by Eileen Wilks
She paused dramatically while the crowd screamed their responses—no, killer, traitor—then continued. “Here to talk to you today about the danger posed by those corrupted by magic—a danger we all know is increasing and has penetrated every level of our society and even our government—is the senator’s longtime friend and chief of staff, Dennis Parrott!” She stepped to one side and began clapping.
The crowd screamed and clapped. Parrott hadn’t been among those waiting on the stage. He walked up the steps at the side.
“Son of a bitch,” Cullen said, his voice raised to be heard over the din created by thousands of enthusiastic Humans Firsters. “That’s Parrott?”
“Yes.”
“He’s got a charisma Gift. A real powerhouse of a Gift, augmented by a nasty smear of death magic. And . . .” He stopped, squinting. The Jumbotron screen was no help with what Cullen needed to see.
A charisma Gift explained how the aliens had gotten people like “poor Meggie” to go with them. When a strong charisma Gifted turned his attention on you, you trusted. You wanted to please. Poor Meggie, indeed. Maybe it explained what had happened to Abel as well. Parrott could have distracted him long enough for one of the others to knock him out . . . or worse.
“Parrott might be wearing it,” Cullen said suddenly. “The artifact, I mean. I can’t tell from here, but there’s something interacting with his power.”
“Drummond told Lily that Parrott isn’t the one who makes the dopplegängers. Would their creator hand over control of the artifact to someone else?”
“Well, Drummond’s a lying, murdering sod, but who knows? He could have been telling the truth about this. But Parrott’s got something. I can’t tell what. I think it’s on a ring, though. There’s a bit of an extra glow on his right hand . . .” He scowled. “I need to get closer.”
Rule didn’t respond. There was one way to get closer, but they would use that only if they had to. If, say, a few slavering, oversize wolves suddenly appeared on the stage.
Parrott advanced across the stage, pausing once to wave and nod as if recognizing someone particular in the audience. He reached the podium and held up his hands, urging everyone to be quiet. The cameras zoomed in, and the Jumbotron screen filled with the man’s smooth-shaven face looking grave and sincere.
Rule’s phone vibrated. He pulled it out, touched the screen . . . “Harry. I’d about given up on you.”
“We’re here, Rule! We’re here! Traffic sucked, but we made it. I never saw so many people in one place before. Humans are crazy, aren’t they?”
“I often think so. Where are you, specifically?”
“I’m up by the stage, like you said. Oh, you mean my troop. Don’t worry,” he said proudly. “I’ve got them stationed like you told me.”
“That’s great, Harry. I also told you I needed someone who was very, very good at the game.”
“That would be me! I am the best. I am the juggernaut of the game! What do you need?”
“You see the man on stage now? He has a ring on his right hand . . .” Rule went on to tell Harry what he needed him to do. Parrott was talking. Rule wasn’t really listening . . . until the man spoke Lily’s name.
THIRTY-NINE
THE catering truck had been stripped of everything usually found in such a vehicle to make room to stack twenty-two unconscious people in back. Those people were, Lily hoped, being revived or at least tended back on Webster Street. Shannon had first aid training; she’d left him at the house to help, and Mullins had planned to call it in as soon as they left.
Mike was the driver of the truck now. No lupus would have been fooled by the substitution; the front seat must reek of blood to them. But he’d tossed a jacket over the back of the seat, covering the worst of it, and humans are visual creatures. So far no one had noticed anything out of the ordinary—including the cop who’d stopped them when they needed to enter the closed-off street.
Chris was up front, too. Lily and Scott crouched on bare metal in the back of the truck, their weapons out, and listened.
So did Al Drummond. He didn’t look much like himself, being all white and filmy ... except for that glowing gold ring on his left hand.
He gave her a tight smile. He had his weapon out, too, as if he planned to charge out of the truck with the rest of them, but since it was as insubstantial as the rest of him, she didn’t think he’d be much backup.
He hadn’t spoken to her. It was clear he knew she could see him, though, and that the others couldn’t. It was clear he meant to stick with her.
