by Eileen Wilks
On Monday at four thirty she was alone in the conference room. In the last three days she’d checked out every person who worked at the town’s two mortuaries and all but two of the EMTs, paramedics, and ambulance drivers; those two were on vacation out of the state. She was about a third of the way through the hospital personnel who might have had contact with any of the dead.
In addition, seventy-two people had come forward in response to her press conference. Cullen had spotted four Gifted women, three of whom Lily would need to check. The fourth had an obvious Fire Gift, he said.
Takes one to know one, she supposed.
It was a good thing she was patient. You had to be, if you worked in law enforcement. There was so damned much waiting involved, so many wrong turns, dead ends, false trails. They had the names and locations of 181 graves that might or might not hold the remains of one of the scattered dead. They did not have permission to pour salt on those graves.
Judges were not known for consulting with spirits. They were also not keen on anything that smacked of the desecration of graves. The U.S. attorney Lily had contacted had passed the job to an assistant, who’d been dragging his feet. Lily couldn’t really blame him, but she’d sicced Ruben’s secretary, Ida, on him anyway. No one withstood Ida for long.
At the moment she was going over the reports on Hodge and Meacham one more time while she waited for her phone to ring. Rule, Alicia, Toby, and Louise should be in the judge’s chambers by now, with their attendant lawyers.
Lily had offered to go, in spite of the case; Rule told her she wouldn’t be needed. This meeting with the judge was a formality. He and Alicia had already drawn up and signed a custody agreement giving Rule sole custody of his son. The judge simply had to approve it.
She hoped he was right. Of course he was right. There was no reason to deny the change of custody other than the most blatant prejudice against lupi, and judges were generally sensible, levelheaded people.
Except for the few who were complete bobble-heads. She’d run into a few so persuaded of their judicial invincibility—and for so little reason—that they’d rule against Mother Teresa if they were in the mood . . .
Focus, she told herself, and returned to her reading.
She was going over everything they had on Meacham’s and Hodge’s backgrounds one more time. There had to be something the two men had in common other than a Y-chromosome. Something that had caused them, rather than two others, to be possessed by the wraith.
She finished the physical findings and set them aside. Nothing helpful there. Meacham had AB positive blood; Hodge had O negative. One drank; the other was a teetotaler. One was of European extraction; the other, African American. Neither smoked, but that was true of too many others to be useful.
Moving on to the statements from friends and relatives, she found that Meacham had spoken of being allergic to cats. Nothing about any allergies in Hodge’s records, but she made a note to find out. Unlike Meacham, Hodge was still alive, so they could just ask him.
Though he was showing signs of neurological damage—slight, but it was there. Just like Meacham. Just like the dogs.
She started slogging through a long account by a woman who’d known Meacham since he was a kid and had felt compelled to share everything from the third grade on up. Meacham hadn’t gone to the same school as Hodge, not until high school, but the town had only one high school, so that wasn’t significant.
Sounded like Roy Don had been something of a hell-raiser . . . several tickets for speeding, and the woman said he’d totaled his car when he was seventeen, and . . . wait. Wait. Might be something here.
Quickly she shuffled back through the official medical reports. Yes, there it was—a record of the emergency room treatment he’d received. It took her a moment to translate the doctorese, but it sounded as if the impact of the steering wheel had bruised his heart, causing fluid to build up. His heart had stopped beating briefly.
Hodge’s heart had stopped, too. Wasn’t that what the chatty Dr. Patel had said? Last year Hodge had a heart attack on his way to the operating room, and his heart had stopped beating.
Check it, check it. She dived into another stack of papers, rummaging for the medical report on Hodge.
Her phone rang in her jacket pocket. Beethoven’s Fifth. She grabbed it. “Yes?”
“He’s mine.” The relief and joy in Rule’s voice jigged her heart into a quick flip. “The judge signed off on our custody arrangement. Toby is fully mine now.”
Yes! No bobble-heads in that courtroom! “We’re celebrating, right?”
