by Eileen Wilks
"All the photos. Mika doesn't talk much, but he sure likes getting his picture taken." Technically, Mika didn't talk at all. Mindspeak wasn't the same as talking. But the ruby dragon seldom bothered to speak in any manner to the humans around him, much to the frustration of reporters. "Is Sam vain like that?"
Lily snorted. "Haven't seen a bunch of photos of him on the Internet, have you? I guess if you already know you're the biggest, baddest dude on two wings, you don't need a picture to prove it. Mika's young," she added as she got in.
Young was a relative term, but since Mika had probably been born before a passel of Pilgrims washed up on a big rock near Plymouth, Cynna thought Lily was stretching the limits of the word.
But dragons stretched a lot of limits.
For years people had believed they were myth, fairy tale, no more real than Odysseus' Cyclops. Even when twenty-two of them ended their long exile last November to return to Earth, it had been easy for people to dismiss the sighting since they'd vanished right away.
Probably some publicity stunt, right? It happened in California, and much of the country considered that explanation enough for any oddity. Since the government sat on its information—which included radar, both still and video images, and the reports of two of its own agents, namely Cynna and Lily—there had been no solid proof. Talk show hosts had had a field day with dragon-sighting jokes.
When they showed up again, no one was laughing. This time, the world needed them to be real.
The realms had done one hell of a bump-and-grind, knocking streams of magic loose from nodes all over the world. Loose magic has a randomizing effect on technology, especially anything run by computers… which was just about everything. It turned out that, in addition to being strong, beautiful, and deadly, dragons made dandy sponges. They soaked up all the excess magic in their vicinity.
Two days before Christmas, the black dragon had landed on the White House lawn. Sam—whose other call-name was Sun Mzao—had negotiated for the rest, assisted by Lily's grandmother. Much to Cynna's frustration, no one would tell her why Madam Yu had been involved. She had some guesses, though they were so preposterous… but so was Lily's grandmother.
Sooner or later, Cynna promised herself, she'd worm the truth out of Lily.
So far the Dragon Treaties were working. Computers operated normally in the nation's capital, on Wall Street, and in and around the twelve U.S cities and eight throughout the world that had a dragon. True, dragons ate a lot, and the animal protection people were not happy about their preferred presentation style. They insisted on catching the evening's cow or pigs themselves. But they'd stuck to their agreement to leave people and pets off the menu.
Problem was, there weren't enough dragons.
Cynna watched Washington's dragon bank and head down. Looked like he was heading for Rock Creek Park. He'd claimed the amphitheater there while governmental types argued over where to build his permanent lair.
"You coming?" Lily said.
Cynna slid in the car and buckled up. "Do you ever wish we'd gotten Sam instead of Mika?"
Lily shrugged and started the car. "Sam wanted to be near Grandmother. Or else Grandmother wanted him near. Or maybe he just wanted to be warm. It's never warm here."
"Bitch, bitch, bitch. If you're still around this summer, you'll be complaining about the heat. It's not a dry heat like you're used to."
"San Diego isn't as hot as you'd think. Hotter in the mountains, of course. As you move away from the coast, you don't get the cooling effects of the ocean."
"You miss it."
Lily sighed and pulled out. "More than I expected. This was supposed to be temporary."
Lily had originally been posted to Washington, DC, for two purposes: to assist the Secret Service in an investigation and to take an abbreviated version of the standard FBI training at Quantico. Like Cynna, she belonged to a special unit in the FBI's Magical Crimes Division, one that until recently very few knew existed. Lily had been recruited last November. She was a touch sensitive, able to feel magic tactilely yet impervious to its effects, but her background as a homicide cop was as valuable to the Unit as her Gift. A lot of the Unit's agents lacked that kind of law enforcement training and experience.
Lily had finished up the assist-the-Secret Service part of her assignment, but what with demon assassins and the Turning and all, her training still wasn't complete.
"There is an upside, I guess," Lily said. "Being parked at Headquarters puts twenty-six hundred miles between me and my mother."
