World of the Lupi Series Only Human

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Eileen Wilks World of the Lupi Series

1 - Only Human (2003) 2 - Tempting Danger (2004) 3 - Originally Human (2004) 4 - Mortal Danger (2005) 5 - Blood Lines (2007)

1 - Only Human (2003)

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Chapter 1 HE DIDN'T HAVE much face left. Lily stood back far enough to keep the tips of her new black heels out of the pool of blood that was dry at the edges, still gummy near the body. Mist hung in the warm air, spinning halos around the street lamps and police spotlights, turning her skin clammy. The smell of blood was thick in her nostrils. The first victim, the one whose body she'd seen four days ago, hadn't had his face ripped off the way this one had. Just his throat. Flashes went off nearby in a crisp one-two as the police photographer recorded the scene. "Hey, Yu," the man behind the camera lens called. She grimaced. O'Brien was good at his work, but he never tired of a joke, no matter how stale. If they both lived to be a hundred and ran into each other in the nursing home, the first thing he'd say to her would be, "Hey, Yu!" That is, assuming she kept her maiden name for the next seventy-two years. Considering the giddy whirl she laughingly called a social life, that seemed possible. "Yeah, Irish?" "Looks like you had a hot date tonight." "No, me and my dog always dress for dinner. He looks great in a tux." O'Brien snorted and moved to get another angle. Lily tuned him out along with the rest of the crowd—the curious behind the chain-link fence, the uniforms, the lab boys and girls wait-ing with their tweezers and baggies and fingerprint gear. They'd arrived almost as fast as she had, which said some-thing about how nervous the brass was. That a crowd had assembled in this neighborhood said something about everyone else's nerves. Spilled blood often drew people the way spilled sugar draws flies, but not in this area. Here, people assumed that curiosity came with a price tag. They knew what a drive-by sounded like, and the look of a drug deal going down. The victim lay on his back on the dirty pavement. There was a Big Gulp cup, smashed flat, by his feet, a section of newspaper under his butt, and a broken beer bottle by his foot. Defensive wounds on the right arm, she noted. Something had torn right through his jacket. There was blood on that hand, but she didn't see any wounds. His other hand lay about ten feet from the body, up against the pole to the swing set. A playground. Someone had ripped this guy's throat out in a playground, for God's sake. There was a hard ache in Lily's own throat, a tightness across her shoulders. She'd seen death often enough since she was promoted to Homicide. Her stom-ach no longer turned over, but the regret, the sorrow over the waste, never went away. She crouched, careful of the way her dress rode up on her thighs, and studied the focus of all the activity. He'd been young. Not young enough to have enjoyed those swings anytime recently, though. Twenty or less, she guessed, maybe five-foot-ten, weight around one-eighty. Weight-lifter's shoulders and arms,

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powerful thighs. He'd been strong, per-haps cocky in his strength—used to fighting, probably used to winning. Strength hadn't done him much good tonight. Whatever had torn out his throat and made a mess of his face had left the eye and cheekbone on the right side intact. One startled brown eye stared up at nothing from smooth young skin the color of the wicker chair in her living room. He was wearing a red T-shirt, black hightops, black cargo pants, and a black jacket. Gang colors. Not that she thought this was a gang killing. The bloody paw prints leading away from the body were a pretty good clue about that. A pair of size eleven shoes, black and dusty, moved up beside her. They were connected to long, skinny legs encased in uniform trousers. "Careful, Detective. Don't want to get your pretty dress dirty." Lily sighed. Officer Larry Phillips was half of the patrol unit that had been first on the scene. She hadn't run across him before—the San Diego PD was too big for her to know many beat cops. A few minutes spent taking his report had given her a pretty clear picture, though. He was pushing fifty, still on the streets and sour about it. She was female, twenty-eight, and already a detective. In other words, he didn't like her. "This is your turf, Of-ficer. You know him?" "He's one of the Devils." "Yeah, I got that much." She stood and glanced up at him. Way up—he was a long, stringy man, well over six feet. Of course, Lily had to look up to meet almost anyone's eyes. She'd persuaded herself that didn't irritate her anymore. "You think you could look at his face instead of his clothes and see if you can ID him?" "Why? This wasn't a gang killing." He had a toothpick in his mouth. She found herself staring at it, waiting for it to drop, wondering if it was glued to his lip. "Not even murder, really." Three years ago a case like this would have been handled by the X-Squad. Now it went to Homicide. "The courts say otherwise." He snorted. The toothpick didn't budge. "Yeah, and we know how smart those bleeding heart judges are. According to them, we're supposed to treat the beasts like they were human. That mess at your feet proves what a great idea that is." "I've seen uglier things done by men to other men. And to women. And I still need an ID." Another cop joined them, this one young, short, with shiny black hair and a greenish cast to his complexion—Phillips's partner, the other half of the responding unit. "I, uh, I think it's Carlos Fuentes." Phillips raised one scornful eyebrow. "You basing that ID on his shoes? Not much else to go on." "It looks like him around the eyes. I mean the eye. And the build is right. Fuentes is supposed to be good with his knife," he added. "Fast." "Was he left-handed?" Lily asked.

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"No. No, I'm sure he was right-handed. That fits—it's his right arm with the defensive wounds. If he were attacked by a dog—" "Dog?" Phillips was incredulous. "You think a dog did this?" "It could have been," Rodriguez insisted. "You always tell me not to jump to conclusions. Well, until they run the tests we won't know that this was done by a—by—" "A lupus," Phillips drawled. "That's what we're supposed to call them now, right?" "It could have been a rabid dog. Or one trained to attack. Maybe Fuentes was meeting someone, making some kind of deal. When it went sour the other guy sicced the dog on him." Phillips made a disgusted sound. She flicked a glance his way. Phillips wasn't much of a partner if he wouldn't take the time to educate the kid. Lily looked back at the younger officer. "Where's Fuentes's knife?" "I don't..." His voice trailed off as he looked around. "He must not have had time to draw it." "Right. Now look at the body, and think. You said he was good with a blade, and fast. He's right-handed, so when some animal comes at him out of the darkness, he uses his left arm for defense. Like this." She flung up her own arm. "He reaches for his knife at the same time. And the beast didn't pay any attention to the defensive arm. It knew he was reaching for a weapon. Went for his right hand, bit it off, and spat it out. Dogs don't do that." His throat worked as he stared at the corpse. "If—if it had been trained to go for the right arm ..." "It bit the hand off," she repeated patiently. "And flung it away. You can't train an animal to do that. What's more, Fu-entes looks like he could have bench-pressed three-fifty or bet-ter, but he couldn't even slow the beast down." "Where do you get that?" "Observation. Aside from the blood and the body, you can't tell there's been any kind of fight here. The beast hit him quick and hard. He might not even have had time to know his hand was gone. He had good instincts, though. He tried to pull his head down, protect his neck. That's when he lost some of his face. Then it ripped out his throat." The rookie was looking sick. Maybe she'd pushed reality on him a little too firmly. "Now, now. You're not supposed to say 'it,' " Phillips said with heavy sarcasm. "We have to say 'he' now, treat 'em like people. Full rights under the law." "I know the law." She turned away and frowned. A van from one of the TV stations had pulled up. Dammit. "I need you two to join the uniforms at the entrance. I don't want any media ghouls messing up my crime scene." "Sure thing, Detective." Phillips gave her a mocking grin; turned, then paused and took the toothpick out of his mouth. When he met her eyes the mockery and anger had faded from his, leaving them dead

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serious. "A word of advice from some-one who put in some time on the X-Squad. Call them whatever you like, but don't mistake the lupi for human. They don't think like we do, and they're damned hard to hurt. They're faster and they're stronger, and they like the way we taste." "This one doesn't seem to have done much tasting." He shrugged. "Something interrupted him, maybe. Don't forget that they're only legally human when they're on two legs. You run into one when it's four-footed, don't arrest it. Shoot it." He flicked the toothpick to the ground. "And aim for the brain." Chapter 2 LILY'S EYES WERE gritty and hot the next morning when she made her way through the mass of desks in the bullpen. It had been two in the morning when she'd returned to her little apartment onFlower Street . The lab crew had put in an even longer night, though. The preliminary report was waiting on her desk. She settled into the battered chair that was just beginning to adapt its lumps to her own bottom, took a sip of her coffee, and skimmed it quickly. It held one surprise. For some reason they were holding off on the complete autopsy "pending official notice." Her eyebrows went up. What did that mean? Otherwise it was pretty much what she'd expected. No blood other than the victim's, no tissue. A few hairs. At least they'd been able to establish that the attacker had been one of the Blood, though. Science depended on things happening a certain way without fail. Water boiled at 100°C at sea level, no matter who did the boiling. Mix potassium nitrate, sulfur, and charcoal together in the right proportions and you ended up with gun-powder every time, no random batches of gold dust or baking soda to confuse matters. But magic was capricious. Individual. The cells and body fluids of those of the Blood—inherently magical beings—didn't perform the same way every time they were tested. Which made it possible sometimes to identify the traces magic left in its wake, but played hell with lab results. Still, the lab tech had been able to determine that the blood in the wounds had been contaminated by magic, probably by some body fluid from one of the Blood. Saliva, obviously, but the tests couldn't confirm that. The report did list some negatives. Lily snorted when she read them. No one with a functioning brain would have sus-pected a brownie anyway, and gnomes were timid and ex-tremely rare. Gremlins could be nasty, but there hadn't been a gremlin outbreak in southernCalifornia in years. Besides, they were way too small. The damage she'd seen last night hadn't been inflicted by a gremlin pack. What the lab work couldn't tell them, the other physical evidence did. Lily knew very well which species they were dealing with—one of the lupi. Werewolf. She sat back with a sigh, turning back to the first page to give the report a more thorough reading. The man at the desk next to hers tilted his head back and howled.

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"Cute,Brunswick ," she said without looking up from the report. "Very lifelike. You been tested?" The woman at the desk behindBrunswick snorted. "Him? You've got to be kidding. Lupi are supposed to be virile, char-ismatic, sexy as hell—" "Hey, I'm sexy! Just ask my wife." “They're also tomcats." "Can't call a wolf a cat." "Don't nitpick. You know what I mean—they'll stick it anywhere, anytime, to anyone who'll let 'em. You want me to ask your wife if that's true, too, studmuffin?" Two of the nearest men laughed.Brunswick was protesting his innocence when Lily's phone rang. "Homicide. Detective Yu speaking." "You're wanted in the chiefs office." It was Captain Foster. She knew it was him—yet her first reaction was that this was a prank. It had to be. A lowly de-tective with only two years on Homicide was not summoned to the office of the chief of police. "Chief Delgado, sir?" "How many chiefs do we have?" he snapped. Which was a bit unfair—there was only one chief of police, but there were several deputy chiefs. "He wants you there right away." The line went dead. Lily gave the phone in her hand one incredulous glance, then set it down and stood. The chief's office was, naturally, on the top floor. There was no point in speculating about why he wanted her, she thought as she punched the button for the elevator. And pro-ceeded to do it anyway. For once the elevator arrived immediately. She stepped on, brooding over what the summons might mean. It had to be something to do with last night's homicide. Maybe Delgado wanted her for a press conference. The media were in a feeding frenzy. But Delgado usually handled that sort of thing himself when it was a major case. He might ask her captain to participate, but it was unlikely he'd want her. The line between her brows deepened as the elevator let people on and off. Finally they reached the top floor. Could the captain have told Delgado why he'd given the investigation to one of his newer detectives? No, she couldn't believe that. Foster was too careful. He hadn't even spoken of it to her in so many words. Lily had only been to the top floor once before. The carpet was thicker here, the lighting more subtle. The hallway had doors with brass nameplates and ended at an office with living plants and framed pictures on the walls. The pale oak desk was ruthlessly neat. The woman behind the desk was a sixtyish civilian named Adele Crimmings, a.k.a. the chief's enforcer. Lily had heard dozens of stories about her. She had sharp eyes, a

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crisply tailored blue dress, and white hair cut so short it looked as if she'd recently completed basic training. "He's expecting you," Ms. Crimmings said when Lily iden-tified herself. She touched a button on her desk, announced Lily's arrival, then nodded at her. "Go on in." Delgado had a big corner office with wooden blinds at the tall windows. His own desk was larger than his secretary's, and nowhere near as tidy. He was seated there, a small, trim man with coppery skin stretched tight and shiny across flat cheekbones. His tie was a very dark brown with narrow gold stripes. His suit jacket was on the back of his chair, and the sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up. He had very little hair on his forearms. Delgado wasn't alone. Another man stood in front of one of the big windows, his back to the room—an Anglo, judging by the color of the skin on the long-fingered hands. A rather pale Anglo, forCalifornia . He was at least six feet, slim, and standing utterly motion-less. His arms hung loose at his sides, his feet didn't shift, his head didn't turn as she entered the room. Shaggy brown hair waved past his collar. The sunlight glanced off that ordinary brown hair, igniting it, drawing a burnished halo around his head. The casual elegance of his black slacks and loose black jacket fairly screamed money. The cuffs of his shirt were black, too. The man in black,she thought with a mental sniff at-the dramatics of it. She wondered if he was an actor or a director. And was annoyed to notice that her pulse had picked up. "Detective Yu," Delgado said. “Thank you for coming." "Sir." "I have someone here you need to meet. You'll be working with him," he said as the other man, at last, turned to face her. Lily's breath caught in her throat as she saw the narrow face, the tilted slashes of the eyebrows, the slightly sallow skin, and the cool gray eyes that met hers with no trace of a smile. It was a striking face, stark and clean, the lines of it swept back the way stone is smoothed by wind. Not handsome, but not a face one would ever forget, either. She knew him. Knew who he was, at least. She'd seen his photograph often enough, though he was certainly no movie star or director. Most recently, she'd seen it in the file she'd started four days ago. The one on the first killing. Her heart pounded and her eyes widened in disbelief. "You want me to work with awerewolf?"

BY THE TIME Rule turned around, he was fairly sure he had his reaction to her scent under control. Or at least concealed. His heart was thudding against the wall of his chest like Thumper introducing himself to Bambi. Ican't possibly know. Not for sure. Yet her scent... Fear and exaltation filled him. He studied the face of the woman he'd never believed he would meet.

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Something in the smoothness of her face, the sleek round-ness of her body, appealed to him. Her eyes were as black as the braid that hung down her back. And greatly irritated at the moment. She would move well, he thought, and wanted to see her move. There wasn't a great deal of Lily Yu physically, but he had the sense that quite a lot of person had been packed into that trim, tidy form. She wore plain black slacks and a jacket the color of the poppies that dotted the hills in the spring. He smelled the metal-and-gunpowder odor of the gun concealed by that jacket. No fear scent, though. That intrigued him. Even Delgado gave out a whiff of fear in his presence, though he controlled it admirably. That, and the fact that she'd risen to detective at such a young age, told him the dainty packaging was mislead-ing. A man who didn't look beyond that packaging might mis-take her for doll-like. He wondered if any had been foolish enough to say so—and if they'd drawn back a stub. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Humans didn't respond so vigorously to insult. "Obviously you recognize me," he said. "Detective," Delgado snapped. "Your captain assured me you didn't suffer from racial prejudices." "Sorry, sir." Those pretty black eyes slid from her chief to Rule. "My apologies, Mr. Turner. The old-fashioned term slipped out. Or should I say 'Your Highness'?" "My title is used only among the clans and by journalists. Strictly speaking, it doesn't translate as prince. That is merely the closest approximation." Her skin was ivory—not the bland pallor of one who avoids the sun, but a dense, saturated color. She smelled wonderful, very female, the muskiness of her skin faintly overlaid with soap. No perfume. He smiled slowly. He hated perfume. "You may call me Rule. I would like it if you did." Delgado cleared his throat. He looked irritated, which Rule understood. This was his territory, and they were ignoring that. "Detective Yu," he said firmly, "this is Rule Turner, prince of Clan Nokolai. Mr. Turner, Detective Lily Yu." "Mr. Turner," she said with a curt nod. That put him in his place, didn't it? His smile widened. Delgado was speaking. "Mr. Turner spoke with the mayor last night. He offered his expertise. Obviously he has an inti-mate knowledge of lupus culture and, ah, habits. He will co-operate fully with you." “Pardon me, sir, but I'm unsure exactly what that means." Delgado's eyes flickered to Rule. Knowing the man's dis-comfort, Rule took the burden of explanation from him. "Ini-tially, at least, it means we must visit the morgue. I need to smell the corpse." Chapter 3 LILY LEFT THE chiefs office fifteen minutes later, confused and irritated. Now she knew why the autopsy had been held up, though. Maybe Rule Turner could identify the killer from the scent he'd left on his victim's body. Maybe not. She couldn't take his word at face value. People lied. They did it all the time, to protect small hurts or

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embarrassments as well as for more serious reasons. But if he claimed to identify the killer, that would be information, whether it was true or a lie. She had to figure out his goal, what he had to gain by helping them investigate. Lupi weren't exactly civic-minded about cooperating with the police. Of course, Rule Turner was politically active on behalf of his people, something of a spokesman. Not to mention a favorite of the gossip mags. He was also a civilian. Lily did not like working with ci-vilians, but she could concede the necessity at times. Her con-fusion had little to do with her professional irritation. Those eyes ... she'd never heard that it was dangerous to look into a werewolf s eyes. But there was a great deal she didn't know about them, wasn't there? The man beside her kept pace silently. At least, she supposed that was the right word for him. Could you be a man without being human? Never mind, she told herself, moving briskly. The courts had ruled that lupi had the same rights and obligations as other citizens... when they were in human form. His human form was pretty devastating, she admitted si-lently. Or maybe that was an aspect of his magic, whatever it was that enabled him to turn into a wolf. Or gave him no choice. Legend said that werewolves couldn't avoid the Change at the full moon. "You move quickly, Detective," Turner said as they reached the elevator. She jabbed the down button. "Habit. People with short legs learn to move fast, or we get left behind." "Is that what it is?" He sounded thoughtful. "I thought you were trying to leave me behind. You're not happy with Chief Delgado's instructions. I'm afraid I disturb you." "You annoy me," she corrected. "Cocky, arrogant men usu-ally do." "Arrogant, perhaps. Cocky is for puppies.” "You said it, not me. Where were you last night between ten o'clock and eleven twenty-five?" "At a party with about twenty other people. A party at the mayor's house." So much for wiping the amusement out of his eyes. "Were you there when the mayor was called? Is that how you heard about the second killing so quickly?" "Yes. The mayor asked for my assistance." The stupid elevator was taking forever today. She punched the button again. "If you're ready to start acting as an expert consultant, I have some questions." "Of course. I hope they're personal." He stroked his hand down her braid. "Lovely. It feels as soft as it looks." The shiver that ran up her spine was as distressing as it was instinctive. She stepped away. "None of this is personal, and you need to keep your hands to yourself." "I'll try."

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"You'll have to do better than try." "We are a profoundly physical people, Detective. It's dif-ficult for us to remember that others don't have the same need to touch and be touched that we do." She lifted a scornful eyebrow. The Nokolai prince had been mixing and mingling with normal humans quite regularly at events fromSan Diego toHollywood toWashington,D.C. , for the last few years. He knew perfectly well how to behave— when he wanted to. "And here I thought you were hitting on me." 'That, too, of course. Will you go out with me tonight?" Her lips twitched before she could stop them. Maybe his existence wasn't illegal anymore, but that smile ought to be. The way it spread over his face was a crime—so slow and intimate, as if smiling were a sensual indulgence to be savored, not rushed.... The elevator finally arrived. Three people got off. She stepped in quickly. He followed. "What impersonal questions did you want to ask?" "I know lupi have a toxic reaction to silver, because the X-Squads used to use rounds made from a silver alloy." A very expensive alloy. She had a round in her clip right now, having requisitioned it and two more after the first killing. "What about garlic or crosses?" "No and no. Old wives' tales." He pushed the button for the basement level, which held the parking garage. The ele-vator doors shut. "I thought it might be. I'm afraid a lot of what I know is the sort of garbage spread by movies likeWitch Hunt " "At least you know it's garbage." He was tense. She wasn't sure why she was convinced of that—he stood easily, spoke smoothly, and that remarkable face was still, unrevealing. "I've also heard that lupi are claus-trophobic." "It's hardly a phobia. We simply prefer open places." Not small, enclosed spaces. Like an elevator. Abruptly she pushed the button for the next floor down, and the elevator slowed. "Why did you do that?" he snapped. "There's no reason for you to be uncomfortable. We can take the stairs." The elevator halted smoothly and the doors opened. Two people were waiting to get on. The woman was a civilian, fortyish and plump—a clerk or secretary, from the look of her. Lily knew the man slightly, a Vice officer named Burns. She nodded at him. He didn't notice. He was staring at Turner. If he'd been a dog, his hackles would have been raised. The woman was staring, too. But the expression on her face was entirely dif-ferent.

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The tableau lasted only a second before she and Turner got off, the other two got on, and the elevator doors closed. She glanced at him as they started down the hall, wondering if he'd noticed the woman's reaction. She had to look up, of course. He was too blasted tall. He was looking straight at her, those rainy-sky eyes amused and knowing. "You tend to evoke a reaction from people, don't you?" "Usually. Why don't we start my expert consultation with listening? You can tell me what you think you know about lupi and I'll correct any misinformation." "Good enough." The door to the stairwell was metal with the usual red Exit sign over it. She reached for it. Somehow he was there before her, opening the door and holding it for her. He hadn't seemed to rush, yet he'd moved very quickly. Lily stopped, studying him. He looked elegant and not at all civilized in spite of his trendy black clothing. "Legend says lupi are fast. Really fast." He just smiled. Something shivered down her spine. She got her feet mov-ing and didn't speak again until they both were on the stairs, headed down. "I know the legal history best. Until 1930, the only federal law related to lupi was the one making it a crime not to report someone, ah, afflicted with lycanthropy. State laws varied widely. Most of them treated lupi as humans who had a dangerous disease. Some called for them to be killed outright. Then Dr. Abraham Geddes proved that lycanthropy could not be transmitted, as had previously been believed." "The Change isn't catching," he agreed mildly. "Right. It's an inherited condition. Folklore and experts alike agree that the trait is sex-linked. There are no female lupi." "True." "I guess the experts can't be wrong about everything. Any-way, soon after that cameCarr v.the State ofTexas . The Supreme Court's ruling effectively made lupi legally human, but with a congenital disease, one that, well..." "Makes us mad. Incurably insane. We were locked up, if discovered. Usually in chains." "Yes. Well, that was some time ago. There continued to be a good deal of debate about whether lupi were human. Some of those of the Blood are obviously nonhuman, of course." "Gremlins, brownies, the odd pooka or banshee." "Pookas? I thought they were—never mind." She shook her head. Later she could ask if pookas were really extinct or not. They'd reached the fourth-floor landing. He was still mov-ing easily. She was, too, though her heart rate was up slightly. She wondered if he could hear it. Lupi were said to have extremely acute hearing. "In

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1964 Dr. Beatrice Pargenter dis-covered a serum that inhibited the Change, and everyone who considered lycanthropy a disease applauded. It was considered an enormous, and humane, breakthrough. Congress passed the registration laws, which remained in effect until five years ago." "You do have your legal history down." "I've boned up." Rule Turner's forehead was smooth. No tattoo, nor any sign that one had been removed. The authorities had used a special, silver-infused dye to tattoo the registration number, since the body of a were would otherwise have healed the tiny wounds inflicted by a needle within minutes. "You never registered, did you?" "Why, Detective, I do believe that's a personal question." "And I do believe you're obnoxious. That's a personal comment, by the way. I understand the drug was very unpop-ular with the lupi." "Since the side effects ranged from vertigo to nausea to impotence—yes, it was unpopular. But even if they'd been able to refine their damned drug, no one wanted it." His voice had lost its subtle balance between seduction and mockery. The emotion she heard was real, and personal. They'd reached the subbasement. He pushed open the door and held it for her, as he had before. She went through it, uncomfortably aware that he was inviting her to expose her back to him. The parking garage looked like others everywhere—gray and ugly. The air was hot and smelled of exhaust fumes. The light was flat, fluorescent, and grimly bright. "You didn't want to give up the Change." "We no more wish to give it up than you would want to be chemically lobotomized. Still, I suppose it was an improve-ment over being killed or castrated." She paused, startled. "Castrated?" "Ah. A gap in your legal history, Detective." His eyes were oddly pale in the artificial light. "Yes, for a few years some states dealt with 'the lupi problem' the way scientists have dealt with fruit flies—by rendering us unable to breed. It was considered more humane than shooting us on sight, like rabid dogs." He radiated anger, far more than the glimpse she'd had before. His face was taut with it. An old anger, she thought, but one that hadn't lost any of its power over time. Over the castration? Yes, she decided. His people had been killed, im-prisoned, chained, drugged, tattooed, but it was the castration that made him vibrate with suppressed rage. Had he been... No, that was stupid. According to the file on her desk, Rule Turner had two sons, by two different mothers. Neither of whom he'd bothered to marry. Even if he hadn't been a lycanthrope, he would so not be her type. She nodded to the left. "My car is this way."

