Mortal Danger wotl-2

by Eileen Wilks

  I trust him, she thought, startled. Somewhere inside, she’d decided Benedict could be counted on to watch out for both of them. This wasn’t like her, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it.

  Unlike Rule—or most of the other people she knew, for that matter—Benedict didn’t have the radio on or a CD playing. Maybe he was listening for danger as well as watching. So they drove on through the crowded city night in silence, with only the glow of the dash lights to smudge the interior darkness, leaving more to be guessed at than revealed.

  Why had she asked about his feelings? No doubt he had the usual assortment, but he kept them so far out of sight she wasn’t sure he knew any more about them than she did. He wasn’t likely to open up to her.

  Yet instinct prompted her to believe him. There was something reassuring about Benedict, something oddly peaceful. He seemed so at rest within himself.

  Not her. Now that she’d stopped doing, stopped talking, the discomforts of a healing body spoke all too loudly. She shifted, trying to find the best way to rest her shoulder, and then shifted again. And her mind was anything but quiet.

  Finally, she broke the silence. “I’d like to ask you something, but it might be rude by your standards.”

  “Our standards aren’t that different from yours.”

  “Maybe it’s just plain rude, then. It’s… about your daughter.”

  He gave her a quick glance. “Rule told you.”

  “Just tonight, yeah. And last night I learned about the, ah… the age thing. I’m still trying to get it sorted out.”

  “Shook you up.” It was a simple observation, lacking either sympathy or judgment. “What did you want to know about Nettie?”

  “Was her mother your Chosen?”

  “No.” The hitch between that flat answer and his next words was brief, a fraction of a breath. “I met Claire when Nettie was twelve. We didn’t have children together.”

  A dozen more questions pressed at Lily. She was pretty sure Benedict’s Chosen had died, but she didn’t know how or how long ago. She wanted to know what happened when one partner in a mate bond died. How did it affect the one who remained?

  She wanted to know more personal things, too. Had he loved Claire? Had they been friends as well as lovers? What had been the limits of their bond? Had they ever had their abilities cross over the way she and Rule had?

  Lily was used to asking deeply personal questions, often at a time when feelings were raw. But this wasn’t an investigation, and Benedict’s reserve went deep. “Thank you for telling me,” she said at last.

  There was a hint of amusement in his voice. “That was all you wanted to know?”

  “No, but—”

  Her cell phone rang. She reached into her bag and thumbed it on. “Yes?”

  “Lily Yu?” said an unfamiliar male voice.

  She frowned. Very few people had this number. “Who is this?”

  He chuckled, a pleasantly masculine sound. “I suppose we haven’t spoken before. I’m Patrick Harlowe.”

  Exhaustion evaporated in a white-hot rush. She sat up straight. “Thoughtful of you to call. I’ve been looking for you.”

  “So I understand.” He had one of those rich voices that invested everything he said with significance and a hint of intimacy. Like a televangelist, she thought, or someone selling kitchen gadgets on a late-night infomercial. “Haven’t had much luck, have you?”

  “Not so far.” Keep him talking. She’d play whatever game he had in mind and keep him talking. People always gave up more than they realized if you could keep them talking. “How’d you get this number, anyway?”

  “The same way I’ve learned so many interesting things recently—from One who is almost omniscient. I imagine you’d find that handy, in your job,” he added. “Being able to watch or listen to anyone you wanted.”

  “That I would. But ‘almost’ means that She isn’t omniscient, doesn’t it? She can’t watch lupi. Or me. And She can’t talk to you directly.” Could She? God, if the staff really had made Harlowe telepathic, able to get instructions and information directly from Her—

  “Pretty sure of that, are you?” He might have been a favorite uncle indulging a pert niece. “But you’re correct in this case. She isn’t quite omniscient. As this call illustrates, however, we’ve found ways to work around those few limits She possesses. But the telephone is limiting, too, isn’t it? So much more pleasant to become acquainted in person.”

  “You’d like to do lunch?” Lily kept her voice dry. “Gee, let me check my calendar.”

