Blood Magic

by Eileen Wilks

  He needed to plan, she told herself. Whatever he planned might take time to pull together. That made sense. The long delay did not mean something had happened to him. He was alive; she knew that much.

  But wouldn’t Kun Nu enjoy having a second hostage to use against Lily? Wouldn’t she relish the shock as she dumped Rule’s unconscious body in the little prison with Lily and Cynna?

  Lily pushed to her feet. “I’m not good at waiting. I’m not good at not doing something. I’m going to do some stretches.”

  “That’s part of Bird Woman’s plan, making us wait. Making you wait, I should say,” Cynna said matter-of-factly as she gathered the cards again. “She doesn’t care if I get antsy and jumpy, but she’s hoping you do.”

  “I know. I still need to move.”

  There was one small open space of floor between the bunks and the cot. Lily lay down there, trying to focus on her body and breath. She stretched her arms over her head.

  The earth groaned. And twitched.

  It was a quiet sound, almost a grumbling, as if the rocks around them had a minor complaint—one they threw off with a little shudder Lily felt all along her body.

  She looked at Cynna and saw the fear in her friend’s eyes, a fear that matched her own. Then, determinedly, she began her yoga stretches.

  This was the third time they’d heard the noise. The third time the earth had trembled. The first time it happened, Lily had been hit by the irrational hope that the little shudder might somehow mean help was coming, even though she knew Rule wasn’t near.

  Cynna’s guess was more likely. “Is it her?” she’d whispered. “Is she pulling a shake, rattle, and roll on us?” Lily had had no trouble figuring out what she meant. The Chimei might well be causing mini-quakes to scare them.

  If so, she’d hit on a great technique. There was a crack in one wall now, up near the ceiling. Dust sifted down from that crack as Lily brought her knees to her chest.

  It was also possible that the little tremors had nothing to do with them or the Chimei. This was California. Quakes happened.

  LIKE any war, this one involved a good deal of waiting.

  It was after midnight. Rule lay flat on his stomach in the dirt, taking advantage of the cover offered by scrubby growth at the edge of a small woods—sage and bindweed and some kind of sedge, their scents mingling with that of the tiny white flowers on a struggling toyon bush.

  Also with the scent of the hamburgers the gang members had grilled earlier, and that of the other lupi hiding, as he was, in the weeds and grasses around a dilapidated house just outside the city. One of them lay very near Rule—one who must be finding this wait extremely difficult. Cullen often said he was not a patient man.

  The clouds had moved off, the moon was three-quarters full, and Rule could see his targets clearly. From Rule’s vantage point he could see the side of the house, some of the front yard, and most of the back—if you could call bare dirt a yard. The house they watched had probably been abandoned for years before its current occupants moved in. If not, someone had liked living rough. The roof had fallen in on one side. There was a porch light out front and two floodlights in back—the floodlights apparently so the gang members could see to play cards and drink beer.

  Sixteen were in view now. There were thirty-six altogether. Four of the others were patrolling the area immediately around the house, though with their limited senses it didn’t do them much good. The rest were sleeping in the more intact part of the house.

  Thirty-six armed gangbangers against a dozen lupi warriors and one sorcerer. Good odds, especially since the lupi wearing charms were Benedict’s best. The obvious move was to kill the sentries silently, then shoot the ones drinking and playing cards outside from a safe distance, then go in and clean up the sleepers. Nasty, but obvious.

  Also disastrous. The place was warded to hell and gone. One of those wards, the outer one, was made to repel small objects like mosquitoes or bullets.

  Fortunately, getting in the house wasn’t the goal, unless things went wrong. Lily wasn’t there.

  Rule’s mate sense wasn’t as strong as Lily’s, or maybe he wasn’t as good at reading it as she was. But from this close, it was crystal clear. He knew exactly where she was . . . roughly twenty feet behind the house, and at least that far underground.

  He took some comfort from her nearness, even as he swore silently at the wait. He hoped she took comfort in knowing he was near, too—though she might well be cursing him for doing nothing for such a long time.

