Blood Magic

by Eileen Wilks

  A hand landed on her shoulder as she selected the second one. “Give me chocolate,” a woman demanded.

  Lily smiled over her shoulder at a tall woman with cropped blond hair. “How much?”

  “Heaps of chocolate. Huge heaps.” Cynna thrust an empty plate at her. “I can’t drink, so chocolate has to do the trick.”

  Lily piled three brownies on Cynna’s plate. “What’s up?”

  “Did you know I’m supposed to make the baby’s food myself?”

  At nearly seven months pregnant, Cynna could have stood in for a fertility goddess—if that goddess doubled as an Amazon and liked to cover her skin in arcane symbols. She had the sculpted arms and shoulders of a warrior accustomed to drawing a bow. No lopping off of a breast for this Amazon, though. Cynna’s breasts were large and expanding along with her vanished waist, as was easy to see in the stretchy red top she wore with loose linen trousers.

  “From the look of things, you could feed half a dozen babies,” Lily said.

  Cynna waved an impatient hand. “I’m not talking about milk. That will be easy—my body just does it.” She crammed half a brownie into her mouth, closing her eyes as she chewed. “Ah. That helps. I mean the actual baby food.”

  “Oh, I see.” Lily nodded. “You’ve been talking to my sister.”

  Lily had invited some of her own family to the baby shower so there would be more guests present; most of the gifts had been mailed in. Her mother had made some excuse, which Lily had expected; Grandmother had intended to come, but her companion, Li Qin, had gotten sick, so she wasn’t here. But both Lily’s sisters had come. To Lily’s amazement, Cynna seemed to have hit it off with Susan.

  “Well, she’s a doctor, isn’t she?” Cynna said. “She knows about this stuff. Only I can barely cook for me! Eggs. I can scramble eggs now. And make macaroni and cheese that isn’t from the box, and Cullen’s chili is great, and so’s his pot roast, but a baby can’t eat chili or pot roast, can it? I thought I’d have months and months to get up to speed on the cooking thing, but—”

  “Susan is a dermatologist, not a pediatrician. She’s also perfect. No one can live up to Susan’s standards, not even Susan.” Hard as it had been to grow up with a perfect big sister, Lily had finally realized it was even harder being the perfect big sister.

  Cynna snorted. “Pot and kettle, Lily.”

  “Oh, come on. I’m nowhere near as bad as she is.”

  “Are you kidding? You wore a white dress to a barbeque, and—”

  “Cream. It’s cream, not white.”

  “—and didn’t get a spot on it. You hang up your clothes by color and type. I’ve seen your closet,” she added darkly. “You line up your jackets according to the spectrum—red to orange to yellow to—”

  “That’s anal, not perfect, and besides, I don’t have any orange jackets. Orange makes me look sick. The point is, you’ve got to stop taking everything Susan says as gospel.”

  “I don’t, but additives are evil, right? Organic is good. Fresh and organic is really good.”

  “This is California. You can buy organic baby food.” Lily was pretty sure it was available in the rest of the country, too, but it had to be available here. You could buy organic rope in California, for God’s sake.

  “I can?” Relief warred with doubt on Cynna’s face. Relief won. “I could buy a bunch of it. I could buy a blender, too. See, the Rhej gave me this steamer thingy. It’s for vegetables, and all you do is dump them in and put water in the base and set the timer, and they cook. It’s real easy. It probably wouldn’t be a big deal to blenderize steamed veggies if I ran out of organic baby food or something.”

  “There you go.” Lily patted her friend’s arm. “Between blenderized veggies and organic baby food, it will work out.”

  “Yeah.” Cynna turned to survey the crowd. For a moment they ate brownies in silence.

  It was good to see Cynna like this—obsessing over silly stuff, more like her usual self. The acquisition of a couple of the early memories had been hard on her, but tonight she’d shaken that off.

  Lily finished first—she’d ended up with a single brownie after all—and fingered the little object in her pocket. She needed to find Cullen and give it to him. And there was another way lupus parties were different. No one wrapped presents—lupi were such guys sometimes—nor was there any set time to hand over your gift.

