by Eileen Wilks
* * *
SEVENTEEN minutes later, Rule ran.
Wolves could run for hours. Wild wolves brought down prey that way, with the pack running a deer or elk into exhaustion. Rule was not a wild wolf. He ran through these woods alone. He had—barely—managed not to drag any of the others into Change with him by inviting it instead of waiting until he’d been robbed of choice, but that had used up the last of his control. Now he raced through the trees at top speed, surrendered to the urgency of his need.
The wolf was in charge, but this was a wolf with a man’s knowledge, even if he didn’t think in the same manner. He understood why he was alone, where he needed to go, and how to get there. He knew roughly how long it would take and that he would need to pace himself—later. Most of all, he knew why he ran.
Lily.
But he didn’t think about the how, where, or why. He didn’t even think about Lily. She was the stretch and flex of his body, the wind whipping by, the terrified rabbit he didn’t chase. He ran. Trees flew by in a blur; his body exulted in motion and the rush of scents. The woods that touched the back of the Brookses’ property stretched nearly to the Potomac, and he ran their length full-tilt, slowing only as he neared the last of the trees. He made himself stop, whining softly with regret at the necessity. He wanted to keep running and running, but at least he’d burned off the worst of the urgency.
Time now to think.
Humans would be surprised at how readily a wolf could go unnoticed in their towns. Slums were difficult, for they lacked green spaces, but Bethesda was a prosperous place. Lots of green. It would have been dead easy to navigate after dark, but night wouldn’t fall until after nine in this latitude in the summer. Still, he’d planned for this next stretch. Three of his men were busy laying false trails—two in fur and one in a car with Rule’s credit card. He hoped they’d draw away any immediate pursuit, but he still needed to cross the next few blocks without attracting official attention. An animal his size couldn’t go truly unnoticed on a city street, but as long as no one called the police, it should be okay. That’s why he wore a disguise: a bright red collar with a short length of leash dangling from it.
A few people did see him trotting across lawns, driveways, and parking lots on his way to the river—only they didn’t, not really. They saw a very large dog who’d escaped from his owner. He helped their misperception along by behaving like a loose dog, pausing to sniff here or lift a leg there, but he was bigger than any dog and his proportions were wrong. It didn’t seem to matter. People mostly see what they expect to see. The mantles he carried may have given his disguise a boost. They seemed to do that at times.
At a boatyard next to the river a brave if foolish Good Samaritan approached him, telling him what a good dog he was, clearly intending to grab the truncated leash so he could return Rule to his owner. Rule wagged his tail, gave the man a doggy grin, and loped away.
Once he reached the river’s bank, he stretched out and settled in for a long run. There were long swaths of protected green space along the Potomac. Houses, too, but they were mostly set well back from the banks, and traffic on the river was light at this time of day. If any boaters did get a glimpse of him, he was running too fast for them to take in details. Not that he ran flat-out, but he didn’t settle into the easy lope he would have used for a really long run, either. He aimed for a speed about that of a human’s top sprint. His goal was sixty-five miles away by road, slightly longer on the winding river route he’d take. He wanted to cover those sixty-five-plus miles in three hours.
After reaching the Brookses’ home, Rule had politely separated his lawyer from her phone, then stashed her where she couldn’t overhear before calling Alex to arrange for a vehicle. A lot of Leidolf’s clan members weren’t “out” as lupi, so no one should be able to link them—or their cars—to him.
He hadn’t had to come up with an escape route, fortunately. Ruben was a man who planned for contingencies, including the possible need to evacuate his home. He’d mapped out several possible escape routes depending on how many needed to evacuate, what form they were in, and whether they wanted to leave the city or just the immediate area. He’d shared that information with Rule last night, and while Rule hadn’t had time to memorize everything, a quick talk with the Wythe clansman in charge of Ruben’s guards had refreshed his memory of the route he wanted. He was headed for a truckstop-style diner just outside Charles Town, West Virginia. Three Leidolf lived within an easy drive of Charles Town. One of them would meet him at the diner with a vehicle he could use and other necessities. And then . . .