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"Mine isn't. I prefer to drive myself." "Life is full of these little disappointments." She started walking without waiting to see if he followed. After a bare second's pause, he did. "Are you used to having your way, Detective, or simply testing my willingness to cooperate?" "I'm used to driving myself.California hasn't allowed the kind of vigilantism you described for over three decades, you know." And never castration. "Which is one reason my clan chose to settle here." Lily knew about the Nokolai enclave in the mountains out-side the city, of course. She'd gone there shortly after the first murder—and been turned away at the gate, politely but firmly. It was outside the city limits, so she lacked the authority to insist she be allowed inside. The lupi were a secretive people. Not without reason, given the persecutions of the past. But those persecutions hadn't been entirely without reason, either. Before the change in the laws, the enclave had masqueraded as a religious commune. Most people knew differently now, but they didn't realize that the land that made up the enclave was owned by the Nokolai chief personally. So was the other property Lily had found—a ranch in northernCalifornia , some choiceL.A. real estate, and several condos here inSan Diego . The Nokolai chief was a rich man. His son seemed to do pretty well for himself, too. She stopped at a plain white sedan that looked like a dozen others lined up beneath the low ceiling. He stood on the other side of the car, waiting for her to unlock it. Their eyes met. Her spine tingled. “There's a bill due to come before the House this fall," she said. “The Species Citizenship Bill. According to what I've read, you're strongly in favor of it" "Interested in politics, are you?" “The Supreme Court ruling already gives you citizenship. The Species Citizenship Bill won't change that, but it will declare lupi and others of the Blood nonhuman." "But entitled to the rights and responsibilities of citizenship whether we're on two feet or four." He studied her face a moment, then nodded as if he'd confirmed something. "You don't approve of a law that would treat a beast as a person." "I don't understand why you'd want to be declared non-human!" He lifted those tilted eyebrows. "I am a lupus of Clan No-kolai. What else matters?" Arrogant bastard. Lily swung her door open and slid inside. She could well believe he was royal. She could also, all too easily, believe he was a predator. She let him in and started the engine. He slid in beside her and, after a second's hesitation, reached for the seat belt. It occurred to her that a car was another small, enclosed space. She punched the buttons to let down the

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windows. “Hope you don't mind," she said casually. "I like fresh air." "Not at all. I'm sure the air will grow fresher soon." At the moment it smelled of oil, exhaust fumes, and hot concrete. Heat rose in her cheeks, but she didn't think he'd notice. She was, quite literally, thick-skinned. Neither bruises nor blushes showed much. "Do you really think you'll be able to sniff out the identity of the attacker?" "I don't know. My senses aren't as acute in this form. It's worth trying." "A less acute sense of smell would be a blessing at the morgue." With sudden alarm, she added, "Unless you plan to, ah—" "I won't Change. Aside from the discomfort, and the dan-ger of doing so in these surroundings, it is not allowed. Not within the city." "The Change is uncomfortable?" "It can be. We are tied to nature. Changing while sur-rounded by buildings, concrete, and steel instead of earth and sky, is ... possible. But it exacts a price." She thought about that as she pulled out into traffic. Had whoever Changed in order to kill done it in a park, or some other pocket of nature? "You say you're forbidden to Change within the city limits. You're not talking about the law." "My Lupois forbade this many years ago." "Lupois?" "You would say 'king' or 'high prince.' Though perhaps 'clan chief is closer." He was sitting with his forearm propped on the window opening. Air streamed through, pouring itself around that narrow, sculpted face, whipping his hair around it. She spotted a gap in the other lane between a panel truck and an SUV, accelerated smoothly, and whipped into it. The panel truck honked. Turner's hand clenched tightly on the door. Charitably, she chose to overlook that. “The Lupois is your father." "Yes." The Change was intensely important to him, to all lupi, from what he'd said. If the Lupois had the authority to forbid or restrict it, that was considerable power. "And do all mem-bers of your clan obey the Lupois in this?" "I would have said yes, until I heard of the first killing. Now I don't know." "You think it's someone from your clan." "I don't know," he repeated, and she heard a thread of anger or frustration in his voice. "We are the only clan nearSan Diego , but we aren't the only lupi." He would want it to be someone outside his clan, she thought, signaling for the turn. "I know about big,

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close-knit families. I come from one myself. A brother, two sisters, three uncles, four aunts, lots of cousins. Both of my father's parents are still living. Then there's Grandmother." If he thought it was ridiculous for her to compare her ex-tended family to a lupus clan, he didn't say so. "You say 'grandmother' as if she were the only one to bear that title." "She's one of a kind, all right. My sister and I call her Tiger Lady—though not to her face. I'm named after her. That is, I bear the English version of her name." "My name is Anglicized, too." She glanced at him quickly. "Turner?" "No, Rule. It was originally Reule. French." "So what does it mean?" The light was about to change. She accelerated through it without quite running up the bumper of the car ahead of her. "Little wolf." He exhaled. "Get a lot of tickets, do you?" "No." She hadn't seen him tense this time, but out of the corner of her eye she did catch him relaxing again. She grinned. "I'm a good driver, actually. Good reflexes. Not as fast as yours, I suppose. I guess it might be nerve-wracking to have someone whose reflexes are half the speed of yours in the driver's seat." "Only if they think they're invulnerable," he said dryly. "You're the one who ought to feel invulnerable. It takes a lot to hurt a lupus, doesn't it?" "Because we heal so quickly, we can take a lot of damage. But we have the same nerve endings humans do. We hurt every bit as much." He thought of himself as a lupus. Not as a human. For the next few blocks she couldn't think of anything more to say. Chapter 4 LILY HATED THE morgue. It was an unprofessional reaction, one she'd tried to overcome, but she had yet to set foot inside the cold, white walls without feeling repelled. It wasn't the bodies that got to her. Nor the smell. It was what happened to those bodies here that made her skin feel two sizes too small. Autopsies were necessary. They were also the final, most complete invasion of privacy possible. The attendant was new—at least, Lily hadn't run across her before. She was young, African American, her hair cropped very short to show off an elegant head and neck. And she was staring at Rule Turner. Did the man have that effect on every woman whose path he crossed? "Detective Yu," she said, holding out her shield in the soft leather case her brother had given her for her birth-day last year. "I understand you've got Carlos Fuentes chilled down. We need to have a look."

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She blinked, then stood. "Sure. This way, Detective." Lily's shoulders and spine were tight as she and Turner followed the attendant down a short hall. "You don't like this place, either," he said abruptly. She looked at him. There was strain around his eyes, and his lips were thinned. "I guess it smells pretty bad here to you." "It's not the smell that bothers me." The attendant spoke cheerily as she pulled on one of the handles and slid the long drawer out. "Here you go." What blood was left in the body had settled, of course. The back and buttocks would be livid, but the undamaged part of his face, his shoulders, and his upper chest were waxy and pale. He looked cold beneath the thin sheet. And very dead. Lily's lips tightened. She glanced at Rule. "The sheet—?" "I'll need it off." The attendant looked surprised, then upset as she removed the sheet. That puzzled Lily. Why would a morgue attendant be upset at being asked to remove a sheet from a body? The obvious assumption was that Rule was here to identify the victim and, given the condition of the dead man's face, looking at the body made sense. Oh. Lily's lips twitched. The young woman didn't like the idea that Rule might be intimately familiar with another man's body. Well, no one enjoyed having their dreams snuffed out. Even the brief, silly ones. Rule bent close to the ravaged throat and sniffed. "Hey!" The attendant grabbed his shoulder and tried to pull him back. She might have been tugging on a Buick, for all the effect she had. "Just what do you think you're doing?" "Exactly what he's been asked to do." Lily took the woman's arm and firmly urged her back. "By Chief Delgado." "He was asked to sniff a corpse?" she exclaimed, outraged. Lily lifted both eyebrows as if the question were absurd, rather than the action. "Yes." The attendant looked as if she would have bolted from the room if regulations hadn't called for her to remain. Lily didn't much want to watch him, either, but perversity or pride kept her from looking away. He made a thorough job of it, smelling all up and down the body, paying close attention to the wounds and the cold, flaccid hands. He was intent, focused, and somehow still im-possibly elegant. Not like a beast at all—more like a wine connoisseur about to deliver a verdict on the bouquets of var-ious vintages. And that thought was both absurd and macabre. Lily bit her lip to keep from giggling like an idiot

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At last he straightened, met her eyes, and shook his head slightly. "You couldn't tell." "He was killed by a lupus," he said flatly. "Beyond that..." He shrugged. "Very little scent remains." "We already knew the killer was a lupus." "Perhaps you did. I didn't until now. There are some who might want to fake the slaying of men by lupi." Lily remembered their audience, a wide-eyed attendant who might talk to the wrong person, like a reporter. She jerked her head, indicating she wanted him to follow, and headed for the door. He thanked the attendant politely. She should have done that, she thought, upset and not knowing why. Had she counted so much on his sense of smell to give her a lead? That was foolish. He caught up with her at the door and took her elbow. “I want coffee. Something to get the taste of this place out of my mouth." Before she stopped to think, she'd agreed. Together they left that cold, bright room with its neatly filed bodies.

INSTINCT TOOK HER to Bennie's Bar & Grill. Bennie's was large, dark, and noisy, known for its cheeseburgers. As soon as she stepped inside, Lily sighed. Usually her instincts weren't this lousy. Bennie's was a cop hangout. It wasn't crowded at this hour. She only spotted two faces she knew as they headed for the back, but everyone seemed to recognize the man with her. The looks she and Rule drew varied from startled to snarly. Cops were good with faces, and his was memorable. By the time they sat in a booth near the rest rooms, she was feeling self-conscious and prickly. "I wonder if this is how a white woman felt inSelma in 1960 if she went into a res-taurant with a black man." He shook his head slowly. "Our fellow customers aren't going to take either of us out in the alley and beat us up for having dared to be seen in public together. The waitress won't even refuse to serve me." She grimaced. "I'm overreacting, you mean." "There are parallels. If people hadn't started refusing to sit at the back of the bus back then, measures like the Species Citizenship Bill wouldn't be possible now. Have you given any thought to going out with me?" She blinked. "For a supposedly sophisticated man, you have lousy timing. I just watched you sniffing a corpse." "It's a subject that will keep coming up, good timing or not."

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A waitress drifted up—young, blond, and pierced. There was a ring in her eyebrow, three studs on one ear, and another ring in the belly button her midriff-hugging top exposed. She set Lily's water in front of her without glancing in her direction. Her eyes were wholly on Turner, huge with fascination ... and fear. And he knew. Awareness of the girl's fear was there in the flicker of his eyes, the softness of his voice as he ordered coffee. "I'll have a cup, too," Lily said, peeling the paper from her straw. "Make it blond." The waitress nodded and left. Lily crossed her arms on the table and leaned forward. "Is it because you're a lupus? Or do you get all this attention because you're a celebrity?" He didn't pretend to misunderstand. "I'm probably the only lupus she'll ever meet—knowingly, at least." Lily nodded as a piece fell into place. “That's the reason for all the black, isn't it? I've never seen a photograph of you where you're wearing colors. Just black. You want people to recognize you. You want them to know they're meeting a lu-pus." Amazingly, a touch of color sharpened those hard cheek-bones. "Black is good theater." "And your face is unforgettable. When people see you, they remember. You do the mystery bit well—a hint of glamour, the allure of the forbidden or the dangerous. That's the image you want people to associate with lupi. You're sort of a poster boy for your people." "Thank you." He was insulted. She grinned. "You don't like being called a boy or cocky, which is for puppies. I think you've started to believe your image." All at once he grinned back. "Maybe I have." The grin transformed his face, turning it from dark and disturbing to someone outrageously appealing—but someone who wore ragged jeans on weekends, played baseball with the guys, and changed the oil in his car. Lily didn't even think about trying to reply. She was too caught up in that grin, what it did to his eyes and the way it lifted her heart "Here you go." The waitress deposited their coffee, dump-ing a couple of containers of creamer beside Lily's cup. Lily hadn't so much as glimpsed her approach. Shaken, she tore one of the creamers open and dumped half the contents into her coffee. Had he used some kind of magic on her? Or did it just spill out from him naturally, without his willing it? If it wasn't magic ... she didn't want to think about what it would mean if she could react like that to him without any magic involved "Does magic have a smell?" His eyebrows lifted. "It can. Why?" "You knew the attacker was lupus. Our lab did, too—at least, they could tell it was someone of

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the-Blood, because magic leaves traces. I wondered if you were smelling the same kind of traces they found." "I don't think so. Magic does have a distinctive scent, but only when it's active. When a spell is being performed, for example. What I identified was the smell of lupus, not magic itself." "Is there anything else you can tell me about the killer?" He frowned and sipped his coffee. She was not surprised to see that he drank it black. "He wasn't a juvenile." "You can tell that from the scent?" "No. The body wasn't eaten." Coffee sloshed in her cup. She set it down carefully. "Ex-plain." "It's pure superstition that an adult lupus will be overcome by bloodlust and attack whatever moves. Young lupi lose themselves in the beast, but we learn control. If we didn't, we really would be the ravening beasts depicted in movies likeWitch Hunt ." "So a child or adolescent wouldn't have acquired control yet." "Not a child. The Change arrives with puberty." She thought of a particularly improbable photograph she'd seen while waiting in the checkout line at the grocery store recently. A woman had been sitting up in a hospital bed with several blanket-wrapped bundles tucked into her arms. Bun-dles with puppy faces. “TheNational Tattler would be dis-appointed to hear that." "I doubt theTattler allows facts to interfere with its edi-torial focus." "I guess not. Talk about raging hormones." Lily gave her-self a moment to think by sipping her coffee. This was com-pletely new information. She hadn't heard it, read it, anywhere. Why would he trust her with this knowledge? Was it true? "You’re saying that a young lupus kills. And eats what he kills." "If he is allowed to, yes. But we are careful with our chil-dren. None go through the Change unsupervised." Her lips twitched. Embarrassed, she took a quick sip of coffee. "Something amuses you?" "I have an odd sense of humor," she said apologetically. "I thought of those ads—you know, the public service ones?— where parents of teenagers are told to nag them about where they're going, who they'll be with, all that. And I pictured one aimed for the parents of teenage lupi: 'Where are you going? Who else will be there? Have you eaten? I expect you back before the moon rises, young man!' " He burst into laughter. "You're not that far off." A bubble of happiness lodged beneath her breastbone. She liked the sound of his laughter, the way his

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head went back to open his throat to it, the smooth line of his throat...uh-oh, she thought, the bubble popping.What's happening here? She poured more creamer into her coffee so she could stir it around. A light touch on her cheek made her look up, star-tled. "Hey. The light suddenly turned off in your face. What happened?" She could have told him again to keep his hands to himself, but it would have been dishonest. Somehow, between one grin and a moment of shared laughter, they'd stepped outside their proper roles and entered undefined territory. But the very lack of definition made complete honesty impossible. She couldn't refer to a relationship that hovered over them only in potential, a heavy cloud that might hold storm and lightning—or might pass on without shedding a single drop. She certainly couldn't tell him that his promiscuity re-pelled her. Lily chose her words carefully. "You have two sons your-self, I understand." "It seems you do read theTattler. " "Like I said earlier, after the first killing I did some re-search." "On me?" His mouth twisted. "What exactly is it you sus-pect me of?" She shrugged, uncomfortable but unwilling to apologize for doing her job. "You're very well known. You live in the en-clave—" "Clanhome. We don't call it an enclave." "All right, then, you live at Clanhome, but you have a condo here in the city and you travel all over the place, par-tying with the Hollywood crowd, meeting with policy makers in Sacramento and Washington. You've made yourself into a public figure, and I have to think that's intentional—you're trying to replace the old stereotypes with an image you've consciously created. Of course I found out what I could about you." One corner of his mouth tipped up, more in irony than humor. "You're perceptive. Has it occurred to you that if I've been creating an image, whatever information is available about me would be part of that image?" "And not necessarily true, you mean? But the image tells me things, too. Like what you want people to believe about lupi. Why does your father so seldom appear in public?" He studied her for a moment, his mouth drawn into a thin line, as grimly expressive as those remarkable eyebrows. "You should ask him that. He prefers not to come into the city, however. You'll have to go to Clanhome." "I tried that. They wouldn't let me inside the gates. I've called. A very polite young woman told me she'd pass on my message. You can get me in, though." "I could get you in, yes, but just getting inside the gates won't do you any good. No one would answer your questions. You need the backing of the Lupois. Give me a few days to arrange things."

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Or to hide whatever needed to be hidden. "What needs arranging?" "My father is away right now. Wait until he returns." The muscles along her cheeks and jaws tightened. He was concealing something, and doing a clumsy job of it. "Why can't you arrange for me to speak with people at Clanhome yourself? Aren't you in charge with your father gone?" "It doesn't work that way." His fingers stroked up and down the mug absently. "How does it work, then?" "I'm not like a vice-president, able to step in if the real leader is unavailable. I'm the prince and the heir, and..." His smile flickered. "A poster boy for my people. I have no au-thority of my own. I simply uphold the Lupois's authority." "Okay." He seemed to think he was telling her something significant, but nothing he'd said so far was startling. "How do you get to be prince, anyway? Is it strictly hereditary?" "To be named prince, I had to prove three things. That I was of royal blood, yes, though we do not follow primogeni-ture. My father has two other sons, both older than I am." "I didn't know that." "Very few do. My brothers, unfortunately, did not succeed at the second test. Since a king must be able to pass on his power, the prince must be able to sire children. As you know, I have two sons." Had he gotten those sons on their mothers in order to be-come prince? The possibility left a foul taste in her mouth. "And the third thing?" "That I could tear out the throat of any who issued a formal challenge." That left her with nothing whatsoever to say. His mouth crooked up on one side, but there was no smile in his eyes. "Think about it. The Lupois rules for life. If any-one disagrees with his decisions, they have two alternatives. They can try to change his mind. Or they can kill him." Slowly the ramifications sank in. "When you say you sup-port his authority, does that mean you're a sort of bodyguard? Or are you more like his muscle?" "Both, perhaps, in the sense that the army is the 'muscle' of the president. We are not a passive people, but we have great respect for honor and custom. Any member of the clan may challenge the Lupois." "What does this challenge consist of?" "Battle. In wolf form." A sick certainty grew in the pit of her stomach. "A trial by combat, you mean. Your father is over sixty. He couldn't de-fend himself against a young opponent. You do that for him. You answer any formal

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challenges to his authority." He didn't answer, just looked at her gravely the way an adult might watch a child struggling to understand some com-plicated matter. She did not like being patronized. She didn't much care for the implications, either. "How is the winner determined in one of these battles?" "It varies, depending on the nature of the challenge and the will of the Lupois. In a serious challenge to the Lupois's au-thority, the winner is the one still alive at the end. Don't look so shocked, Detective. It's only illegal to kill one of us when we're on two feet, after all." Chapter 5 THE SUN HAD set, but the sky still flew crimson and purple flags in the west. A boy who should have been inside at this hour whizzed by on his skateboard. Lily's breath heaved in her chest as she neared the outdoor stairs to her apartment. Sweat trickled down her temples and stung her eyes. Worf s claws clicked dully on the concrete beside her. His big head drooped, but he was panting happily. Lily's dog was undoubtedly a good deal more satisfied with their run than she was. It had been four days since the last killing. She knew little more now than she had when she had looked down at the ripped throat of the first victim, a young man whose only crime seemed to be that he'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was nothing to link the two victims other than the manner of their deaths. She'd found no hard evidence, and only two possible witnesses. An old man and a teenage girl both spoke of seeing a tall, well-dressed man—an Anglo—near the park where Fuentes was killed. The timing fit, and the man's clothes, bearing, and race had made him stand out in an area mostly Hispanic. Neither witness had gotten a clear look at his face, but they thought he was smooth-shaven, neither especially old nor very young. When they reached the iron stairs Worf stopped, whimpered, and looked up at her with pathetic eyes. "Forget it," she told him. "I'm not lugging seventy pounds of lazy up those stairs." His tail waved twice hopefully. Her lips twitched. Worf was a peculiar-looking fellow. His body looked like a barrel set on stubby legs, his ears drooped along with his jowls, and his kinky fur was the color of mud. Lily's vet thought the dog might be a mixture ofLabrador , basset, and poodle. She'd found him huddled in the alley, looking pathetic and half-starved, about six months ago. He was scared of cats and he hated stairs. "Forget it," she said again, and started up the stairs. Worf heaved a huge canine sigh and followed. They were near the top when she heard the phone ringing inside her apartment. It might be Rule. She cursed herself even as she scrambled up the last steps, nearly tripping over Worf, who decided they were racing and tried to get to the door first. She wasn't supposed to want the man to call again, dammit. But whoever was calling, it wasn't police business—Dispatch would use her beeper. And so far Rule had called every day, discussing the case and then asking her out.

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Every day, she'd turned him down. So he just might be getting tired of calling. Which was a good thing, she told herself firmly as she grabbed the phone, cutting off her answering machine's spiel. "Hello?" "You've been out running again, haven't you? Atnight, Lily. You know how unsafe that is." Lily sighed. "Hello, Mother. I'm a big girl now, and a cop, and I keep to well-lit areas where there are people." "None of which makes you invulnerable." Her lips quirked up as she thought of Rule's opinion of her driving. "I had Worf with me." "As if that lazy creature was any kind of protection! I don't know why you kept that animal. You aren't home enough to take proper care of him, and he's too large for an apartment. Besides, you know how Grandmother feels about dogs." "Grandmother isn't living with Worf. I am." She picked up his water dish and carried it to the sink. "What's up? You didn't call to lecture me about pet ownership." "I don't need a reason to call my daughter. But I did think it was time to finalize some of the details for Grandmother's party. It's this Friday." Lily managed not to groan. "I know that, Mother. The cake's ordered, the invitations went out weeks ago, and it's being held at Uncle Chan's restaurant. He won't let anyone mess with his menu, so there's no point in discussing the food. I've bought a dress, and yes, I've bought a present, wrapped and ready. What's left to discuss?" Stupid question. Her mother had plenty to say. Lily's older sister was attending with her husband, of course. And her brother was bringing his fiancee, a young woman whose vir-tues included the possession of a good Chinese family, a po-sition at an accounting firm, and respect for her elders. While Worf slurped up his water and Lily grabbed a bottle from the refrigerator, she learned that her younger sister was bringing a doctor from the hospital where her older sister worked. She also learned who each of her cousins was bringing, and their financial and family histories. By the time her mother reached the real point of her call, Lily was sprawled in her favorite chair, one leg dangling over the padded arm, prepared for what came next. Her mother didn't disappoint her. "So who will you be bringing, dear?" "I haven't asked anyone." Lily slumped farther down in the overstuffed chair. "I don't see that it's necessary." "Of course it's necessary. This is a formal party, Lily. You will look foolish if you attend without an escort. You will cause your father and me to lose face, and Grandmother, too." She closed her eyes. The "face" argument was one she couldn't counter. "I'm not seeing anyone right now. Do you want me to ask someone from Homicide? Or there's a very nice Vice officer—his name isLawrence , but we all call him Curly. I think he'd agree, and he might even shave, since it's formal. He works undercover a lot," she explained. "The three-day beard helps him blend in." Stony silence greeted that bit of flippancy.

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She sighed. "I'm sorry, Mother. But there really isn't any-one I want to ask." "I'm well aware that your job exposes you to the wrong sort of men. This is only one of the reasons your father and I had hoped you would choose a more appropriate career. Who do you ever meet, other than police officers and criminals?" The words came out before she could stop herself. "I did meet a very good-looking man a few days ago. His family owns quite a bit of land—a vineyard, a cattle ranch, some other properties. He manages some of their investments and, ah, has contacts in the government. He's asked me out several times." "And you haven't accepted? Heis single, isn't he?" Extremely single. From what she'd heard, lupi didn't be-lieve in marriage. "I would hardly have mentioned him if he weren't." "I don't know what you are looking for, but you must be realistic. You aren't getting any younger, and while you're a very pretty girl you don't always take the care you might with your appearance. And your job—well, we've covered that sub-ject many times, so I won't go into it now. You must learn to make some accommodations, dear. I suppose this man isn't Chinese, but surely you don't think that would make him un-acceptable?" "Ah ... no, he isn't Chinese. Actually, he—" "Asking him to accompany you to the party is not a lifetime commitment. You make too much of a simple thing. Of course, I can arrange an escort for you, if you prefer. Su Lin Chen's nephew is doing very well. He will inherit the restaurant, you know—" "Freddie Chen?" She sat up, alarmed. "Mother, if you ask Freddie Chen to escort me to Grandmother's party I'll never speak to you again. He's an octopus. A sweaty octopus. With bad breath." "Then ask this other man. What is his name?" "Rule—" Lilly's beeper went off. "Just a minute. I've got a call." She unclipped the beeper from her belt and checked the number quickly. "Got to go, Mother. I'll call you later." "Ask him," her mother said. "Or I will speak to Su Lin." She hung up. The number on Lily's beeper was one she knew all too well. She had it on speed dial on both her land line and her cell phone. Lily punched it listened, asked two questions, then headed for the door, grabbing her holster on the way out.

THIS TIME THE victim was a woman. Charlene Hall had been forty-eight, African American, probably single. No wed-ding ring, and her credit cards were in her name. She had aCalifornia driver's license, an unpaid traffic ticket, and a whole slew of those wallet-sized school photos millions of parents buy every year. A dozen pictures, Lily thought, her gut clenched tight with pity. All of the same two boys, taken over many years. The two pictures on top were the most recent. One showed a young man in a sailor's dress

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uniform, his dark face solemn, his eyes gleaming with pride. The other was a family shot minus the husband-father element. The boy who in one photo had been missing three teeth was a young man now, his smile still wide and happy. He wore a suit in this photograph, and stood behind a young woman holding a baby dressed in blue ruffles and lace. Charlene Hall had taken these photographs with her every-where. Even when she went for a run by the lake atMissionTrailsPark . Lily glanced at the body, almost ignored at the moment. Charlene had worn the same brand of running shoe Lily fa-vored. Lily sighed. It was too much to hope that her mother wouldn't read about this. There was no crowd this time, and so far no press. Just the police, a couple of park rangers, the victim, and the poor guy who'd found her. They were only twenty yards from the start of the trail near the sturdy adobe building where tourists bought sodas, postcards, and film. Charlene had nearly made it back when the killer struck. Lily was talking with the man who'd found Charlene when Rule arrived. "Detective?" called one of the patrol officers from farther up the trail. "This the guy you're waiting for?" She turned. Rule stood beside the officer at the edge of the lights cast by the police spots. His face was shadowed, his expression shuttered. He was wearing black. Rule waited for Lily to come to him. He was a patient man, he reminded himself. Which was just as well. He would need to be. If she felt what he did, she was fighting it. Maybe she felt nothing more than a sexual buzz. He rubbed his chest, but the ache wasn't one he could touch. The scents were rich here, away from the nose-clogging odors of the city. The green smells of growing things mingled in a pattern too complex to easily yield its separate notes, but he was aware of creosote, cypress and sumac, wild mustard and cholla. The lake, invisible from where he stood, was a rich, damp presence blending water, fish, a whiff of decay. He smelled dust and people, one or more of whom gave off the faint, sour tang of fear. The ground was hard and dry beneath his feet. A lumpy three-quarter moon squatted near the horizon, peering at them through the dark lace of leaves in the trees to his right. He felt its pull in his blood, a song without words or notes: one long, slow pulse timed to a rhythm those around him would never hear. He couldn't see the body. Too many people were in the way. But he smelled blood, sweet and sharp. And waste, the body's involuntary surrender to the insult of sudden death. Lily stopped in front of him, her pretty black eyes flat and official, but the pulse in her throat throbbing. “Thank you for coming right away." "I want the killing stopped, too." She nodded and turned. "This way." The smell of blood grew heavier as he followed. A couple of the people standing near the body shifted, and he saw. Shock stopped him in his tracks. "What is it?"

