by Eileen Wilks
Was that why Ruben had been targeted? If so, Rule had made real progress this morning . . . and it didn’t help. It didn’t get him one step closer to finding Lily.
He wanted to hit someone. Several someones. How did he go about unmasking Smith? How could he learn who in Homeland Security was working with the bastard? He didn’t know where to begin.
Lily would. Lily was missing.
The hell with unmasking Smith. He wanted to sink his teeth into the man’s neck. And that wouldn’t help him find Lily, either, dammit, much as it might relieve his feelings. Think, dammit. He’d learned something this morning. He didn’t see how it helped him find Lily, but maybe it was why Lily had been kidnapped—to prevent her from discovering Homeland Security’s duplicity. It would do little good for Rule to announce their misidentification of the body, but Lily had the authority to investigate even HSI.
Still, that made little sense. Killing was much easier than kidnapping, but the one thing Rule knew for certain was that Lily was alive. Were Smith and Company squeamish about murder? There was a dead man to say otherwise.
Why was there a dead man? A homeless man who’d been killed by magical means . . .
Smith had been collecting Gifted children and teens.
Rule considered that for the last mile of his run.
José and the spicy scent of chili greeted him when he reached the clearing. “All quiet here,” José said.
“Good. Any sign of that helicopter?” Rule had glimpsed it earlier when he was on his way to the homeless men’s camp, but well off to the west.
“It hasn’t been back.”
“Also good. Reno, bring me a bowl of that chili, please, and something to drink. Then you and Eric can eat. José, ask Theo to join me here, please. I’d like to speak with him and you apart from the others.”
He ate standing up, filling in José and Theo between bites. The briefing didn’t take long, but Theo wanted to discuss another subject. Money. They were running low, and John had asked for funds to buy more supplies.
Leidolf was not a wealthy clan. Its finances had been badly mismanaged under the previous Rho, leaving the clan unable to offer its people what Rule considered basic services—college assistance, business loans, jobs in clan-owned companies. Rule had been working to change that, but the rebuilding process left the clan’s resources tied up in investments that either lacked liquidity or were difficult for him to access at the moment. He’d been able to tap the emergency fund via Alex, but that was getting dangerously low.
It was frustrating as hell. His own accounts were undoubtedly being watched. It looked like he’d have to liquidate one of Leidolf’s investments, even though Leidolf didn’t have any it could afford to lose.
Unless he decided he could switch hats.
Rule acted as CFO for both of his clans along with the Shadow Unit—and Nokolai, unlike Leidolf, was a wealthy clan. Wearing all three of his hats, Rule controlled assets worth several hundred million dollars. Much of that wasn’t liquid, of course, and almost all of it was inaccessible to a man who didn’t dare use his ID.
Almost, but not all. Nokolai had three emergency funds. One was held by a bank. One was actual gold, hidden beneath Isen’s home. The third was even less conventional and intended for just this sort of situation—a deposit made years ago with a large criminal organization. That account paid no interest and would incur a sizable penalty upon withdrawal, but if he chose, Rule could have nearly three hundred thousand dollars in hand today. Probably within hours.
It was a tricky ethical point. He was entitled to use Nokolai resources to preserve his own freedom and look for his nadia, who was both clan and Chosen. But using Nokolai’s secret fund to keep from harming Leidolf financially . . . that was skirting close to the edge.
He considered it, frowning, for several moments, then spoke briskly. “We may need funds in the next few days over and above what it costs to feed the men. I’ll arrange it.” He took out his phone and used one of the few phone numbers he’d memorized. After waiting through three rings he disconnected, then called again. Two rings. Again he disconnected and called back. This time he let it ring until it was answered with a simple “Bongiorno.”
He told the man in Italian that he wished to speak to his friend, Charlie. A click, a wait, then a man who asked in American English how he could be of service.
Rule told him.
When he hung up, the other two were watching him—José expectantly, Theo with an expression of gloomy astonishment.
