by Eileen Wilks
Lily disconnected, ignoring the scowl of the pudgy man across the aisle. The FAA gave Unit agents a pass on the no-cell-phones rule. That was part politics, part practicality, because almost all Unit agents were Gifted.
Post-Turning, airlines used routes that didn’t directly overfly nodes, but ambient magic levels were rising even away from nodes, and magic was not good for tech. They’d discovered that having one or more Gifted aboard a plane meant a significant drop in the number of instrument malfunctions. The theory was that the Gifted unconsciously soaked up enough juice to make a difference.
The theory was true in her case. Lily had found out the hard way that she not only sopped up stray magic the way dragons did—though on a much lesser scale—but she could do it intentionally. One-on-one.
Twice now, she’d drained another’s magic.
The first time had been an accident. A killer had used her Earth Gift to trigger an earthquake. Lily had stopped her without realizing what she’d done, much less how. Afterward, the woman’s Gift had been gone, but Lily had assumed she’d burnt out.
The second time Lily had done it very much on purpose. If she hadn’t acted, she’d have died, along with most of the people she loved. And at the very least, Southern California would have descended into unremitting nightmare so that an out-realm being could feast on human fear.
No regrets there. Nightmares sometimes—hello, Helen, back again?—but no regrets. Still, Lily wasn’t reconciled to everything she’d learned about herself recently. Turned out her Gift wasn’t a human ability. Like the mindspeech she was so far flunking, it came from another aspect of her heritage, one she hadn’t known about until last month.
The dragon aspect.
Sam did not want her calling him Grandfather—and thank God for that—but in terms of magical ancestry rather than DNA, that’s what he was.
Lily drummed her fingers. Why did things have to keep changing? There’d been so much of that this past year. Things she’d always known about herself had turned slippery. Not quite false, but not quite true, either.
Did she want a baby? Yes, she admitted, looking out the small, thick window obscured by cloud. Or no, not really, at least not now. Or maybe that was a yes, however heavily qualified. But it wasn’t really up to her, was it?
Rule slid into the seat beside hers. “Seems to be raining in Nashville,” he observed, pulling his seat belt around him.
“Seems to be. You’re relaxed. Jiggling a screaming baby calms you?”
“Cute little bugger, isn’t he?”
“Were you ever a tender?” That’s what lupi called those of the clan, male and female, who tended children at Clanhome. There were a few permanent tenders, but most only worked for a year or two to give everyone a chance at it. Tending was a sought-after position.
“For a while in my late twenties, yes.” He smiled reminiscently. “I had four months with the babies and three with preteens. Later I had a brief stint tending the toddlers—that’s real work.” But his face said the memory was pleasant.
“You weren’t Lu Nuncio yet?”
He shook his head. “Once I was named, I had other duties.”
She hesitated. “Rule, back when we met, you told me that a Lu Nuncio had to prove himself through blood, combat, and fertility. I wasn’t clan then, so you couldn’t mention the—uh, the thing I can’t mention here.” The mantle, that is. Only those connected by blood to the Rho could carry it, so that was the “blood” component. Combat meant exactly what it sounded like, but fertility . . . “You were named Lu Nuncio well before Toby was born.”
His expression faltered, flattened. After a moment he said, “A lady I was with when I was thirty became pregnant. The child was mine. She miscarried, but technically, my fertility had been proven.”
Lily took his hand. She said nothing, asked none of the questions that pushed at her. The miscarriage had happened over twenty years ago, but his pain was still palpable.
His grip tightened on hers, then relaxed. “Her name was Sarah. She miscarried in the fourth month.”
Cautiously Lily ventured a question. “No one doubted your word about it? I mean, you knew it was your baby, but there was no proof.”
His eyebrows lifted. “It wouldn’t occur to anyone to doubt me. It’s . . . all but inconceivable that any of us might lie about siring a child. Even if I had, however, I couldn’t lie successfully to my Rho.” He stroked the side of her hand with his thumb. “I should have told you about this earlier.”