Why and how had his ghost started appearing days before he died? Was that one of those “instabilities” the Etorri Rhej had mentioned, some sort of astral time warp?
Did Drummond even know he was dead?
Lily had been told by someone who ought to know that ghosts weren’t souls, but the shadows cast by souls. She’d wondered at the time what the hell that meant. She still did. And she really, really wished this one would go into the light or something and quit following her.
“What the hell you mean, the cargo don’t go here?” Mike demanded. “I was told to bring it to the stage. This is the stage.”
A muffled voice told Mike he had to take the truck to Fourteenth Street—“at the back of the gathering, by the Washington Monument. You’ve heard of it? Big pointy thing sticking way up in the air?”
“Shit. I gotta call Big Thumbs.”
“You’ve got to move this thing, and quick!”
“I do what Big Thumbs says, asshole, not you.”
Lily nodded at Scott, then at the doors at the rear of the truck. He moved into position.
So did Drummond.
RULE ended the conversation with Harry quickly—and his phone immediately vibrated again. He answered.
It was Mark from on top of the Smithsonian. “Silver catering truck just pulled in behind the stage.”
He’d known she was here. He felt her. “Good.”
“And there’s some kind of upset at the back of the crowd near the Washington Monument—people moving away from one spot. Not running, just avoiding that spot for some reason.”
“Keep an eye on it. You see Deborah?”
“She and her guards are just the other side of the Monument. She seems to be resting.”
The elemental could be doing something that made people uneasy . . . but Matt would call if that were so. Assuming Deborah could tell, that is. “Okay. Notify José. Out.” Rule disconnected. “The catering truck’s here. They’re behind the stage.”
Parrott had kept his speech brief and was introducing someone. “Give her a warm welcome, because she’s seen the light and is here to tell the truth about what happened when Ruben Brooks fled justice. Ladies and gentlemen, Lily Yu!”
And Lily walked up the steps. Only it wasn’t Lily.
It looked precisely like her. It moved like her. It wore black slacks and a red jacket identical to one that hung in Lily’s closet . . . that thing was wearing her face, her form, stolen from her while she was locked up. The mate sense told Rule where Lily was—behind the stage, not on it. And moving. Lily was in motion, which meant she’d made her move—yes, look at Parrott turning to look behind the stage.
Crisp now and certain, Rule spoke. “That’s not Lily. It’s a dopplegänger. Lily’s making her move, though, so we need to as well. As planned—positions!”
Rule had kept the Nokolai guards with him. He’d expected trouble to come from the stage, and his Nokolai knew many useful tricks. Like this one, which was part of one of the training dances.
Six men dropped to their hands and knees, shoulder-to-shoulder in the short grass. Three men leaped onto their backs and linked arms to steady themselves.
Cullen grabbed Rule’s arm as he started to move. “There’s something weird about the Lily-double.”
Rule shook him off. “It’s not Lily. Of course it’s weird.” And along with Andy and Sean, he quickly scaled the lupi pyramid to crouch atop Jacob’s shoulders, with Andy an
d Sean doing the same on either side of him. Jacob’s hands gripped his ankles.
When he leaped, Jacob shoved. And Rule sailed toward the stage.
The human record for the standing long jump was a little over eleven feet. Rule wasn’t human, and Jacob’s push gave him extra momentum. He still wouldn’t make it to the stage in a single leap, but he passed over the heads of those at the very front to land lightly in the clear strip between the crowd and the stage. Andy and Sean landed on either side of him.
Their order had been settled ahead of time. Rule wanted to go first, but he was a Rho. He couldn’t risk himself unnecessarily. So when Sean bent, cupping his hands, it was Andy who accepted that stirrup. Sean heaved. Andy sailed onto the stage.
Rule was right behind him. He grabbed the edge of the stage with his hands and heaved himself up.
The not-Lily thing stood halfway between the podium and the stairs, unmoving. Parrott was nowhere in sight. Kim Evans had surged to her feet and started forward, telling them to get off, get off—
Not-Lily’s face lit in a sudden grin. It sprinted fast—faster than anything human could move—to Kim Evans, stopping behind her, drawing something from its pocket. As Rule raced toward them, it grabbed the woman’s hair, tipped her head back. And slit her throat.