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His voice came out hoarse. "You didn't tell me it was a woman." Lily's frown mixed concern with puzzlement. "Does it mat-ter so much?" "It matters." He wasn't over the shock yet, but the rage gathering inside would clear it away soon enough. His hands clenched. "Why?" she asked sharply. "I know lupi are patriarchal, but use your head. Carlos Fuentes didn't have any more of a chance than this woman did. Not against a lupus." "Forget the PC talk. You don't understand. Women... women conceive. They carry babies—our babies, human ba-bies. We don't hurt women. Ever." The rage was rising, threatening his control. He clenched his hands tightly, throttling back the need to howl, to seek and find the one who had done this. The need to Change. Slowly his fists relaxed, and with the release of clenched muscles some of the need drained away. Not now. This wasn't the time or the place, but that time would come. He would make sure of it. "Whoever did this is a rogue," he said, cold and certain. "And subject to our laws as well as yours." She closed her hand around his arm as if to hold him back. "The law he'll answer to is the one I'm sworn to uphold. Not some weird trial by combat." He shook her off and moved to kneel by the body. It had been a clean kill, at least. The dead eyes stared up, sightless and shocked, but the woman's face itself was intact, if blood-spattered. Rule picked up one of the cold hands and cradled it gently in his, silently apologizing for what one of his kind had done, promising retribution and asking permission for what he must do. Then he bent and sniffed the gaping wound where her throat had been. This was why Lily had asked him to come, after all. The scent would be fresh. The first whiff told the tale, but he took his time, wanting to leave no doubt. Then, gently, he laid the dead hand back on the ground and stood. Lily was watching. "You know. This time you could tell who it was." He jerked his head to the left. "Walk apart with me so I can tell you." Her eyebrows went up. After a moment, she nodded. To-gether they moved farther up the trail the dead woman had taken—fleeing, at the last, from one she couldn't escape. He stopped by a scrappy little oak, its leaves whispering to each other in the breeze. They'd left the pool of light from the police spots behind. Here it was dark, and closer to the lake. That strong, clean scent cleared some of the other smells from his senses. Lily stood close enough for her scent to fill him, too. Not close enough to touch. "What did you learn? Who was it?" "Leidolf."

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"Is that a first name or a surname?" "It's a clan." The rage was still there, simmering beneath the surface. Waiting. "It wasn't one of the Nokolai who did this." "You can tell by the scent?" "Just as you could tell an Englishman from a Hawaiian by the way he looks." She exhaled once, sharply. "So what does this mean? I don't know how to sort one lupus from another by clan. I didn't know therewere any other clans around here." "There aren't, not officially. But lupi travel on business or for pleasure the same as everyone else. It's customary for clans to offer hospitality when asked. My clan may be hosting the one who did this right now." He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "We aren't that far from Clanhome, as the crow flies—or the wolf runs. He could easily have cut across the hills after he killed." "That occurred to me. Rule." She gripped his arm. "You are not going to punish him yourself. If you want your people to be treated the same as everyone else, you have to be subject to the same laws. Justice from the courts, not private ven-geance." "Your courts have never given us justice. And this ..." He turned away, thrusting his hand through his hair. "I thought this was political, and so subject to your laws. Now ... it may be a clan matter." "What do you mean?" "Leidolf may be moving against Nokolai." There was so much he couldn't tell her. "It happens. Clans have warred in the past." "Killing random humans is a mighty roundabout way for one lupus clan to declare war on another." "My father supports the Species Citizenship Bill." His smile was grim. "Do you think only humans oppose full citizenship for lupi? There are those among my people, too, who hate the idea. Citizenship means Social Security numbers and all those computers keeping track of us. It means limits, changes to some of our customs. They don't want to be that visible—or that subject to human law." "Whoever did this is going to end up very visible. I'll see to that." Anger boiled up suddenly and she paced in front of him, taking short, jerky steps. "She had two sons. I don't know their names yet, but one is in the Navy. The other has a wife and child. Once I've learned who they are, where they live, I'll have to tell them their mother is dead because someone had a political point to make." He put a hand on her shoulder. She was all but vibrating with anger. "Killing has always been a political tactic for some. Why do you work homicide when it hurts you this much?" She shrugged him off. "I don't know what you mean. I'm a cop. It's what I always wanted to do." "It hurts you to see life wasted." Again he asked, speaking softly, "Why homicide?" "Because murder is the worst! It doesn't kill just once. It throws out waves of destruction that poison so many lives."

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"This happened to you. Someone you loved was mur-dered." "My friend. My best friend. Sara Chen." He ached. It took all his control to keep from reaching for her, holding her. But she wouldn't want that, not here and now. "How old were you?" "Seven. A man grabbed her on the way home from school one day. I saw him snatch her. They found her body a week later. They arrested him a week after that." She swallowed. "I followed it in the papers. My parents didn't like that—they thought I was hurting myself, that I was obsessed and should let it go. I couldn't." "No. I can see that. What happened?" "He never went to trial. The police were sloppy. They didn't secure the evidence properly. Seven months later, he killed again. That time, the cops did it right. He didn't get away with it." She'd given him a piece of herself, something important wrenched up from deep inside where it still hurt. He lifted a hand and rubbed his knuckles along her cheek slowly, thank-ing her. "This woman isn't dead because you were sloppy, Lily. You know that." She blinked. "I didn't mean ... I don't think it's my fault." Yes, she did. But she was pulling back now, embarrassed that she'd revealed so much. "That's good. I admire your pas-sion. And your courage." Oh, definitely she was embarrassed now. She turned away, trying to get her cop face back. "The point is, the law has to be the same for everyone. Fuentes has to matter as much as Charlene Hall. And whoever killed them, for whatever reason, has to be stopped." "Of course. Aside from the personal injustice of murder, if there's sufficient outrage it will affect the vote next fall. Es-pecially if there are killings elsewhere." She stopped moving. "You're talking about a conspiracy." "I'm speculating. I have no evidence. But with this latest death ..." He drove his fingers through his hair. "Killing a woman will garner a great deal more outrage than killing a gang member did, won't it?" "This is going to make trouble for you. She was killed much closer to the Nokolai Clanhome than the others. Rule, I have to talk to your father. I have to talk to a number of your people, but your father first." "He'll be back tomorrow. I'll speak to him." He took her hand, closing his fingers around it firmly. "When are you going to go out with me?" Her laugh was uncertain. "I mentioned something before about your odd sense of timing. We're at a murder scene, for God's sake." He stroked his thumb along the pulse point in her wrist. "So let's agree that we have to stop meeting this way, and meet some other way. Over dinner, perhaps. I'm growing im-patient." "That's not my problem."

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"I want to discuss something other than death and politics with you. I want to see your face when you're not being a cop." "I'm always a cop." Perhaps. But she was a woman, too. And her heart was beating fast and hard right now, like his. It took all his control to keep from bending to taste that pretty, unsmiling mouth, but he knew how little she'd appreciate that. Her people might see. His mouth crooked up. "I guess tonight is out." "Good guess," she said dryly. But she didn't snatch her hand away. "Tomorrow won't work, either. As I said, my father returns then, and we'll have a good deal to discuss. How about the next night? I can get tickets to a play, reservations for dinner." She eased her hand away from his. "That's Friday night, and I'm booked. A family party—Grandmother's eightieth birthday." She started back down the path, but had taken only a couple of steps when she paused, looking back at him. The tilt of her lips held challenge. "Ah ... it's formal, a big bash at my uncle Chan's restaurant. Would you care to go with me?" Chapter 6 LILY WASN'T SURE at what point she'd lost her mind. At six-oh-seven that Friday she slicked color over her lips and tried to figure that out. What had prompted her impulsive invitation to Rule? Hormones run amok? Her conversation with her mother earlier had put the idea in her head, but she hadn't been serious. She certainly hadn't intended to ask him. All of a sudden the idea had burst open in her mind like a flower gone from bud to bloom instantly, and she'd done it. Maybe it had been that brief, startling gentleness he'd shown. The way he'd stroked her cheek, the softness in his voice. For a moment, understanding had shimmered between them, fragile and precious. Or she'd thought it had. Lily shook her head, turned to open her closet, which was off the bathroom, and almost tripped over Worf. "No shedding or drooling allowed," she told him firmly. "Sit." Obediently he lowered his rear end, but continued to pant at her happily. She kept an eye on his lolling tongue as she reached for her dress. Never mind the reason. The fact was that she'd succumbed to impulse. A flash of lunacy, she supposed. And winced.Lunacy was not a comfortable word, considering the effect a full moon had on the man she would be with tonight. The moon would be full in three days. She'd checked. All in all, this hadn't been a good day. She'd spent too much of it in court, for one thing, testifying against a scumbag with a lawyer bright enough to know his client's only hope was to make Lily look crooked, incompetent, or both. He hadn't succeeded, but it hadn't made for a fun morning. That afternoon she'd argued with enough bureaucrats to drive a saint to violence. Finally the Department of Health had

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con-descended to let her copy its list of lupi living inSan Diego , complied back when the government was registering them. Rule's name hadn't been on the list. No surprise there. Nei-ther was his father's. But eighty-seven others were. She'd barely started checking the names and addresses against the phone book to see who was still around. Not everything had gone wrong today, she reminded her-self. Neither her mother nor her grandmother had answered when, smitten by conscience, she'd called to let them know the name of her escort tonight. There was no point in hoping her family wouldn't realize who Rule was. Shoot, her grand-mother read People regularly, and the magazine had done a spread on the Nokolai prince only last March. Her mother was not going to appreciate the joke. So why was she humming? Lily froze with the dress draped over her arm. This was nuts. Anyone would think she was looking forward to the evening. Her dress. That was what had her humming, of course. She slid it from the hanger. Worf stood up, wagging his tail. "Sit," she told him again. Her dress was ankle-length silk in a color that made her think of sapphires drenched in darkness, the color of the sky when dawn is barely a promise in the east. Lily had found it on sale a month ago and fallen in love. Even the sight of the price tag hadn't deterred her. It was magnificent, she thought with sudden uncertainty as she surveyed herself in the mirror. A dream of a dress—sexy, feminine, sophisticated. Too sophisticated, maybe. She sure didn't look like a cop. Rule was going to think she'd dressed for him. He would think tonight was ... personal. He'd be right. Nerves snapped in her middle like a string of firecrackers. Maybe if she took her hair down she'd look more like her-self. Lily had her hands in her hair, the first pin unpinned, when the phone rang. She stepped into her shoes on the way to the living room, the bobby pin still in her hand. She spared a glance at the clock as she picked up the phone. Six twenty-two. Rule would be here any minute. "Hello?" "You left a message on that infernal machine," a light, high voice said in Chinese. "I am sorry, Grandmother, but when I couldn't reach you I felt it better to use the machine than to say nothing." Her grandmother did not approve of answering machines. She wasn't too fond of telephones, television, or microwaves, ei-ther. "Your message said that you have invited Rule Turner to accompany you to my birthday celebration." "Yes, Grandmother," Lily replied, careful of both her cour-tesy and her accent. Her command of the tongue seldom pleased her grandmother. "He is lupus. A prince of one of their clans."

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"Yes. I didn't want you to be taken by surprise." "I have not been surprised since the Mets won the pennant. Did you tell your mother about this man?" "I left her a message, the same as yours. I don't know if—" "Good. Say nothing more to her." She hung up. Lily shook her head. Phone conversations with her grand-mother tended to end abruptly. Not that conversations in per-son were much different. She glanced at the clock. There might still be time to finish taking her hair down if she— The doorbell rang. Worf let out a deepwoof and surged to his feet. Lily took a steadying breath, jabbed the bobby pin back in her hair, and turned to face the door. Battlestations.

HE DROVE AN Explorer. That surprised her. It seemed so— well, so middle-class normal. Half the people inCalifornia drove some kind of SUV. "I ought to sell tickets,” Lily muttered as he slid into the driver's seat beside her. Rule Turner was eye candy no matter what he wore, but in a tux the impact could wreck a woman's breathing. "Pardon?" The knowing glint in his eyes suggested he'd heard her very well. "Never mind." She found herself watching his hands as he started the engine and took them out into traffic. His fingers were long and slim. No scars, of course, nor any little nicks or scabs. Lupi healed such things. What was more surprising was how little hair there was on the backs of his hands. She'd always thought lupi were hairy. "Listen, I'm sorry about the way Worf acted. He's usually friendly." "He didn't like my scent. The two of us will work things out," he said as he guided the vehicle smoothly through traffic. "Once he accepts me as dominant, he won't need to challenge me." Nor did his beard seem especially heavy, though naturally he would have shaved... wouldn't he? Did lupi need to shave? "You're assuming you're going to see my dog often enough to work on a relationship with him." "That's right. I am." Her lips twitched. A sensible woman wouldn't find his ar-rogance so appealing. And maybe it wouldn't be, if she didn't suspect he was amused by himself, too. "So, what did your father say? Am I cleared to go talk to your people tomorrow?" "He agreed to put it before the Council." "What Council? I thought the Lupois's word was law." "You might think of the Council as an advisory body, the elders of the tribe. Or maybe they're more like church deacons. The Lupois doesn't answer to the Council, but it pays to have their backing, particularly

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if he is considering breaking with tradition." "I can't wait much longer, Rule." "I know. I have a suggestion. Why don't we talk about something other than the investigation tonight?" "Such as?" "What do you usually talk about on a date?" "The usual—his work, his hobbies, his ex-wives." He clucked his tongue. "Sexism rears its ugly head. Surely there are a few men who don't just discuss themselves?" "Well, they mostly don't want to talk about my work, un-less I date a cop. And I don't date cops." "I'm glad to hear that. Of course, I'd rather you didn't date anyone except me." Her mouth went dry. "You don't have any right to say that. You're moving too fast." "I'm being honest. Why don't you date cops?" "They're lousy bets for anything long-term. Besides, it would be icky." He grinned. "Icky?" "You know—the way it would feel to work with someone you've ... someone who ... never mind." "Do you 'never mind' with every man you date?" He slowed for the turn. "I ask not to condemn, you understand, but in hope." She shook her head. "There you go, jumping to conclu-sions. I was talking about kissing, not grappling under the covers. And how uncomfortable it would be to work with someone I've had carnal thoughts about, or who I know has had those thoughts about me." "If you think that only the men you've dated have carnal thoughts about you, you're far more naive than I would have believed." The husky note in his voice turned the banter personal. Intimate. She licked her lips and tried to keep things light. "Of course not. According to studies, men have carnal thoughts every ten seconds or so. Women know this. We just prefer to ignore it." "I wasn't talking about the occasional random hard-on. I was talking about the way men react toyou. You're an in-tensely desirable woman, Lily." Suddenly the air burned in her lungs, thick and sweet, and she was overwhelmingly conscious of her hands. Of the need to touch him—and the need to keep herself from doing any such thing. Lily looked down at her lap, smoothed the silk of her dress, and listened to her heartbeat pounding and pounding in her throat. She couldn't think of a thing to say.

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After a moment he sighed. "And now I've made you un-comfortable. Too much honesty too soon. What do you do when you aren't arresting lawbreakers?" "I like to run, hike, paddle around in the ocean. I've done some rock climbing. What do you do when you aren't jet-setting around or turning hairy?" He chuckled. "Hairy or smooth, I like to run, hike, and paddle around in the ocean, too. Climbing, though, is better done with hands." "That makes sense. Um... I should probably warn you about my family. My grandmother knows who you are. I'm not sure my mother does—I left a message with your name— but she'll figure it out pretty quickly." "Will that be a problem?" "Probably," she said gloomily. "You're certainly not Chi-nese. If you were a surgeon, that might not matter. Or a lawyer, as long as you worked for a prestigious firm. She's very big on personal achievement. About my grandmother, though ..." Her voice trailed off. "The one you call Tiger Lady?" "For heaven's sake, don't call her that tonight. The closest Chinese translation is, uh, not respectful." She sighed. There was no way to explain Grandmother. One had to experience her. "Just treat her as if she were royalty."

HE WAS MAKING mistakes with her. Rule knew that, but he couldn't seem to stop. He wanted to claim her, and he didn't want to wait. But whenever he let his urgency slip out, she retreated. Lily wasn't sure about him. That was only natural. Even if he hadn't been what he was, she would have wanted time to know him, to know her own mind. He understood. He even agreed. But his blood was up, and the discipline of years was stretched taut just by being with her. It didn't help to know she was as attracted as he, however she tried to hide it. Tonight's date was about as safe as a first date could be, he thought wryly as they entered the restaurant. They were on her turf, surrounded by her family. He would rather have taken her someplace quiet and private, someplace where he could look at her as much as he liked. Touching would have been nice, too. But it eased something inside him to look at the curve of her throat or the slightly crooked incisor that only showed when she grinned. "You have a lot of relatives," he murmured. The restaurant itself was less obviously oriental than he'd expected. The tables were round, white-draped, with western place settings. A few people sat at those tables, but most milled around—easily fifty in this room, he estimated, and there was at least one more section to the restaurant. All wore evening dress, with many of the men in tuxedos. He'd wondered about that. A tux had seemed excessive for a family birthday party. He'd worn it anyway; Lily had said the party was formal, and he admitted to possessing his share of vanity. He looked good in a tux. "I'm not related to everyone. Just most of them." She slanted him an amused glance. "Grandmother is probably hold-ing court on the terrace. We'd better find her and deliver this." She lifted the small,

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elegantly wrapped box in her left hand. "It may take awhile. You do draw attention." It took awhile. Rule was tense, hyperalert in the way typical of this time of the month, his balance a delicate thing. Scents and sounds assaulted him with every new person to meet and charm. Outside, unseen, the moon was yet unrisen, but he felt it sliding nearer the horizon with every pulse. The sensation was pleasant, but distracting. The discipline of years helped him stay focused on the room and the need to mask his feelings. He was helped by his curiosity about these people—Lily's people—and by his awareness of the woman at his side. That, too, was a sweet distraction pulsing through him, making even the moon's call less compelling. It didn't take long for him to note a common theme in the comments of her relatives. The unspoken text emerged in jokes that weren't quite funny, in sympathetic comments or the blanks left by avoiding one particular subject. Lily's family didn't approve of her job. They didn't want her to be a cop. On their way to the terrace he met cousins, uncles, aunts, one of Lily's sisters and her date, along with miscellaneous offspring, spouses, or significant others. And he met Lily's mother. Julia Yu was a slim, elegant woman who towered over her daughter by nearly a foot. She had beautiful hands, very little chin, several pounds of hair piled in elaborate twists on top of her head, and Lily's eyes. They opened wide when she saw his face. She recovered quickly, greeting Rule with a polite smile. She smelled faintly of herbal soap and hair spray. "I didn't place your name at first, Mr. Turner, but your face is instantly recognizable. I'm so glad you could join us tonight." "I'm delighted she asked me," he said with perfect candor. Sharing Lily with all these people wasn't his first choice, but he could learn a great deal about her from her family. Espe-cially her mother, he thought, and smiled. "Please call me Rule. Your daughter has your eyes, doesn't she? Lovely and full of mysteries. Her voice is rather like yours, too—lower than one would expect, and with the random music of a wa-terfall." She blinked in surprise. "What a lovely compliment. Thank you. Lily also has something of her father's stubbornness, I'm afraid, and an unfortunate sense of humor. I'm not sure where that comes from." Something in the look she gave her daughter freighted her next words with hidden significance. "Have you introduced Mr. Turner to Grandmother yet, Lily?" "We're making our way there now. I told her to expect him, of course." "Ah." A subtle change in her posture told Rule some ten-sion or worry had eased. "I won't hold you up, then. I believe your father is on the terrace with Grandmother." Rule wasn't ready to abandon the conversation that quickly. Between Julia Yu's courtesy and her curiosity about a man her daughter might be interested in, he was able to hold her in conversation for several minutes. By the time he and Lily moved away, he'd had the satisfaction of coaxing a smile of genuine pleasure from her. "You flirted with my mother," Lily said.

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He wasn't sure if she was upset or amused. "I said nothing that wasn't true." "You also flirted with two of my cousins, my sister, my great-aunt, and the wife of one of my brother's business part-ners. With every woman you've met tonight, I think. Is this a lupus thing, or is it just you?" "It would be rude not to acknowledge a woman's beauty." Her eyes were puzzled. "I expected you to say it didn't mean anything." "That wouldn't be true. I..." He struggled to explain what was too basic to be fitted comfortably into words. "When I compliment a woman, it always means something. Not that I intend to take her to bed, but that I appreciate her. That I know she's a woman, and lovely." "You meant everything you said, didn't you? You told Mrs. Masters—who must be seventy—that her pearls made her skin glow. You looked at her as if you enjoyed looking at her, and you meant it." "Of course." She didn't say anything more, but she took his hand. He felt absurdly pleased, as if he'd been awarded a great honor. The rear of the restaurant overlooked the beach. The sun was slipping down the western sky when they stepped onto the terrace, an incandescent ball flipping its light scattershot across the waves it would kiss in another thirty minutes. He couldn't see the moon, but felt it hovering near the horizon to the east, a silvery song in his blood. The air was twenty de-grees warmer than inside, and smelled wonderful. He breathed deeply of salt, sand, and ocean. Rule was suddenly reluctant to proceed to the people knot-ted up at the other end of the terrace. "I wish we could walk on the beach together." Or run. He yearned to feel the sand beneath the pads of his paws while air screamed through his lungs as his muscles flexed and flung him along. "Another time," she said softly, and when he looked at her he thought he glimpsed a shadow of his own longing... which, of course, was ridiculous. She had only the one form. "We may as well get this over with," she added more dryly, and nodded at the crowd at the end of the terrace. They were halfway there when Rule stopped. "What is it?" Frankincense. His nostrils pinched in a useless effort to close out the toxin. Already he could feel his sense of smell closing down. "Do you truly not know?" he snapped. "I wouldn't have asked if I did." The smoky stench came from the knot of people directly in front of them. He shook his head, wanting to leave. "Never mind. As you said, let's get this over with." He might as well. The damage had been done. Chapter 7

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LILY TAPPED ONE man on the shoulder and some of the others moved aside, revealing a tall chair with a carved wooden back. A velvet throw was draped across the seat and arms of the chair. A very small woman sat on that throw. She wore a long gown in Chinese red buttoned to the base of her skinny throat. A padded stool supported feet no larger than a child's, and a small brazier rested beside the footstool. It reeked of frankincense. The woman taking up so little space in the thronelike chair didn't look eighty. Her black hair was liberally streaked with white and pulled into an unforgiving knot on top of her head. Her skin was very pale, her eyes very dark. Had Rule been in wolf form, his hackles would have lifted. Power. It radiated from that tiny, erect figure. Rule couldn't smell the magic on her, but he sure as hell sensed it. "Grandmother." Lily dropped his hand to move forward. She bent to brush a kiss on one thin cheek. "Happy birthday." "You are late. How could I enjoy my celebration without my favorite granddaughter?" Lily smiled. "Last week Liu was your favorite granddaugh-ter." "Ah! You are right. Liu is never impertinent. She must be my favorite." Two pairs of eyes met—both black, one wrapped in wrin-kles, one surrounded by smooth young skin—in complete and affectionate understanding. The old woman patted her grand-daughter's cheek. "I like you anyway," she announced. "What have you brought me?" Lily handed her the prettily wrapped box. She opened it with hands that showed her age more than her face did, though the nails were long and painted screaming red. "Ah!" Her smile was as delighted as a child's. "A graceful piece, and the jade is good quality. It will go in my collection." She handed the little statue of a cat to a middle-aged woman who sat beside her, addressing her in Chinese, then turned back to Lily. "I am pleased. You may introduce your escort now." Lily rose and moved to one side. "Zhu Mu,this is Rule Turner, prince of the Nokolai. Rule, I am honored to present to you my grandmother, Madame Bai He Tsang." Rule knew an audience when he was granted one. He stepped forward, clamping down on the anger. "Madame Tsang, I am honored." Keen black eyes took a head-to-toe journey over him. "So you're the lupus my granddaughter chose to bring to my party. You're terribly pretty." "Thank you." "It wasn't a compliment." "I know," he said gently, as one might to a child who flaunted her poor manners. Unexpectedly she chuckled, and he glimpsed Lily in the amusement in her eyes. "You have style, I'll give you that. Much more durable than mere prettiness. More entertaining, too. That doesn't mean I approve

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of my granddaughter allying herself with you." "Respectfully,Zhu Mu," Lily said, "one date is a very tem-porary alliance. And entirely my own choice." "I wasn't speaking to you." The old woman glanced back at Rule. "I don't like the way you treat your women." "You know nothing about how I treat my women." He couldn't smell a damned thing. Anger curled in him, stretch-ing, trying to reach past his control. "You are lupus. This means you treat them in the plural, I know that much. You wish to keep them ... what is the say-ing? Barefoot and pregnant." Her thin lips curved in a feline smile. "I hope the smoke from the incense isn't bothering you. Some people don't care for the scent." "I can't say I notice the smell." Not anymore. Lily glanced from the brazier to her grandmother. Her eye-brows lifted as if she'd figured out what was happening. "Ah, do you not? I find it a trifle strong. Hong," Tiger Lady said, turning her head toward the fiftyish man to her left. "Take the brazier away. I am tired of it." Then, without another word to Rule, she began conversing with the woman on her right in Chinese. He was dismissed. Rule wondered if he was supposed to salute or retreat backward so as not to turn his back on Her Highness. He ought to be amused, but felt more like snarling than laughing. Lily spoke quietly. “The incense had some effect on you, didn't it?" "Nothing permanent." He sounded more grim than he wanted to. "I won't smell anything for a few hours." "I am sorry. Grandmother... well, she is a law unto her-self. I suppose losing your sense of smell is as disturbing as it would be if I were suddenly deafened or blinded." "It doesn't truly incapacitate me." It just made him feel vulnerable. Bereft. And angry with himself for not having obeyed his instinct to retreat to the beach. "And it is only temporary." "Can you stand meeting one more of my relatives? My father's here. He's much nicer than Grandmother, I promise." Of course he had to meet her father. Walter Yu turned out to be a pleasant man not much taller than his daughter, with clever eyes, a wispy mustache, and gold-framed glasses. He was a stockbroker, and soon engaged Rule in talk of the mar-ket, which had yet to recover from its recent tumble. Rule had no trouble responding appropriately, but a good portion of his attention was elsewhere. Why hadn't Lily warned him that her esteemed grand-mother was a witch? That was an assumption, of course, but the old woman had power. That much was certain. And the use of frankincense to baffle a were's senses was common lore in several branches of magic, as he knew from a delightful association a few years back with a green witch. Obviously Lily's grandmother had been afraid a lupus would be able to sniff out which brand of magic she practiced, which raised some

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interesting questions. Many spells and some branches of magic were illegal. Did that explain the attitude of Lily's family about her be-ing a police detective? It might be another reason Lily had chosen homicide—so she wouldn't risk being faced with in-vestigating the old woman someday. But dammit, she needn't have tricked his sense of smell away from him. Rule couldn't have sniffed out what type of magic the old woman practiced. That was a myth. Unless she were actually casting a spell, all he would be able to sense was her power, and he didn't need his nose for that. Very few people realized that, though, he admitted grudg-ingly. It suited his people to keep their secrets. No doubt it was unreasonable to complain if others pre-ferred to keep secrets, too. And in truth, although the Gifted hadn't been persecuted as severely as his people, the old woman would have grown up hearing tales of burnings, brand-ings, purges. To be Gifted remained a stigma. But it was difficult to be reasonable when he couldn'tsmell. The buffet was lavish, but the plate he filled held no appeal. He pushed a bite of swordfish around on his plate and pre-tended to listen to Walter Yu discussing the euro. Lily leaned closer and said quietly, "So, how long are you going to pout?" "Pout?" Rule lifted his brows slightly. "If I'm not eating, it's because food lacks flavor when I can't smell it." Even humans knew that to be true. A smile tugged at her lips. "Not eating, not. speaking— sounds like pouting to me. Or a snit. You did say the effects were temporary?" His sense of humor nudged at him. "Nonsense. Princes don't pout. We may sulk occasionally, but we don't pout." "I see." She nodded gravely. "I suppose the difference be-tween sulking and pouting is obvious to a prince." "It's obvious to a man. All men sulk on certain occasions." He leaned closer. "You see, if I were to kiss the place where your neck curves into your shoulder, I wouldn't be able to smell your skin. I've been thinking about that. Also the backs of your knees, and other places you would probably prefer I didn't mention. When I take you home tonight and kiss you, I want to be able to inhale your fragrance while I'm tasting you. It makes me quite sulky that I won't be able to." He saw the small shiver that left goose bumps in its wake, but she lowered her eyes, hiding from him. "Does this mean it would be safe to take that walk on the beach you mentioned earlier?" "Of course not. I'm sulking, not stupid. I have other senses." Her husky laugh might as well have been teasing fingers. "Trust me, you weren't going to make it to the backs of my knees tonight." "But the kiss .. . ?"