“My Rho,” Theo said, ducking his head, “I don’t know how you did that—or what exactly you did—but I’m concerned about how Leidolf can repay this debt. Such loans generally come with a very high interest rate.”
“There is no loan. There is, however, a debt.” Rule drew on the mantles. Both mantles at once. He’d never done that before, and the sensation was distinctly odd. “Theo, José, I call on you to be witnesses for your clans. I speak now as Nokolai Lu Nuncio. Nokolai is contributing that money toward the welfare of its Lu Nuncio and the rescue of the Chosen. I declare that Leidolf incurs no obligation to Nokolai for its use of part or all of these funds. However, I make a claim against Leidolf for the penalty Nokolai pays in order to access the money in this way.” He told them how much that penalty was—and switched hats. “I speak now as Rho of Leidolf. I hereby acknowledge the justness of Nokolai’s claim and accept the debt on behalf of my clan.”
Theo’s eyebrows had climbed up his forehead, but there was a small smile on his mouth. “That was a remarkable . . . ah, I so witness.”
“I so witness,” José repeated.
“Good. The funds will be delivered this afternoon in a mix of cash and debit cards.” Time to talk to Danny. “Where . . . ah, there she is. Thank you, Theo, you may go. José, with me.” On the way across camp, he briefed José on the man who would deliver the funds so the guards could be alerted to watch for him.
“Got it,” José said. “Uh, Rule, do you think Isen will—”
“I think my father has never given me or anyone else cause to doubt that he would honor my word.” Isen might not like it. He might dislike it enough to do something Rule would in turn dislike, but he wouldn’t dishonor Rule’s word.
Danny was on the far side of camp, seated on the grass with Saul beside her, Mike standing behind her, and her open laptop in front of her. Rule paused a couple times on his way to them—once to compliment John on the chili, once to ask after a man’s daughter. She was due to give birth to his first grandchild soon. When Rule reached them, Danny’s computer was playing a commercial about bathroom tissue. His eyebrows lifted. “You’re online?”
Danny looked up. “There you are,” she said. It sounded more like an accusation than a greeting. “They wouldn’t tell me where you’d gone.”
“No, I suppose they wouldn’t. How did you get online?”
Saul answered. “Danny’s set up a Wi-Fi hotspot with her phone. It’s a prepaid, like ours, so they shouldn’t be able to track it.”
Danny sniffed. “Not like yours. I can’t set up a hot spot with that model. Saul bought me a bunch of minutes so we could check the news.”
“No word about Ruben,” Mike put in, “so I guess he hasn’t been arrested.”
“That’s good to know.”
Danny frowned at Rule. “Saul says you don’t have a mobile hotspot. Why not?”
“I didn’t know such a thing existed. I take it you’ve had lunch? John’s chili is delicious.”
“It’s meat chili. John fixed me some eggs. They were good.”
Mike frowned. “You didn’t tell us she’s a vegetarian.”
Rule had to smile at Mike’s consternation. “I didn’t know.”
“It’s not a problem,” Danny informed them. “John’s going to cook some beans for me for supper. I should go help with the dishes. I got distracted, but I should help now that I’ve returned Saul’s flute. John said I could.”
“That can wait a bit. Did you sleep
well?”
In the next few minutes Rule learned that she’d slept fine, her blister didn’t hurt, and she really ought to go wash dishes. John would be counting on her.
“John can see that you’re talking with me. He’ll find someone else.”
She frowned. “Maybe I don’t want him to.”
“But I do. I don’t suppose anyone has tried to talk to you mentally again?”
She immediately looked at her feet. “No. You really think it was Lily Yu who did that?”
“Who else could it be? Even if there were someone nearby who, without any training, miraculously learned to use mindspeech, your Gift should have shut them out unless their magic is akin to yours. Magic akin to yours means it was another sensitive or a dragon. And it wasn’t a dragon.”
“How do you know?”
“Did you manage to cut off communication yourself?”
