirty have reported to Alex. Ten of them were injured. Three have been confirmed dead.” His gaze flicked briefly in the direction Danny had vanished. “Including Saul. As you see, four have reported here. That leaves eleven unaccounted for, counting Carson. We’re fairly sure at least two of them were arrested.”
She asked the hard question first. “Who’s dead?”
“Saul Cotton. Dave Wells. Roger McConnell. They were all on the squad José led to draw the helicopter away. James is the only one from the squad who has called Alex. He reported the three deaths. Of the remaining squad members, he thought one was dead but wasn’t sure, as he was hit at the same time and was briefly unconscious. When he came to, José ordered him to leave.”
“José was alive yesterday, then.”
“Alive then, yes. He’d lost a great deal of blood, mostly because of his leg, which James thought must have taken multiple rounds.”
“No word about Claude?”
He shook his head.
She absorbed that in silence for a moment. “If one of you doesn’t die right away, there’s a good chance his healing will keep him alive.”