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"You did say you had other senses." Hunger rose, strong enough to choke out the moon's song. Yet her words relaxed him, too. Or maybe it was the look in her eyes, honest as the kiss she admitted she wanted. “Tell me. Will your grandmother feel compelled to burn frankin-cense every time I see her?" "I never try to predict Grandmother. Do you expect to see her again?" "Oh, yes." He reached for her hand and closed his fingers around it. “That is, unfortunately, inevitable. You are very close to your family."

LONG BEFORE DESSERT, Lily accepted that she'd lost her mind. She was going to have an affair with Rule. The decision hummed in her blood and made her thoughts hop around like popcorn in a hot skillet. This risk was huge. Lupi had a closed, wholly masculine society, for heaven's sake. They were more chauvinistic than her father. They didn't even believe in monogamy. Well, she would make it clear to Rule that while they were involved, he would have to bow to her beliefs on this one issue. No other women. For however long it lasted. Oh, God. She rubbed her stomach, where nerves were jumping. No matter how sensible she tried to be, she wouldn't walk away from this unscorched. And she didn't care. Not really. Rule would be honest with her, she thought as she spoke with her aunt Caroline, who was a grandmother twice over now and smug about it. He would tell her if he couldn't prom-ise even a temporary fidelity. It wasn't as if she were going into this blind, she assured herself as her cousin Lynn complained about the man she'd been dating, her mother, and her job. Her father had taken Rule to meet someone—Larry Hong, she thought. The only one of her cousins with a career even less respectable than her own. He was a mostly unemployed actor. Lots of women had affairs with men they didn't intend to marry. Lots of women had affairs with Rule Turner, to be specific. She was making too big a deal of this. Then she saw Rule making his way to her and her throat went slick with need. The lights were suddenly brighter, the edges crisper, and the colors brighter. She wanted to skip or sing. Or maybe hide in a closet. No, she wasn't making too big a deal out of this. It was big—huge, scary big. "Would you mind if we left now?" he said when he joined her. "I've an early appointment in the morning:" "No," she said through a too-tight throat. "I wouldn't mind." They took their leave of Grandmother, who was still out on the terrace. The old woman was thoroughly enjoying her party and pleased with herself over something—maybe the way she'd tricked Rule. It was hard to say with Grandmother. Lily intended to have a talk with her soon.

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"Is she really eighty?" Rule asked as they waited in the small vestibule for his car to be brought around. "As far as I know. With Grandmother, very little is certain. I really am sorry about what she did. Have the effects worn off at all?" "Not yet. What she did wasn't necessary, but I understand why she did it." She doubted that. "I really need to talk to her. You may have guessed that some of the information I have about lupi came from her. Obviously she didn't tell me everything she knew. She didn't mention frankincense." The valet returned and handed Rule his keys in exchange for a few bills. "Frankincense does affect lupi," he said, opening the heavy door. "But I couldn't have sniffed out what type of magic she uses." "You said something about that before—that magic doesn't have a smell, except when it's active. Is that true for innate magic, too?" "What do you mean?" He held the door for her. "Well, the sort of thing you do isn't a spell. It's innate. Does—" Flashes—blinding, leaving purple ghosts swimming in her vision. A swarming, shoving crowd of people. Questions shouted. A microphone jammed near her face. "How long have you been dating?" "Does Shannon Snow know about your new—" "Prince, what do you think about the killings?" "—lupi really superior lovers?" "When the chief told you to work with the werewolf prince, did he know you two were—" "Detective Yu, how do you explain your relationship with a suspect?" Rule recovered faster than she did. He slid an arm around her waist and started forward, smiling easily. "You've taken us by surprise, I'm afraid. I don't have a statement at this time." Maybe it was the way Rule moved, the assurance that oth-ers would remove themselves from his path. Or maybe even reporters were wary of crowding a lupus too closely. For what-ever reason, he was able to clear a path, though the reporters still swarmed close, questions popping like sniper fire. "No comment," Lily said. And, "Mr. Turner isn't a sus-pect." Then, finally, they were in Rule's car, the doors closed on the avid faces, the engine started. "I hope this was the last little surprise your grandmother had planned for me tonight," Rule said grimly as he pulled away from the restaurant. "Grandmother? Oh, no." Lily's fingers clutched her purse tightly. She wanted to hit something. "She's going to be fu-rious."

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"I sure as hell didn't tip the reporters." Lily didn't say anything for a long time, turning over the facts, trying to make them fit some way other than the obvious. The valet must have been bribed to let the reporters know when Rule's car was brought up. She hoped they'd been gen-erous—the young man would be out of work by morning. But that didn't explain how the reporters knew he was there, with her. Finally, reluctantly, she spoke. "One of them knew the chief had told me to work with you. My family doesn't know that. Yours?" "Aside from my father, no. And there is no possibility that he phoned the press about my relationship with you." She sighed and pulled her cell phone out of her evening bag. "Then I'd better make some calls, because someone well up the food chain at the department did." Chapter 8 BEING AMBUSHED BY reporters had blown Lily's mood and her confidence. She'd been ready to turn Rule down when he walked her to her door, but he'd forestalled her, damn him. He hadn't even tried to kiss her, leaving her with a mouthful of arguments and no one to use them on but herself. She'd done that, all right, tossing and turning until nearly three in the morning. Finally she'd snarled, flung back the covers, and grabbed her running shoes, a pair of shorts, and Worf's leash. Pounding the pavement had pounded a little sense into her head. The best she could hope for with Rule was a hot affair that didn't leave her too singed when it ended. Having a fling with him could do real damage to her career now that the newshounds were watching. It might even rebound on the de-partment. Some reporters equated investigative journalism with slinging mud at the police. The plain, cold truth was that the price of an affair was too high. Either reaching a decision or exhaustion had done the trick, and she'd dozed off at last. When she blinked her eyes open again, the clock read nine-thirteen. It was Saturday. All over the city, people were mowing lawns, packing the kids to the beach, hitting garage sales, or sleeping in. Lily considered anything past nine o'clock sleep-ing in, so she'd observed one of the weekend traditions. She intended to be at headquarters by ten o'clock. Her first clue about what kind of day it would be came at nine thirty-five when she raced, dripping, from out of the shower to snatch the ringing phone. Her mother told her to look at the morning paper, then hung up. It could have been worse, Lily thought when she saw the headline. Her mother might have stayed on the phone. The article itself couldn't have been much worse. The re-porter didn't quite accuse Lily of covering up for a killer be-cause she was sleeping with the Nokolai prince. She just made a lot of insinuations. She also hinted at graft in the police department and possibly the mayor's office. Then Lily saw the article below the fold. A man had been badly beaten near the scene of the second murder. In front of witnesses. Turned out he was especially hairy, and someone thought he was a lupus.

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The second page had a story about the infamous lupus ram-page back in '98, heavily salted with some of the more sen-sational lore about werewolves. Lily shoved her chair back and stood. "Dammit, don't they see what they're doing? People are scared enough without this crap." She paced, trying to think of anything she could do that she hadn't done. Three people dead at the hands—or teeth— of this killer. One man in the hospital because the killer was still loose. And what did she have? A list of lupi registered in the city five years ago. Two witnesses who'd seen a man near the scene of one murder. And a date she couldn't repeat. Lily scowled. It was a good thing she hadn't gone to bed with Rule. If she had, the hotheads slamming her and the de-partment would have live ammo. Right now they were firing blanks. She grabbed her keys and tried to be relieved about that, but the phone rang before she reached the door. She almost didn't pick it up, thinking it might be a reporter. But the caller ID told her it was her downstairs neighbor. Mrs. Hodgkin took Worf out most days around lunch so he could relieve his blad-der, and sometimes at supper, too, if Lily was working late. Mrs. Hodgkin claimed that her arthritis was acting up and she wouldn't be able to manage the stairs anymore to take Worf out. Since the older woman tied herself into yoga pretzels reg-ularly, Lily doubted that inflamed joints were the problem. No doubt Mrs. Hodgkin read the paper, too. Why were people so quick to judge? They knew nothing about Rule except that he was a lupus. And they believed the myths—that lupi were indiscriminate killers. Or crazy. Or both. The myths were based on fact, she reminded herself as she slammed out of her apartment. Some lupi did kill. Not as often as the more sensational press liked to claim, but the rampage the paper had dragged up had happened. For reasons ho one had ever known, a lupus inConnecticut had gone berserk. Sixteen people dead, thirteen injured. And Rule himself had said that adolescent lupi couldn't control the beast. Lily scowled and clicked the "unlock" a dozen feet from her Nissan. "Ms. Yu?" Lily turned. A pretty young teenager with a spiky haircut was running across the parking lot toward her. Lily identified her automatically: Cili Yosamoff,apartment614A . Two younger sisters, and a father who worked nights. She had a fondness for black—clothes, lipstick, and eye makeup. Cili stopped in front of her, breathless and smiling. "I won-dered—would you mind—I mean—oh, here!" She thrust out a pen and pad of paper. "Could I have your autograph?" Lily blinked. "My what?" "And maybe you could ask the prince for his, too? I mean, he's so rad, isn't he? I was just maxed out when I read that you're, like, dating him!" "Oh. Sure."Why not? Lily thought, taking the pen and scrawling her name across the paper. Maybe the girl would decide that cops were cool, too, if one of them could date a rad guy like Rule. "I'll ask the prince to sign something for you next time I see him," she said, handing back the pad.

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"Jenny is just going todie when I show her the prince's autograph." Her friend's imminent demise gave her great sat-isfaction. "Is it true that lupi, like, don't do drugs or alcohol or anything?" Lily had no idea. "Absolutely," she assured the girl gravely. "They have too much respect for their bodies, in whatever form." Her name might be dirt with some people—like her mother, her downstairs neighbor, any number of reporters and fellow citizens. But it looked like she could count on support from the fifteen-and-under set. "Would you be interested in earning a little running-around money?" "Well... yeah. Probably." Heavily mascaraed eyes blinked at her dubiously. "I guess it would depend on, you know, what you want me to do." "I need someone to walk my dog."

AT HEADQUARTERS LILY noticed a distinct chill in the air. A sergeant who usually greeted her looked away. A patrol cop made a crack to his partner about people who would do anything for their five minutes of fame. And it was quiet— much too quiet—when she walked into the Homicide bullpen. Only three officers were there, and all were terribly busy. Too busy to look up, much less greet her. UntilBrunswick started howling. She could have kissed him. It was so obnoxiously normal. The other man laughed and the female detective told him to put a sock in it. "You really need to do something about that sore throat," Lily said as she sat at her desk, fighting back a grin. "You're sounding hoarse." "I want details," he said, spinning his chair to grin at her. "Times, places ... especially times. As in, how many. Scuttle-butt has it that lupi are real gifted in the stamina department, but I—" "You can tell us about your sex life another time,Bruns-wick ," Vivian Shuman said, and grimaced at Lily. "Ah ... the captain said he wanted to see you in his office when you showed up." Great. Lily sighed and shoved her chair back. "Do I get a blindfold?"

CAPTAIN FOSTER WAS a short, squat man with a round head, no neck, and all his features crowded together in the bottom half of his face. He chewed gum constantly, had a lousy temper, and was one of the best cops Lily knew. From the expression on his face when she walked in, she could have used the blindfold. "You're off the lupus case. Pass everything you've got to Simmons." Her head jerked slightly and her whole body went stiff, as if someone had yanked her straight up by the hair on her head. "What?" "You heard me. You've compromised the investigation." His mouth twisted. "Of all the dumbass stunts to

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pull! You couldn't find a human to date? Or just put your hormones on hold?" "I wasn't aware my private life was subject to your ap-proval. Sir." "It is when I spend an hour in the chief's office trying to explain why the detective I insisted on has made more progress with herprivate life than her investigation. A man was beaten last night because he's got hair on his back, for Chrissake. People are scared. The mayor is scared. And you get your picture plastered all over the front page, cuddled up to a lupus closely tied to your investigation." "Captain ..." Her jaw clamped hard on all the things she wanted to say. She started again. "Turner is not a suspect. He's solidly alibied for two of the three killings—one of those alibis being the mayor. Working with him was the mayor'ssugges-tion, as relayed to me by the chief." "You weren't working with him last night. Dammit, Yu, just because the man has an alibi doesn't clear him! He could have arranged the killings." "I see. You consider him a suspect because he's a lupus." "Use your head." His jaw flexed. He was chomping down hard on his gum. "We know the murders were committed by one of his people. Even if he isn't personally involved, you can't trust him. Lupi don't exactly have a history of cooper-ation with the police, yet he's apparently eager to help you track down one of his people. Dammit, I shouldn't have to tell you all this." "No. You shouldn't." Lily's anger was cold now. Icy. He was questioning her competence, her integrity. "I assume, then, that if I were dating the head of the NAACP you would re-move me from any cases where we knew the perp was African American." Foster's mouth opened—and closed. His jaw worked. He wanted badly to tell her that was altogether different. And couldn't. She leaned forward. "Sir, I'm aware that Turner's agenda may not be as altruistic as he'd have us think. Maybe he means to misdirect me, if he can. Or even warn the killer. But I consider that a very low probability. His first priority is the welfare of his clan, with that of lupi in general a close second. He's been doing everything possible to promote the Species Citizenship Bill that's in subcommittee now, and these killings damage its chances." "You think he agreed to help us for political reasons?" Lily took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "I think he wants to find the killer every bit as badly as we do—only he wants to find him first. And turn him over to his clan for punishment." Foster studied her in silence, for once not chomping on his gum. Maybe he was wondering the same thing she did: had Rule involved himself with her for the same reason he'd be-come involved with the investigation? Finally he spoke. "Lupi in wolf form aren't protected by law, so he might be able to carry out some kind of vigilante justice if he gets to the perp first. But it would reflect badly on him and his people, damage his cause." "Not necessarily." She'd thought all this out last night. "He's good at PR. Reporters love him—he's great copy. If he spins it right, the Citizenship Bill might gain backing. See, right now the Justice Department

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and most law enforcement associations oppose the bill. But if he makes headlines for taking justice into his own hands—legally—that could change. Can't have the reporters saying we approve of lupi circum-venting the law, can we?" She'd reached him. He started chewing again, more thoughtfully. "You think that's what he's after? Making polit-ical hay out of these murders by committing legal murder him-self?" "I don't know," she added, careful with her voice and her face, sick in the pit of her stomach. "But it seems possible." He told her to brief him on where she was now, what she planned to do next. And before she left he told her to divide the list of registered lupi with the others who were in today and start checking them out. The case was still hers. Lily stood. Her knees felt spongy. "One more thing. No one was supposed to know Turner was working with me. And the only people who knew he would be at the party last night were my mother and grandmother. And they didn't tell anyone." "Trying to teach me how to suck eggs? I'm aware of the obvious. Someone leaked the story to the press. I want to know who and why. Leave that to me." So Lily went back to the bullpen and told the other detec-tives they'd been conscripted. There were groans and teasing— she'd gone in to get her ass chewed out and come out with the captain's backing to pull them off their current cases. She told them clean living gave her an edge, got a couple of snick-ers, and waited to feel better. She ought to be relieved. The captain had been ready to yank her off the case, but she was still in charge. Yet she felt was sick. As if she'd betrayed Rule by telling Foster what he might be planning. And that was just stupid. She'd known Rule only a handful of days. She would ignore her stupid, cartwheeling emotions and get on with the job. Being a cop came first. Always.

WITHIN AN HOUR Lily had the paperwork for a search warrant ready to submit. She called Rule, but his machine picked up. She left a message. Around noon she hit the streets with six names of lupi confirmed to be still living inSan Di-ego . By three she'd spoken to three of the lupi on her list and eliminated one conclusively. He worked nights as a bouncer and was solidly alibied for all three nights in question. The other two were less certain. Each claimed an alibi for one of the murders, but it was possible that more than one lupus was involved. The physical evidence was inconclusive. They'd re-trieved hair from two of the three crime scenes that looked alike—mottled silver and charcoal—but the lab couldn't prove that it had come from the same lupus without DNA testing. And the stuff wouldn't behave under testing. Lily really, really didn't like Rule's conspiracy idea, but she couldn't ignore it. At five-fifteen she left another message on Rule's machine. It was nearly eight when he returned her call. "I'm sorry I didn't get back to you sooner." His voice was rough, but she couldn't tell what emotion moved him. "It's been a difficult day."

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“Tell me about it. I called because I wanted to give you notice. I've put in for a search warrant to get me into Clan-home. I expect to have it by Monday at the latest." He was silent so long she wondered if her phone was working. "I told you I couldn't wait much longer." "I have to talk to you. It will take me thirty minutes to get to your apartment." "I'm not there. I'm working." "At this hour? What—never mind. Just tell me where I can meet you." She knew what she heard in his voice now—urgency. Against her will, it convinced her to see him. She gave him the name and address of a bar down the street and discon-nected, frowning. There was no way of knowing what he meant to say until she saw him, so she shoved it into a corner of her mind, climbed out of her car, and went to talk to Amos Whitburn, the fifth name on her list. Amos Whitburn turned out to be ninety-two, and even lupi weren't proof against age. He moved well—arthritis didn't seem to afflict weres—but he was nearly blind. Cataracts. Crossing him off her list didn't take long, which meant that she arrived at the bar well before Rule did. This gave her plenty of time to wish she'd picked another spot. The area should have warned her. It wasn't a slum, but it was on the far lower end of working class. The bar itself was what she'd expected—dark, dingy, and smelling of beer. She'd been in plenty of places like this since she joined the force. But usually she'd either been in uniform or flashing a badge. Tonight she was in wrinkled linen—baggy walking shorts, sleeveless shell, and a loose, lightweight jacket that covered her weapon. Not exactly come-hither clothes, but it didn't seem to matter. Lily took her Diet Coke to a corner where she could keep an eye on the room. Her stony stare worked on the first two men who started toward her—they veered away, pretending they'd been heading to the men's room all along. The next guy was more persistent. Probably trying to win a bet, Lily thought, disgusted, as he approached. He'd been sitting with the other two. "Hey, there, honey. My name's Biff." Oh, surely not. Would any woman do such a thing to her child? Lily looked up. Way up. He was huge. Six-four, maybe two-thirty. He wore a red ball cap and jeans tight enough to endanger his future off-spring. His head was too small for his body, but his features were regular enough that he probably thought he was good-looking. He carried two beers in one hand, and smelled as if he'd already drunk several. His hands were the size of catcher's gloves. "I don't want a beer, and I don't want company." "My treat," he said genially, setting both amber bottles on the table and reaching for the other chair. She kicked the chair away. "My mama told me never to talk to cliches." "C'mon, honey, don't be that way. I'll treat you real nice. Ask anyone here. Matthew!" he bellowed.

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“Tell the lady what a nice guy 1 am." The bartender looked over, bored. "Real nice." "There, you see? I'm not gonna hurt a sweet little thing like you. Would you rather have somethin' else to drink? Maybe a Tom Collins. Hey, Matthew, get this—" "No. Go away. I'm waiting for someone." "Hey, I'll do just as well! Probably better." He beamed at her, dragged the chair back, and sat down. "I'm a fun guy." Lily put her arms on the table and leaned forward. "Let me explain. I don't want company while I wait, I don't want a drink, I don't want to dance or talk to you or look at you. You'll have to trust me on this. You won't do at all. You will get up now and go away." He leaned back, still smiling. But his eyes lost their amiable gloss, and underneath they were pure mean. "Well, now, I don't quite see how a little bitty thing like you is gonna make me do that, if I don't want to." He rested his forearm on the table, closed his hand into a fist, and made his biceps clench. His friends—the two men Lily had sent off with the Stare— sat at a table about ten feet away. The bar wasn't crowded. They had a great view, and were nudging each other and chuckling. Real funny, hassling a woman because they thought they could get away with it. Briefly Lily toyed with the idea of stating her price, letting him agree to buy an hour of her time, and then arresting him. She sighed. It was a pleasant fantasy, but impractical. Instead, she reached inside the flap of her purse—and saw Rule near the door, headed for her. He was not happy. Time to move mean-and-stupid along. She pulled out the leather case with her shield and showed it to him. "You want to leave now." He looked at it, his heavy eyebrows pulling down. "You heard the lady.'' Rule's left hand clamped down hard on Big Biff's shoulder. His fingers dug in. His face wore a curiously intent, inward expression. "But you weren't listen-ing, were you?" Biff's eyes bulged in sudden pain. He went stiff and made a choked sound. "Rule!" She spoke sharply. How had he crossed the room so fast? "Don't break anything." "Hmm?" He glanced up, his eyes meeting hers. His eyes. Dear God. The color had bled into the whites until they were wholly dark, gleaming. "Oh, yes," he said mildly. "Sorry about that. Here, let me help you up." He didn't give Biff much choice, hoisting him bodily from the chair. The big man swayed for a second, blinking fast to get rid of tears of pain. Just how strongwas Rule?

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"What the hell—?" Biff's protest was weak. He was trying to regain his swagger as he turned. "I don't know who the hell you think you are, grabbing me that—holy shit." He'd seen Rule's eyes. Lily shoved her shield back in her purse and stood. "I don't like it here. Too many friendly people. Let's go somewhere else." "Hey!" Biff's voice rose. "Hey, I know who you are. You're that werewolf!" Silence scattered like sparks around the room, striking those closest first and spreading fast. Biff's buddies shoved to their feet. "You're right," Rule said, but he was looking at her, not Biff. His eyes still looked weird, but the whites showed at the comers again. "We need to leave." The crowd was decidedly unfriendly now. There were mut-ters from a couple of men at the bar. Biffs two buddies started toward him. Lily and Rule headed for the door. "Hey, you!" the bartender shouted. "You didn't pay for your drink!" Lily barely slowed. "I gave you a five." "No, you didn't. You come back and pay or I'm calling the cops." "Iam— " "Here." Rule tossed a bill in the general direction of the bar, grabbed Lily's arm, and pulled her toward the door. He let go as they stepped outside. It was dark and drizzling, a drab wash of grays and blacks. Parked cars lined the street on both sides, but there wasn't much traffic. Hardly any pedestrians, either. The traffic light on the corner was barely visible through the haze, a dim red glow. "My Explorer is this way." He set off to the left. She thought of pointing out that her car was the other di-rection, decided it wasn't worth arguing over. "Don't grab my arm again." "What?" His head swiveled. "Oh. Your gun. You want your right hand free. Sorry—I didn't think of that." "What's the thing with your eyes?" His voice was clipped. "I needed to Change." "Ah ... are you okay now?" He didn't answer. That worried her. They'd reached the corner. The light was red and a car was coming, so she stopped. So did he. The

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drizzle was heavier now. Lily's clothes were damp, her face and hands wet, but the rain was warm and made her feel clean and private, alone with him on the street. As soon as the car passed they stepped together into a shiny-wet street—without a word, both of them moving at the same instant. Weird. Lily asked, "Is it because the moon is nearly full?" "He was threatening you." "Biff is a bully and an asshole, but I had things under con-trol. Until you played macho man and your eyes went spooky." "It excited him to force himself on you. You couldn't smell his reaction the way I could, but you must have known he enjoyed making you uncomfortable. A man who gets off on intimidating a woman in public is likely to do worse in pri-vate." Lily wanted to understand. She wanted that with an urgency that strummed along her nerves like adrenaline, turning her skin sensitive, as if she could feel each tiny, separate drop of mist that fell on her. But there were so many pieces to him. Pieces that didn't fit any pattern she knew. Inhuman pieces. "So," she said, trying to sound casual, "this need to Change—that's part of those protective instincts of yours? When you feel that a woman is in danger, you—" He stopped dead, grabbed her shoulders, and said fiercely, "It wasyou he threatened, Lily. Not some woman. You." he crushed his mouth down on hers. Chapter 9 LILY'S MIND WENT blank. Unwilled, her hand lifted to his cheek and found it smooth, damp, and warm. Her head tipped back. Her mouth opened to his. His taste was like nothing she'd ever imagined—subtle, layered, clean as the wind. And necessary. She burrowed into him, the feel of his body a shock of pleasure against hers. Baffled by pleasure, buffeted by quick slaps of need, she lost her grip on herself. The sound she made held both protest and discovery. He tore his mouth away. "Sweet Mother.", He wrapped his arms around her, tight, and leaned his head atop hers. "Give me a minute. I need a minute." So did she. Her heart galloped madly in her chest. If she let him go—if she couldn't touch him, feel his skin, smell his breath—something inside her would rip open. "What have you done?" she gasped. "What did you just do to me?" His body was hard with need, but his hand on her hair was infinitely gentle. She lifted her head. He was smiling with such sweetness her breath caught. He started to speak—then his body, already taut, quivered. His smile evaporated. "They're coming. Half a block behind us." She'd heard nothing and, in the rain-muffled night, saw no one. But instantly she knew what he meant. Biff and his bud-dies had followed them. "Your car?"