  But this part wasn’t his to do. Only, dammit, if they didn’t hurry, the Chimei and her lover would be back, and then—

  Cullen poked his side. He looked at his friend, who was still pale. He wasn’t healed, wasn’t ready for this, but they needed him. Which was just as well. Needed or not, he would have come.

  Cullen tipped his chin to their right.

  A small, gray-skinned head poked up out of the dirt ten feet away. It was hairless and too round, but had the appropriate number of eyes with a single nose placed between them and the mouth. But the nose was somewhere between pug and snout, the chin was missing, and the eyes were too large altogether.

  The gnome looked around, blinking, until he saw Rule, then heaved himself up out of the ground. Only after he left it could Rule see that there was, indeed, a hole there.

  He trotted over to them. He was wearing fuchsia shorts with yellow suspenders. “Is having troubles,” he whispered. “Granite upcropping. Hard to work with, is. Stubborn.”

  Rule spoke in a voice too soft too carry—not truly subvocalizing, though, because gnomes’ hearing was as limited as humans’. “You told me about the granite an hour ago.”

  “Is stubborn, granite,” he repeated, his big eyes blinking. Gnomes in this realm lived underground, and this youngster seemed to be one who was adapted for darkness. “Is also problem of ward. Very good ward someone is building. Max is saying to telling of you, thirty minutes maybe. Maybe less, maybe more. Is having go slow. Reshaping too much, too fast, and ward is triggering, rock collapsing.”

  That was almost exactly what he’d said the last time he popped up to give them a progress report. Rule held on to what remained of his patience. The little gnome was someone’s nephew—one of the elders, he thought. The elders who were currently repaying a debt by tunneling through stone to reach the bomb shelter behind the house.

  The gnomish elders could move rock magically—and they could do it without triggering the ward. “Thank you. If you would give the Rho that information, I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”

  Blink, blink. “Where is he being?”

  “The same place he was the last time you brought us a report. Over by the large boulder you admired.”

  The little fellow gave a single nod and trotted off.

  Rule settled down to wait.

  Tonight’s mission was to get Lily and Cynna out. Get them to safety. Ideally, they would do that without a fight, for the Chimei and the sorcerer weren’t here. Sam had claimed he could lure them away, and he’d been right. When Rule led Max and Cullen to this house, the Chimei and her lover had been gone.

  That was early in the afternoon, around one. More than eleven hours ago. Max had brought the elders, and they’d been working ever since. Tunneling toward the bomb shelter. Slowly.

  Faster than anyone else could do it, Rule reminded himself. Certainly no one else could do it as secretly as the gnomes. And as hard as the waiting was, every hour the Chimei and sorcerer didn’t come was another hour closer to getting Lily and Cynna out. Another hour, too, for Cullen to heal. At this point, every hour of healing helped.

  Rescuing the women would not end the war. That would end only with their enemies’ deaths or complete defeat. If Rule lived through this night and their enemies were undefeated, he would travel to Leidolf Clanhome and call Leidolf to war. If Isen lived, he would call up Nokolai’s subject clans, who must answer a call to war.

  And if neither of them lived, Benedict would
become Rho. And he would call up Nokolai’s subject clans, and continue the war.

  The Lady had granted the Rhej one word. That word was war.

  From well behind him, a mourning dove called. Rule stiffened. That was the signal from the lookout near the road. Someone was coming. If the lookout could see who it was, and that he was short and Asian, he’d . . .

  The dove called again, twice.

  That was it, then. The sorcerer was coming. They were out of time.

  Isen had never been very good at birdcalls. The rapid-fire coo-coo-coo-coo of a black-billed cuckoo—which didn’t actually live in California—was the only one he could do well. “Plan B,” Rule whispered.

  Cullen gripped Rule’s arm, then pointed at the sky and whispered, “That’s her.”

  What? Rule didn’t . . . No, wait—something pale and misty, almost invisible, flowed along a route he thought followed the dirt road that led here, as if following a car on that road. He switched to subvocalizing. “What do you see?”

  Cullen answered the same way. “Power. Lots and lots of it.”

  “Do you think she’s finished the transformation Sam spoke of?”

