Blood Magic

by Eileen Wilks

  “I don’t think that would have the desired effect,” she said dryly.

  Sweat trickled between her shoulder blades. Her heartbeat picked up. Rule was close. She knew he lived and wasn’t badly hurt—some cuts to one arm, Sam had said. She knew, but she needed to see him.

  To T.J. she said, “I’ve got two perps. One’s out-realm, like I said when I was talking to Sam. The other’s human and a sorcerer, the real deal. Capabilities largely unknown, though he has some kind of mental shield and, uh, sometimes he can disguise himself magically. He may be Asian. I think I saw him, and that guy was Asian, five-three or -four, weight one-forty. He’s trying to take out a sorcerer who’s on our side. Nearly succeeded last night, which is why our guy is at the hospital.”

  T.J.’s eyebrows shot up. “This sorcerer was ready to burn down a hospital to kill one man?”

  “So it seems. There’s an awful damned lot I don’t know yet.”

  “Why’s the dragon here? He part of this?”

  “The part I can’t tell you about.”

  “You’re sounding like a Fed, Lily.”

  “Sorry.”

  The closer she got to Rule, the clearer her awareness of him became. It was distinctly sensory, this knowing, but not like any of her other senses. Touch, hearing, vision—they brought her information about everything around her: all the objects that contacted her physically, disturbed the air to create sound waves, or reflected light into shape and shadow. The mate-bond sense perceived only one thing: Rule. It told her nothing about him except where he was . . . less than thirty feet away now.

  Yet if moonglow were a wind, Lily thought, it might feel like this.

  Up ahead at the command post, Deputy Chief Hennessey—easy to spot in any crowd, even in his rig, because he was only a few inches shy of seven feet and skinny as a teenage boy—appeared to be arguing with a much shorter man in a wrinkled white shirt. When one of his people interrupted he listened briefly, nodded, then left with his man.

  And when he and the other firefighter left, she saw Rule. He lounged against the side of a pumper truck, looking bored. His hands were behind his back, but she could see the blood on one sleeve.

  His head turned. He straightened, and their eyes met . . . and she understood why his hands were in that odd position. They were cuffed behind his back.

  Anger, raw and red, poured through her. They’d trapped him—handcuffed him, treated him like a felon, when he was injured—when he hated being trapped, feared it, fought that fear—

  No. No, she was overreacting. The cuffs probably didn’t trigger his claustrophobia, since he could leave them behind simply by Changing. They were an insult and an offense, but they weren’t harming him.

  But she let the anger carry her forward, moving faster now. “Which one’s Dreyer?” she asked T.J.

  “Little guy, mostly bald, white shirt, glasses. Bear in mind that you can’t kill him. And if you scare him, he’ll bite.”

  “I’ve got bigger teeth.”

  “Lily—”

  “Don’t worry. I remember what you said about the bone.” And as they approached the small group clustered around the command cars, she pulled out the chain around her neck. She unfastened it.

  Rule’s gaze was intent on her. He didn’t say a word. She walked straight to him. A short man with glasses, very little hair, and a wilted white shirt with gold bars on the collar barked at her. “Who the hell are you?”

  She ignored him, stuffing the chain and the toltoi into the pocket in her slacks. “You’re all right,” she told Rule.

  One corner of his mouth kicked up. “I am.”

  She heaved a breath of relief. “Your arm—?”

  “Hurts, but it isn’t serious.”

  Deliberately she slid his ring on her finger, then turned. “Captain Dreyer,” she said to the short man who was scowling at her. The eyes behind his black-framed glasses were small and close-set.

  “Who the hell are you?” he repeated. “If my boys have let a damned reporter get through, I’ll string someone up by the balls.”

  “Their genitals should be safe, then. Though you may be fascinated to learn that you have women on your squad, and women lack those particular dangly bits.” She held out her shield. “I’m Unit 12 Special Agent Lily Yu. FBI. Why do you have my fiancé in handcuffs?”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  THE look on the captain’s face was deeply satisfying. His jaw dropped. His face, already red from the heat, hit a dangerous level of crimson. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “My fiancé, Rule Turner. You’ve got handcuffs on him. He was injured disposing of a bomb that might have killed dozens or even hundreds of people, and you’ve cuffed him.”