Probably. When he told her Toby was his only child and would probably always be his only child—that would have been a good time. But... “You didn’t keep it from me on purpose.”
He slid her a glance. “I only learned last month about a man you once loved.”
She smiled. “I didn’t keep it from you on purpose.”
He squeezed her hand.
The captain came on the intercom to tell them they’d be landing shortly, then a stewardess began announcing gates for those who had a connecting flight.
“Rule . . .”
“Yes?”
“Does it ever get easier? I mean . . .” She groped for words. Rule might look thirty, but he’d turn fifty-five in a couple of months. He ought to know stuff she didn’t. “Do you ever get your feet planted solidly enough that you don’t lose your balance when something new turns up? Something you didn’t know about yourself until—pow! There it is, right in your face.”
He looked at her a moment, his eyes dark and serious. Then he smiled, raised her hand to his lips, and kissed it. “No.”
AGENT Sjorensen met them inside the security perimeter. She had icy blond hair, red-framed glasses, and creamy skin; looked about twenty, but had to be older. Good jacket. Her skirt was too long for her height—which was short, about the same as Lily’s—and she wouldn’t be able to run in those heels.
But they were great heels. Red patent leather peep-toes.
Her mouth was a pink cupid’s bow. Her eyes were big and blue. She compensated for these professional drawbacks with a short, no-nonsense hairstyle and a ban on smiling. “Special Agent Yu.” She nodded briskly, but didn’t offer to shake hands. “And you’re Rule Turner.”
“I am, yes.” Rule seemed to be trying to hide amusement.
“And these are—?” She gestured at LeBron and Jeff, who were standing behind Rule.
“LeBron Hastings and Jeffrey Lane,” Lily said. “They’re Rule’s bodyguards. It’s a clan thing.” She held out a hand. “You’re Agent Sjorensen, I take it. First name Anna?”
The woman’s pale cheeks flushed. “Yes, of course. I should have . . .” She noticed Lily’s hand and belatedly took it.
Oh, my. Lily had only touched that sort of magic once, but that once had been memorable. Lily released Sjorensen’s hand.
“You pronounced my name correctly. People mostly don’t, since my grandfather didn’t Anglicize the spelling.”
Lily made a mental note to discuss what she’d learned from that handshake when she and Sjorensen were alone. The woman deserved privacy for that discussion. “I had a Swedish roommate one semester. It drove her nuts when people put a hard j in her name instead of y. Jeff and LeBron won’t be going with us—I just wanted you to be aware of them.” As she spoke Rule nodded to the guards, and they moved off. The two of them would pick up the luggage and meet them at the hotel.
“I see.” Clearly, she didn’t. “I’ve been told to put myself at your disposal while you’re here, Special Agent.”
“I appreciate it. We’ll head to the hospital first. I understand Cobb is at Vanderbilt?”
“Yes, it’s the one medical facility with a containment room considered sufficient for a lupus prisoner.” She darted a glance at Rule. “Not that he’s in any shape to fight his way out, but I understand your people heal quickly.”
“We do. Do you know what his injuries are?”
“He took a bullet in the chest. That’s all I know.” She switched back to Lily quickly. “Do you
need to stop for your luggage?”
“No, the guards will get it.” Was Sjorensen uncomfortable talking to Rule because he was a civilian, or because he was a lupus?
Sjorensen’s lip curled, but whatever it was she disapproved, she kept her commentary silent. “My car’s this way.” She turned, her heels clicking as she set off down the concourse.
Lily and Rule exchanged a glance. Neither of them cared to trail after the young woman. Lily caught up with her on her left side; Rule bracketed her on the right. She didn’t look at either of them.
Lily wondered what she smelled like to Rule—angry? Frightened? “I scanned the police report while we were landing. Cobb took two bullets from a hunting rifle. One passed through, puncturing his lung on the way. The other bullet lodged somewhere unspecified. There’s nothing about what treatment he received, which is a concern.” Lupi couldn’t be put under anesthetic, so operating on them was almost impossible without a healer who could hold them in sleep.