  The presents themselves were different, too. Lupi considered it tacky to buy a baby gift. They were either handmade, hand-me-down, or “for the baby jar”—which meant cash. Most gave cash. Lily could relate to that. Cash gifts were a Chinese custom, too, though not at baby showers, and the money was tucked into red envelopes, not a big glass jar.

  But the close friends of the father-to-be were supposed to either make a gift or pass on something with a story attached. The story was part of the present, a tale of all those who had slept in the cradle, gnawed on the blocks, or been warmed by the quilt.

  This was one lupus custom she hadn’t needed explained. With their hand-me-downs and handmade presents, the clan claimed the child. The objects were made by clan, used by clan, woven into the history of the clan. They didn’t come from the external, human world . . . which had made it hard for her to decide on a gift, because she did come from the external, human world. And she didn’t know how to make anything except an arrest.

  Cynna ate the last bite of brownie with a sigh of pleasure. “That was good, but now I need liquid. Not water and not milk—I’m ready to party.”

  “Dr. Pepper?” Lily smiled at Cynna’s current definition of partying.

  “Right. If there’s anything left. Man, there must be a thousand people here. Come on.”

  Lily smiled as she followed. Cynna hadn’t come to the FBI via conventional law enforcement the way Lily had, so she’d never learned to estimate crowd size. “Roughly half that, I think, counting the kids.”

  “Still, that’s a lot. Lots of presents, which is good.” Cynna patted her protruding belly. “Lots of work for you, though.”

  “Not really.” They’d reached the tubs filled with melting ice and soft drinks. Lily dug out a can of Dr. Pepper for Cynna and took a Diet Coke for herself. “Rule and the Rhej handled almost all of the baby party stuff.”

  “Yeah, but you did the shower, too, and then there’s all those weirdo calls you’ve been getting.”

  “At least those cases are easy to clear, and otherwise things are pretty quiet right now.”

  “You know you shouldn’t say shit like that.”

  Lily snorted. “You’re superstitious?”

  “Of course not, but you’re never supposed to say things are quiet. That’s when you get hit with three urgent cases or a performance review or you get sick or—”

  Lily held up a hand, laughing. “All right, already. I take it back. Things are hectic and my plate is full, and yes, the party was lots of trouble. And worth every bit of it.”

  “Oh, now you’ve done it. I tear up over commercials these days.” Cynna sniffed, grinned, and added, “I guess all this organizing is good practice for your wedding. Have you set the date yet?”

  “Not yet.” She tipped her can and drank.

  “You’re avoiding the subject.”

  “No, I’m thirsty.” Lily glanced around. “I need to find Cullen. I haven’t given him my present yet.”

  “Now you’re changing the subject.” Cynna was downright gleeful. “You’re scared.”

  “I’m not scared.” She loved Rule. She not only wanted to spend the rest of her life with him; she had to. The mate bond gave them no options there, but she’d stopped resenting that, so getting married would just put a legal gloss over what was already true. There was no reason to be scared; the annoying lump in her throat wasn’t fear. It was . . . aggravation.

  “I’m not scared,” she repeated. “But I’m contemplating Las Vegas. My mother is insane.”

  “What flavor of insane are we talking?”

  Lily gestured with he
r Diet Coke. “Every flavor a wedding can come in. The dress. The date. Flowers. Attendants. Doves.”

  “Doves? Doves as in big gray birds?”

  “White ones, actually. She wants to release dozens of white doves when Rule and I say our vows. Not exactly the right aesthetic message when the groom turns wolf on occasion, is it?”

  Cynna snickered. “Oh, yeah, some of your guests might miss out on the aesthetic message. They might think the doves were a party game. Flying appetizers.”

  Lily pictured a bunch of well-dressed men taking one look at the doves, Changing, and racing off yipping after them. A smile tugged at her mouth. “Maybe I should let her have her way. It might be worth it to see her face if . . . But no.” Reluctantly she abandoned the fantasy. “They wouldn’t really do that. Besides, I don’t know if we’ll have any lupus guests.”

  Cynna squeezed her arm. “You’ll have Cullen. And I bet there’ll be more, once they get used to the idea.”