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"The end of the block." They ran, splashing in shallow puddles. But he jerked to a stop fifteen feet short of an alley and pushed her against the wet brick of the nearest wall, putting himself in front. Two men emerged from the alley. "No!" She shoved her way out from behind him, reaching for her weapon. "Let me handle this," she said quickly, her voice low. "We don't need a massacre here." There was no more time to argue, to reason. Fear coated her mouth as she sighted on the chest of the nearest man, a blond guy with a droopy mustache. He held a knife in his right hand, point up like he knew how to use it. "Police!" she shouted. "Stop right there!" He did. The man beside him—tall, skinny, with dirty black hair to his shoulders—didn't stop until she swung the gun barrel toward him. "Dammit, Biff, you didn't say she had a gun!" "She's a cop, asshole!" That was Biff's voice, from her right. He and two more men emerged at a run from the veils of rain. Biff had a metal baseball bat. One of the others held the ragged top of a beer bottle. Lily swung her gun that way. They stopped—and the two on the left surged forward. Rule made a sound low in his throat. "Stay back." His voice sounded funny—soft and growly. Lily wanted to look, to see what was happening with him. She didn't dare take her eyes off the men. Very low, she said, "You watch the ones on your side, let me know if they budge." His whisper barely reached her. "They aren't moving. Yet." She recognized the ones with Biff. They'd been at the bar. The other two hadn't. Where had they come from so fast? "Any of you idiots done time before? Assaulting an officer, that will get you three to five years' hard time. That's if I don't shoot you," she added casually. It almost worked: One of them muttered, another took a step back. Then two more men came running up from the right—a Hispanic man with a knife, and a second Biff. Same little head, bland features, and outsized body. Except this one's cap was blue, and he was holding a tire iron instead of a baseball bat. Twin Biffs? Sometimes, Lily thought, God had a lousy sense of humor. The first Biff grinned a mean, gloating grin. "Hey, bro. Knew you wouldn't want to miss the fun." "Sent Pete and Baker to flank them, didn't I? Needed to get my iron." The second Biff slapped it against

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his palm. "Gonna see if a were's brains look all pink and gray like a real person's." "Were bitch," one of them spat. Lily was intensely aware of Rule beside her, fairly vibrating with needs she didn't understand but could feel shimmering out from him the way heat radiates from hot concrete. He was very, very angry. She reached out without looking and touched him lightly, hoping he could hold on a little longer. Wondering just how stupid you had to be to push a lupus prince to the edge of control. "If all of you scatter real quick, I won't charge you with assaulting an officer. Or shoot you. Lots of paperwork for me either way." "Hell we aren't going to mess with you," Biff said, that mean grin fixed tight to his face. He swung the bat back and forth. "All you have to do is walk away." Oh, yeah, they'd like it fine if she and Rule separated. She shook her head. "You don't understand about the paperwork. If you make a move, Turner here is going to smear pieces of the lot of you all over the street. You would not believe how many reports I have to fill out about that sort of thing." Thesecond Biff gave an ugly laugh. "Seven of us, two of you. The odds work for me." Some of the others yelled agree-ment or insults involving weres, were-lovers, and how they ought to all be exterminated. They were working themselves up. They were almost ready to move. She could see it in the way they stood, the restless movements of their feet and hands. If they attacked, there would be a bloodbath. "Well, now, I guess you don't read the papers? Or maybe you don't have a good picture of what a lupus can do, Me, I've seen what's left afterwards. This one guy had a knife. The lupus bit his hand off, knife and all, and spat it out. Then he took off the guy's face. Then he killed him." "We've read about the killings!" one of the men on Rule's side shouted. "Lousy, filthy weres. We take this one out, we ought to get a medal." "That's right," her second admirer from the bar said loudly. "And taking out a were's whore, that ought to be worth a couple of beers." "I'm a cop," she said patiently over the jeering laughter while her stomach tied itself in queasy knots. "You really think you can beat me up, maybe kill me, and the other cops are going to say, 'Oh, well, I guess she had it coming'? You can't be that dumb. They'll take this neighborhood apart to find you, not because they give a shit about me personally. Because no one is allowed to make war on cops." That worried them, but it didn't convince them. She sighed. "Rule, I think they need to see to believe. Maybe you could show them how fast you can move." "If I move, I'm going to kill someone." His voice was really rough now and hoarse, close to a beast's growl. "I want to kill them." "Jesus," someone whispered. Then the Hispanic one said, "This is stupid. This is just stupid. No one said anything about killing or getting killed." Biff sneered. "You chickening out, Bobby? Fine, you go on home, let the little woman tuck you up safe in bed."

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Bobby muttered something under his breath and turned to walk away. Another man hesitated, then hurried after him. "Hey! The rest of you gonna turn chickenshit, too?" Biff Number Two cried out. "I came to kick some butt, clean this city of at least one were-slime. You with me, Pete? Baker? Let's get with the program!" He smacked the tire iron against his palm again and started forward. Two others followed. Lily took aim. Her head was clear, but her heartbeat was going crazy. Across the street, a woman shrieked once. Twice. Lily didn't take her attention away from the men for a second, but they looked. "She went back inside," Rule growled. "She'll call the cops. Some of your colleagues will be here soon, Lily." Lily held her pistol out with both arms, one hand steadying the other. Aiming ostentatiously straight at Biff Two. "But we've still got a few minutes before they show up. You guys want me to fill out all those lousy forms, come on. Take an-other step." "Hell." The one with the beer bottle threw it into the street, where it smashed. "I'm out of here." Two more of them left, tossing out insults to make them-selves feel less as if they'd lost the battle. Only Biff One and Biff Two remained, but Biff Two was furious. His brother grabbed his arm, said something low and angry to him. Biff Two shrugged free and spat at them. The spittle landed well short of her feet. A siren sounded in the distance. That was all it took. The twins ran off. Lily needed to holster her gun, but her hands were shaking and her arms felt like noodles. It took her two tries. Then at last she was free to turn to Rule. His eyes held darkness, corner to corner. Tension drew grooves along his face. "You all right?" she asked. "No. Do you think that really is your colleagues on the way?" "We try for fast response time, but I doubt it. I'd just as soon not wait around and find out, though. I wasn't entirely joking about the paperwork." "Weren't you?" A small smile ghosted across his face. "Let's go." They made it the last half-block to his Explorer without anything happening, and in complete silence. He unlocked both doors, locking them again as soon as they were in, and started the engine. Then he crossed his arms on the steering wheel, leaned his head on them, and shook. Lily didn't mistake his reaction for fear. Whatever had been happening to him, he'd fought it and fought hard. There was a price to be paid for that. She unclicked her seat belt and slid over and put her arms around him. The shakes stopped. He went very still. Then, in one of those too-fast-to-see movements, he had his arms around her, pressing her up against him as if he needed to soak her up. He ran his hands over her sides, her back. His breath was harsh against her hair. "One heck of a meeting spot you picked for us."

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"Sorry about that." Sensation chased itself over her skin like thousands of tiny shivers. Everywhere he touched came alive, and there was a tugging down low in her stomach, a pulsing beneath. "God." She clamped her hand on his arm as if gripping an anchor in a high wind. "I was so scared." "You didn't sound it. You sounded tough. And bored, as if you did that sort of thing twice a day." He rubbed his face against her hair "But I could smell your fear. I wouldn't have let them hurt you, Lily. They would never have touched you." "I know. I was scared you were going to kill people. And that I'd have to." Her voice hitched. She turned her face into the living cubbyhole formed by his neck and shoulder and breathed him in. Her insides seemed to be vibrating. She needed more. More touch, more skin, more connection. "I've never killed anyone. I've drawn my weapon, fired warning shots, but I've never had to aim to kill." "Warning shots weren't going to work with them. But you handled it. You talked them down. Lily. I'm coming apart." He nuzzled the side of her neck, then licked it. A delicious tremor shimmered through her. The air was suddenly hot. Her fingers dug into hard muscle covered by cloth, and she wanted the cloth gone. He could smell her re-action, she realized. He knew how desperate she was for him. "What is this? I feel like I'm rattling at top speed over bumpy ground. Like everything's about to shake loose. Is it you? Are you doing this, or is it me?" "It's us." He gathered her face in his two hands and tipped it toward him. His eyes shone in the dim light. Normal eyes once more, or so close to it she couldn't tell the difference. "Us, Lily. This is what we bring to each other. I need you." She stared at him in a vast, humming silence, her skin and bones and need a thin bridge stretching between one moment and the next, when everything would change. "There's a hotel." His hand trembled as he brushed her hair back. "Six or seven blocks from here. It isn't what I want for you, for our first time together, but I don't know if I could make it to my apartment, or yours." He needed her. "Yes," she said. And her voice came out clear and strong, just as if she knew what she was doing.

LILY WOULD HAVE insisted on driving if she'd been sure she was in better shape than Rule. They were lucky the traffic was so light. They rode in silence. She kept waiting for doubts to surface, for common sense to point out all the reasons this was a bad idea. What did sex really mean to Rule? She didn't know, couldn't guess. She wasn't sure what this meant to her, either. Though she tried to persuade herself her hunger was fueled by reaction, the aftereffects of adrenaline and danger, her de-cision felt vast. Like she was taking a leap off a crumbling edge, straight out into darkness. Yet for all those seven blocks, and the minutes she waited in the hotel lobby while Rule procured a key, the urgency thrummed in her and the doubts never spoke. She wanted this, wanted Rule with a ruthless clarity that didn't shut down thought. Just dismissed it. The hotel was about ten bucks a night above seedy, but the elevator worked, their room seemed clean,

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and the door locked. Other than that, Lily only gathered a quick impression of orange—a tangerine bedspread, faded peach wallpaper, a bad print of a New England autumn scene hanging above the bed. Then she was in Rule's arms. "I want to make this right," he said, nuzzling her hair. "Ah, you smell so good. I wish you could know..." He put his hands on her shoulders, slipped her jacket off, letting it fall to the floor, and kissed her. The urgency remained, the pleasure and the sense of having opened a door on a vast unknown. But something new lapped over her. From his mouth she absorbed the knowledge of his delight, a wordless rejoicing. His hands stroked with slow in-timacy over her back, her hips, telling her they were alone now, and they had time. All the time they needed. Still her fingers trembled as she found the buttons of his shirt and, one by one, undid them. She ran her hands up his chest to his neck, leaning back slightly so she could see his face—the heavy-lidded eyes, the smile on his beautiful mouth. And she touched his hair, ran her fingers through it, testing the weight, the curl. Such freedom, to touch as she wished. He glanced down at her shoulder holster, his expression wry. "Would you mind taking care of that yourself? I don't like guns." That made her laugh, and laughter made her fingers less clumsy, so she was able to unfasten the buckle and lay her weapon in its holster on the bedside table. Rule came up be-hind her then and put his arms around her waist, pulling her to him. He'd slid off his shirt while she took care of her weapon, and she felt the heat of his skin through the linen of her shirt. The hard length of him nestled against the small of her back. Her breath caught. He bent and grazed his teeth along the cord of her neck. A shock of pleasure vibrated through her and wrecked her breathing. He ran his hands over her body slowly, luxuriously, breasts to stomach, pubic mound, thighs— and her vision hazed. He unfastened her shorts and pushed them down. She stepped out of them and would have turned around, but he clasped her to him, her back to his front, and carefully unbut-toned her top. Undid the catch on her bra, and removed it. And eased her panties down. Then she turned and reached for his belt buckle. Her hands weren't steady. Neither was his breathing. The heat in his eyes made her fingers fumble, because she couldn't look away. When he was as naked as she was, he said, "I don't think I can go slow. I want to. I want to spend hours on your body, but I can't. Not this time." "Thank God." And she looped her arms around his neck, bringing their bodies together. They touched, skin to skin, and the world changed. He lifted her, tumbling her onto the bed and following her down. She wrapped herself around him, trying to touch all of him at once while he tried to kiss her everywhere. His hand snaked down between her legs, where he stroked the slick folds. Her stomach went hollow. The muscles at the tops of her thighs clenched and quivered, a kinetic percussion with her heart pounding out the accompaniment. She dug her fingers into his waist.Hurry. He slid up her body. Instinctively, her legs opened and the head of his penis teased her innerfolds ... the soft, silky,bare head of his penis.

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"Wait," she gasped. "I'm on the pill, but—" "Are you?" He had a funny look on his face, his eyebrows all awry and his mouth pressed down. His arras quivered with strain, but he bent and kissed her gently. "You can't catch anything from me, or vice versa. Bugs don't stick around in my system." In spite of everything, indignation pricked her. "Does that mean you've never even had a cold?" His' lips twitched. A drop of sweat drifted down the side of his face. "Afraid so. Lily ...now?" He needed her. As any man needs a woman—in a purely human way—he needed her. Something softened and opened inside her, and she answered without words, cupping his face in her hands and lifting up gently with her hips. He pushed inside. Full. Throbbing. Complete. Sensation pin wheeled through her, a thousand little sparks like colors spun into feeling. Her eyes squeezed closed, and the colors were there in the darkness with her. "Ahh," he said. "Ah, Lily." And he stroked her face with his hand while he stroked her, deep inside, with his cock. "Look at me, Lily. Look at me while I'm inside you." She opened her eyes and his were right there above her, waiting to catch her as she emerged from her private darkness. His pupils were huge. Growing. Darkness bled through his irises and beyond, pooling where white should be, a black, alien rainbow overtaking the colors she knew. The shock of fear hit instantly, an electric tremor. But it was too late to pull back, too late to reserve any portion of herself—he was already inside her, deep inside in a way be-yond the physical. Fear was only another sensation, giving claws to the need in her belly. "Now," she panted, digging her fingers into his buttocks. "Now, Rule." He shuddered. As if some inner chain had snapped, he dug his hands into her buttocks, lifting her, putting her where he needed so he could pound into her. She cried out. Need surged—his, hers, the two swirled together in complex patterns disturbing the lines that were supposed to divide them. Fingers gripped, bruised. Flesh smacked into flesh as sweat dripped, running over heated bodies as the great, greedy beast of passion took them both by the throat, shook them—then flung them out into a clear, crisp darkness.

"SOMEDAY I WANT to see you in colors. Green, maybe." Lily's head was pillowed on Rule's chest. It was damp and warm, stirring slightly with his breath. The aftershocks had faded into drowsy bliss. Later, she knew, she would question, wonder, try to understand. That business with his eyes ... but not now. Not yet. He opened his eyes. "I must have done something wrong. You have enough breath left to talk.” Her laugh was husky and delighted. "Blue. You'd look good in blue." He ran a hand over her hair. His voice was quiet, almost sad. "I wear colors sometimes at Clanhome. Tomorrow I'll wear blue for you."

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Reality seeped back in, about as welcome as a cold trickle of rain leaking beneath a raincoat collar. And just as impos-sible to ignore. She propped herself up on one elbow. "You never did tell me why you had to see me so urgently, did you? It's because you're finally taking me to Clanhome. Your father is back." "I'm taking you to Clanhome, yes. I believe my father will see you, though he hasn't said. He ..." Rule sighed. "He's been back for several days." He'd lied to her. Though she'd warned herself all along not to believe everything he told her, learning that he had lied stripped her of something warm and important. "I couldn't tell you." He touched her cheek. "He directly forbade me to tell you until..." "Until what?" Hurt throbbed inside her. Honor bound Rule to obey his Lupois, whose decisions he was pledged to uphold with his own body. She knew that. And still it hurt. "Until I went to bed with you?" "He didn't want his condition known." "What do you mean?" "Four days ago, on his way home from meeting with an-other Lupois, my father was attacked by other lupi. He was badly mauled. He nearly died." Chapter 10 THE RAIN OF last night had vanished as if it had never been. The sky was clear and cloudless, the land around them seri-ously rumpled, studded with live oak, juniper, and pines. Wind blew in the open windows of Rule's Explorer, smelling of dust and living things. Lily wondered what it smelled like to him. She would never really know what his world was like, would she? Returning to the real world was a bitch. She'd been mostly silent ever since they left her apartment, where she'd changed into clean clothes. But the doubts and the questions—and a few uneasy answers—hadn't waited until morning to hit. They'd plagued her last night, but they hadn't kept her from making love with him a second time, or sleeping in his arms. Even now the urge to touch him rose every so often, strong and compelling. Rather like a sneeze, she thought. If she ig-nored it, it went away. But it kept coming back. He slowed and turned off the pavement onto a well-graded dirt road. "We're almost there," he said. "Good. Your authority does extend to getting me through the gates, I take it. Since your father doesn't know I'm com-ing." "He'll see you." "How can you be sure now, when before you wouldn't bring me to him?" "It's complicated." He grimaced. "I lied about my father being gone because he didn't want his condition known. Everything else I told you about lupi was true. You'll need his approval to accomplish anything."

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She stared at him, angry. "Everything? Are you sure?" "Of course I... shit." He ran a hand over his hair. "I for-got. No, not quite everything." "You admit, then, that you lied about being able to identify the clan of the lupus who killed Charlene Hall." "How did you figure that out?" She shrugged and looked out the window. He was wearing last night's clothes and a pair of wraparound sunglasses he'd had in the glove compartment, and he made her ache. "That's my job, figuring things out. Your father was attacked by a member of the Leidolf clan, wasn't he? You believed it was someone from the same clan, or the same group within that clan, who killed the others. So you lied to direct my attention that way." "I didn't tell you it was Leidolf who attacked my father." "You didn't have to." He'd told her enough. Leidolf hated the Citizenship Bill, and they'd very nearly killed its strongest proponent among the lupi—the leader of Nokolai. But what about Rule? He supported the bill, too. If his father was killed, he would be Lupois. Fear balled up cold in her stomach. Surely he was a target, too. "Can you identify the killer at all?" "Oh, yes. If I ever got close to him, I could. But the clan scents aren't quite as distinctive as I led you to believe. I could tell Leidolf from Shuntzu, but the various European clans have interbred too much. Not all Germans are blond, and not all Leidolf smell the same." "But your father is sure it was Leidolf who tried to kill him." "He recognized them," Rule said grimly. "Them? How many—" "You can ask him, but I doubt he'll tell you." He glanced at her, then reached out and caught her hand. "What's wrong, Lily? You've a right to be angry that I deceived you, but I think there's something more bothering you." His fingers clasping hers felt right. Absolutely right. Lily swallowed. What was she supposed to tell him? Sorry, but I'vedeveloped an addiction to you after just one night. I have totouch you every so often, which is likely to play hell with myjob. "Things went pretty far, pretty fast with us last night. There's something I'd meant to ask you. Or tell you." "A jealous boyfriend I don't know about?' His voice was light. "No. That's just it. If there had been a man in my life, last night wouldn't have happened. Fidelity is very important to me. You might say it's nonnegotiable." "I see. You don't think I can—or would want to—be faith-ful to you." A little bump of hope, quickly squelched, stuck in her throat. She swallowed. "Lupi don't respect

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fidelity." "Normally, that's true. We consider jealousy a sin." He drove in silence for a moment, one hand holding hers, one on the wheel, staring straight ahead. "You need to see for yourself to understand. That's one reason I'm bringing you to Clan-home. So you'll understand."

CLANHOME WAS VINEYARDS and forests, steep slopes and a long, narrow valley cradling what amounted to a village or very small town. The Nokolai held roughly seventeen thou-sand acres, and were jealously protective of their wilderness; only a small part of the land was used or settled. To Lily's surprise, dogs raced the Explorer as they drove down the single main street. Modest stucco, timber-frame, or adobe houses lined the dusty street and peered out from the pines and oaks covering the slope to her left. Lily saw a gas station, a small open market, a cafe, a laundry, and a general store. And children. Laughing, playing, arguing, they raced around in swirls and eddies like flocks of birds. The youngest ones, boys and girls both, wore shorts and nothing more. So did most of the adults she saw—the men, at least. The two women standing talking in one neatly fenced yard had added skimpy halters. A teenage girl sitting in front of the store drinking a Coke wore a loose, gauzy dress. A huge, silver-coated wolf sat beside her, panting cheerfully in the heat. The Lupois's home was set slightly apart, perched partway up the slope at the end of the street. It was larger than the others, but by no means a mansion—a sprawling stucco home with a red tile roof and a terraced yard brimming with flowers. Rule's son came running out when they drove up. Lily recognized who the boy was instantly. He looked so much like his father... but she'd thought both boys lived with their mothers. Maybe his mother was here, too. Lily got out of the car slowly. Rule kissed his son on the cheek, leaving his hand on the boy's shoulder when he straightened. He was tall for his age— if she hadn't known better she would have guessed him to be thirteen or fourteen instead of eleven. His eyes were darker than Rule's and shining with curiosity. "Paul," Rule said, "I would like you to meet Lily Yu." "Oh! Is she the one you—" "Your mother would be unhappy with your manners," Rule interrupted gently. "Sorry, Ms. Yu." He smiled, and some of the resemblance to Rule slipped, letting the person he was becoming shine through. "I'm happy to meet you." "I'm glad to meet you, too, Paul." Though apparently he knew more about her than she did him. Rule had scarcely mentioned his sons. Rule kept his hand on Paul's shoulder. The boy chattered happily all the way to the house.

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"Grandfather'smuch better today. He was sitting up in bed when I went to see him. He called me a nosy pup and told me to go chase rabbits. I said that wasn't much fun when I couldn't catch them, not being four-footed yet, and he chuckled. You know that chuckle of his." He glanced around his father at Lily. "You'll see what I mean. It sounds like when you turn the bass way up on the stereo. So I figured he was feeling better, if he was chuckling instead of cussing." "I suspect you figured right," Rule said. The entry hall was large, tiled, and ended in sliding doors, left open, that led to an atrium. Doorways opened off both sides of the entry. The woman who stepped out of a doorway on the right was fifty or sixty with gray hair hanging in frizzy clouds to her waist. She wore running shorts and an athletic bra. Her skin was coppery, probably from heritage as well as sun, and her muscle tone was excellent. She heaved a short, put-upon sigh. "Paul said that was your car. He knows the sound of the engine, I suppose. Go on in, Rule. Your father's expecting you." "Giving you a hard time, is he, Nettie?" Rule asked sym-pathetically. "He wants steak!" Her hands flew up in exasperation. "What he thinks he's going to do with it, I don't know. He doesn't have enough duodenum left to wrap around my thumb. I would have preferred to keep him in sleep another day, but you know him." Lily stiffened. The duodenum—wasn't that part of the in-testines? And he was here, at home, not in a hospital? Rules glanced down at her. "It's not as bad as it sounds. He's regrowing the parts that are damaged, and Nettie Two Horses is a doctor. Nettie, this is Detective Lily Yu." "Oh." The older woman looked her over thoroughly, then smiled. "I don't imagine I look the way you think a doctor should, but I assure you I am a real doctor. Trained in con-ventional medicine atBoston , shamanic practices with my un-cle. Chalk the outfit up to too much time spent around these heathens." Her fond glance took in Rule and his son. "Lupi are the worst patients in the world. They think that because they can heal almost anything, they don't have to listen to me. Or take care of themselves." Rule grinned. "Guilty as charged. But I'll have a talk with your worst patient. He knows very well he can't have steak yet. Paul, why don't you and Aunt Nettie see if Louvel has any coffeecake while I take Lily to meet your grandfather?" Aunt Nettie? As Lily and Rule started down the short hall the older woman had emerged from, she asked quietly, "Is 'aunt' a courtesy title? Nettie looks Native American, and your clan is of European extraction, isn't it?" "Yes. Nettie is Navajo. She's married to my uncle, which of course makes her Paul's great-aunt." Married?But lupi didn't... only, apparently one had. He paused just outside a heavy wood door. "I should have warned you earlier. My father's injuries ... lupi heal better when our wounds are left open to the air, and infection isn't normally a problem. He's not pretty to look at right now, and he won't be wearing much in the way of clothing. Probably nothing." "Ah..." She gathered her scrambled wits enough to ask, "Is there any ceremony or greeting ritual I should know?"