Blood geysered out, some of it splattering Rule as he reached them. He seized not-Lily’s arm, using his momentum and a twist of his hip in a simple throw.
It spun with the throw, twisting so fast it landed with its feet under it, that huge grin still on its face, a bloody knife gripped in its left hand. “Oooh, yes, let’s play! Catch me if you can!” With impossible speed it darted toward the three people who’d risen from their chairs on the stage.
But while it had paused briefly to taunt, Andy and Sean hadn’t. They shot past Rule. Andy got to it a couple feet ahead of Sean. It swung one fist almost casually—and Andy went sailing off the stage. Sean closed with it, grappling for the knife. Rule ran to help him.
And from the strip of ground next to the stage Cullen yelled, “It’s possessed! That’s how they work it—they summon demons to possess the dopplegängers!”
Shit. Rule kept running.
A wolf landed on his back.
LILY heard Cullen shouting about demons possessing the dopplegängers as she raced after Dennis Parrott. Parrott had heard the commotion when she and the others burst out of the truck. It hadn’t taken him more than a second to decide to clear out. He was running flat out, headed for a long black limo.
Scott shot past her as if she’d been on a leisurely jog. Just as Parrott reached the limo, Scott tackled him.
Lily slowed and looked around to see where she was needed. She’d sent Mike and Chris to check under the stage. Mike had thrown a couple security types aside and was vanishing through the door now.
Chris, dammit, was right beside her.
“Those sons of bitches are fast,” a gravelly voice said.
She glanced quickly to her left—not at Chris. At Drummond. Or some variation on Drummond. “You can talk!”
“Huh. I guess I can. This is confusing as . . .” His voice faded out, though his mouth kept moving. He scowled and stopped trying.
“Lily?” Chris said.
“It’s that ghost. Never mind. Why aren’t you backing up Mike?”
“Uh—”
“I’m with Scott. I’m protected. Go!”
He sped off.
Scott had Parrott on the ground. He wasn’t moving. “He unconscious?” she asked.
A rising swell of screams drowned him out, but he nodded. Then paused with his head up as if he were sniffing the air. “Smells weird.”
Demon-possessed dopplegängers might. “You find any jewelry?”
Scott shook his head. “Just a watch. Could a watch be the magical whatsit you’re looking for? ”
Someone giggled. “No, silly. I’ve got it.”
Lily looked down. “Harry?”
The little brownie was jigging from foot to foot excitedly. His high-pitched voice cut through the crowd noise better than Scott’s deeper tones had. “I got the ring like Rule said, but I can’t give it to him because he’s fighting with a wolf. And I can’t give it to Cullen because he’s fighting with some other wolves on the other side of the stage.”
Fear jumped into her throat and clogged it. She swallowed. “You could give it to me.”
His face scrunched up like a wizened apple. “He didn’t say to give it to you.”
“It’s okay, though. I’m wearing the engagement ring, remember?”
His face cleared. “Yeah, you are! Here.” He tossed something up at her.
She caught the ring—heavy worked gold holding a dark red cabochon gem—then nearly dropped it. Death magic coated the thing with such thick foulness she could hardly stand to touch it. Quickly she stuffed it in her pocket. “We’ve got to get this to Cullen.” Who was fighting “some other wolves.”
Over the stage, or around it? Around was the long way, but whatever was happening on that stage was keeping Rule too busy to come check on her. Anything able to do that would keep her from getting the ring to Cullen. She set off at a run with Scott beside her.
And no ghosts. Thank God. Drummond must have gone on or whatever ghosts did.
People were fleeing. That was her first second’s impression as she rounded the end of the stage—people shoving and streaming away from the carnage and the wolves.
Some hadn’t made it. She glimpsed bodies, gore—other wolves chasing the wolves that chased the people trying desperately to get away. A pair of men faced one of the wolves. And in the trampled grass near the stage, a furious man with a movie star’s face flung a thin ribbon of fire.