  “Lunch won’t work for me.” There was laughter in his voice now. He was enjoying himself. “How about right now? It’s a bit late, but my schedule is so full these days.”

  Lily glanced at Benedict. His face was wiped clean of everything but focus.

  Of course. He was listening to Harlowe, too. “I’m free tonight. Where shall we meet?”

  “You’ll have to come to me, I’m afraid. And I must insist that you don’t tell anyone. No one at all, Lily—other than your driver, of course.”

  He knew someone was driving her? Lily looked at Benedict. She could still subvocalize, even if she couldn’t hear it anymore: “Are we being followed?”

  He shook his head.

  “That goes for your driver, too. No phone calls. If anyone finds out about our little rendezvous I’ll be hurt, and I’m afraid I don’t react well when my feelings are hurt. And I will know, Lily.” His voice dropped. “The One I serve may not be able to watch you directly, but She doesn’t have to. She can observe the others—any and all the others—you might be tempted to call. Like your associates at the FBI, or the police… or even your family.”

  Lily’s nape was suddenly clammy, as if someone had touched it with a cold, damp cloth. “So where do we meet?”

  “I’ll give you directions in a moment. First, there’s someone here who’d like to speak with you.”

  “Wait—”

  But he’d passed the phone to someone else. Someone whose voice struck Lily dumb and blind with fear.

  “Lily?” Beth Yu spoke in her usual quick, lighthearted way. “Patrick wanted me to reassure you that I’m all right.

  I’m not sure why. Really, I don’t even know why he wanted to come here—this is so not my kind of place. But it’s all right, you know. Patrick said so. He’ll take care of me.“

  The candles had burned halfway down. They’d discussed much and settled little, and it was almost time for Cullen to leave for his second performance.

  Not that he had to dance anymore. Not for money, at least, and Rule had expected him to quit when the Rho put him on retainer for the clan—“like a damned lawyer,” Cullen had said. But he continued to do two shows a night, two days a week. He’d told Rule he was hanging on to the part-time gig because the extra money helped.

  Perhaps he believed that. Rule didn’t. Cullen had never been much interested in money, seeing it mostly as a means to acquire the scraps of paper that were real treasure to him—bits of old spellbooks and such. No, Rule had to believe that dance gave Cullen something he needed.

  At the moment, though, it was a confounded nuisance. “We’ll need to wind this up soon,” he said when he was able to get a word in. “Remember to be cautious about what you discuss after the circle is broken.” There would be a number of meetings after this one, he was sure—less formal, but maybe more meaningful.

  “I still don’t know what you want.” Ben was cranky. “What is it you want us to do? It’s all very well to talk about doing battle with Her, but She’s not here.”

  “Keep your eyes open,” Rule said promptly, “and your noses to the ground. See if what I’ve said about the realms shifting, bringing changes, matches with what your clan is experiencing. I told you about the banshee sighting in Texas, for example.”

  “Possible sighting,” Javiero corrected. “But I checked into it, and the stories of the witnesses hold up.”

  “What’s happening in your own territories?�
� Rule asked. “Send word back about anything you learn that’s unusual. Try to find out what others of the Blood might know or guess, too. You, Ben, might send word to the trolls, see if they’re aware of any changes.” Ben’s clan was based in Scandinavia, which possessed the only remaining troll population of any size.

  “Trolls.” Ben snorted. “You ever tried talking to one? Might as well talk to a tree.”

  “Speaking of talking to trees,” someone said, “I’ll volunteer to check with the dryads.”

  That sally earned several grins and chuckles. Dryads were notoriously shy… and notoriously amorous, if you could overcome their timidity.

  Ito shook his head. “I don’t know dryads or trolls, but I know trees. With trees, you don’t talk. You listen.”

  There was a moment’s silence, all of them mildly embarrassed on Ito’s behalf. He was well liked, but not well understood.

  “We’re getting off-track,” Randall said. “Asking us to look for abnormalities is like telling us to pay attention to the letter s. Once your attention is called to it, you see it everywhere. Of course people will find oddities if they’re looking for them.”