  “He’s a lupus.”

  She allowed her eyebrows to lift slightly. “And . . . ?”

  “And he threw a goddamned bomb. And how the hell do you claim to know what he did or didn’t do?”

  “The dragon told me.” She glanced at Rule. He wore his bland face, but something coursed behind his eyes. Humor? Incredulity? Anger that she’d chosen this of all moments to announce their engagement? “Did Sam have it right?” she asked him.

  “Basically, yes. I saw the, ah, perp leave a sack outside Cullen’s room.”

  “Outside the room? He didn’t go in?”

  Rule shook his head. “My nose told me what it contained. I carried it to the window behind the nurses’ station, broke the window, and got rid of the bomb. An orderly saw me. I’ve described him to the captain. I don’t know if anyone has spoken to him.”

  “Lieutenant James,” Dreyer demanded of T.J., “who is this woman, and why did you bring her here?”

  “She told you who she is, and you’ve got it backward. She brought me.”

  Rule’s eyelids dipped to half-mast. He spoke too softly for the others to hear. “Your sense of timing amazes me.”

  It wasn’t what he said. Maybe it was his voice or the look in his eyes. For whatever reason, one kind of heat flashed over into another—inappropriate as hell, wild as a grass fire, and just as hard to ignore. She took a second to settle her breath, then answered him, pitching her voice so low only he could hear. “He’s pissed me off. And I get hot-mad, not cold-mad like you.”

  Again something flashed in his eyes—something she could almost read.

  Lily turned back to the captain, placing herself between the little man and Rule. “Do you have anything—anything other than blind prejudice, that is—to discredit Rule’s account of events?” She paused barely long enough for a hiccup. “I didn’t think so. You need to have those cuffs removed now. You also—”

  “Wait just one second. You can’t tell me who to arrest or not arrest.”

  Her eyebrows climbed again, higher this time. “Is Rule under arrest?”

  “He’s a suspect. Until I—”

  “Has he been disruptive? Violent? Is there any bloody damned reason for those cuffs?”

  “It’s simple common sense to restrain a lupus!”

  “The courts do not agree with you. Have the cuffs removed. Call the officers who are trying to remove Special Agent Weaver and the others from hospital room 418.”

  “If anything your fiancé says is true, that room’s a crime scene.”

  “The perp never entered the room. Your officers need to look for evidence in the hall. The patient in that room is under the Bureau’s protection. He is a high-value consultant who has been targeted by the perp who damn near blew up this hospital. He and those guarding him will not be moved until we’ve completed preparations for secure and medically safe transport. In addition, you need to follow standard protocol for dispersing the crowds gathered outside the police barriers.”

  “Listen, I don’t care who you are or what you’ve been sleeping with. You are not in charge here. This is a local matter, not federal, and I can have you removed if you interfere.”

  “Captain Dreyer.” Lily advanced on him. “Magic was used in the commission of multiple felonies—
attempted murder, arson, possibly conspiracy to commit an act of terrorism. So yes, I can come in here and interfere.” She smiled the way a knife smiles at the prospect of parting flesh. “And that’s who I’m sleeping with, Captain. Not what. Who.”

  “That is well-done,” said a clear but accented female voice, “but we cannot waste time on this pig-eyed fellow.”

  A tiny Asian woman wearing black slacks and a thin silk shirt in purest white marched up to Lily and the captain. Her hair was silver-shot midnight, twisted on top of her head in a tight bun and pinned there by delicately jeweled hair sticks. Her posture was impeccably straight. The fine tracery of wrinkles in her face seemed an embellishment of the ivory skin, artfully spun by that great spider, Time.

  “Another one?” Dreyer sputtered. “Another interfering bitch? Where did you come from? I suppose you’re going to tell me you’re a fucking Fed, too.”

  “You,” Grandmother said, “will be quiet now.” She stopped in front of him and looked directly into his eyes. “You will do as the federal agent told you, and you will stop making trouble.”