Black fire. Mage fire.
It struck a wolf as the creature leaped for the stage. And burned—black flame rippling out to eat fur, skin, and muscle so fast it seemed instantaneous. The burning body fell to the ground, limbs twitching.
Another wolf leaped at the beautiful man’s back.
“Cullen!” she screamed.
He spun. The wolf slammed into him and they fell to the ground. The two men who’d been trying to keep it from Cullen leaped onto the wolf and pulled it off. One had its head, the other hugged the body tight. The one holding the head pulled it back, snapping the neck. They dropped the body.
Only it got up again. The head hung down, twisted at an insane angle. Even as Lily watched, still running, the head twitched—and started to resume its usual position. Slowly, but the damn thing was healing as she watched.
Cullen had rolled away. He sprang to his feet, threw out a hand, and sent another ribbon of black flame from his fingertips. The demon thing burned.
“I’ve got the ring,” Lily said as she came to a stop. “Parrott’s ring. It’s lousy with death magic. I hope you’ve got some juice left.”
“I’ve got juice. Put it—” His head swiveled to look up at the stage.
An Asian woman with long, straight hair leaped off it—right onto Cullen. She wore a red jacket, black slacks, and a face Lily looked at in the mirror every day. She was giggling like a teenage girl at a slumber party and she moved every bit as fast as Cullen ever had—grabbing the arm he tried to hit her with as she hauled back with a fist and punched him in the side of the head.
His head snapped back on his neck. She pulled her arm back to do it again—
And Rule leaped down from the stage, grabbing the demon-Lily’s arm as he landed, spinning her around. She grinned and swatted him playfully.
He staggered back, going to one knee.
Cullen shoved to his feet again, shook his head, and circled around the two of them to get to Lily. “Put it down! Put it on the ground!”
She bent and did that, then got out of his way. He skidded to a stop, flung out his hand, and showered the damned ring in mage fire. An awful lot of mage fire.
Lily scrambled back. As she did, black smoke erupted from the small inferno—smoke that smelled like a week-old floater.
Lily choked on a whiff and coughed.
The smoke cleared as quickly as it had appeared. Cullen was on his knees—and swaying. And the demon-Lily was gone. One second she’d been dodging Rule’s kick. The next she simply . . . wasn’t.
And a buff and gray wolf charged Rule.
Lily glanced frantically around. None of the wolves had vanished. Just the demon version of her.
“Rule,” she called, “I think Cullen’s out of it as far as mage fire goes!”
“Yeah,” Cullen muttered, looking dazed as he swayed in place on his knees. He lifted one hand to his head. “Seeing double and mage fire—not a good mix.”
Scott tackled the wolf just as it reached Rule. The two of them tumbled to the ground, ending with the wolf on top and Scott holding the beast’s head, trying to keep its open jaws from his face—and losing.
Until Rule kicked it in the head—a solid roundhouse kick that should have killed it outright. It shook its head as if briefly dazed and lunged for Scott’s throat again.
Rule’s second kick was to the beast’s body, sending it tumbling.
A white form drifted in front of Lily—Drummond was back. “Come on!” he rasped. “I found him. The bastard with the kill-switch, the master control—whatever the hell you call it. He’s at the other end of this mess.”
“Who is he? What does he look like?”
“Tall, blond, prissy mouth ...” Drummond’s mouth kept moving, but without sound.
“You faded out again!” Behind him she saw Scott and Rule weaving and dodging, keeping the demon wolf busy but unable to stop it.
Drummond’s scowl deepened as if he was concentrating. He spoke slowly. “Four rings. One here, one at each rally. The master controls them all. Powers them. You have to . . .” His voice faded out again.
Should she trust him? He’d claimed not to know about death magic, but all of a sudden he knew about the rings and the master control—or whatever the hell it was. Did she have any damn reason to believe him? Drummond had died to save Mullins. That didn’t mean he wasn’t rooting for the demons at this party.