  “I don’t know. The power is . . . It’s different than anything I’ve seen before. It oscillates, or flickers, or . . . maybe it isn’t fully in our realm. Maybe she can’t hold it here consistently until she’s here consistently.”

  “That would be good.” He glanced to his left, at the tall boulder where he’d sent the gnome. His father wasn’t visible, of course. He forced himself to relax. And waited some more.

  “Dammit,” Cullen muttered very low, “they’re supposed to have been tracking the patrollers. How long does it take to—”

  The cuckoo sang again—four quick notes. The gang members patrolling near the house had been dealt with.

  Rule pulled viciously hard and fast—exploded out of the bushes on four feet. A moment later, so did four others—four wolves wearing collars. Collars with a small charm fixed to them. They raced at top speed for the yard where the men were taking heed of them—taking heed slowly, to Rule’s eyes. Too slowly to keep them alive.

  A dozen lupus warriors against thirty-six gangbangers was good odds. Five against thirty-six would be harder. But the rest had the harder job—they had to keep the Chimei and the sorcerer busy long enough for the gnomes to finish.

  No one could be left alive at their backs.

  Rule raced past the point he’d been told marked the first ward. Nothing happened. He raced past the place the second ward was supposed to be. Nothing.

  The sorcerer or the Chimei set very good wards, more sophisticated than anything Cullen could do—one to keep out small objects like bullets. Another that would repel humans.

  Didn’t do a damned thing to slow down a wolf. Rule heard a shot as he leaped for his first target. His teeth slashed through the man’s jugular. Blood sprayed everywhere, including down his throat, hot and sweet.

  Then the other four wolves were amid the men.

  A HUNDRED yards away, an erect old woman stepped out into the middle of the dirt road, just where it met the yard, and began drawing a circle in the dirt.

  She wasn’t alone. On her left side stood a beautiful young man, a trifle pale, wearing a diamond in one ear and another around his neck. On her other side an older man planted his feet. He was grizzled and bearded and looked like some minor forest god.

  A white panel van trundled down the road toward them. The driver must have seen them. He hit the gas.

  “Chimei!” the older man boomed as the van raced toward them. “Sorcerer! You have offended my Lady, and we are at war!”

  The niceties had been observed. From either side of the road, the six two-legged Nokolai warriors opened up—with machine guns.

  The van was riddled. It veered hard right—a tire blew out, and it skidded into the ditch.

  The shriek of some vast bird of prey split the air.

  TWENTY feet belowground, rock groaned. Dust sifted from the cracked ceiling. Lily gripped her makeshift spear tightly and looked at Cynna.

  Rule was here. Almost here, anyway—close, so close. He’d been close for hours. She’d woken up to feel him near and had let Cynna know—or hoped she had—by setting her makeshift spear close at hand and handing Cynna one of the magically enhanced knives.

  Since then, she’d lost another five hundred thousand at gin. It would have been more, but Cynna was distracted, too.

  Moments ago he’d rushed closer. She’d sprung to her feet, spear ready. For what, she didn’t know—but God, she was so ready for something.

  The earth grumbled louder. And trembled.

  Cynna bit her lip. “Maybe we should get under one of the b—yikes!”

  A big chunk of the cement block wall closest to her had turned to dust. Peering out of that dusty hole was a small gray man.

  No, a gnome. Three feet tall, weird little snoutlike nose, no chin. Baggy fuchsia shorts with yellow suspenders. A gnome.

  “Bad thing is coming!” The gnome beckoned urgently. “Hurries you!”

  The hole—the tunnel—was sized for a gnome, not for adult human women. “You heard the gnome,” Lily said. “Hurry.”

  Cynna didn’t argue. They’d long since settled that protecting the baby came first—and the baby wouldn’t get out on his own. She got down on her hands and knees and started crawling.

  Lily got down on her hands and knees, too, while the little gnome fairly hopped with fearful urgency. “Hurries, hurries!”

  The lights winked out. The damned glowing bulbs they’d been unable to shut off went out on their own, leaving her in absolute darkness, blacker than any night.