  Dreyer’s face lost its rage-induced color. His eyes glazed. “Trouble?”

  “You will cooperate.” Grandmother stressed the word as if it were code. After a second her head tilted as she glanced at Rule. “Do not concern yourself with the handcuffs, however. I will see to those.” She waved a hand. Her lips moved, though Lily didn’t hear anything.

  The cuffs clattered to the pavement.

  “Thank you, Madame,” Rule said politely, bringing his arms in front of him with a small wince. He rubbed one wrist. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

  Grandmother’s eyes gleamed. She was delighted with herself. “Mr. Seabourne taught me a cantrip for locks. I thought it might be useful.”

  Lily stared at Dreyer in dismay. He’d turned to the cop next to him—a sergeant, who looked deeply puzzled—and was issuing orders for the people in room 418 to be left alone.

  Oh, shit. “Grandmother,” she said, hurrying forward, “I am so very glad to see you. But you can’t go around ensorcelling police captains!”

  “Obviously, I can. That I do not usually choose to do so is beside the point. You were doing well, but my way was quicker.” The dainty, imperial chin tipped higher. “I have been walking, and it is very hot. I believe the air-conditioning in the hospital is working once more. We will adjourn to Mr. Seabourne’s room to discuss matters.”

  Even Madame Yu couldn’t decree an immediate exodus to air-conditioning. Rule wondered if she experienced heat the way he did, or if she was closer to human norms. A hundred degrees might make him want shade, but it wasn’t debilitating. Such temperatures were hard on humans, yet all around him firefighters battled disaster in spite of the heat and their heavy protective gear.

  Humans did amaze him sometimes.

  He waited with the other civilians while Lily and the man with her—he worked in Homicide, Rule remembered, though he couldn’t recall the man’s name—spoke with Dreyer and the fire department official. Lily wanted to confirm that the building was safe, to find out about casualties, and to outline the particular needs of an investigation which required evidence of the use of magic. She’d called in the FBI crime scene van, but it wasn’t here yet, and much of the work of managing the scene and locating witnesses would fall to—as she put it—the locals.

  Captain Dreyer was the epitome of cooperation. Rule thought he would have agreed if she’d suggested he go home and watch Sesame Street. It was disturbing. Pleasant, but disturbing. “How long will he be like that?” he murmured to Madame Yu.

  “A day, a week.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I will admit I used more power than was necessary. He has pig eyes.”

  In other words, she’d been pissed. Like her granddaughter. He smiled. “And did you use a similar method to get past the police barricades?”

  She looked at him sternly, but her eyes were twinkling. “This is a silly question.”

  “Here’s another one. What did you trade for with Cullen to get that unlock spell you used?” Cullen was like a dragon in one way. Dragons hoarded and occasionally bartered information; Cullen hoarded and occasionally bartered spells.

  “I was very generous. I told him one way of creating a wan chi spell, which is a carrier spell. You do not know what that means, but he did. I also told him about an out-realm being who has lived in China.”

  Startled, he said, “You told him about the Chimei? When was—”

  “Months ago. Hush.”

  The slightly scruffy older man who used to work with Lily ambled up to them. What was his . . . Oh, yes, Rule remembered now. He had what sounded like two first names—Thomas James. Lily called him by his initials. T.J.

  “Ma’am,” Thomas James said, “you can head inside now. But the elevators aren’t working yet, and I understand the patient you’re wanting to visit is on the fourth floor. Do you need—”

  Madame Yu awarded his concern a single snort and started for the hospital entry.

  “Guess not.” James glanced at Rule. “I met her once before. Did Lily tell you?”

  Rule shook his head, glanced over at Lily—who waved him on and kept talking to the fire department official—and started for the hospital entry. “What was it like?”

  “Embarrassed the hell out of Lily.” He fell into step beside Rule, grinning. “She’d just transferred to Homicide and I sort of took her under my wing. Habit of mine, with the young ones. I guess she said something about that to her grandmother, because a week later Lily turns up, all stiff and embarrassed, telling me her grandmother wants to have lunch with me. To check me out,” he added in case Rule, not being a cop, had overlooked the obvious. “Not that Lily said so, of course. But Mrs. Yu didn’t have a problem saying it.”