"Yeah, but planes are flying again, cell phones are working—"
"Don't remind me."
Cynna smiled because she was supposed to, but she wondered… if her mother had lived, would she be as mom-averse as Lily? Some of her other friends were like that, too. A few seemed to be close to their mothers, but a lot of them had issues.
Not that she didn't have issues. You didn't have to have a living mother to find knots tangled all over your heart tagged "from Mom." Which was a damn good reason for never… not going there, she reminded herself. "How's Rule?"
"He's good. The mantles have settled into peaceful coexistence… which you'd know if you hadn't been avoiding us. I—oh, God."
"What? What is it?"
"I sound like my mother."
Cynna laughed. For the first time in hours—days—well, a long time, she felt like laughing. Maybe she'd been isolating.
You think? whispered a snide inner voice.
"I'd better get over that," Lily added casually. "It looks like I'm going to be a mother myself soon. Of sorts."
Cynna jolted so hard she nearly gave herself whiplash. "You—you're going to have a baby?"
"No. Oh, no, though—well, I can't say what I'm thinking without making a forbidden allusion. I was talking about Toby."
Toby was Rule's son, and Rule was… well, just about everything to Lily, except a husband. Lupi didn't marry. "You mean he's going to sue for custody? Or did Toby's mom finally agree to let him live with Rule?"
"Alicia didn't agree, but her mother has. I think Mrs. Asteglio approves of me, and with Rule and me going down there so often after she broke her leg—"
"She broke her leg?"
"Fell down the stairs. It was a wake-up call for her. She's sixty-three, you know, and has some other health problems that make it hard for her to care for a child Toby's age. And she knows Toby wants to live with his dad."
Since the boy had run away just before Christmas so he could spend the holiday with his father, Cyinna agreed that Toby's preference was obvious.
"I feel sad for her," Lily added. "She loves Toby. It's hard on her, giving him up, but we'll make sure she gets to see him often."
"But Toby's grandma doesn't have legal custody, does she?"
"Toby's grandmother," Lily said tartly, "has raised him. His mother sure hasn't. Alicia visits on the occasional weekend, but even that's dried up now that she's in Lebanon. She's huffing and puffing and dragging her feet, but for the first time Rule has a good chance of winning if she does contest the suit. We're hoping she won't. It'll be easier on Toby if we can come to an agreement."
For years Rule had had no legal rights to his son. Toby's grandmother had allowed the boy to visit his father, but his mother—a reporter for the Associated Press—hadn't even put Rule's name on the birth certificate.
Rule had never taken the matter to court. The son of the best-known werewolf in the world would have been irresistible to the paparazzi. Besides, Rule had been certain he'd lose. The courts weren't exactly friendly to lupi.
Until a few years ago, some states had allowed people to shoot them on sight. Most lupi had actually preferred that to the federal government's policy—forced registration and drugs that prevented them from Changing.
But those were the bad old days. A few years ago the Supreme Court had ruled that lupi were citizens. As such, they were entitled to all the rights and protections of the law… when they were shaped like humans, that is. It was s
till legal to shoot one in wolf form.
After a few moments Cynna sighed. "I've been an ass, haven't I? So busy doing the poor-me bit I didn't have a clue what was happening in anyone else's life."
Lily gave her a smile. "It's okay to play turtle for a while, as long as you don't get too fond of your shell. You're out of it now. How much of your money do I get to spend today?"
"Oh, a couple hundred. I usually buy myself a Christmas present, but this time I never got around to it, what with the demons and all."
"Triple it."
"What? I'm not going to—"
"You said you wanted a new work wardrobe. Unless you've changed your mind? For example, you might have some reason to think your size could suddenly change—"
Cynna made a beeping sound.
"What?"
"That's the allusion alert."
Lily slid her an amused glance. "We'll start with the basics. Two good jackets—"
"I have jackets."
"Sure, and they might work if you were eighty pounds heavier. And eighty years old. And not interested in fashion. You look great in jeans, but the suits you pick…" She shook her head. "Is that what you think an FBI agent is supposed to look like?"