  “The letter 5 is common. Oddities are, by definition, uncommon. I’m not asking for news of, say, your sister’s new hairstyle… however odd it may be.” There were grins and a couple of chuckles. “But if you hear rumors of creatures or those of the Blood who shouldn’t be in our realm, the rest of us need to know.”

  “So who do we tell? You?” Randall’s upper lip lifted in scorn. “There’s a plan. You can use everything you hear to further ‘prove’ your case, increasing your chances of being named war-leader if the clans fall into line with your father’s megalomaniacal—”

  “Best stop there.” Rule held himself very still. “As 1 haven’t spoken about your father’s habit of killing from ambush, so you—”

  “You may all tell me, if you like,” Stephen said calmly.

  “I’m willing to act as clearinghouse for such reports. Unless any of you doubt Etorri’s ability to remain impartial?”

  Randall didn’t dare go that far, but he narrowed his eyes as his head swung toward Stephen. “You’re buying into this absurd theory about the realms shifting?”

  “Please,” Ito said to the man beside him, “what is ‘buying into’?”

  Randall answered without taking his eyes off Stephen. “Believe. Agree with. Think it’s more than cat box scrapings.”

  Stephen was unmoved. “Etorri was already considering the possibility that the realms were shifting when we received the invitation to a pax circle.”

  “Why?” Randall exploded. “For God’s sake, what proof do you have?”

  “First, it accords with the prophecy—” That set everyone off. “What prophecy?”

  “—Etorri loves all that mystical mumbo-jumbo—”

  “If you’ve been sitting on a prophecy and haven’t told anyone—”

  “And second,” Stephen said, “I have myself seen the Great Hunt in the northern forests.”

  Dead silence. Into that silence, Cullen’s voice. “Rule.” Rule’s head swung, his nostrils flared. “What?”

  “We have to break circle now. Benedict’s pushed the panic button.”

  SIXTEEN

  Rule felt the hair lifting all over his body, as if he were a conduit for lightning. The edges of everything turned sharp. So did his mind. He didn’t have to think about what to do—the necessary actions flowed, one from another, in crystal clarity.

  ‘The circle is ended,“ he said, flowing to his feet. ”Lily is in danger, perhaps under attack. I’m leaving. Cullen—“

  He was on his feet, too. “The map’s in my dressing room. So’s your phone. Benedict may be trying to call.”

  Rule was already moving when one of the nonheris sons grabbed his arm. “Wait a minute.” Rule backhanded him and kept moving.

  There was a brief scuffle—the man he’d knocked down was angry, but Rikard and Con held him back. “Idiot,” Rikard growled. “The man’s mate is in danger. You’re lucky he didn’t break your neck.”

  Rule headed for the railing—the stairs would take too long—but Stephen was there. His lip lifted in a snarl.

  “I’m not trying to stop you,” Stephen said in that damned calm voice. “I’m coming with you.”

  “Come, then.” Rule gripped the railing, flung himself over, and dropped.

  The others followed.

  The patrons of Club Hell were treated to an unexpected show that night. One, two, three, four at a time, men dropped out of the darkness overhead, landing on tables or the floor—and moving unbelievably fast. Like a river hitting the rapids, they flowed around or over any obstacles. Those who landed on tables simply leaped over anyone who’d been sitting there and hit the ground running.

  The Mercedes’s tires squealed slightly as Benedict swung into the turn. Lily’s tongue felt thick and clumsy, as if it were taking up too much space in her mouth. “We’re on Fifty-ninth now,” she told the man holding her sister hostage.

  “Proceed to Barbara… I think that’s what it says. Beth, dear, can you read those tiny letters? I don’t know why they make maps so… yes? Oh, Bandera, not Barbara. Turn right on Bandera. Do try to hurry. You’ve only fifteen minutes left.”

  “Continue to Bandera and turn right,” Lily repeated, looking at Benedict.

  Harlowe knew someone was driving Lily. He didn’t know who, or that Benedict could hear everything he said. Or that Benedict wore a headset attached to his own phone. Lily had dialed Rule’s number for him so he could focus on driving.