  “You must have checked out. You seem to be intact.”

  “That,” James said after a moment, “isn’t funny. She scared the shit out of me. I laughed it off—you know, made like it was the same as being interrogated by that fourth-grade teacher who terrified you as a kid. And it was, in a way. But in another way, it wasn’t the same at all.” His brow creased. “What did she do to Dreyer, anyway?”

  Rule considered various answers, but decided to keep it simple. “Nothing permanent. The, ah, skill is one she rarely uses.”

  James grunted, looking thoughtful.

  The ability to ensorcell with one’s gaze wasn’t a human talent. As far as Rule knew, dragons were the only beings who could do it. At some point, Madame Yu had been transformed into a dragon. At some point, she’d returned to her original form—but some of the dragon magic had remained. It must have become interwoven with her being so deeply that it couldn’t be separated. Deeply enough that she’d passed a version of it down through the blood.

  That part didn’t surprise Rule. Didn’t he enjoy some degree of his wolf’s gifts even in this form? Didn’t lupi pass their magic down through the blood, even though they mated in human form?

  No, the surprising part was Madame Yu’s other ability. That seemed to have little to do with dragon magic. Rule had never heard of anyone else who could turn into a—

  “You think she put a whammy on me like she did with Dreyer?” James asked suddenly. “Put the fear into me magically, I mean.”

  “Hmm? Oh, you mean Madame Yu. No, I don’t think so. She inspires a certain caution without resorting to magic. The, ah, unusual ability she used on Dreyer. . . that experience isn’t one you’d mistake for anything else.”

  “Yeah?” His eyebrows rose in surprised curiosity. “Pulled it on you, has she?”

  “Once.” It had been terrifying. Infuriating. Then he’d learned why she’d done it—in a misguided attempt to draw demon poison from his system into herself. The woman lacked sense sometimes, particularly if she was protecting those she cared about. Again, like her granddaughter. “I was angry, but it was an unusual situation, and her motives were selfless.”

  Another grunt, this one skeptical. “You
like her.”

  “Enormously.” They reached the hospital doors. With the electricity back on, they opened automatically. The air inside was cooler, but not back to its usual air-conditioned chill.

  The lobby was a mess. Firefighters and mud did seem to go together. Even here, where there had been neither fire nor hoses, there were muddy footprints everywhere. Very few people, though. A trio who looked like clerical or administrative workers were clustered behind the admissions desk, talking intently with a firefighter. There was a cop—female, young, in uniform—standing at the door to the stairwell.

  No one else. Most notably, no Madame Yu. She must have headed straight upstairs.

  “Just as well you and the grandmother get along, I guess, considering you’re going to be family.” James thrust out a hand. “Congratulations.”

  Rule shook his hand—and discovered it was pleasing, satisfying in a way he hadn’t expected, to receive this man’s well wishes. “Thank you.”

  “I was going to warn you to treat Lily right and all that, but I’d forgotten about the grandmother. I figure you for a man with some sense. You won’t want her upset with you.”

  Rule grinned. “No, I won’t.”

  “Good.” James nodded firmly, then looked pained. “I’m going to have to go to the wedding, you know.”

  “Oh?”

  “Camille will expect it. Camille’s my wife. It’s going to be a big deal, isn’t it? Written up in the gossip rags, that sort of thing.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  James shook his head mournfully. “Thought so. Tell Lily Camille will make my life hell if she doesn’t get to go.”

  “I’ll pass that on.” Rule looked back at the doors. Lily was hurrying their way, her stride as quick and energetic as if she weren’t wilting from the heat. “I’d like a private word with Lily before we go upstairs.”

  James’s eyebrows rose. “Sure. I’ll just head up and check out this mysterious wounded sorcerer.”

  Rule winced. “I’d appreciate it if you manage not to say that too loudly. Or at all.”