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He smiled wryly. "If he were in better shape, he'd insist on kissing your hand. But no, there's no greeting ritual that applies." He opened the door. The bedroom was large, airy, and masculine, decorated in earth tones and forest green. The furniture looked as if it had been shifted; the king-size bed was empty and shoved against a bureau. The man she'd come to see was in a hospital bed with the head raised and an IV attached to his far arm. And yes, he was quite naked, except for the patch over one eye. He was a lot hairier than Rule. He was also a bloody mess. The wound running from his cheek up under the eyepatch was broad and bumpy with a heavy scab. New pink skin had formed at its edges, trailing into what was left of a grizzled, rust-colored beard. The gouges along his chest and belly had been stitched, but the abdomen dipped in oddly, as though not all of the usual pieces were under the skin. Lily thought of the missing duodenum and managed not to wince. His legs and genitals seemed undamaged, and she couldn't see his left arm. His right hand had only two fingers. The rest were marked by tiny, pinkish-white nubs, and part of the palm was gone. Rule moved into the room and bent to kiss his father's cheek. "Paul told me you were doing better. I'm glad to see he was right." Better? If this was what he looked like after four days of a lupus's rapid healing, what had he looked like right after the attack? "Apparently you considered me well enough for company." The Lupois's voice was ten fathoms deep, a rumble from the bottom of that barrel chest. He gave his son a searching look. "You were right, then?" "Yes." There was satisfaction in Rule's voice, and some-thing Lily couldn't identify. He stood aside. "I've brought Lily to meet you. Lily, this is my father, Isen Turner." "Come closer, Lily." The uncovered eye studied her as she approached the bed, and the chuckle his grandson had men-tioned rumbled up. "Rule. We have embarrassed your lady. She isn't accustomed to our ways." He reached out casually with the two-fingered hand and draped a corner of the sheet across his loins. "As you see, Lily, I have not postponed the pleasure of meeting you without reason." "Yes, sir." If there was a protocol for meeting naked se-miroyalty, Lily didn't know what it might be. "I was sorry to learn you'd been injured. I have some questions." "It is a trifle awkward, Lily, your being with the police." An odd thing to say, since that was why she was here. "Rule said you recognized your attackers." "Did I? I have forgotten. The trauma, no doubt." "Were you attacked while in wolf form, sir?" "I find this difficult to express politely, but since the attack did not take place in your jurisdiction, the details are not your affair." "Three other people have been murdered who are most def-initely my affair. Their killer is almost certainly connected to those who tried to kill you."

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"A like-minded soul, perhaps. I assure you that the ones who attacked me did not travel to the city the next day and kill someone else." Lily had the unpleasant suspicion he meant that his attack-ers had been killed. Probably by those defending him, judging by the extent of his wounds. He wasn't going to "remember" anything about the attack, no matter what angle she took. And he was in pain. Though he hid it well, it showed around his undamaged eye. Time to finish up. "I need to question your people, sir, about these murders. Will you ask them to cooperate with me?" He looked at her thoughtfully for a long moment. "I will call a meeting of my Council for nine o'clock," he said at last. "We will discuss it tonight." Anywhere else in the country, people didn't hold a meeting to discuss cooperating with the police. "I understood that you had complete authority." His mouth crooked up on the undamaged side. "We have a saying: The Lupois who rules alone soon runs out of sons. I will bring this to Council, Lily. You go with my son, let him show you around. I must require you to pretend, for now, you are not a police detective. Ask no questions related to your investigation until after I have spoken with the Council. And I..." He sighed. "I must rest, unfortunately, if I am to hold Council tonight."

AS SHE AND Rule passed from the hall to the entry way, Paul raced past. "Bye, Dad! See you at lunch!" He yanked open the door, stopped, turned around, and added in a polite rush, "It was very nice to meet you, Lily. I'll see you at lunch, too. We're eating with Aunt Nettie and Uncle Conrad." Then he sped outside, leaving the door open. A gnome trotted out of the atrium. No, not a gnome, just a tiny old man made of wrinkles stretched over bony angles. He had a little potbelly and a round, smiling face, and wore yellow biking shorts. "There you are!" he exclaimed, as if amazed to see Rule, and added apologetically, "Is it lunch-time? I lose track. The laundry, you know." "That's fine, Louvel. We're eating with my aunt and uncle, I'm told. This is Lily Yu." "Oh! Lily?" The old man trotted up, lifted Lily's hand, and, in a curiously graceful gesture, raised it to his face. He smelled it thoroughly, then dropped a kiss on it before releasing it. "Charming. Charming. Do you like chocolate, Lily? So many humans do." "Louvel is my father's cook and housekeeper," Rule said. "His chocolate torte is legendary." "I love chocolate," she said honestly. "Good! I'll make you a torte." He beamed at her, then trotted off down another hall. "Louvel is a little beyond taking care of the house on his own, but his baking is still not to be missed." Rule put a hand on her back. "I could use some coffee. You?"

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She nodded. A few minutes later she was seated in a sunny kitchen while Rule poured them each a cup of coffee. The back door stood open. They tended to leave doors open, she'd noticed. Perhaps because there wasn't any air conditioning. Or maybe they just liked things open. Rule handed her a steaming mug and sat at the table beside her. "What your father said about running out of sons ... does that mean someone might do that challenge thing?" He sipped his coffee. "It depends. If he says you will be al-lowed to ask questions, that may annoy people but is unlikely to seriously upset anyone. It wouldn't be the first time police or other law enforcement agencies poked around in clan business." "This isn't just clan business." "Most people here will see it that way, though. We haven't exactly been on friendly terms with the authorities—any au-thorities. If, on the other hand, the Lupois rules that you are to be answered honestly and completely—" "You mean that's an option?" She shook her head, baffled. "And if their Lupois tells them to be truthful and complete, they will be? Even if they disagree with him?" "They will, or they'll challenge. If he does so rule," he added calmly, "I'll go with you as Lu Nuntius when you ask your questions." "Lu Nunlius? What does that mean?" "It's my title. My presence will be official, representing the will of the Lupois. In practical terms, it means I'll be in wolf form." "To answer any challenges," she said flatly. "And because my sense of smell is more acute in that form. It's almost impossible for a lupus to lie in the presence of his Lu Nuntius. Rather like a devout Catholic trying to lie to a priest while hooked up to a lie detector." She considered that in silence, sipping the truly excellent cof-fee. "Do you think he'll tell everyone to answer me honestly?" "You said you don't try to predict your grandmother. I don't make predictions about my father, either. But I hope he does as you wish." His mouth tightened to a grim line. "He was be-trayed by one of his own people. I want the traitor named." Lily was only startled for a second. Her mind skipped through possibilities, sorting her few facts into a new shape. "You think someone here—someone from his own clan—set him up." "It was an ambush. Carefully planned, and requiring knowl-edge that Leidolf shouldn't have had." "Someone told them where he would be."

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"Yes. And who would be with him. I'm hoping you'll be able to arrest the bastard so I don't have to kill him." Chapter 11 DID SHE TRULY want what Rule thought she did? Off and on for the rest of the day, Lily tried to answer that question. She knew what she needed—to stop a killer. Make an arrest. Turn up proof that would stand up in court. She'd play by the Lupois's rules for now and ask none of the ques-tions burning in her, and hope he cooperated in turn. But how far did she want his cooperation to go? Was she willing to let Rule put his life on the line in order to get to the truth? Because that's what that whole Lu Nuntius business amounted to. In the normal course of things she didn't have a lupus lie detector along on interviews, and she did okay. So what if she had to handle things the hard way here? Cops dealt with lying or reluctant witnesses all the time. But if she didn't find out who had betrayed the Lupois to the other clan, Rule's father would. Once he was well enough, he would look for the traitor himself, and his justice would be final—and administered by his son. There wasn't a thing Lily could do to stop it, either, if she couldn't find the guilty party first. Not if they fought in wolf form. Killing a lupus in wolf form wasn't murder. Lily was really growing to hate that law. After they finished their coffee, Rule changed clothes. He wore blue for her, as he'd promised—denim blue. A ragged pair of cutoffs. He looked magnificent in them, especially since he didn't wear a shirt. Or shoes, for that matter, but neither did most of the people she met that day. Lily felt seriously overdressed, but wasn't about to leave her gun behind. Since most people found a gun out in plain view distracting, she kept the jacket on. Clanhome was a shock of toppled preconceptions. Lily had pictured a patriarchal, heavily masculine society. Everyone knew lupi were always male and didn't marry. She'd expected to see a few women who were kept around to have babies, lend the children, cook, and clean. That's how men all over the world arranged things when they could, wasn't it? By lunch, she'd met Rule's uncle and one of his brothers, his first grade teacher, three of Paul's friends, several dogs, and an assortment of lupi... and Nokolai. That was a surprise, though it shouldn't have been: they were all Nokolai, but only some were lupi. Because only about two-thirds of the clan was male. When she made a rather foolish comment on the number of girls and women she saw, Rule said, "What did you think we did with our girl children? Drown them? Expose them at birth on a hillside?" She learned that between 350 and 450 people lived at Clan-home at any given time. There wasn't enough work here to support everyone, so some officially lived here but had jobs that kept them away a lot. Others lived and worked on the clan's ranch to the north, and the rest were scattered all over— how many that might be, she didn't find out. Most Nokolai came, when they could, to the gatherings held on the winter and summer solstices. And many of those who didn't live here themselves sent their children to

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stay for part of the summer... and their adolescent boys for much longer. To learn to control the beast. Lily saw a lot of children that day. The only wolf she saw was the one that had been sitting with the teenage girl when she and Rule first arrived. She visited the daycare center, which was attached to the clubhouse. The center was run by an older woman in a wheelchair named Oralie Fortier, and staffed by volunteers—which meant pretty much every adult at Clanhome. These people were nuts about kids. While Lily was there Ms. Fortier had to settle an argument about whose turn it was to work in the baby room—three people wanted to, and there were only two babies there at the time. Two of the three insisting it was their turn with the babies were men. The clubhouse had pool tables, a weight room, a smaller room where dance and gymnastics were taught, a kitchen, and a library. It was the only place on the grounds with television. When they left it, heading for the school across a lightly wooded section, Lily quit fighting herself and tucked her hand into Rule's. He gave her a smile of such startling sweetness that her heart turned over. A second later, the panic hit. She was in love with him. No. No, this wasn't love, it was some kind of physical obsession created by incredible sex. Or magic. Whatever it was, though, it couldn't be love. She'd known him less than a week. He wasn't human, for God's sake. Besides, she'd been in love before, and this—this whatever she felt was different. Deeper. Stronger. Lily was thoroughly shaken when they reached the school, a U-shaped building with a courtyard in the center. There Rule excused himself, saying he needed to talk to his uncle. He dropped a kiss on her lips and left her with his first grade teacher. Arthur Madoc was another surprise—a tall, narrow man with a gentle smile and the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. He'd taught first grade for forty-seven years. The school itself re-minded her of country schoolhouses she'd read about, with kindergarten in one room, grades one and two in another, and third and fourth graders sharing the third room. After fourth grade, Mr. Madoc told her, the children had to go into town. Classes in various subjects were offered during the summer. Today twelve kids aged six to nine were there for art lessons. The wilderness studies group, she was told, had already left the building. Lily joined the budding artists, who were experimenting with print-making. She dipped leaves, twigs, and sponges in paint and dabbed them on paper. She helped other artists dip things and admired the results. And she asked questions. After her shock had worn off, she'd realized she had more than one investigation to make. One of the little girls wanted to be an airline pilot like her mother when she grew up. One wanted to be a doctor. Another thought she'd do something with computers, while a third couldn't decide between building houses like her uncle or be-ing a movie star.

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More of Lily's preconceptions toppled quietly. "What about babies?" she asked casually, daubing her sponge in canary yellow paint. "Or getting married? Do you think about doing that, too?" "That shade of yellow won't work with purple," the bud-ding actress said critically. More patiently, the would-be phy-sician told her, "Not everyone gets to be a mommy, so you can'tplan on having babies. Unless you want to marry out," she added, and her expression made it clear she considered that a poor choice. "Not always," the computer enthusiast said with the air of correcting a small logic error. "Sophie Duquesne mated with a man from Rachmanov Clan." The future pilot rolled her eyes. "Likethat's going to hap-pen. We were talking aboutplans. You can't plan to mate. That's like planning to win the lottery. My dad says—" "Time to finish up," Mr. Madoc said pleasantly. "It's past noon." The builder's niece had been right about the yellow. It didn't look good with the purple. When Nettie came to get her, Lily wasn't surprised to learn that Rule's uncle, not his aunt, had cooked lunch. She was surprised, though, when those she sat down to lunch with in-cluded Rule's five-year-old son, Johnny. And Johnny's mother.

"I'M NOT UPSET with him for not telling me," Lily said, handing the bright blue plate she'd just washed to Nettie, then plunging her hands back in the soapy water. "Not exactly. He doesn't owe me his life story, and besides, I knew he had children. I'd dug into his background in the course of my investigation." "But you are upset." Nettie stacked the dried plate on top of the others in the oak cabinet. "I suppose it's one thing to know something professionally, another to unexpectedly sit down to lunch with the mother of your lover's child." That was putting things bluntly. "It's the way he did it. Just like the way he let me arrive at his grandfather's house without telling me Paul would be there. He's putting me through some kind of tests, and I don't like it." Nettie didn't answer. The two of them were alone in Nettie's small, cheerful kitchen. Lily had offered to help clean up after lunch. Some-what to her surprise, Nettie had accepted right away and del-egated the washing to her. Everyone else had left after they ate, with Johnny and his mother going home with her friend, Paul to his grandfather's, and Rule's uncle back to work at the vineyard. Rule had said he needed to talk to a few people. "You can't come with me," he'd told her. "I'm sorry, but they won't speak freely if you're there. I'll tell you what I learn." "Will you?" She'd studied him gravely. "People hold things back. They want to protect those they care about, and tell themselves whatever they're hiding couldn't really matter." In-stinct, culture, history—all would shriek at him not to reveal too much to an outsider. To human authority. He'd hesitated. She'd had the idea he was weighing his response, making sure he could speak the truth.

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"I'll tell you," he'd repeated. Nettie stacked the last of the plates. "I take it Rule hasn't told you a lot about Johnny and Paul." "He hasn't told me anything." Lily scrubbed hard on the pot in her hand. "I didn't know they lived here. I didn't know Johnny's mother was Nokolai." "Johnny and Belinda do live here, but Paul is just staying for the summer. In August he'll return to his mother inWash-ington . She's a reporter for CNN." Good grief. Rule's former lover, the mother of one of his sons, was a reporter? "That's almost as tricky for him as having a relationship with a cop." "Almost," Nettie agreed cheerfully. "Has it been difficult for you, balancing your professional duties with your feelings for Rule?" Lily took a moment to think about her answer, rinsing the pot thoroughly. Nettie should have been a cop. She was alarm-ingly good at getting people to talk. "He and I haven't known each other long, and for most of that time our relationship was professional. It turned personal very suddenly." "Did it? Still, I can understand if you were uncomfortable today. Our customs are different from what you're used to." That was certainly true. Lily grinned. "I think I would have been a lot more uncomfortable if Belinda hadn't been accom-panied by the gorgeous Dede." The two women had, quite obviously, been a couple. Nettie smiled. "I'm glad you're tolerant. Not everyone is." "Really?" She rinsed the lid, handed it to Nettie, and opened the drain. "I had the impression this was an accepted and long-standing relationship." Nettie shrugged. "Long-standing, yes. And lupi don't con-sider much about sex truly sinful. But relationships such as Belinda and Dede have are discouraged." "Why?" "Customs usually evolve for a reason," she said vaguely, turning to put away the last of the silverware. "Dede and Be-linda are good together, though, so most accept them. It's not like having a true mate, of course—but then, few are that lucky." "True mate." Lily thought of the little girls she'd met. "Is that like true love?" "Something like that. You seemed to enjoy yourself at the school. I thought you might like to join the group learning woodcraft for a while this afternoon. Nick is leading them. He's our woodsman." "Sure." Lily dried her hands. She knew when she was being herded out of the way. For now, she didn't mind. It wouldn't stop her from seeking answers. "Do you mind if I ask you something personal?" "Will it stop you if I do?" Probably not. "I wondered how you felt about—well, the way your husband turns furry sometimes.

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Does it bother you?" "Not in the way you mean. I'm a little envious. It would be wonderful to experience the world as vividly as they do." She shrugged. "But it's a guy thing, isn't it?" A guy thing. Lily grinned and dried her hands, but her grin soon faded. "Nettie . .. what happens if a Lu Nuntius doesn't do what he's told by his Lupois?" "I've never heard of such a thing occurring." Nettie smoothed lotion over her hands and held out the bottle. "Want some?" Sometimes you let a subject get away with evading the question. Sometimes you didn't. "What would happen if one did?" Nettie sighed. "At best, he would be banished. Not allowed at Clanhome. He would cease to exist to other Nokolai." Lily didn't have to ask what the worst would be. She could guess. The lupi had such final concepts of discipline. Chapter 12 ONE LAST SLIVER of sun clung to the rounded shoulder of Bole's Peak like an incandescent fingernail clipping. The moon hung low on the opposite side of the sky, looking more shadow than substance, her solidity drained by the presence of her fiery sister. Rule hurried toward his aunt and uncle's house, buzzing inside as if his skin were but a coat slipped on over a teeming hive of choices, chances, fears, and dreams. When the moon rose tomorrow, it would be full. But the buzzing came from more than the proximity of the full moon. He was returning to Lily. Night came earlier in the mountains than down in the city, but it was still later than he'd planned to return. There had been so much to arrange, and discussion had taken longer than he'd expected. So had the congratulations. But his plans had gone well, he thought. Extremely well. It remained to be seen how well his other plans had worked, and whether Lily would be angry. No, he thought ruefully as he reached the front door, the real question washow angry she would be. Lily was not going to like learning she'd been de-ceived. The second he crossed the threshold, she looked up. She'd been playing chess with his uncle. Nettie wasn't there, of course. She'd remained at his father's to make sure he hadn't set back his healing too much. His uncle gave him a searching look, and Rule nodded slightly. Lily stood. "All right. I've had enough of cryptic glances. What's going on?" He smiled. The sight of her lifted his heart, even if her expression left something to be desired. And his news was good. “The Council has agreed that you are to be allowed to ask your questions. You are to be answered as honestly as if the Lupois himself posed the questions."

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Her eyebrows went up. "The Council has already met." "I'm afraid so. You made a very good impression on them." "How remarkable of me, when I never met them." Her voice was flat with suspicion. Or maybe hurt. "Yes, you did." He held out his hand. "Walk with me, and let me give you the explanations you deserve." She looked at him for a long moment. Then she took his hand.

THE SKY WAS messy with sunset when they left the little house, darkening to indigo overhead. Lily didn't speak as Rule led her away from the scattering of lights that was the little village. It felt so good to be with him. She wanted to thump him in the head—hard—but still it felt right to walk beside him. "This path leads to the lake," he said. "Though that's a rather inflated term—it's more like an ambitious pond, but lovely by moonlight. I asked the others not to take you there today. I wanted to be the one to show it to you." "You also wanted to explain some things," she reminded him. "Not that I haven't figured some of it out. The Council meeting was never set for nine o'clock, was it?" "No, though you weren't the only one who believed it was. They met around six, after most of them had had a chance to meet you and form an opinion." Lily had been passed from person to person, group to group, all afternoon—courteously, often with real friendliness, but after a while it had been obvious her time and encounters were being managed. She'd thought they were checking her out because they were curious about the cop Rule had gotten himself involved with—and that they were making sure she didn't speak to anyone she wasn't supposed to. "Why all the secrecy?" she burst out. "Why go to the trouble to trick me?" "We are a secretive people. Too much so, perhaps, but we've had reason to be wary. My father knew his councillors wouldn't agree unless they trusted you. They in turn wanted to meet you without your knowing who they were. Didn't you wonder why everyone you met put you to work?" "I thought it was a custom or something." She'd fixed tea and swung a hammer, helped clear away deadfalls in the woods, washed a baby, and swept an old woman's floor. "What did they learn by watching me work?" "What did you learn by watching them while you worked together?" It was a fair question. An excellent question, actually. "A lot. One of the biggest surprises was how familiar some of it seemed." She'd startled him. "Familiar?" "Sure. The respect for tradition, the importance of family, work, and honor, the duty owed to one's elders—that's all very Chinese, you know."

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"I hadn't thought of it that way." "You don't know much about my people, either." Not yet. Would he? Did he want to learn? "I also began to get a grasp of why some lupi oppose the Citizenship Bill. It will change a lot of things, won't it? Your whole governance structure is based on the challenge. Not that I like it, but it does provide a check on the Lupois's power." "Some of my people believe the proposed law will make tyrants of our Lupois, yes. But humans evolved a system of checks and balances that doesn't necessarily involve killing each other. We can, too." They came out from under the trees and walked for a few yards along the shore before drifting to a stop. The sky over-head was salted with stars. Ahead, moonlight spilled across water as dark as Rule's eyes had been when the Change tried to take over. “The moon is almost full." He looked at her. "You aren't at all frightened, are you? Going for a moonlit stroll with me doesn't worry you. All of the lupi councillors who met you said you gave off no fear-scent." “They didn't give me any reason to," she said, surprised. "Neither have you. Maybe if I'd met a young teenage boy I'd have been worried, given what you said about them." "They live separately until they learn control." That made sense. "So—who were they? Which of the peo-ple I met today were councillors?" "Nettie, Nicholas Masterson, Emile Hunter, Arthur Madoc, Fera Bibiloux—" "Fera? The blind woman? But..." Her voice trailed off as she remembered the odd feeling she'd had, sitting in the dimly lit cabin drinking tea while the old woman worked her loom, her hands sure in spite of her lack of sight. A prickly feeling, yet peaceful. Belatedly she understood that she'd been in the presence of power. "Okay, I guess I understand that. She's Gifted, isn't she?" "Something like that. Fera said you made good tea and would be welcome to return—from her, that counts as ap-proval. She also said that something you haven't told me is going to come as a big surprise. She seemed amused, so I gather whatever it is won't be too much of a shock." "Ah. Well..." "You don't have to tell me right this second." He sounded amused himself. Her heart was beating a little too fast and her mind jittered along the surface of her thoughts like a water bug. "I'm more than a little surprised that Nettie is a councillor. I thought they would all be Nokolai." "Nettie is Nokolai." "Is she?" They were facing each other now, their hands clasped. "Did she become part of the clan when she married your uncle? Or does mating mean something more than mar-riage?" He touched her cheek. "I should have known you would turn up a clue or two. You heard about mates." She nodded. Hope and guesses tangled in her throat, keep-ing her from speaking. So much depended on the accuracy of those guesses....

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"There is something about my people you don't know. Something no one outside the clans knows." He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Over half of all lupi never father a child. And fertility is ... limited ... in the rest of us." It wasn't what she'd expected to hear. "But—you have two children—" "By two different mothers. Few women conceive by us, and of those who do, none has ever borne more than a single child." "It's the magic in you. It screws with the results in DNA tests, too." "You see why only a lupus who has sired sons is able to become Lu Nuntius?" She nodded slowly. "The outside world considers us promiscuous. In your terms, this is true. The need for children shapes us, defines us. We are seldom fertile with women of our own people, so we seek bed partners wherever we can. Not indiscriminately. We don't want our children birthed or raised by a chance-met stranger in a bar. But our survival as a people depends on those of us who are fertile siring as many children as possible." "And you're fertile." Lily was dazed, as she'd heard gun-shot victims sometimes were in the first seconds—the blow registers, but isn't real yet. Not real enough to hurt. She re-membered the men at the childcare center arguing over who got to stay with the babies. The swarms of children every-where. Not everyone gets to be a mommy,the little girl had told her. Not everyone—relatively few—got to be a daddy, either. "That's why lupi don't marry," she whispered. "Because to be faithful to one woman would be to betray the needs of your people." "Yes." Abruptly the numbness was ripped away. Pain wrenched her around to face the water, hugging herself as if something vital was leaking out, like blood from a gut wound. "I can't... I can't do it, Rule. It wasn't long ago I said you were going too fast, and maybe I'm doing that now. You haven't... but for me, this has gone too far. I can't share you." "No!" He grabbed her shoulders, spun her around. "Lily, I didn't mean—I thought you knew about mates!" "I thought so, too. At least, I'd made some guesses." Her voice shook and her legs weren't too steady, either. She held on to his arms. "But no one came right out and said what—" One second she was holding him and being held. The next she was rolling on the ground where he'd thrown her. Rule howled. The eerie, ululating cry had goose bumps popping out on her flesh even as she threw her arms out, stop-ping her skid toward the lake. She pushed up onto her hands and knees—and stared. He was Changing. Flickering—no, it was as if reality itself flickered, time bending in and out of itself like a Mobius strip on speed. Impossible not to watch. Impossible to say what she saw—a shoulder, furred,

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or was it bare? A paw; a muzzle that was also Rule's face—a stretching, snapping disfocus, magic strobing its fancy over reality. And then there was a wolf. Huge, black and silver furred, snarling. And three other wolves racing at them from fifty feet up the shoreline. Lily's gun was in her hand, though she didn't remember drawing it. The wolves moved like streaks of pure speed, im-possibly fast. She pushed to her knees, aimed, and fired—just as the black and silver wolf beside her launched himself at the one in the lead. She hit the one on the left in the haunches. It didn't stop him—he still threw himself at the snarling tangle the other two wolves made. The third wolf veered toward her and leaped— huge, beautiful, and terrifying, jaws open. Lily shot him in that gaping mouth. The silver-alloy bullet went into the brain. The beast con-vulsed in midair. Lily scrambled back, but still it fell half on top of her, pinning her, smearing her with blood. And raised that bloody head and lunged for her throat. She rammed her gun against the wolf's skull and squeezed the trigger. Blood and brains spattered, and the big body col-lapsed. Lily pushed out from under the wolf and scrambled to her feet. Ten feet away, three wolves fought. She saw them clearly in the moon-washed night. She knew which one was Rule. Though she'd only seen him in wolf form for a few seconds, she knew him. But they moved too fast, stayed too close. She circled, but couldn't get a clear shot. Then one of the wolves—the one she'd wounded, she thought—staggered back, whimpering in pain. Blood, black in the moonlight, poured from what was left of its face. And the black and silver wolfs jaws were clamped on the back of the neck of the other attacker. He shook the beast, then flung him away to fall, bloody and broken, one paw twitching. Then he turned, snarling, on the one left. "No, Rule!” Lily ran forward. "I need him alive to inter-rogate!" She stopped beside the black and silver wolf, who stood with his head lowered, hackles raised, teeth bared. His shoul-ders reached her hipbone. One of them was gashed and bleed-ing. More blood dripped from his muzzle, and a deep growl rumbled from his chest. Lily aimed her weapon at the other wolf. "Silver bullets," she said tersely. "Don't move." Then in a whisper to Rule, "He does understand me, right?" The growl cut off. The big wolf lifted his head to look at her in what she could have sworn was surprise. Or maybe amusement. "Oh, yeah," she muttered. "If you understand me, then he does. Okay. You, there—you have the right to remain silent— at least you will, as soon as you're back on two legs. You— oh, shit." Four more wolves raced toward them along the shore.