  The little gnome shrieked—and shoved Lily hard, toppling her on her side. He pounced on her, curving his little body over her as if those fragile bones could shield them both—as earth and rock shrieked along with him. And everything overhead collapsed.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THE agony and bliss of the Change whirled through Rule. When it ended he stood two-legged and naked in mud sticky with blood. He grabbed one of the weapons on the ground—an assault rifle, the reason he’d picked this spot for the Change. The model was unfamiliar, but it was similar enough to what he’d used. He fired a quick round.

  The man at the window who’d been firing at them fell back. “Carl!” Rule snapped at a wolf streaking for the window, clearly intending to leap in. “Wrong way! Go get the damned package!”

  Carl skidded, whirled, and raced the other direction.

  Rule hit the dirt as someone else began firing from the house, rolling until he was behind the picnic table that still held playing cards and beer cans. It wasn’t much cover. “Remy, Jones—take cover and Change. We need weapons to keep them busy until Carl gets back.”

  He didn’t call Mike. Mike lay still and unmoving in the bloody dirt. One of the gangbangers had gotten lucky—briefly. Very briefly.

  Rule sprayed another round, providing cover for the others as they Changed. Remy was almost as fast he was, but Jones took a little longer.

  Seconds later, a naked man with pale Irish skin stood in full view—for less than a second. Then he was rolling. He ended with a SIG Sauer much like Lily’s in one hand, and snapped off two shots quickly. Around the corner of the house, Jones finished his Change and dived for the nearest weapon—a sub-machine gun clutched in a dead man’s hand.

  And a large tawny wolf raced up beside Rule and dropped a small, Bubble-Wrapped bundle from his jaws.

  “Good.” Rule ripped at the Bubble Wrap to reveal a pair of grenades. They’d been stashed just the other side of the first ward, ready to be retrieved. He raised his voice. “You in the house! You have ten seconds to surrender! Throw your weapons out!”

  On the other side of the house, fire bloomed. And vanished. Something white and almost transparent flowed overhead.

  The earth shook and screamed. It shimmied against Rule’s belly where he lay prone. He raised his head to look over his shoulder—and a r
ectangular section of ground twenty feet away gave way, collapsing into itself like a sinkhole.

  “Remy! Take over!” And he was on his feet, running bent low. That was training, not conscious thought. So was the zigzag he used. He barely noticed the bullets kicking up dirt around him.

  At the edge of the cavity he once again hit the ground. She’s alive, she’s alive. I can feel her . . . but so fragile, so human, beneath that load of earth and crumbled masonry.

  He climbed down carefully—not thinking of his own safety, but desperate not to send anything shifting. He knew where she was, exactly where she was. Should he Change again? A wolf digs well through dirt but lacks hands to move any large stones.

  Hands first, and quickly. He went to hands and knees—would have gone flat so as to spread his weight out better, but the spot over her was too uneven. He began digging, scooping dirt and small rocks away with his hands.

  When the ground beneath him shifted he cried out in rage.

  A hole appeared right where he’d been digging. A small gray head poked out, looked around—blinked when he saw Rule—then popped back down.

  “Wait!” Rule cried. “Wait! Is Lily—”

  Then a very human hand gripped the edge of the neat, circular hole. Another hand. Rule leaned forward, grasped those hands—and stood, lifting.

  “Ow! Shit! Pull!” Lily exclaimed as he pulled. Her head appeared, dusty and brown, her eyes blinking. He let go of one hand to quickly slide an arm around her shoulders as they emerged. She wriggled—and came out of the ground.

  The two of them ended up lying in a tangle on the crumbled earth. “That was tight,” Lily said. “That was way too tight. He only knows one size for tunnels, and that’s his size. He saved my life.”

  “You’re all right.” Rule ran his hands over her frantically. “You’re not hurt.”

  “Scraped and bruised, that’s all.” She stopped to cough.

  Sudden dread made him freeze. “Cynna?”

  “In the tunnel. She was in the tunnel when the ward pulled everything down. Mel says she’s fine. He says gnome tunnels do not collapse. No,” she corrected herself with a faint grin, “he sniffed, very superior, and said, ‘Our tunnels is never collapsing. Real earthquakes is not collapsing. This bitty shake is not collapsing.’ ”