Find Lily. Find the enemy. Sink his teeth into the enemy’s throat.
How?
For the next hour he chewed over what he knew. It was clear that one or more branches of the government were his enemies or were being used by his enemies. This was bad, but the need to evade the authorities didn’t disturb him. It felt normal. Human governments had always been hostile to his people, and the U.S. government’s change to a more neutral stance hadn’t been around long enough for him to trust it. But the wolf was fuzzy about some aspects of human authority. He knew “arrest” meant being locked up and “taken in for questioning” might lead to arrest. Both involved human laws, but they weren’t the same thing, and he couldn’t track the implications of that difference. He knew HSI was not the same as the Justice Department, yet both entities had acted against them.
He decided to leave that part of the situation for the man to sort out. Omitting the governmental tangle allowed other things to spring into focus.
Sam had not perceived the Great Enemy in the patterns.
Ruben had had a strong hunch that the Shadow Unit would experience a crisis.
The Lady had allowed the mate bond to stretch enough for Lily to be separated from him. She had also spoken to Charles, sending him with Lily.
A man whom HSI said was one of their agents had been killed by magic, possibly telekinesis. Sam had apparently wanted Lily to discover this.
The Lady had let Rule know she approved of his determination to go to Lily if she needed him.
Rule had been framed for a vile crime. His lawyer considered the case rushed and flimsy.
HSI had picked up Ruben for questioning while Rule was in jail.
Lily and Charles had been taken by someone who could remove them without leaving a scent trail.
A brownie had either conspired in the abduction or had herself been taken.
Rule-wolf did not think about these things in the linear manner of the man. He held each thought in his mind, allowing it to open and bloom until it had grown as large and intricate as his current understanding allowed. He spent some time considering the meaning of crisis in this way, some time contemplating brownies, and quite a bit of time remembering as clearly as possible the way he’d felt in the first few seconds after receiving the Lady’s approval.
After about an hour he remained unsure of much, but a few things were clear. First, the Lady was extremely interested in whatever was going on. This was not comforting. She might keep a close watch on her people, but she almost never communicated directly with them. Either Sam was wrong about the Great Enemy’s involvement, or the situation was extremely dire even without her participation.
Second, he clearly had human enemies to deal with, whether or not any of them were her agents. He had no idea who, but the scope suggested an organized group, not an individual. HSI was involved, either complicitly or as unwitting tools.
Third, the dead man was key. Sam had wanted him found by Lily; Lily had been taken soon after finding him. The dead man was connected to HSI. He might or might not be their agent as they claimed, but there was some connection.
Therefore, if he found out why the dead man mattered, he’d have a trail to the enemy. The enemy would lead to Lily.
Rule whined, greatly disliking that conclusion. That trail would take too long. He wanted to find Lily first, then go after their enemy. But he didn’t see how. Maybe he should chec
k, make sure he still couldn’t use the mate bond. Sam didn’t know how long it would take for Lily’s brain to adapt, resolving the interference that played havoc with their bond. Didn’t that mean it could happen at any time?
Maybe it had already happened. He came to a complete stop. Gingerly he reached with the mate sense . . .
It was all he could do not to tip back his head and howl. Splintered Lilys were everywhere. He heaved a sigh and started trotting.
Up ahead, the island divided the river into two channels. He compared what he saw to what Ruben had told him and the map he’d studied. Farther up the river there should be a bridge. Harpers Ferry was just beyond that. He needed to be on the opposite bank before he reached the bridge, and Ruben had mentioned this as a crossing spot. He jumped into the water. It felt good, cool and refreshing. He swam that channel, crossed the island to the next, and swam again.
He’d come about a third of the way and was getting tired, but this area was wooded, with good concealment. He pushed his pace while he could, running almost flat out until he drew near the bridge. He stopped and rested at the road that fed onto the bridge, catching his breath and waiting for a gap in the traffic, one large enough that he might not be spotted. Eventually one appeared.