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A big head nudged her thigh. Rule-wolf pointed his muzzle at those who approached so quickly, then nodded, his mouth opening in a grin a great deal like Worf s. "Those are the good guys, huh?" When he nodded again she breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. We could use some backup." And went back to informing the suspect of the rights he'd have when he wasn't furry anymore. THECOUNTYSHERIFF 'S office, while it wasn't much like headquarters outwardly, held a comforting familiarity for Lily. Cops were cops, even when they were deputies. She was fin-ishing up a report, using one of the deputy's computers. Unlike her, the deputy had a tiny office to himself. The sounds that came from the bullpen weren't much different from those at the city's cop shop. And the coffee was just as bad. When the report was done she'd email it to the captain. She'd spoken to him on the phone briefly. He'd told her that the leak to the press had comefrom the mayor's office—a secretary interested in helping the mayor's opponent in the next election, it seemed. Lily frowned at the screen. The text was trying to blur on her. God, she was tired. She paused for another sip of awful coffee. Of the three wolves who'd attacked them, two were back in human form and being treated for injuries. One was in crit-ical condition; he'd lost more blood than a human could have survived and had gone into shock. The other—the one whose neck Rule had broken—was actually in better shape. Para-lyzed, yes, but with lupi that was a temporary condition. The one she'd shot would never walk on two legs again. Or four. Lily was putting off thinking about that. She'd been able to question the one with the broken neck before the sheriff arrived and he was taken to the hospital. He'd confirmed that they were Leidolf, and claimed that the one she'd killed had been the killer she was after. According to Rule, he'd told the truth. Lily was hoping for a little hard evidence to back that up, now that they had names and faces for the conspirators. Some of the conspirators, anyway. The man she'd ques-tioned insisted that the three Leidolf who had attacked her and Rule were the only ones involved in the killings, that they'd acted without their Clan chiefs knowledge or consent. They'd attacked because their Nokolai contact—whom he insisted wasn't involved in the killings—had told them about the Council meeting, thinking it was to be later that night. The Nokolai traitor turned out to be a woman. No one Lily had met. Lily was embarrassed. Unconsciously she'd kept right on equating clan interests with lupi, and lupi with male. She 'hadn't considered any of the women of the clan as suspects because they couldn't be the killer. Dumb. Lily had taken the woman into custody immediately, unsure that the lupi's ven-eration of women would protect her from their notions of jus-tice. So far, the woman wasn't talking. But she was scared— and not of the police. Lily figured she'd end up with a second witness if she could get the woman into the Witness Protection Program. Which was what she was recommending to her chief right now. Her fingers paused on the keyboard. Rule was here. She knew it without turning to look, without his having made a sound. She swiveled her chair.

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He stood in the doorway. He wore tattered denim, not black. The last time she'd seen him he'd been furless, naked, and covered in blood—much of it not his, thank God—with Nettie calmly stitching the worst of the wounds. Lily had had to leave with her prisoners and the sheriff. He looked a lot better now. Except for his eyes. He had the rest of his expression locked down tight, but his eyes told the real story. She shoved the chair back and went to him. His arms closed around her, hard. He buried his face in her hair. She knew he was breathing her in, just as she was him. After a moment she said, "How do you do that thing with your clothes, anyway? They didn't rip when you turned furry. They just weren't on you anymore." His chuckle was real, if strained. "You never run out of questions. I don't know exactly what happens, except that they aren't part of me so they aren't part of the Change. Lily." He ran both hands over her hair. "I've never been so scared in my life. They were on us so fast, and I couldn't stop them. Not all of them. I didn't think you had a chance." "I'm pretty fast for a human." She hugged him tightly around the waist, where he didn't have any wounds. "Maybe now you'll relax when I'm driving." "Maybe I will." A deeply held tension was easing out of him. "I was still scared, afterwards." She swallowed. "I know what you mean. I am, too." "I knew you'd let me hold you again. That's the nature of the mate bond. But I didn't know if you would want me to, after what you saw tonight." Shewas the one who had killed someone tonight, not him. But Lily didn't have the energy to get off on side issues. Ex-haustion was turning her brain to lint. "Speaking of the mate bond... I don't know what the hell that is. We were inter-rupted, remember?" "I think you've guessed the important part." He cupped her face and smiled into her eyes. "Some say the mate bond is nature's way of apologizing for our troubles with fertility. It doesn't happen often, but once in a long while, a lupus finds his mate, the woman who is so supremely right for him that no other will do. His life-mate. I knew you before I saw you, Lily. The moment you walked into the room, your scent reached me and I knew." She swallowed. "So it's like true love, lupus style?" He brushed a kiss across her mouth. "Very like that." "And it doesn't cause problems? With the clan, I mean. If you have to bow out of the fertility business—" He laughed. "I've been out of the fertility business since I met you. There can be problems, yes, but not that way. If a lupus is lucky enough to find his mate, no one expects him to keep spreading his seed around. It would be ...abomination. Like rape, or the worst form of prostitution."

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"But it can cause problems." He nodded slowly. 'That's the other reason everyone was so curious about you. Just because a lupus finds his mate doesn't mean she'll be able to accept him, his people, and his ways. Sometimes ..." His throat muscles worked. "Sometimes he has to choose between his clan and his mate. But you had no fear-scent." His thumbs stroked along her cheeks. "You have no idea how important that is, how everyone rejoiced for me. Women who are deeply afraid of us often can't adjust. They may try, but they can't become one of the clan." Happiness swelled inside her, so large and grand she had to tell him. "I love you, Rule." He kissed her, and that was delightful, but after a moment she pointed out, "You're sup-posed to say it back to me." His eyebrows lifted slightly. "You know how I feel." "Wrong answer." Her lips twitched. "This mate bond doesn't make everything perfect, does it?" "No. It just makes everything possible." A long time later he was sitting in the visitor's chair, one of those plastic devices supposedly shaped like people but that don't really fit anyone's rump. It couldn't have been comfort-able. She was, though, since she was in his lap. "So, are we engaged?" "If you like. In the eyes of my people, we're already mar-ried." "In the eyes of my people, we aren't. So I think engaged is a good idea. That makes you part ofmy family. Speaking of which..." She thought about all she still had to tell him. To explain. Things that were known only within the family. Maybe it was stretching a point to call him family before they married, but he had to know. They might have children. From what he'd said that was far from certain... but with Grandmother involved, matters often fell out quite differently than anyone expected. And she was likely to be involved. Some traits were passed through the male line. Some through the female. Very few of the women in Lily's family inherited Grandmother's abilities; Lily hadn't, and she didn't think anyone alive today had, either. Probably it was a reces-sive trait. But Lily carried that heritage in her genes. She would pass the possibility on to her daughters. All her life she'd had issues about just who was and wasn't considered human, and here she was, more or less proposing to a werewolf. "Rule, you know that we sometimes call Grand-mother 'Tiger Lady'?" He smiled. "I can handle being related to your grandmother if you can." "That's good. Because she's not a witch, like you thought." "Lily, I felt her power." "I know, but..." She settled herself more comfortably and began, "You see, lycanthropy isn't just a guy thing."

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2 - Tempting Danger (2004)

Irresistible It was the way Lily refused to see him, as if she could pretend she didn't feel the pull as long as she didn't look directly at him. He took two steps closer, stopping near enough that her scent welcomed him, even if the rest of her did not. The jump of his heartbeat warned him to make this quick. "Yes, we'll go," he said. "But first…" And he leaned in to plant a kiss on her frowning mouth. He expected a punch, and not just from the kiss. He'd already decided to let her connect. But he didn't expect to land on his butt in the dirt. Rule stared up at her, astonished. She'd hooked her leg behind his knee, pulled—and down he went, before his mouth even touched hers. "Ask, don't assume." She opened the car door. "Oh, and you can give me that explanation," she said, climbing in, "on the way back." And she slammed the door shut. ONE HE didn't have much face left. Lily stood well back, keeping her new black heels out of the pool of

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blood that was dry at die edges, still gummy near the body. She'd seen worse when she worked Traffic Division, she reminded herself. But it was different when the mangling had been done on purpose. Mist hung in the warm air, visible in front of the police spotlights, clammy against her face. The smell of blood was thick in her nostrils. Flashes went off in a crisp one-two as the photographer recorded the scene. "Hey, Yu," the officer behind the camera called. He was a short man with chipmunk cheeks and red hair cut so short it looked like the fuzz on a peach. She grimaced. O'Brien never tired of a joke, no matter how stale. If they both lived to be a hundred and ran into each other in the nursing home, the first thing he'd say to her would be, "Hey,Yu!" That is, assuming she kept her maiden name for the next eighty-two years. Considering the giddy whirl she laughingly called a social life, that seemed possible. "Yeah, Irish?" "Looks like you had a hot date tonight." "No, me and my cat always dress for dinner. Dirty Harry looks great in a tux." O'Brien snorted and moved to get another angle. Lily tuned him out along with the other S.O.C. officer, the curious behind the chain-link fence, and the uniforms keeping them there. Spilled blood draws a crowd as easily as spilled sugar draws flies. The members of the public attending this particular crime scene probably didn't come from this neighborhood, though. Here, people assumed that curiosity came with a price tag. They knew what a drive-by sounded like, and the look of a drug deal going down. The members of the public craning their necks for a glimpse of gore were probably customers of the nightclub up the street. Club Hell did attract a distinctive clientele. The victim didn't look as if he came from around here, either. He lay on his back on the dirty pavement. There was a Big Gulp cup, smashed flat, by his feet, a scrap of newspaper under his butt, and a broken beer bottle by his foot. Whatever had torn out his throat and made a mess of his face had left the eye and cheekbone on the right side intact. One startled brown eye stared up at nothing from smooth skin the color of the wicker chair on her mother's porch. Name-brand jeans, she noted, the kind you find in pricey department stores. Black athletic shoes, again an expensive brand. A red silk shirt. The silk of the right sleeve of that shirt was shredded over the forearm. Three deep gouges there—defensive wounds. That arm was out-flung, the hand lying palm up with the fingers curled inward the way a child's will when it sleeps. His other hand lay about twelve feet away, up against one of the poles of the swing set. A playground. Someone had ripped this guy's face off in a playground, for God's sake. There was a hard ache in Lily's throat, a tightness across her shoulders. She'd seen death often enough since she was promoted to Homicide. Her stomach no longer turned over, but the regret, the sorrow over the waste, never went away.

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He wasn't young enough to have enjoyed those swings recently—mid-twenties, maybe. She put him at about five ten, weight one eighty. Weight lifter's shoulders and arms, powerful thighs. He'd been strong, perhaps cocky in his strength. Strength hadn't done him much good tonight. Neither had the .22 pistol he'd apparently brought with him. It rested near the severed hand, as if it had fallen from those fingers once death relaxed them. "Careful, Detective. Don't get your pretty dress dirty." Lily didn't look away from the body. She knew the voice, having taken the man's report when she first arrived. "More crime scenes are contaminated by police officers than civilians. You have a reason for bringing your big feet over here, Phillips?" "I'm ten feet from the body, for Chrissake." Now she looked at him. Officer Larry Phillips was one-half of the responding unit. Lily hadn't run across him before, but she knew the type. He was over forty, still on the streets and sour about it. She was female, twenty-eight, and already a detective. He didn't like her. "Believe it or not, evidence has been found more than ten feet from the victim. What do you want?" "Came to let you know none of the helpful citizens over by the fence admits to having seen anything. They were partying at the club, left together, and saw the pretty lights flashing on the squad cars. Came over to see what was going on." "Club Hell, you mean?" "That's where you'll need to look for your killer. The lab won't learn squat about this one." "There are other types of evidence." He snorted. "Yeah, maybe he dropped a calling card. Or maybe you agree with my partner. He thinks a puppy dog did it." She glanced at the gap in the chain-link fence that served as an entry, where Phillips's partner—a young Hispanic officer— was one of the officers handling crowd control, taking names and addresses. "Your partner's a rookie?" "Yeah." Phillips took a wrapped toothpick out of his pocket, peeled the cellophane off, and stuck it in his mouth. "I explained about puppy dogs and how they don't usually bite a hand off in one chomp." Phillips wasn't stupid, she acknowledged. Just annoying. She nodded. "A fit man can usually fight a dog off. Not much sign of a fight, and there's that pistol…" Which the victim had probably been carrying, though it was just possible there'd been a third person at the scene. She shook her head. "The beast must have hit him quick." "They're fast, all right. Poor bastard probably didn't have time to know his hand was gone." "He had good instincts, though. He tried to pull his head down, protect his neck. That's when he lost some of his face. Then it ripped out his throat."

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"Now, now. You're not supposed to say 'it' We have to say 'he' now, treat 'em like people. Full rights under the law." "I know the law." She glanced up at Phillips. Way up—he was a long, stringy man, well over six feet. Of course, Lily had to look up to meet almost anyone's eyes. She'd almost persuaded herself that didn't irritate her anymore. "This is your turf, Officer. Can you ID the victim?" "He's not from the hood." "Yeah, I got that much. Maybe came here for a little action—dope, sex, maybe the slightly more legal entertainment of Club Hell. If he's a regular, you could have seen him around." He shook his head. The toothpick seemed glued to his bottom lip. "This wasn't a drug killing, or pimp punishing a John who didn't pay. Not even murder, really." Three years ago a case like this would have been handled by the X-Squad. Now it went to Homicide. "The courts say otherwise." "And we know how smart those bleeding heart judges are. According to them, we're supposed to treat the beasts like they're human now. That mess at your feet proves what a great idea that is." "I've seen uglier things done by men to other men. And to women. And the scene still has to be kept clear." "Sure thing, Detective." Phillips gave her a mocking grin, turned, then paused and took the toothpick out of his mouth. When he met her eyes, the mockery and anger had faded from his. "A word of advice from someone who put in fifteen years on the X-Squad. Call them whatever you like, but don't mistake the lupi for human. They're hard to hurt, they're faster than us, they're stronger, and they like the way we taste." "This one doesn't seem to have done much tasting." He shrugged. "Something interrupted him. Don't forget that they're only legally human when they're on two legs. You run into one when it's four-footed, don't arrest it. Shoot it." He flicked the toothpick to the ground. "And aim for the brain." "I'll bear that in mind. Pick up your toothpick." "What?" "The toothpick. It's not part of the crime scene. Pick it up." He scowled, bent, snatched it from the ground, and went away muttering about brass-balled bitches. "Don't think you made a friend there," O'Brien said cheerfully. "I'm all torn up about it, too." She paused. The car pulling up behind the ambulance was from the coroner's office. Better get it done. "Looks like our victim will be declared legally dead soon. You finished with the pictures?"

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"You need to get a closer look?" The words were innocuous, the tone of voice casual, but she knew what he meant. O'Brien had worked with her enough to know it wasn't a closer look she was after. He wouldn't say anything, though. It wasn't illegal to be a sensitive, but it could be complicated. The department's official policy about such things was, "Don't ask, don't tell." This wasn't pure prejudice. Irreproducible data was not admissible in court, and a good defense attorney could rip an officer's testimony to shreds if there was a whiff of the paranormal about the investigation. But cops tend to be pragmatic. The unofficial policy was to use whatever it took to catch the bad guys, even if you had to do it under the table. Which was why Lily was in a slum studying a corpse instead of fending off Henry Chen at her sister's engagement party. Which just proved there was a bright side to everything. Lily met O'Brien's eyes and nodded. "Go ahead," he said and shifted to stand between her and the crowd by the fence, fussing with his camera. He wasn't big enough to completely block anyone's view, but he'd made it hard for them to see exactly what she did. Lily appreciated it. She set her backpack on the ground and moved closer to the corpse, then knelt, careful of the way her skirt rode up. And reached for the dead man's hand. It was limp. No rigor mortis yet Skin waxy. His hand looked blue, and his face had a purplish cast. Lividity minimal. None of it was conclusive, but it did suggest he hadn't been dead long when dispatch received the anonymous tip at 11:04. He'd kept his nails short and clean. They were square, the fingers short for the size of the palm, which was broad and flat. Partially healed scrapes across the knuckles… he'd been in a fight a few days ago. Pale nail beds. No rings on the fingers. And no response in her own flesh. Blood had run into his palm to dry in a blackish brown patch that cracked slightly when she tilted the hand to catch the light better. That blood had trapped a tuft of mottled hair. Lily touched it. It was like touching the concrete after the sun had set and finding the lingering heat. Or like the moment after releasing a drill, when the flesh still held the memory of vibration. Though it wasn't really heat or vibration she felt. Lily had never found a word to describe the sensation of touching something that had been touched by magic, but it was unmistakable. She'd tried to explain that to her sister once—the younger one, Beth, not her perfect older sister. If everything you touched all day, every day, was smooth, the second you touched roughness you wouldknow . Even if it was only a tiny bit rough, as was the case tonight. No, Lily thought, setting the hand down gently. The lab crew wouldn't learn much about this killer. No more than she'd learned from touching the hairs he'd left behind in his victim's blood. She stood. "So, was the beast chaser right?" O'Brien asked. "Am I wasting my time collecting samples?"

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She gave him a sharp look. "You'll do things by the book." He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I need you to tell me how to do my job." "Sorry." She exhaled, pushing her emotions away with the breath. "Yes, Phillips was right. The victim was human, but the killer's a werewolf." "Lupus, you mean." He waggled his eyebrows at her. "We got a memo about that. Lupi is plural, lupus is singular." "A killer by any other name…" She shrugged, impatient with PC-speak, and glanced at the onlookers by the fence. "Looks like I'll be paying a visit to Club Hell tonight."

FIFTEEN minutes later, the coroner's assistant had declared the victim dead, and Lily had an ID: Carlos Fuentes, age twenty-five. The address on the driver's license was 4419 West Thomason, Apartment 33C. Phillips was running the license. Lily went to talk to the helpful citizens. There were six of them, four women and two men. Leather and body piercings seemed to be the dominant fashion theme for both sexes. And skin. The one currently looking at the driver's license she held in a plastic baggie wore leather pants dyed lime green and inch-wide leather straps crisscrossing her chest:X marks the spots. Her hair was blonde where it wasn't purple. She had seven earrings in her left ear, three in her right, a ruby stud in one nostril, and a tiny hoop in her navel. Her name was Stacy Farquhar. Her voice was as soft and high as a little girl's. "I know I've seen him before, but driver's licenses, you know, they never look like the person." A skeletally thin man in a black leather body suit was looking over her shoulder. His dark brown hair, glossy and well kept, hung past his shoulders. He wore a single earring in his left ear, either a diamond or a good imitation. "Looks like Carlos Fuentes." "Carlos?" That came from the other woman, a chubby Caucasian with dyed black hair twisted into dozens of braids. She crowded closer and peered at the license in Lily's hand. "Oh, God. It's him. Poor Carlos." "You know Carlos Fuentes, ma'am?" Lily asked. "We all do. That is… he hangs out at the club sometimes." She exchanged an uneasy look with the other woman. "Oh, for God's sake," the thin man said. "It's not like it's a secret. They're going to find out anyway." "You know what you are, Theo?" the chubby woman said. "Jealous. You're just jealous as hell." "Me, jealous? You're the one who—" "I can't believe you'd rat him out!" Stacy cried. "You know what kind of deal he'll get from the cops!"

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The chubby woman nodded. "They've always persecuted the lupi. Centuries of—" "… in a lather… everything but dope Rachel's drink to give you a shot at him." "Police brutality isn't a myth, you know. Just last year in New Hampshire—" "… rubbing all over him last Tuesday. Too, too obvious…" "Used to shoot them on sight, so if you think any lupi would get a fair hearing—" "But he didn't want any part of what you were offering, did he?" "You just wish he swung your way!" "Who'she? " Lily asked mildly. They fell silent, exchanging guilty glances. One of the men—Franklin Booth, medium build, shaved head, leather vest the color of his skin worn over a black shirt and jeans with silvery studs up the seams—tossed aside the cigarette he'd been smoking. "Poor Rachel." Lily turned to him. "Rachel?" "Carlos's wife." He sighed. "She's at the club now with—" "Franklin!" the chubby one exclaimed. "Sugar, it's no good," he said gently. "Theo is right. They're going to find out. And maybe he's alibied. I mean, we all saw him there, didn't we?" There was a relieved murmur, with Stacy asserting loudly that "he" had been there for hours. Lily spoke to Boom again. "Rachel Fuentes is at Club Hell now?" "She was when we left." "Who was she with?" The thin man laughed. "Why, who else would put the ladies in such a flutter? Some of us gentlemen, too, I'll admit," he added with a little bow to the chubby woman, conceding her point. "For all the good it does us. Lupi are religiously hetero." "I could use a name." "Rule Turner, of course. The prince graces the club with his presence now and then." He smirked. "Recently he's been gracing Rachel with a good deal more."

LILY had orders to call Captain Randall once she'd finished the preliminaries. She did this on her way to Club Hell.

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The click-click from her heels on the sidewalk made her feel isolated, though she could hear the bustle at the crime scene behind her. She blamed the feeling on the odd mist, so unlike San Diego. It hung in the air like a cold sweat. She was glad she didn't wear glasses. She just wished she wasn't wearing heels. They'd be hell to run in. Of course, she was supposed to have been off duty tonight. She punched in the captain's number. She couldn't remember the last confirmed case of a human killed by a lupus. Certainly there hadn't been one in San Diego since the Supreme Court's ruling rendered the lupi subject to the penalties and protections of the law instead of a bullet. It didn't take a precog to picture tomorrow's headlines. This one was going to generate a lot of heat. Lily's years in Vice and Homicide prior to making detective had rubbed the green off, but her shield was still shiny. She figured she could be philosophical about handing this one off to one of the senior detectives…after she conducted the initial interviews at Club Hell. Randall was waiting for her call. It didn't take long to summarize her progress. "After speaking with the bystanders, I followed the tracks left by the perp. Visible traces petered out near the west end of the playground, but I was able to continue beyond that." She'd taken off her shoes and stockings, actually, letting her bare feet find traces where magic had passed. Her feet were filthy now, but it had worked. "The trail ended in an alley between Humstead Avenue and North Lee." "You couldn't track him beyond that?" "No, sir. I believe he Changed there, between two Dumpsters." The magic imprinted on the dirty concrete had been strong—unfamiliar but distinctive. "In human form, he wouldn't leave the kind of traces he does in wolf form." "Hmm. You've secured the alley?" "Yes, sir. The S.O.C. crew will get to it when they can. I left O'Brien in charge at the scene." "What the hell do you mean, you left him in charge? Where are you?" "Outside Club Hell," she said, exaggerating a trifle, since it was still half a block away. "The victim's wife should be there. I need to notify her. I also need to talk to Rule Turner." The raspy sound in her ear was only recognizable as a chuckle because she'd heard it before. "Think you're stealing a march on me, Yu? Relax. I didn't have you yanked out of your sister's fancy party because I wanted someone else in charge." "Then it's still my case?" "You're lead. Unless you think you can't handle it." "No, sir, I do not think that. But I don't have as much experience as some of the others." "Your, uh, particular skills may be useful. And the last thing I need is some prejudiced asshole making like a tough guy with the Nokolai prince. He's good at playing the press, and they're going to be breathing down our necks on this one. So it's yours. But unless you get a confession right off the bat,

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you're going to need help." Still swimming in surprise, Lily agreed automatically. "I can let you have Meckle or Brady." "Mech. Sergeant Meckle, I mean." Both were good cops, but Brady didn't play well with others—especially young, female others. 'Tell him to pick up an evidence vac and some paper from O'Brien. If the lupi at the club cooperate, I'll get their shoes for the lab. Mech can vacuum their clothes." "The killer wasn't wearing clothes when he ripped out Fuentes's throat." "No, sir. We won't be able to tie him to the scene, but we might be able to connect him to the alley where he Changed. He'll have had a lot of Fuentes's blood on him. Even if the Change removed all traces from his body, it wouldn't clean up any drops that fell. Might be some of that blood got on his shoes after he dressed, or something else from the alley that connects him. Or maybe a few of his own hairs got in his clothes—wolf hairs, I mean." "Good thinking. It's worth a try. I'll roust Mech out of bed and send him to you. In the meantime, handle Turner carefully. Call if by some chance you make an arrest. Otherwise, I'll expect to see you in my office at nine." There was a click, followed by the dial tone. Lily frowned as she jammed the phone into its pocket in her backpack. She didn't suffer from false modesty. She was a good cop, a good detective—but she wasn't the only good detective in Homicide. The only sensitive, yes, but the captain could have had the use of her ability without putting her in charge. She'd never been lead on a case this big. He must think she was up for the challenge. She meant to prove him right. TWO THE mist had thickened. The smallest breath of wind would have chased the tiny droplets together, turning dampness to drizzle, but the air remained still. Blurry halos hung around streetlamps, stoplights, and neon signs. Like the one Lily was looking up at now. Neon red devils danced at either end of the sign, jabbing tiny pitchforks into the glowing letters that read Club Hell. "Kitschy," she murmured. The sign suggested a fifties sort of naughtiness, innocent compared to the real nastiness of the neighborhood. How long had the club been around, anyway? "I wonder if that's on purpose?" "Pardon?" She glanced at the young man who'd spoken—Officer Arturo Gonzales, Phillips's partner. He was about five inches taller than her and husky in a fit, just-out-of-the-service way, but with the kind of round cheeks old ladies like to pinch. She'd sent him to keep an eye on the club's entrance until she could get here. "The club must do a pretty good business if they can afford a parking lot and guard. You ever been inside, Officer?"