  “Maybe.” She didn’t like thinking about what marriage might do to Rule’s standing with his people and veered back to the part she had some control over. “I do not want birds crapping on me at my wedding.”

  “That’s a strong argument against. I guess you’ve pointed out the crap problem?”

  “Yeah, and admittedly she let that notion go, but she’ll just come up with something else.” Something grand and showy and expensive. To think that only a couple weeks ago, Lily had worried that her mother wouldn’t accept the marriage. She shook her head. “Never mind about my mother. Today is all about you.”

  “All about the little rider, really. But since he can’t appreciate his presents yet, I get to help.”

  “Still haven’t settled on a name?”

  “Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a name neither of you has any strong associations for? Cullen likes the old-fashioned names. And magically, the older names are stronger, so—”

  “Does that count?’ Lily asked, startled. “I thought the idea that names have power over you was an old wives’ tale.”

  “Oh, that part’s bullshit—for us, anyway. It’s true for anyone who has what Micah calls a true name, but humans mostly don’t, or we don’t know it. No, for us names don’t so much have power as affect power. We don’t understand how, but . . . well, look at your people.” She waved a hand, accidentally slapping the bare back of a fair-haired man who was talking to two equally bare-chested men. “Whoops. Sorry,” she said with a grin when he turned around, one sandy eyebrow raised.

  Lily knew there were a lot of superstitions about names in Chinese culture. She hadn’t really paid attention—it had seemed like one of those relics of the past the older people cling to. “Hi, Jason,” she said to the fair-haired lupus, who was eyeing Cynna appreciatively; and, “Flirt later,” she told Cynna, taking her elbow and getting her moving. “We really should get you back to Cullen. It must be nearly time for the dancing.”

  At a lupus party, you always eat first. Best if none of the wolves is hungry.

  Her mind slid back to what Cynna had said. “You mean all that stuff about, ah . . .” Numbers. There was something about the way a name added up, wasn’t there? Oh, yeah. “You mean that business about the number of strokes in the name matters?”

  “Uh . . . you might say that some elements of the Chinese system are disputed by other practitioners. But every people in the world pays attention to names and how they’re bestowed.”

  “I can see where that would make it hard to pick a name.”

  “No kidding.” She heaved a sigh. “I suggested Isaac, but Isaac makes Cullen think of a little guy with glasses who shot him once. So he suggests Andrew, but then we’d call him Andy, and to me Andy is a guy with a hairy back and no sense of humor.” She shook her head. “Didn’t have much class in bed, either, so I’m thumbs down on that one. I’m leaning toward Micah. Both of us like him, so it’s got good associations. What do you think?”

  “Micah’s a good name.” If you wanted to name your kid after a dragon, that is. Which might strike Cullen and Cynna as exactly right.

  “Hey! Hey, Lily!”

  She turned and saw a woman exactly her height but younger, with a rounder face, shorter—and trendier—hair, and an abundance of earrings.

  The earrings and the hair were new. Beth was always trying new things. Lily waited while her little sister plunged through the crowd toward her with all the frisky determination of a half-grown pup.

  “Hi, Cynna,” Beth said as she reached them. “Wow, you are so pregnant. You look tremendous. Makes me want to go get knocked up, but I’m not quite that shallow. When do you count the loot in that jar?”

  Cynna beamed. “The baby jar comes last, after the dancing. It’s really full, isn’t it?”

  “Sure is. Speaking of dancing, you don’t mind if I dance with that mouthwatering husband of yours, do you?”

  “Might as well. Everyone else will. Cullen’s a fantastic dancer.” Cynna grinned. “Even when he keeps his clothes on.”

  “You think he will, then?” Beth looked wistful. “I never got to see him dance at Club Hell, and Lily says he’s not working there anymore. I’d sure like to see—”

  “Beth,” Lily said warningly.

  “—him in a G-string. It’s a purely innocent lust,” she assured Cynna. “Coupled with a certain artistic curiosity.”

  Lily spoke dryly. “Except that you aren’t an artist.”

  “It’s okay,” Cynna said, but she had a funny expression on her face. She tipped her head, looking at Lily. “Is this how you feel when I flirt with Rule? Sort of smug and embarrassed, only you have no idea why you’d be embarrassed?”