“I yelled at them to stop.” She paused, frowning. “It did seem like I made them stop, but I don’t know how to tell for sure.”
“No one can shut out a dragon.”
“I never thought it was a dragon. A telepath with a strong enough Gift—”
“Mindspeech is not telepathy.” He’d explained this already, or tried to. “Telepathy is . . . it’s all ears, no mouth. Nothing to speak with. There’s no reason to think a telepath would be any more able to mindspeak you than—well, than I could.”
She stared at her feet in silence for a long moment. “I hope you’re right about that, because you were right about Amanda. She’s a telepath.” Another pause, then very softly: “I’m scared of her.”
“Do you think she’s crazy?”
“She wasn’t a year ago. Not with TIFS anyway. I . . .” She stopped. Cleared her throat. “I want to make another deal.”
That was not what he’d expected. “What kind of deal?”
“I’ll tell you about Amanda and—and about everything else. No more ‘I don’t want to answer.’ But you have to promise . . .” For once, she looked him right in the face. “Have you wondered at all about the kids who were at the Refuge? The house is empty now, according to the news. So where are the kids?”
* * *
LILY woke to the feel of something cool and damp poking her cheek. She swatted at it—and her eyes shot open. Charles stood over her, his nose in her face. She opened her mouth. Charles poked that with his nose before she could speak.
He wanted her to be quiet? Lily frowned, nodded, and pushed his head away so she could sit up.
They were both awake at the same time. Had their captor slipped up? Charles’s request for silence suggested he thought someone was able to hear them. That might be simple caution, or it might mean he’d smelled or heard someone.
Maybe she could find out. She remembered vividly the way it had felt to touch/see other minds. She didn’t remember exactly how she’d done that, but she’d been reaching out, as if she had super-elastic fingers that could . . .
There. That was Charles, his mind glowing like a big, phosphorescent peach. How weird. Fascinated, Lily slid her “fingers” around the glow . . . fuzzy, yes, that’s why she kept thinking of a peach. The surface reminded her of peach fuzz. Or fur?
This was very similar to the way it felt to touch magic, yet not exactly the same. There was that glow, and the way she could sense location . . . it was if her mind was mostly processing the new sense from whatever region of the brain handled touch, but some of it got channeled into her visual cortex, and some was handled by whatever it was that let her know where Rule was. Touch, but with a whiff of synesthesia.
The fuzziness was appealing somehow. As if she could pet it and . . . and do something else. Something. She didn’t know—
Charles poked her again.
Right. He had no idea why she was just sitting there, staring at him. She patted him to tell him to be patient and tried reaching farther . . . it was easy, as easy as if she’d reached with a real hand. There, on the other side of the wall, was a plum of a mind. The surface of this mind was entirely smooth. Slick, as if it were coated with slippery oil. Her “fingers” couldn’t get a grip on it at all. When she tried, her new sense recoiled like a rubber band, snapping back at her.
She was back to using the usual senses—and her head hurt in a familiar way. She rubbed it, frowning. Had that been a hallucination? It had felt so real . . .
Charles lost patience and poked her hard in the shoulder, then took a few steps toward the opening in the wall that led to the outer chamber. He stopped and looked at her.
New sense or hallucination, it was gone now. Only the headache remained. Lily stood. Charles seemed to think there was someone or something they should check out in the outer chamber. Once she was on her feet, he slunk toward the edge of the opening and peered around. He straightened abruptly, ears pricking.
Lily followed quickly—then stopped, staring.
A small, brown-clad person sat on the stony floor near the fire curtain, arms resting on drawn-up knees, face hidden on the arms. Lily couldn’t tell if this was the same brownie or another, no more than she could say if it was male or female. The head was bowed, so that all Lily saw was the shiny cap of brown hair.
Slowly he or she looked up, big eyes full of woe. “Oh,” the brownie said in a small voice. “Oh, that’s not good.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
“DANNY,” Rule said patiently, “I can’t promise that.”