"All right, all right—but I look like crap in suits. I'm not built like you. I can't wear those teeny little fitted jackets."
"You can wear clothes that fit, though. As for how you're built…" Lily snorted. "You don't like looking like Xena, Warrior Princess? You're tired of wiping the drool off men's faces?"
"Well, but—"
"You've got a goddess's body, Cynna. Not the Maiden, but the Mother or some fertility deity."
Cynna gave her a dark look. She did not care for fertility deity references.
"Add in the butch haircut and tattoos, and I'm thinking we need to go for simple but dramatic. Whatever we get will probably have to be tailored, but—"
"Tailored?" Cynna squeaked.
"Most likely. We'll start with two jackets, like I said, and four pairs of slacks to mix and match. You could add a skirt, but I've never seen you wear one, so I thought we'd stay in your comfort zone and go with slacks."
"You've got a weird notion of my comfort zone."
"And of course you'll need things to wear under the jackets. Tees, a long-sleeved shirt, a sweater or—"
"There's a Wal-Mart about a mile from here."
"You didn't buy those jeans at Wal-Mart. They're killer."
"Thanks. But jeans aren't like suits. They have to fit exactly right, and most of them aren't long enough, so… quit looking at me that way."
"Uh-huh. How much did you pay for the jeans?"
Too much. "Sales. There are bound to be sales."
CHAPTER TWO
THE Fashion Center turned out to be a three-story temple to consumerism. It was midweek and the middle of the day—somehow Lily had persuaded her to take a day off for this insanity—so the teens and tweens were missing. But everywhere Cynna looked, a mom had stuffed a baby in one of those enormous touring devices they called strollers.
There was a muffled little lump of infant in one not ten feet away when Cynna emerged from the dressing room. It was staring at her with enormous, wary eyes.
It gave her the willies. She scowled at Lily. "They don't make clothes for people with breasts. Have you ever noticed that?" She tried tugging the jacket across her chest. The ends wouldn't meet. "See that? If you're more than a B-cup, forget it."
"Shut up, Cynna, and try this instead."
Maybe she'd been tactless. Lily was kind of small on top. Cynna slipped off the too-tight jacket and eyed the leather duster Lily was holding out. It was a dark, rich brown like baking chocolate, but… "It's not black."
"Black is so not your color."
She loved black. She'd always worn black. "You keep saying that, but black goes with my tattoos." They weren't precisely tattoos, but Cynna generally used the word other people recognized, not the Swahili that truly named the patterns overlaying her skin like heavy lace. The spells were kilingo; the core patterns she used to Find things were kielezo. Neither had been applied with ink and needles.
"Black makes people just see the tattoos, not the skin. Try on the duster."
Dubious, Cynna shrugged on the long duster. "Can you wear something like this to Headquarters?"
"I couldn't. I'd look ridiculous, like I was dressing up in my big sister's clothes. But on you, with those slacks…" Lily shook her head and sighed. "Check out the mirror."
Cynna turned. And stared. After a moment she felt a smile stretching her cheeks. The dangerous-looking woman in the mirror smirked right back at her. "Hey, is that me? I look hot."
"You do, except for the bag."
The brown slacks Cynna had been complaining about looked wicked cool now. So did the copper sweater, but her old denim bag was all wrong. Even she could see that. "I guess I could get a new one. Purses don't hold enough, so I usually get a tote or something, but… hey." While she spoke she'd tried buttoning the duster. Lo and behold, button met buttonhole, "It fits! How'd you find one that fits?"
"I asked one of those snooty clerks to help me. Ah… it didn't come from the sale rack."
Cynna gulped. Leather. Not on sale. And in this store… She grabbed her courage in both hands and looked at the price.
"Steady." Lily put a hand on her shoulder.
"I can't… there's no way I can afford this." Though part of her brain was scrambling to come up with a way… she had plenty of credit, but she hated paying interest. She had savings, too, but—
"If you're sure… ?"
"I am." No way was she compromising her security by pulling money out of savings for clothes.