A couple miles later he reached a spot where a tributary dumped itself into the Potomac. He abandoned the Potomac for the tributary. He had to mix running with trotting now. After about five miles he took another swim to get to the other bank of this river. Then it was time to strike out across country, heading west-southwest.
He soon left the woods behind, forcing him to go slower. That was okay. He was hot and tired, ready for an easier pace. This stretch involved a lot of open fields broken here and there by small copses, left in place or planted as windbreaks. Although the sun was headed down, it was still light out and his coloring didn’t blend well with the greens of summer. He found what he hoped was the right highway and followed it west, staying well back from the road. Most people driving by at seventy miles an hour or more wouldn’t notice him, but a few would. Some of them might even think “wolf” for a second, but he was betting they’d quickly discount that. There were no wolves in this area, and it’s hard to get people to see something they know can’t be there. It helped that his size would be less obvious from a distance.
Eventually his nose told him he was drawing near human habitations. He angled toward a cluster of trees along the highway. If he’d plotted his course correctly, the truckstop should be close.
It was. On the other side of the trees was a parking lot and a building with a sign—the number 354 in blue centered in an orange circle. The diner had been named for the highway it served. The parking lot was full of semis huddled together like oversize sheep sheltering from the wind. He needed to circle around, find the section of parking used by normal vehicles.
He hesitated, reluctant. Hating to give up this form. As soon as he became two-legged, the man would begin thinking again—thinking about what might be happening to Lily and mistaking what he thought for reality. Reality was this moment, with him crouched low to the ground, his nose full of messages—fried food, a nearby squirrel, the sour reek of exhausts. Earth. Leaves. The scent of a lone man walking slowly toward his rig. The tang of days-old dog urine from that shrub at the edge of the concrete.
Lily had been taken by some enemy. That, too, was reality. The pain of that truth, the urgency, had been part of the run he’d just made . . . but so had relief. At last he was acting to end their separation. Why had the man allowed it in the first place? He knew the reasons. He even understood them. He did not understand why the man had deemed them sufficient. Foolishness, to be parted from her. Look at what had happened.
For now, she was alive. He didn’t wonder if she’d been hurt, if she was hurting now. He had no way to know, and until he did, there was no point in dragging his thoughts around in the mire of maybes. The man knew this, but knowing wouldn’t help. He would still think about all sorts of bad things that might have happened, might be happening, to Lily. He would still react to those thoughts as if they were reality.
To the wolf’s way of thinking, the man was slightly insane.
He didn’t have to Change yet. He could have his clansman drive while he rested in the backseat . . . except that the speed of a car wasn’t all he needed.
Find Lily. Find the enemy.
He’d cleared the mental brush and found a target, but taking that trail meant finding the enemy first. He did not want to do it that way. Sometimes the man’s maybe-thinking cracked open possibilities the wolf hadn’t seen. He needed to give the man a chance to come up with something better, faster. With a trail that led to Lily.
He started moving again, heading around to the other side of the parking lot. His Leidolf clansman should be waiting. He’d have cash, a vehicle . . . and the clothes Rule would need when he was two-legged once more.
EIGHTEEN
ONE second Lily was in a sleep so deep no dreams could find her. The next, her eyes popped open.
Rock. Rock above her—dim, craggy, with orange light dancing shadows into the crevices. Rock beneath her, too, rock she’d been lying on for quite a while, judging by the way she ached where flesh met stone. Her bladder was full to bursting. She was warm. Too warm, and downright hot along her left side. Someone was lying next to her. Someone furry. Rule. As automatically as breathing, she reached for him—with her hand, her mind, and her mate sense.
Turned out Rule was a mile directly overhead. No, he was immediately behind her, which she barely noticed because the rocky ceiling abruptly grew hands. Lots of hands. Some of them sprouted arms and reached down for her and she tried to shove them away, but a pair of them got through and wrapped around her throat and—
And were gone.