The Leidolf Rhej was such a healer. Rule had sent for her, but she hadn’t been able to leave right away. She had a baby to deliver.
Agent Sjorensen frowned. “You got the Nashville PD to cough up a report already?”
“It’s been about fifteen hours since the incident occurred. That isn’t exactly speedy, and I had to pull out the big guns to get it.”
“You won’t find local law enforcement eager to cooperate. There’s some history between our office and them which, uh . . . to put it bluntly, they don’t like us. And you don’t exactly have clear jurisdiction.” She darted a glance at Lily. “Frankly, I’m not sure why you’re here.”
“In part, to determine jurisdiction. Like you said, it’s a muddle. If Cobb had Changed, he could be charged with using magic to commit felony murder. Since he didn’t . . .” She shrugged. “A muddle. Legally, though, I get to poke my nose anywhere I want, if I think it might be a case for the Unit. According to the report, the police don’t have a confession.”
Sjorensen’s carefully darkened eyebrows climbed. “They don’t need one. They’ve got plenty of witnesses.”
“A confession always helps. That’s another reason I’m here.”
“What could—oh, crap.” She stopped. Just beyond the security checkpoint—right beside a small stage, unpopulated at the moment, in front of the Ernest Tubb Record Shop—people with cameras and people with mikes peered down the concourse. “You think they’re waiting for us?”
“Bet on it,” Lily said grimly. “How did they know my arrival time? They shouldn’t even know I was coming, much less when I’d get here.”
Sjorensen glared at the reporters. “I don’t know. I’m guessing Chief Grissim arranged a leak, but I don’t actually know that.”
Lily looked past Sjorensen to find catch Rule’s eye. “What do you think?”
“Now’s as good as later for me. I can get a cab to the hospital. That’s where you’re going?”
“Yeah. Hang on a minute.” She dug into the oversize yellow shoulder bag she’d started carrying when they traveled. It held enough to double as an overnight case. “Here.” She handed him three strips of beef jerky.
He smiled ruefully and tucked them in his jacket’s inside pocket, then studied the small mob of news critters, who’d seen them and were jostling for position. “The blonde with the excellent elbow work is with CNN, but I can’t remember her name.”
“Emily Hanks,” Sjorensen said. “The one with the crew cut is Kyle Rogers with the NBC affiliate here. The other—the black guy—he’s with FOX. Armand something-or-other.”
“Here’s the deal,” Lily told Sjorensen. “You and I bull on through—strictly ‘no comment.’ Rule will distract them.”
Sjorensen shot Rule a suspicious look. “He can’t speak for the FBI, so why would they talk to him?”
Rule smiled blandly. “I think I can retain their interest. I’ll be speaking for Leidolf.”
EIGHT
“SO what’s Leidolf?” Anna Sjorensen asked as they approached the exit.
The reporters had mobbed them for about ten seconds. Rule was clearly willing to give them sound bites, and Lily clearly wasn’t. Print reporters might have stuck to her anyway, but the TV folks needed good visuals and they needed them fast.
“A lupus clan. Rule’s their new Rho. He’ll be telling the piranhas of the press about that.” Lily refused to worry on that score. Rule had decided he would have to out Leidolf to the press. How else could he explain his presence? He’d warned Alex, who was spreading the word to as many of the clan as he could reach quickly.
There would be repercussions. Some in Leidolf were bitterly opposed to their clan’s going public. Even those who were okay with it were likely to be unhappy. This wasn’t exactly an ideal way to make the big reveal. People were going to associate Leidolf with a crazy killer, and even someone as good at spin as Rule would have trouble separating—
“He’s what?” Sjorensen said.
Lily dragged her mind away from what she was not worrying about. “Their Rho. The leader of the clan.”
“I thought his father was the . . . oh, no. You mean his father—”
“No, no. Isen’s fine and is still the Nokolai Rho. Leidolf is a different clan.” She glanced at Sjorensen. “You know that lupi are divided into clans, right?”
“Of course.” She was chilly, affronted. “They’re like tribes.”