“With dinner out. I know it’s hard for you to get time clear right now—”
“I’ll be there. Unless someone else gets killed, I will absolutely be there. Um . . . there’s that Leidolf deal tonight.” The secrecy bug was catching. Even though no one was in the room, she avoided saying anything specific about clan stuff. “Maybe we could have dinner a little late and go directly there after?”
Rule suggested seven thirty. The door opened and Brown Two marched in, brimming with purpose and urgency.
Lily said a quick goodbye and disconnected. “What?”
“One of the graves on the list has been disturbed,” Brown Two said crisply. “The groundskeeper notified the local police, who are out there now.”
THIRTY-ONE
“ SO it was just kids doing a little freelance gardening?” Rule asked.
“Yeah.” Lily sighed. “They messed with several graves, not just the one that’s on our list. That’s the problem with going to the public for help. Before you know it, a few enterprising teens decide we’ve got a zombie outbreak on our hands and they’d better plant garlic on graves at midnight. Garlic.” She was disgusted. “They couldn’t even get their myths right. That’s for vampires, who also don’t exist.”
“Zombies aren’t a myth,” Cullen said from the driver’s seat of Rule’s Mercedes. “They aren’t affected by garlic, but they aren’t a myth.”
Lily stared at the back of his head. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
Rule sat in the backseat with Lily. It wasn’t his preferred spot, though being able to put his arm around his nadia was welcome. But the dignity of his role tonight required some touches of pomp.
Cullen was acting as chauffeur, Alex as bodyguard. Normally Cullen would have been seriously unwelcome at a Leidolf ceremony, but with the Rhej unable to attend, the families had been glad of Cullen’s offer to provide the ardor iunctio. The magical fire wasn’t essential, but it was traditional.
“No one makes zombies,” Cullen was saying, “because they’re entirely too much trouble. It takes an ungodly amount of power and the spell’s a son of a bitch, and what do you get? A shambling corpse that stinks to high heaven, loses fingers and toes, and doesn’t come with a remote control. What good is that?”
“You haven’t. Tell me you haven’t tried.”
Cullen snorted. “Am I an idiot? Of course not. Like I said, too much power, time, and trouble for very little results. What would I do with a zombie once I raised one?”
“What would anyone do with one?” Alex asked. “Someone must have thought they’d be useful. They created a spell for it.”
“People keep trying to use magic to skip over death the way you can skip commercials with TiVo. It keeps not working. Whoever created the first zombie-raising spell back in the pre-Purge days wasn’t trying to raise a corpse to make it walk. They wanted to bring the dead to life.” He shrugged. “Not all sorcerers were as sane and sensible as yours truly.”
Rule grinned. “Everything’s relative. Turn’s coming up on the right.”
They were winding along a narrow gravel road, headed for a parking area near a campsite. The others would already be there.
They’d celebrated Rule’s custody victory at the local pizza place, an incredibly noisy place with arcade games and truly wretched salads. Toby’s choice, obviously. Alicia had behaved with great dignity in the judge’s chambers; afterward she’d aske
d to spend some time with Toby before she headed back to Washington. Of course Rule had agreed. Toby wanted his mother to be part of his life. He needed that.
Tonight, though, Toby was home with Louise. Children did not attend a gens compleo.
It would be held inside the Uwharrie National Forest in a picnic area where hikers were allowed by day. Technically the area was closed at night, but one of Leidolf’s members was a senior ranger. They wouldn’t be bothered.
Not that Rule had explained this in detail to Lily. The informality of their arrangements—which hadn’t included applying for permission—might worry her.
“You’re jazzed about this ceremony, aren’t you?” Lily asked softly.
He had one arm around her, the better to play with her hair when the mood struck. So he did. “The gens compleo is a joyous occasion. I’ve performed it once before, standing in for my father when he was healing. Ah, not the most recent healing, when we met.” Which had been the result of an attempted assassination by Leidolf. “This was years ago.”
“And it’s joyous even when it’s Leidolf.”