A hallucination. She’d had another hallucination. She lay still, breathing fast, feeling terrified and horribly alone. But she wasn’t alone. The furry presence at her side might not be Rule, but he wasn’t a hallucination, either. At least she didn’t think so. She turned her head. A wolf lay with his back pressed against her.
Charles. Rule was in D.C., and Charles had been with her when . . . what had happened? How long had she been lying here? Where was here?
Lily remembered where she’d been—following the little brownie through the woods in the nature preserve. Charles had been scouting ahead when she stepped out into a clearing, and . . . nothing. She had nothing beyond that moment. No memory of someone knocking her out, and her head didn’t hurt. A dart? She didn’t remember being hit by one, but it was the only thing she could think of.
Her stomach felt sore. She slid a hand over it. Definitely tender, but in a superficial way. Not cracked ribs, just a bruise. Had someone kicked or punched her while she was unconscious? More quick explorations let her know she still wore her jacket, slacks, and tee. No shoes. No shoulder harness. Her pockets had been emptied.
Charles hadn’t stirred. A flicker of panic made her lay a hand on his shoulder and shake him. He didn’t wake, didn’t respond at all, but she felt the distinctive pine-needles-and-fur of his magic, so she knew he was alive. She took a shaky breath and began taking more careful stock of her surroundings. Her fingers found rough fabric beneath her. She wasn’t on bare rock after all. A wool blanket separated her from the stone . . . relatively smooth stone. She and Charles lay in a smooth indentation in the stony floor of a small rock chamber. A cave.
Lily had bad memories of caves. Those memories swam up and drowned the present, turning her breathing fast again. Stop that. She made herself take several slow, careful breaths and pay attention to now. To here, wherever that might be. A cave, yes, and one that didn’t have the decency to block her inadvertent attempt at mindspeech. Earth and rock were supposed to block mind magic. It should have kept her flailing Gift from touching another mind.
Which meant that either she’d brushed against Charles’s mind to trigger the hallucination, or there were more people down here with her.
If so, they were really quiet. She couldn’t hear a damn thing.
Lily sat up, wincing at the soreness in her stomach, and looked around. Directly ahead, the stone was smooth and rounded. To her right the rock was more jagged and was interrupted by an opening. The source of the flickering light lay out of sight around that corner. Firelight? Sure looked like it. The stony floor where she lay sloped down toward the back of the cave, lost in shadow in the dim light. The ceiling was extremely uneven, but there was room for her to stand up.
She did. And stared. Was that what it looked like?
Lily stepped carefully over Charles. Four feet away a primitive porta-potty sat on the floor—a camping stool with a hole in the seat. A plastic bag was fastened to the hole and a roll of toilet paper sat on the floor beside it. A small plastic glass sat next to the toilet paper; it held a toothbrush and a travel-size tube of toothpaste. And her shoes were lined up neatly beside the plastic glass.
She immediately sat down and put them on.
What did it say about her captor, that he or she had provided minimal sanitary facilities? She frowned and decided she didn’t have enough data yet to make a guess. Now, if she were to find soap and a makeshift shower around the corner, where that flickering light came from . . . and her purse. And her phone. And maybe a little bell she could ring to summon room service, she jeered at herself, for thinking of a shower had made her realize how thirsty she was. Once she’d noticed, she couldn’t stop noticing. She licked dry lips. She needed water.
She didn’t have any. Check out the source of the light first, she told herself. Find out if she was alone. Everything else could wait, including her bladder. She headed around the corner.
Another, smaller chamber. No one here. The ceiling sloped down abruptly; the walls narrowed and the floor rose, so that all sides converged in what had to be the exit from her stony cell—a narrow opening she’d have to duck or crawl to get through.
She’d also have to be fireproof. It was blocked by a curtain of flames, the source of the flickering light. Flames that put out heat and light—it was warmer in here, uncomfortably so—but no smoke. A fire that burned without any visible fuel.