  “Lily probably stops at smug,” Beth said. “She doesn’t do embarrassed. How come I haven’t seen any teenage boys here? Babies, I’ve seen. Toddlers and kids of both sexes. Teenage girls, yes, but no teenage boys.”

  Lily exchanged a glance with Cynna. “After lupus boys reach puberty, they live separately until the age of seventeen or eighteen.”

  “Really? Wow. That’s the most sensible system I’ve ever heard of.”

  Lily grinned because she knew what Beth meant, but the boys weren’t sequestered because young male adolescents are obnoxious. They lived apart so they wouldn’t eat anyone.

  From the other side of the field she heard deep voices break into song. “Hey, listen! That’s that Russian song. ‘Kalinka.’”

  “Yeah!” Cynna grabbed Beth’s arm. “C’mon. You have got to see this.”

  “Okay, but—”

  “They’re going to dance,” Cynna said. “Some of them, anyway. It’s one of their training dances, so it’s about half dance, half acrobatics. Cullen says the one tonight will be special.”

  “Okay,” Beth said again, tugged into motion, “but I need to talk to Lily a minute.”

  Cynna’s eyebrows shot up. “One of those kinds of talks? The kind I shouldn’t stick around for?”

  “It’s about Grandmother.”

  “I’m going to go watch the dancers,” Cynna said decisively. And left.

  FIVE

  LILY watched her friend disappear into the sea of bare backs and chests. “It’s amazing. Cynna has body-tackled a demon, but she scurries away at the mention of Grandmother.”

  Beth didn’t smile. “I’m worried about her.”

  “About Grandmother?” Lily sorted through a half dozen questions and settled on, “Why?”

  “She didn’t come to the shower or the baby party.”

  “Because Li Qin got sick.”

  “If it were just that,” Beth said darkly, “I’d still be suspicious. When has Li Qin ever been sick?”

  Now that Beth mentioned it, Lily couldn’t remember ever seeing her grandmother’s companion down with so much as the sniffles. But that didn’t mean anything. Even people with sturdy constitutions got sick now and then—and when they did, they often got really sick.

  Should she be worried about Li Qin? Lily frowned and tugged on her sister’s arm
. “Walk while you talk. I don’t want to miss the dancers.”

  “You won’t miss anything,” Beth said. “Rule’s probably saving you a spot. Where is he?”

  “Over by the dancers,” Lily admitted. She didn’t have to guess. She knew. That was one of the neat things about the mate bond. She always knew roughly where he was.

  “About Grandmother . . . you must have noticed how Chinese she’s been lately.”

  “I haven’t seen much of her since I got back from North Carolina.”

  “That’s the other thing. No one’s seeing much of her.”

  Lily shrugged. “We’re talking about Grandmother.”

  “Yes, so strange is her normal, but she only turns über-Chinese when she’s annoyed or upset or up to something. I think she’s up to something, but if not, there’s something wrong. And the thing that proves it is Freddie.”

  “Freddie?” Lily blinked. “Our cousin Freddie?”

  “Of course our cousin. Who else could get him to come here? Aside from his mother, I mean, but she wouldn’t. So that leaves Grandmother. Why would she send him here instead of coming herself?”

  “Ah . . . Beth, Freddie’s not here.”

  “He is. I saw him not ten minutes ago. I tried to catch him, but he ducked into the crowd when he saw me coming.”

  If Lily hadn’t known for a fact that there was no alcohol at the party, she’d have suspected her sister of being drunk. “Maybe you saw Paul.”

  Beth’s lip curled. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  The scorn was possibly justified. Aside from the fact that they were both Chinese, Susan’s husband looked nothing like Freddie. But at least Paul was here, unlike Freddie. Lily figured he’d attended to protect Susan from attack by ravening werewolves. Or from being hit on, which would probably happen anyway, though very politely. “Beth, it couldn’t have been Freddie you saw. He wasn’t invited, and there’s no way Freddie would crash a party. Especially this one. Lupi scare him.”

  “I know that. It proves Grandmother is involved. He’s more scared of her than he is of lupi.”