He knew the point she wanted to make. “I haven’t rearranged my thinking yet, but it is . . . changing. And the mantle is in no doubt. It rejoices.”
“You make it sound sentient. Like it knows about the ceremony.”
“It isn’t sentient, but it isn’t precisely not sentient, either.” As usual when trying to describe a mantle, he ran out of words. “It . . . recognizes what is to happen. Lily, I haven’t thanked you for making time for this tonight. I know it wasn’t easy.”
“No, it wasn’t, but this is what we came here for. This and Toby.” She gripped his hand and squeezed once. “Who is now ours.”
“Another place where I must rearrange my thinking,” he murmured. “When I called you, I said Toby was mine.”
“According to the court, he is.”
“But I like the sound of ours better.”
“Well.” Her voice went low and quiet. “So do I.”
The car slowed and pulled into a small, bare-ground parking area. It was full except for the section reserved for Rule’s vehicle. Two men waited there, dressed in the preferred lupus style—jeans, no shirt. Cullen kept the motor running while Alex got out and spoke briefly to the men, then motioned for Cullen to park.
“More guards?” Lily said, eyebrows lifting. “I thought you were safe.”
“I am. No lupus, Leidolf or otherwise, would attack a Rho—and for tonight, I stand in place of a Rho—at a gens compleo. ” Rule waited for Alex to open his door. “It would be deeply insulting if I appeared without guards, however.”
Cullen opened Lily’s door and bowed—overdoing it, of course. Alex opened Rule’s door without flourishes.
“The guards are ceremonial, then?” Lily asked when he joined her. “A way of marking the importance of the ceremony?”
“In part. More, though, to appear without them would be like saying I didn’t think any of them could pose a threat.”
“But they aren’t a threat. You just said they wouldn’t attack.”
“There’s a difference between wouldn’t and couldn’t. The presence of guards acknowledges that they could.”
“Lupus psychology,” she muttered. “Is there any part of it that isn’t based on who can beat up who?”
Cullen grinned. “There’s also sex. Can’t leave that out.”
Lily rolled her eyes.
Silent for the moment, they walked along the path to the picnic spot—Alex in front, then Rule with Lily, followed first by Cullen, then by the two guards. The air was warm, silky, rich with scent. In Rule’s gut the mantles coiled and stirred, awake to the possibilities of the night.
Rule was amused by the relationship that had developed between his nadia and his closest friend. From the first, Lily had opted to treat Cullen like a younger brother—annoying, uncouth, but hers to put up with. That was funny for so many reasons, not least that Cullen was over thirty years older than Lily.
The role had amused Cullen, too, at first, but Rule suspected he’d grown to cherish it far more than he’d admit. Now it was habit, one they both enjoyed.
Sometimes Rule wondered how conscious Lily’s initial choice to make a brother of Cullen had been. Did she know she’d done it to guard herself from Cullen’s potent sexuality? She would have believed it terribly wrong to sleep with Rule’s friend, or even to lust after him.
And now . . . and now, Rule was uneasily aware, he felt the same way. It would tear something in him if she were to be with another man.
Jealousy was a monster that destroyed the joy men and women could make together. He knew that, and yet . . . Lily was his mate. He was incapable of being with another woman; perhaps it wasn’t so terrible to want to be the only one she lay with.
Lily spoke, her voice thoughtful. “Rule, you can tell what clan a lupus belongs to by smell.”
“That’s right. It’s subtle, but unmistakable.”
“So which clan do you smell like?”
Must she push about this every moment? “Nokolai.”
“Mostly,” Cullen said.
“Mostly?” Astonished, Rule turned to stare at his friend.
Cullen shrugged. “Lately there’s a whiff of Leidolf, too. There wasn’t at first, but there is now. Interesting, isn’t it?”
“You didn’t know?” Alex asked softly.
Rule had himself back under control. He turned around. “No.” One didn’t smell oneself, after all. Nor had he been through the blooding ceremony by which a lupus was adopted into another clan.