“Close enough. The Navajo aren’t the same as the Apache or the Cherokee, and they don’t share a chief. Lupi clans differ, too, and each has its own Rho.”
“Does that mean Mr. Turner changed clans?”
The prim phrasing made Lily smile. “No, he’s both Nokolai and Leidolf. It’s complicated.” Beyond the glass lay a lot of wet cement, wet cars, and wet air. Lily was ready, though. She’d spent enough time on the dawn side of the continent to know that water fell from the sky here a lot.
The doors opened automatically, bathing them in warm, damp air and exhaust fumes. The traffic lanes they needed to cross were roofed by a wide overpass of some sort, but Lily went ahead and dug her umbrella out of her purse.
Sjorensen raised one eyebrow. “Prepared for anything, aren’t you?”
Lily was getting tired of all the attitude. “If I’d wanted to be prepared for anything, I’d have brought something more than my SIG. It takes a lot more firepower to put down a demon. An AK-47, at a minimum.”
“But you’re not—we aren’t—this case isn’t connected to demons.”
“Not as far as we know,” Lily agreed, “which is why I only brought a 9mm.” Maybe that was a mistake. Demons didn’t call ahead to see if it was a good time. The last time she fought one, Rule had been sliced by poisoned claws and a young man had bled out on the pavement.
But . . . no. She shook her head at herself. Barring another power wind to help one cross, demons could only arrive if summoned, and true summonings were thank-God rare. “My SIG should be enough for this trip. What do you carry?”
Sjorensen stepped out into the traffic lanes. “A 9mm Baby Eagle. I like the grip, and it’s under two pounds.”
“It’s a subcompact, right? How many rounds?”
“Ten. And it may be small, but it’s got stopping power.”
It probably lacked accuracy, though. The barrel on a subcompact was short. “I’m happy with my SIG, but your Baby Eagle sounds like a good clutch piece. I’ve got a little .22 for that, but it lacks punch.”
“If you’re here long enough, I’d be glad to let you try it at the range.” A tentative smile. “Not that many weapons fit my hand. I’m guessing you have the same problem?”
“Too true. And shoulder holsters—it’s hard to find one that fits both me and my weapon. I gave up and had one custom-made.”
As they left the protection of the overpass, rain fell in a weepy, genteel sort of shower that made Lily feel as if she should offer the sky a handkerchief. She opened her umbrella without eliciting any snide comments. Gun talk carried them all the way
to Sjorensen’s car, a white sedan that looked a whole lot like the one Lily drove.
The woman was pleasant enough now. Maybe she’d been nervous earlier. She must be pretty brand-spanking new, after all. Probably not long out of Quantico.
Lily decided to try some straight female bonding. “Couldn’t help noticing your shoes,” she said as she buckled up. “They’re gorgeous. I hope all the wet didn’t hurt them.”
“Thanks.” She flashed Lily a second smile and started the car. “They were a major indulgence, so I keep them treated with water repellent.”
“They’re worth the effort. You couldn’t run in them, though.”
Sjorensen grimaced as she backed out of the space. “I’m not likely to need to chase down a perp, not with what they’ve got me doing. I made the mistake of minoring in accounting, so—” The trill came from her purse, not Lily’s. “Um. That’s this guy I’m seeing. I left him a message canceling our date. Would you mind if I take it?”
And that, Lily thought, accounted for the rest of the young woman’s initial attitude. Canceling a date to play chauffeur could spoil anyone’s day. “No problem.”
Lily took her notebook out of her purse and began glancing through her notes while Sjorensen spoke in a low voice on her phone, steering with one hand as she eased into the line of cars exiting the parking area.
Cobb had been at a postgame party, a cookout, with the game being college football. There’d been nearly a hundred people present. The police report she’d read was skimpy, but it included preliminary statements from a few witnesses. Seems there’d been an argument about one of the plays, or maybe about the coach. Witnesses said it was the usual sort of armchair quarterbacking, with opinions flying, but no fists—until Cobb suddenly exploded. Two of the witnesses used the same phrase to describe it: “He just blew up.”