"Then I guess you'll just have to accept it as a late Christmas present from me and Rule."
Cynna stared. "Get real. Christmas was weeks ago. Besides, this—this—no one gives Christmas presents that cost this much."
"Rule does. He gave me his card today and told me to buy you something you ought to have but were too cheap to spring for. Well… he put it more tactfully, but that was the gist." She nodded at the coat. "This would be it."
"It's too much. Way too much."
"Rule can afford it—and trust me, he'll be paying for the lion's share. He gave Cullen a diamond."
An image flashed into her head of Cullen Seabourne with a diamond winking in his ear. She ignored the quick flutter in her belly and cocked an eyebrow at Lily. "Right ear or left?"
Lily shook her head. "You can ask? Never mind. Your eyes are glazing over. I hate to mess with your fantasy, but the diamond is on a ring for his finger, not his ear. He has to be able to watch what he's doing when he feeds sorceri into it."
So it didn't go bam. She knew that. Feed raw magic into a diamond too fast or slightly wrong and you'd end up with diamond chips, which was why so few practitioners tried it. Cullen could pull it off because he could see the sorceri as he fed them in. That's what made him a sorcerer.
Envy bit again. Damn, she needed to go to confession. "Big bling?"
"Huge. Roughly five carats, but it's lab-grown, not natural. The outfit Rule bought it from has this new technique that makes big, clear diamonds that are atomically identical to natural diamonds. The process is so new the stones aren't on the market yet, but Rule got a deal on one because he promised a report on its magical properties. You haven't asked how Cullen is doing."
"He's got an ankle again and most of his foot." At Lily's raised brows she snapped, "He called, okay?"
"He said he hadn't spoken to you."
"He, uh, left a message." Lots of messages. Every night. Every blasted night he called, always between eight and nine, and left a message on her voice mail. Never putting pressure on her—oh, no, he was too canny for that. Most of the messages weren't seductive, either, though he'd left a couple that… never mind. Usually he said something funny or stupid or just hi, checking in again.
The man had no scruples. "Maybe I should try on a skirt with this," Cynna sai
d brightly. "Get a new bag. You said… you said something about my bag." Weird. Her head was floating a foot over her shoulders all of a sudden.
"Are you hyperventilating?"
Could be. Her fingers were tingling and her lips were numb, "It was purple, not teal."
"What?"
"You know, that greeny-blue color. Teal." The words came out all rushed and shallow. "I was sure it would be teal, but I peed in a cup this morning and the tester came up purple."
Lily gave her one of those flat, appraising looks all cops master in cop school. "Okay. We're going to walk around now." She put an arm around Cynna's shoulders. "Hold your breath for three steps, let it out on the fourth, then hold it again."
"I'm not—"
"You can't talk and hold your breath at the same time."
True. Cynna counted steps and held her breath for half of them, her head floating along above her shoulders like a helium balloon on a short tether. They walked up to a sales clerk—short, skinny, and dressed in black.
Everyone got to wear black except her.
"We'll take the whole outfit," Lily told the woman and ripped the tags from the pants, the duster, and the t-shirt still on Cynna's body. She handed them to the clerk along with a charge card. "I'll be back for the card later."
The woman shook her head firmly. "You cannot—"
"We're having a health event here." Lily flashed her FBI ID. "Charge the clothes to the card and hold on to it for me."
The clerk yes-ma'am'ed her. Cynna didn't. Her breath whooshed out. "You are not buying the slacks and shirt."
"You'll pay me back. Keep counting."
A small, imperative hand at Cynna's back kept her moving past aisles of dresses and through the scented air of the cosmetics section, where Lily glared their way past the designated puffer trying to spritz them with cologne. Then they were in the concourse.
She remembered the place from some news story. There was supposed to be a small node near the fountain. At the Turning it had leaked, just like the rest of them—but this one had leaked a goblin along with the magic overflow. Shoppers had freaked.
So had the goblin. They were mean as hell in bunches, but didn't cope well outside the herd.