  Calling Rule was a calculated risk. Harlowe insisted on keeping her on the line, giving her a deadline, handing out directions one street at a time. They wouldn’t know they’d arrived until they got there, so Benedict wouldn’t know when to remove the headset. If Harlowe spotted it…

  But they needed backup. Harlowe had Beth, and he was calling the shots—the time and place of their meeting were in his control, and he might not be in this alone.

  Lily didn’t dare call for official backup, but Rule would be able to hear Benedict speak subvocally. And Harlowe wouldn’t.

  If Rule ever answered his damned phone.

  As if he were a magnet and she had a sliver of iron in her gut, she felt Rule’s direction—and, roughly, his distance from her. He wasn’t at Clanhome. Much closer. Somewhere in the city. She could have pointed toward him, but she couldn’t reach across that distance and make him pick up his phone.

  “This is a lousy neighborhood,” she said, doing the one thing she could do: keeping Harlowe talking. “Come down in the world a bit, haven’t you?”

  “Temporary quarters, purely temporary. You should see the plans I’ve drawn up. Perhaps I’ll show you before… Beth, don’t bother me now. Where was I? Oh, yes, my plans. You come first, dear Lily. If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t be here, would I? I can’t say I’m happy with you, not at all, but you’ll get what’s coming to you. And you’ll… not now, Beth.”

  “So what are you planning?” she asked quickly, able to hear Beth’s upset voice in the background. Beth, please, play it cool. Don’t make him angry. “King of the world, maybe?”

  “No, no.” He was all good humor again. “They’ll elect me. They’ll all love me, you see.”

  Benedict tapped her arm. When she looked at him he tapped his headset and nodded.

  Thank God. He’d finally reached Rule. “Funny,” she said. “I’m not feeling much love for you right now.”

  “Yes, you’re different, aren’t you? That’s your bad luck. But don’t worry, dear—it’s temporary. Or perhaps I should say you are.” He chuckled over his little joke.

  “You hold on to that thought, if it makes you feel better.” Their biggest advantage was that Harlowe—or maybe his goddess—didn’t seem to want Lily dead. He wanted to feed her to the staff or the demon or something, which took a lot more arranging than just killing her. This gave her a little maneuvering room.

&nb
sp; Unless, of course, they were wrong about Harlowe’s intentions.

  “But you won’t be a problem much longer. I’ll take care of—now, now, didn’t I tell you to leave her alone?”

  The last was spoken to someone else. Lily heard a male voice, then Beth’s, high-pitched and frightened.

  “What’s going on?” Lily demanded. “If you hurt her—”

  “I do as I please. As long as I have her—”

  “Alive and unharmed, or you’ll make my job simple. I’ll just kill you.”

  “Oh, but you can’t. And even if you could, you wouldn’t. You have to arrest me.” He made it sound like the most amusing of impossibilities.

  “I didn’t arrest Helen.”

  That checked him briefly. “Well, well, you won’t have the opportunity to kill me. But let’s not be so grim. After all, your sister is alive and well. Not too happy at the moment, but that’s her fault. She takes offense so easily.”

  Male laughter in the background. Lily’s empty hand fisted, her nails digging in hard. “Maybe she finds you offensive.”

  “No, she’s terribly in love with me. Although I—Beth, haven’t I told you to be quiet?” Harlowe snapped.

  Lily had to distract him. “Is this about vengeance, Harlowe? Is that why you want me—because I screwed up all your big plans?”

  “I told Helen,” he muttered. “I told her she was moving too quickly, but would she listen? And you… you think you’re so clever, but it wasn’t really your doing. It was Helen’s stupidity that made things fall apart. Not that you’re off the hook, oh, no, I’ll—what?”

  The voice she heard in the background this time was squeaky, high-pitched. “Oh, all right.” Harlowe must have turned his head away. His voice was faint, the tone petulant. “Go ahead and tie her up, since she can’t behave.”

  Lily heard her sister say his name—Patrick—clear and disbelieving. And the sound of a slap.

  Then he was back, quite cheerful once more. “She’ll learn. Perhaps I’ll keep her. She is a pretty little thing, though not as loyal as she might be. She seems to think your safety is worth incurring my anger.”