Her chin was set stubbornly, her posture tense. She’d closed her laptop and was hugging it to her. “You mean you won’t.”
“I can’t promise to find and rescue all the children because it may not be possible.”
Her narrow shoulders remained rigid. “You come up with the words, then.”
Rule ran a hand through his hair. “I could promise to see that the children are found and helped, if that’s possible without undue loss of life.”
“It needs to be you. I don’t trust other people to save them.”
“My priority has to be finding Lily. Once I’ve done that—”
“But it’s probably the same thing,” she said eagerly. “Mr. Smith probably took her wherever he’s put the children.”
“You didn’t find records of a second place he’s been funding.”
“It has to exist. The children are somewhere.”
That wasn’t necessarily true, Rule thought grimly. Bodies were easy to dispose of. Rule knew damn little about Edward Smith, not enough to guess whether he was ruthless enough to kill children. Why had he done what he had? What were his goals, and how much would he sacrifice for them? Danny’s account made him sound smart, cold, and manipulative. Was that accurate? Would he remain cool under pressure or react impulsively? Faced with possible exposure, he had smoothly steered the blame to Ruben. But would he think that was enough? He could have decided he had to eliminate all traces of his clandestine project.
Danny was still talking. “. . . not surprising I didn’t know about it. I’m not an accountant. I could find the records about the Refuge because I knew where to start—with Bright Haven. Nonprofits have to keep records. They didn’t make it easy to trace their supposed donors, but I could work the trail from both ends, since I had access to the NSA’s data. But Mr. Smith must not have used Bright Haven to finance this other place. That’s why I didn’t know about it.”
She could be right. If Smith had a hiding place for the children, Lily might be there, too. If not, they still had to be found. Dead or alive, they had to be found. Rule wasn’t sure he was the best person to do that, but . . . “If the children are being held in the same place as Lily, I’ll try to free them when I free Lily. If they aren’t there, I’ll use the resources available to me to try to find them.”
She frowned suspiciously. “What do you mean by ‘resources’?”
“The situation’s too fluid for me to be specific. I could be killed. I could be captured and jailed again, which would force me to delegate the search to others. Or I might free Lily and clear Ruben of sus
picion without locating the children, in which case we could have the entire FBI looking for them.”
She thought that over, then said in a low voice, “Okay, but you have to promise that if you find them, you won’t kill them or allow anyone else to kill them.”
His eyebrows shot up—then down. “I don’t murder children. I don’t allow children to be murdered.”
“They . . .” She stopped. Swallowed. “Just promise.”
He did, finishing, “. . . if I can do so without undue loss of life.”
The rigid shoulders slumped in relief. “Okay. Okay, that’s good.” She freed one hand from its grip on her computer and held it out.
They shook on the deal. That wasn’t a lupi custom, but it seemed to matter to this girl who was uncomfortable with touch. Rule repeated his pledge; Danny promised to level with him about “everything connected to Mr. Smith and the children,” then asked if they could talk someplace by themselves.
“We can. May we leave your laptop here and turned on so someone can monitor the news?”
She considered that in frowning silence. He didn’t push. Their acquaintance might be short, but it was sufficient for him to know that Danny did not make decisions quickly. Finally she said, “Saul trusted me with his flute. I guess I could trust him with my laptop.”
* * *
THEY went for a walk. Mike, Reno, and Eric went with them, staying far enough away to give Danny the feeling of privacy, if not the fact of it. For about ten minutes, they walked in silence. The tension had returned to her shoulders.
It was returning to Rule’s gut, too. He broke the silence. “Perhaps you could start by telling me why you believe Smith is using mind control.”
She shook her head. “The evidence for that is anecdotal, and you’ll need a lot of background or you won’t understand.”
“Hmm. To your knowledge, are any of the people working with Smith nonhuman?”
That startled her. “What?”
“Elves, for example. Or just people whose magic feels different from anything you’ve ever touched.” True mind control was incredibly rare. It seemed impossible that the NSA could have achieved it with a drug.