Nor, dammit, had anyone told him. “You smell it, too?”
Alex nodded.
He considered a moment, then said, “Good. I won’t smell entirely strange to the youths I bring into the mantle.”
Alex’s smile was small and brief, but Rule felt he’d passed some test. How annoying. He didn’t care for tests—or for having everyone else be aware of something as basic as a change in his scent. Why hadn’t they told him?
Lily leaned closer to whisper, “Pissed about me being right, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” After a moment he added, “More that I didn’t guess. Cullen smells like Nokolai now, after all. It should have occurred to me. But you can’t smell the difference.”
“No, of course not.”
Yet she’d guessed. He couldn’t decide how he felt about that. He knew how he felt about no one telling him, though. Annoyed.
He’d been hearing the crowd ahead for some time—laughter, talk, a couple of violins that couldn’t settle on a song to share. Apparently it was loud enough now for Lily’s ears, too, for she said, “Sounds like everyone’s excited.”
Her words and voice were matter-of-fact. He wasn’t sure how he knew she was tense, but he did, and took her hand. “They’ll welcome you,” he said gently.
“I don’t see why they should. I’m not Leidolf, and I’m the reason they couldn’t hold their ceremony at their clanhome.”
Unexpectedly, Alex stopped and looked at her. “No! This—this alteration is not because of you, but because the Lady wished it so. They understand that. You’re a Chosen. It doesn’t matter what clan . . . Well, it doesn’t matter greatly. A Chosen must be welcome, just as a Rhej would be.”
For Alex, that was a long speech.
Lily blinked once—a slow blink, a cat’s acknowledgment. “Thank you for telling me that, Alex.”
Alex nodded, turned, and resumed walking. A few moments later they reached the clearing.
There were coolers scattered around the perimeter, and lanterns—the old-fashioned kind, burning lamp oil. The scents were rich, from that of the burning oil to that of the people, perhaps thirty of them, young and old, male and female. Everyone was two-footed still. No children. Children attended most ceremonies, but not the gens compleo, which marked the turning from child to adult. Almost everyone wore jeans or cutoffs, the men without shirts.
The two notable exceptions were young, male, an
d naked.
Rule waited. Lantern light flickered on smiling faces that, a few at a time, turned toward him. As they saw him, they fell silent.
He touched Lily’s arm and nodded at the nearest cluster of people. She nodded and moved away.
When everyone was still, Rule walked alone to the fire pit in the center of the clearing, where neatly stacked logs waited. Quite a large pile, he noted, holding his face appropriately stern. They were taking advantage of having a sorcerer here to handle the ardor iunctio.
He nodded at Alex and Cullen. They moved to their positions—Alex at his right hand, Cullen at his left. The two guards took up positions at his back.
Rule took a deep breath—and called up the newer mantle.
They both came, a rush of power fizzing in his blood, flooding his muscles. He’d expected that. He took a second breath and carefully tucked the Nokolai mantle back down. It didn’t want to go, but slowly he eased it into its coil in his belly.
And spoke. “Leidolf!”
Voices answered, not in unison: “We listen!” mingled with the more formal, “Nos audio!”
“We are here to admit two of ours into Leidolf as adults. I call the gens compleo.” He paused while they cheered. “David Alan Auckley. Jeffrey Merrick Lane. Come forward.”
Two naked, healthy young men stepped out of the crowd. One was typical Leidolf—very northern European with pale skin and wheat blond hair, a lean young animal proud of his body and his place tonight. The other was ruddier, burlier, with longish brown hair and a gleam in his eyes that suggested he took very little seriously.
Each dropped to one knee in front of Rule.
Rule had never met either youth, but he’d been told their names and which was the elder by a few days, and so would go first. He looked the blond boy in the eye. The mantle knew him. “David.”
Immediately David ducked his head, baring his nape.
Rule looked at the other one. Again the sense of recognition from the mantle as their eyes met. “Jeffrey.”
Jeffrey dropped his head.