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"No, ma'am." A smile tugged at her mouth. "You're Southern, I take it." "No, ma'am. I'm from westTexas ." "Sounds Southern to me." He nodded seriously. "Funny how people who aren't fromTexas think that. I guess it's like with folks fromLos Angeles . They never say they're from the West Coast orCalifornia — justL.A. " "I guess that says it all. What do you know about Club Hell?" His lips twisted. "It's a werewolf hangout. Them and their groupies." "Don't forget adventurous tourists. They like to check it out, too." She studied him a moment. Lupus sexual mores being what they were, the nightclub was considered seriously depraved. Naturally this made it a popular spot. 'Texas was one of the shoot-on-sight states, wasn't it?" "Yes, ma'am, it was. Till the courts changed things." "Well, California wasn't. So it's always been legal to be a lupus here, as long as you were registered." That's who originally hung out at Club Hell—the registered lupi, the ones who'd been given shots that prevented the Change. The ones people thought were safe. "Your X-Squads killed them." "Only if they violently resisted registration or if a court determined there was a clear and present danger." That was the theory, at least. Federal law used to call for all lupi to be registered—forcibly, if necessary—and given the shots. But "forcibly" covers a lot of territory when you're dealing with creatures who can absorb a couple of rounds without slowing down on their way to rip out your throat. Lupi had been notoriously averse to the registration process. "I'm going to talk to the people inside now," Lily said. ""Some of them will be lupi. They're citizens now, entitled to the same rights as other citizens. You okay with that, or do I need to get someone else to assist?" He thought it over. Lily didn't know whether to be appalled it how much thought it took, or impressed by his honesty. At last he nodded. "Guess we're around to enforce the law, not decide on right and wrong." "Guess we are." She started down. The entrance to Club Hell was, appropriately, located below ground level. Wide,shallow steps led underneath the building, down a tunnel faced with stone. It gave the descent a nice dungeon ambiance, she thought, though the cold blue lighting made Gonzales look like the walking dead. At the bottom was a plain metal door, painted black and leaking music. It swung open easily. Scent, sound, color—all smacked her in the face at once. Colored lights strobed a cavernous room crowded with tables, people, voices, and music. The ceiling was high and lost in darkness, the music was

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loud, and she smelled smoke. Not tobacco or pot. Not woodsmoke, or anything else she could name. More of a scent than actual smoke… someone's idea of brimstone, maybe? The song crashed to an end. Belatedly she identified it and grinned: "Hotel California." Management obviously believed in staying true to its theme. "Welcome to Hell," a deep bass voice rumbled on her left. "Now you must pay the price for crossing the portal." She turned her head. A little man with a big head and burly shoulders sat on a high stool beside a table holding an old-fashioned cash register. His suit could have come straight from an old black-and-white movie, but that wasn't what made Lily stare. He possessed ugliness the way a few rare souls possess beauty, an ugliness that fascinated. His nose was long and thin. It stretched toward his mouth like a cartoon witch's, as if it had melted, then re-formed in mid-drip. He had no hair, not much in the way of chin or lips, and skin the color of mushrooms. His feet were the size of Lily's hands and dangled well off the ground. She blinked. "Ah—there's a door fee?" 'Twenty a head." "Not this time. I'm Detective Yu," she said, taking her shield from a side pocket of the backpack and holding it out. "And you are… ?" "Call me Max." He squinted at her shield suspiciously. "So what do you want?" "To speak with some of your customers. I understand Rachel Fuentes and Rule Turner are here." "And I should care?" "You should cooperate. Are they here?" He shrugged. "I guess." "How long has Mr. Turner been in the club?" "Why?" "Because I'm a cop and I get to ask questions. Have you been at the door all evening?" "Since nine." "Do you know how long Turner's been here?" "Maybe." He didn't add to that, just stared at her. He had a disconcerting stare, unblinking as a reptile's. Lily's lips thinned. "Maybe I should speak to the owner or manager."

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"No manager, and I'm the owner." He sighed. "All right, all right. His Big-Deal Highness arrived at nine-fifteen, nine-thirty, something like that. Fuentes was already here." Nine-thirty. That was within her best-guess window for when Fuentes had been killed, but she was hardly an expert. "Where's your exits?" “This one and the fire exit at the back." He sighed heavily. "I hate cops." "And I should care?" "Maybe you aren't as stupid as you look." He spoke pessimistically, as if he held out little hope of the possibility. "Nice boobs, though. I like 'em little. Want to fuck?" Her mouth fell open. Her hands twitched with the urge to strangle the little creep. "Want to spend the next couple weeks locked up in a teensy, tiny cell?" "Hey, I just asked." 'Take me to Rachel Fuentes." Popcorn? Did she smell popcorn? Surely not. "She's with Turner." "Then take me to Turner." "You don't read the papers? Everyone knows what he looks like." "I've seen pictures." The prince of the Nokolai Clan was something of a celebrity, appearing in gossip columns and magazines, getting his picture snapped with actresses, models, and the odd politician or business tycoon. He lobbied Sacramento and Washington for his people and partied with the Hollywood crowd. "I'd still like him pointed out. And Rachel Fuentes." "All right, all right. You!" He hopped off his stool as he yelled at a bare-chested young man distributing drinks. "Dip-shit! Come take the door." He scowled up at Lily. "You coming or not?" And started off. Lily followed him into the crowded room, Gonzales trailing behind. Her stomach was starting to hurt. In a few minutes she'd be telling Rachel Fuentes that her husband had been murdered. Maybe the woman had been getting some exotic extramarital nooky. Didn't mean she'd take news of her husband's death calmly. Experience had taught Lily that love took many forms, not all of them obvious or even healthy. At least this time she wouldn't have to treat the new widow as a murder suspect. Accessory, maybe, but whoever had killed Carlos Fuentes, it hadn't been his wife. There was no such thing as a female werewolf. Her short, surly escort had paused to deal with a couple of customers who wanted to know when the floor show would begin. When he started moving, Lily asked again for his name. She'd need it for her report. "Don't listen well, do you? Max."

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"You have a last name?" "Smith." Smith? That shrunken blob of malevolence was named Smith? Gonzales moved closer and whispered, "He looks like a gnome." 'Too big. Too mean. And who ever heard of a gnome hanging around humans?" "A crazy gnome, then. On steroids." Her lips twitched. "I guess so, in a psycho sort of way. But gnomes can't own property." Though that would change, if the Species Citizenship Bill went through. The place was busy. They threaded their way through a maze of small, black tables and their chattering occupants. The overhead lights had stopped playing rainbows and were stuck on a less-than-hellish rosy pink. A glance overhead told her the lights came from spots fixed on scaffolding that crisscrossed the gloomy upper regions. Red candles flickered on most of the tables. A circular stage, currently empty, held down the center of the big room, while neon flames climbed the stone walls. So did two circular staircases, fading into darkness after the first story. She saw a lot of odd hair and look-at-me clothes, but many of the customers looked like club hoppers anywhere. Gonzales's uniform drew a lot of attention as they reached the dance floor, which was emptying now that the music had stopped. Through the thinning crowd she saw where Max Smith was taking them. In the farthest right corner of the room three larger tables floated in their own little island of space, set apart from the rest. There were five men at those tables… and a lot of women. All of the' men were dark-haired, probably Anglos. One of them looked naked, though the table hid his lower half. Maybe he was one of the servers, who were all young, male, and bare from the belly button up. The women were more of a melting pot. She counted three redheads, two African Americans, three blondes, and four women with brown or black hair. Lily had reached the edge of the dance floor when two of the women stood. The shorter one looked Hispanic, though it was hard to be sure. The pink lighting was flattering but not very bright. She had butt-length hair and large breasts fighting to escape the bodice of her tight red dress. She bent over the man closest to her, the one in the table's center. He had one of the redheads snuggled up on his other side. He turned his head. Lily got a glimpse of his face before the woman's hair fell forward, curtaining what looked like an enthusiastic kiss. Rule Turner. Even in the dim light, he was easy to ID. She'd already guessed that the power at that table rested with the man at its center. Bodies tilted subtly his way. Chairs were arranged so the others could see him. And he was the very picture of elegant

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debauchery, wasn't he? Sprawled in his chair so comfortably, loose-limbed, his black shirt unbuttoned nearly to the waist. Kissing one woman while he held on to another. Lily's lip curled. "Mr. Smith," she said. He didn't pause or acknowledge her, so she took a quick step to catch up and put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. And snatched it back immediately, amazed. The buzz had been strong enough to come through his suit. / guess some gnomes really are hostile little perverts, and not shy at all … "What?" he snapped, turning. "Is that Rachel Fuentes?" She resisted the urge to rub her palm and nodded at the woman who, having finished kissing Turner, was leaving the table with her friend. "Yeah." She turned to Gonzales. "Keep an eye on her. She's probably headed for the ladies' room, but we don't want to take any chances. If she tries to leave, stop her. Don't tell her why, don't answer questions. Bring her to me." He nodded and moved away. "The men at those tables—are they all lupi?" "They're the draw, aren't they? Not that I don't put on a good show, too. Stay around, and you'll see." He winked. "I'm going to need a place to conduct interviews." "I won't have you hassling my customers." She considered the unpleasant little man—if that's what she should call him. Did male gnomes think of themselves as men? "Are we going to argue about every request I make?" "Probably." He turned and walked off. Lily followed, and got her first close-up look at Rule Turner. Mixed European heritage, she thought, looking at sculpted cheekbones and a strong, slightly crooked nose.Great teeth , she added when he grinned at something said by the man across from him—a man whose hair halfway hid the silvery numbers of a tattoo, indicating he'd once been registered.Not to mention wicked eyebrows . Lily noticed eyebrows the way some people paid attention to shoulders or lips, and Turner's were distinctive—dark slashes that mirrored the angle of his cheekbones. The eyebrows in question lifted quizzically when he noticed them approaching. Then dark eyes met hers, and she stopped thinking altogether. …what ? she thought a second later.What the hell was that ? "… tongue back in your mouth," Max was saying. "Got a woman for you, but this one claims to be a detective." He added something in a language Lily didn't recognize. One of the men laughed.

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Some kind of blood sugar thing, maybe? But she hadn't gone dizzy or fainted. Just… blank. "Ignore Max," the bare-chested man said. "He doesn't have to practice obnoxious—he's got it down pat." Lily gave him a closer look. He was lean, with tousled hair the color of cinnamon and the most stunningly perfect face she'd ever seen on a man or woman. Not to mention an incredible body… which she could see a great deal of, though a few details were concealed by the table. She blinked. "You're naked." "Not quite, darling. G-string. Must keep Max legal." It said something about Turner's presence that she'd noticed this nearly nude Adonis second. "And your name is?" "Cullen. Come have a seat, love." He patted his thigh as if he expected her to plop down in his lap. "Rule doesn't need any more women." "And you do?" Turner retorted mildly. His voice was rich and nuanced, like melted chocolate. No registration tattoo, she noted. "But I suspect it's a moot point. Is this an official visit?" "I need to ask some questions, Mr. Turner. I'm Detective Yu," she said, once more holding out her shield. He barely glanced at it. "I'll be happy to help," he murmured, making it sound as if the help he offered was highly personal. "Call me Rule." Not in this lifetime. "Do you know Carlos Fuentes?" One of the women started to laugh but turned it into a cough. Others grinned. "We're acquainted," Turner said, unperturbed. "I've been seeing his wife, Rachel." Candid fellow, wasn't he? "Are they separated?" "No, they're quite happy together." "Well, to use 'seeing' in a less ambiguous sense, have you seen Carlos tonight?" "No." The eyebrows lifted. He glanced at the others. "Anyone?" It appeared, from the murmurs and headshakes, that no one had seen Fuentes. Max went so far as to state that Fuentes hadn't been in the club. Turner faced her. "What's going on?" "How long have you been here?" His fingers thrummed once on the table. "I'll play along a little longer. Then I want some answers. I arrived shortly after nine."

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"And you haven't left the club since then?" "No. I believe I can find witnesses to confirm that, if necessary." Three of the women spoke at once. "Hold on a second," Lily said, setting down her backpack so she could get her notebook from it. "I'll need your names. You first," she said to the tall, dark-skinned woman closest to her. She looked alarmed. "Is this really necessary? I don't want my name in the papers." "I don't have any control over what the papers print, and yes, it is necessary." The redhead draped against Turner's side chuckled. "Come on, Bet, you're always saying you don't care what that husband of yours thinks." "Ex-husband, as of tomorrow," the black woman snapped, "and he can eat worms. It's not him I'm worried about, it's the partners. They aren't exactly liberals." "All law firms are conservative. It's the nature of the beast." The redhead straightened. She had a piquant little face shaped like a cat's—wide through the forehead and temples, narrowing to a pointy chin. Her hair was cropped extremely short, and gold dangled from her ears. No learner, but her snug white top showed off plenty of creamy skin that suggested she was a natural redhead. "I'll be happy to testify that Rule's been here since nine-twenty or so, Detective Yu." The slight stress on Lily's last name caught her attention. "And your name is?" "Ginger." A small smile played over her lips. "Ginger Harris." Lily froze. "Didn't recognize me, did you? Well, it's been a long time. Imagine you growing up to be a cop. While I…" she laughed, high and tinkling. "I became a slut." Turner said something. Lily didn't take it in. How could she have failed to recognize Ginger's eyes? The color, the size, the shape… they were set wide and so deep that the upper lid almost disappeared. The pupils were a dark amber, like a beer bottle held up to the sun. Her eyebrows were skimpy, like her lashes. But it had been so long. Lily hadn't seen those eyes since shortly before her seventh birthday… except in the occasional nightmare. Ginger's eyes were just like her sister's. "You're wearing contacts," she said stupidly. "Lasix surgery, actually. You haven't changed much, aside from growing a few inches. Still the same sweet, serious little prig you were back then." Lily wanted to ask Ginger if her world was divided into prigs and sluts. She wanted to ask about Ginger's parents, her brother. But there was a dead man on his way to die morgue. She had to be Detective Yu now, not Lily. "I'll need a current address." "If you want to do lunch, sugar, I'll give you my cell number. Hard to catch me at home."

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"I need your address for my report." Ginger made a little moue of distaste. "All work, aren't you? Oh, all right. I'm at 22129 Thornton, Apartment 133." "And now," Turner said, "we have demonstrated our willingness to cooperate with the police. I'd like to know what investigation we're cooperating in." Lily met his eyes. Nothing happened. Idiot. Had she really been afraid that something would? Blood sugar, that's all it had been. She held his gaze for a moment to prove that she could… and felt a tug deep in her belly, the liquid roll of desire. Unmistakable. Infuriating. "Homicide," she said, and hoped her face was as hard to read as his. "This is a homicide investigation." Everyone else reacted. Not Turner. He didn't shift position by so much as a finger. Rather, he seemed to gather stillness around him like a force field, a quiet whose power lapped out over the others, gradually silencing them. He spoke two words: "Who died?" "Carlos Fuentes." "Jesus!" one of the men exclaimed. "Oh, no, poor Rachel," came from one of the women. And the naked Adonis— Cullen—looked briefly, intensely relieved. Turner's gaze suddenly shifted to behind Lily. "You'll be kind to Rachel," he told her, then stood and started around the table. She turned. Rachel Fuentes was returning. From a distance, all Lily had seen of the woman were big breasts and magnificent hair. Up close… Lily blinked, startled. According to the gossip columns, Turner had dated some of the most beautiful women in the country. Rachel Fuentes wasn't one of them. She was young, not much over twenty. And her hair was indeed lovely, her breasts large, but everything else was average. She carried fifteen extra pounds, and not in the right places. Her face was narrow, her nose large, with a high bridge that made her eyes look too closely set. Still, those eyes were her best feature—large, dark and luminous. She looked happy. "What, you missed me?" she said when Turner reached her, and looped her arms around his neck. "There's a police officer to see you," he said gently. "She has bad news,querida ." The happiness drained out, along with much of her color. Lily stepped forward. There was no good way to deliver news like this. "I'm very sorry, Ms. Fuentes. Your husband was killed tonight." "Killed?" She shook her head. "No, you must be wrong. He's at church. There was a rehearsal. He's a

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singer. Did you know that? He has a beautiful voice. He…" Her face crumpled. "Y-you're wrong." As gently as she could, Lily gave her the basics—the place and manner of death, the identification based on the driver's license and what was left of the victim's face. The fact that he'd been killed by a wolf. Rachel Fuentes shuddered once. She began to wail. Briefly, Lily met Turner's eyes. Rachel seemed oblivious to the irony of being comforted by her lover for her husband's death. Rule Turner wasn't. THREE FOUR hours later, Club Hell was empty of customers and cops. Scents hung heavy in the air, a blurred bouquet impossible to sort when Rule was two-legged—alcohol, fruit, smoke, sweat, humanity. And that damned incense Max was so fond of, that was supposed to represent brimstone. Andher . She'd left an hour ago, but her scent lingered. Or maybe he was imagining that. Rule sighed, sat in the same chair he'd occupied earlier, and punched in a number he knew better than his own. Max and Cullen were at the bar on the west wall, making busy with drinks to grant him privacy. After nine rings, a sleepy female voice said, "This had better be important." "I need to talk to theRho , Nettie." "I'll have him call you—afterhe wakes up. He's in natural sleep now, but he needs that, too." "You misunderstand. I did not ask to speak to my father. Your Lu Nuncio needs to speak to hisRho ." There was a moment's silence. "God, you do that well. Too well for my peace of mind. All right, I'll take the phone to him. But if he has a setback, I'm taking it out of your hide." "I hope to have a hide for you to take it out of." She muttered something about lupus politics. He heard her movements, then his oldest brother's voice. Benedict had come down from his mountain in time to save their father's life, and stayed to guard him. A moment later his father came on. "Yes?" Isen's gravelly bass was strong in spite of his condition. But then, he did still have both lungs. "The husband of a woman I'm involved with was killed tonight. The police believe a lupus did it." There was a long pause. "You aren't under arrest?" "I'm a suspect, of course. So is every other lupus who was here. I was very cooperative." He glanced wryly at his bare feet. "They had us strip." "What?" "It was all very respectful." And it had been fun to see the look on the lovely detective's face when,

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complying rather more instantly with her request than she'd intended, he'd started to unzip his pants. She'd stopped him, of course… but part of her hadn't wanted to. She hadn't liked that. "I was escorted to the men's room, where I stood on a sheet of white paper to disrobe, A male sergeant went through my things thoroughly." "What were they after?" "Evidence, I suppose. Though if the killer was in wolf form, I can't see what they hoped to find. But Detective Yu is no fool. There must be something they thought could link one of us to the scene. Which, by the way, was a playground very near here." "What's he like?" "She." Rule took a moment to order his thoughts, filtering out the personal. "Bright. Determined. Probably ambitious. Doesn't like me much, but she hasn't made up her mind I'm guilty, either. I have the impression my alibi doesn't cover the time Fuentes was killed." "What alibi?" "I have numerous witnesses to my whereabouts from nine-thirty on, including several humans, which helps. But I was alone from late afternoon until I left for the club." "Hmph. I can get you witnesses for that period easily enough, but they'll be lupi. Cops and juries don't trust a lupus's testimony." Rule's lips twitched. "Maybe they have reason." Isen chuckled. "Maybe they do. Okay, here's what you do. First, find out if it really was a lupus who killed the man. Wouldn't be the first time someone tried to pin his sins on one of us." "That had occurred to me. I've spoken to a reporter who's willing to exchange information, but he doesn't have anything yet. Given what Cullen told us, though—" "Which may or may not be true." "He was right about the attack on you." "But his warning came too late, didn't it? If he was trying to convince me of his bona fides—calm down, boy. I can practically smell you bristling over the phone. I know he's your friend, and I'm not discounting what he said. But I'm not swallowing it whole, either. He's clanless." "But not outlaw." "A rogue is, by definition, insane." There was nothing Rule could say to that. "We know something is cooking." "But not what, or who the cooks are." Isen sounded weary. "Guesses, that's all we have. I need facts. The cops may stumble across some. I need to know what they find out, and you need to stay out of jail. The obvious solution is for you to seduce that pretty detective."

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Rule felt sucker-punched. It took him a second to get his breath back, and all he could think of to say was, "What makes you think she's pretty?" Another deep, rumbling chuckle. "You can hide a lot of things from a lot of people, but I'm not just your Rho, I'm your father. Think I can't tell when you're attracted to a woman?" Isen had more questions and instructions. Rule answered with half his mind. The other half was screaming at him to tell his father he couldn't seduce Lily Yu for such a reason, that she was… she might be…might be , he reminded himself. He didn't know. One whiff wasn't proof. "Attraction aside," he said, "it would help if I could tell her some of our suspicions." "Don't tell her anything," Isen snapped. "She won't believe you. It would interfere with gaining her trust." "You sound as if Nettie let you out of Sleep too soon." "You all think you know more about my body than I do… yes, dammit," he said to Nettie, whose voice Rule could hear in the background. "I know you've got a piece of paper saying you do. Think I'm impressed?" Rule could picture Nettie standing near her patient's bed, arms crossed. He heard her saying that she did know a lot more about Isen's body than he did, and he ought to be glad of that, since he was an idiot. "We think you have no idea of your limits," Rule told him soothingly, worried by the querulous note in Isen's voice. His father was not a querulous man. "Besides, I'm scared of Nettie. She's already threatened me." That brought a chuckle, but it lacked strength. "You should be. Damned tyrant… no, you will not," he said, but the last was addressed to Nettie, not his son. Rule heard both sides of the argument that followed. Nettie won. A few minutes later, she came on the line. "I've put him back into Sleep. This time he's staying under for twenty-four hours." He ran a hand over his head. "He'll be fuzzy after so long in Sleep. Of course, if he needs it—" "Rule, you saw his wounds. There's nothing he can't heal, but until he grows some of those bits back, his condition isnot going to be stable. Unless you covet your father's job—" He growled. "Don't be so touchy. The plain fact is that you're heir. If the Rho dies, you take over. And some will wonder if you wanted it that way." "You're giving me gristle—lots of chew, not much meat. How is he, really?" "Hardheaded. Worried. And older than he wants to accept. The pain's too much for him, and he doesn't heal as fast as he once did. He won't go to a hospital—no, don't bother to explain. I understand his reasons. But if he can't use technology to keep him going while he heals, he'll have to spend a lot of time in Sleep."

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Rule swallowed his fear. He couldn't be a child now. There was bloody little room to be a son. "If he must, he must" "I shouldn't have let him out of Sleep as soon as I did," she admitted. "He faked me out. Got his vitals under control long enough to… well, never mind. Don't worry about things here. Your father will heal, and the Council can handle things while he does." He wanted to be at Clanhome, too, dammit. Tradition banned him from his father's presence while he healed, but not from Clanhome itself. That was his big brother's doing. Benedict's authority to bar the Lu Nuncio from Clanhome was shaky in theory, firm enough in practice. No one argued with Benedict about security. Most people didn't argue with Benedict, period. At least he knew the Rho was safe. Barring a strike by the U.S. Air Force, nothing and no one was getting to their father when Benedict was there. "Give Toby a hug for me," he said. "I'll be in touch." He disconnected and tucked his phone in his jacket pocket. Then he just sat for a moment. He was scared. For his father, his people, and himself. This was a hell of a time for the Nokolai leader to be incapacitated. Which, of course, was exactly what Isen's attackers had wanted. Rule stood and slid his cell phone back in the pocket of his jacket. He headed for the bar and the one scent that drew him right now. "Ah. My coffee's ready." "Don't see how you can drink that crap," Max said. Cullen grinned and slid a mug across the bar. It held coffee made from Rule's private stock of beans. "It requires a palate." He could keep his shoulders loose. He could control his expression, his voice, and to some extent his smell. But he couldn't keep the nerves from crawling across his belly, making it as jumpy as a Chihuahua on caffeine. "This place looks like hell with the lights up," he observed, sliding onto a stool. Max set his own mug—which would hold Irish whiskey, not coffee—on the bar and hopped up on the stool next to Rule's. "That's the point." "But this is the morning-after kind of hell. Like a carnival before night falls and the lights and music turn tacky into mystery." "It's five o'clock in the goddamned morning, what do you expect? Anyway, I don't want to hear about carnivals. Makes me think of the years I spent in the sideshow." "You were in a sideshow?" That was Cullen, who'd stayed on the other side of the bar. He was in one of his restless moods, fiddling with first one thing then another. "Was this before the war, or after?" "Which war? Humans are assholes." He tilted his mug, downed half of the contents, and belched contentedly. "Leave the damned glasses alone." Cullen continued polishing the glass he'd picked up. "World War Two. That's the one you always lie about." "Jealousy." Max shook his head sadly. "This younger generation is sick with it. Lacks respect, too."

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Cullen paused. "You calling me a member of the younger generation?" "You're all younger. Children, every one of you, running around like crazy so you won't notice how soon you're gonna die." Max took a silver case out of his jacket, opened it, and selected one of the cheap cigars he liked to poison the air with. 'Take the way you idealize truth—telling it, finding it." He snorted. "Finding it! As if it were lying around somewhere, waiting for you to pick up. Childish. People live by stories, not truth. What you really want are answers so you won't have to figure things out for yourselves." He pulled out his lighter. "I admit, thinking takes time." "Don't," Rule said wearily. Max paused, squinting at Rule for a moment. He put the lighter down. "Your father?" "The Rho is healing. Sorry. Didn't mean to make you think something was wrong." Rule grimaced. "That somethingmore was wrong, anyway." "You're shook," Cullen said, surprised. Rule took a moment to sort out what to say. Max and Cullen were his friends. At the moment they were colleagues, too, of sorts. But they weren't Nokolai. "None of us expected them to act this soon. And I didn't expect it to be this personal." He thought of Rachel, her eyes red and swollen, empty of everything but grief. "Perhaps I should have." "Regrets are the most useless form of guilt," Cullen said. "They always arrive too late to do any good." "That's their nature, isn't it?" He pushed that aside and spoke formally. "The Rho extends Nokolai's gratitude, and offers you the aid and comfort of the clan for a moon cycle." "I thank the Rho," Cullen said, his voice light, his fingers tight on the glass he'd been polishing. "Canny old bastard that he is. I'm surprised he didn't offer me money." "The Rho has a great respect for money—and an understanding of what it can and can't buy. The offer wasn't meant as an insult, Cullen." The other man shrugged and slid the glass back in its overhead rack. "Perhaps not. I'm tempted to show up at Clanhome for a month just to make his hackles rise." "You need a bodyguard," Max said suddenly. "We knew they'd targeted Isen. Why wouldn't they try to get rid of you, too?" "Killing Carlos is an uncertain means to that end. Besides…" Rule paused, frowning. "It doesn't fit. Why risk an investigation?" Max shrugged. "Might be cocksure." "Might have reason." Cullen was messing with the wine bottles now, rearranging them to suit some arcane sense of composition. "So far they're batting a thousand." "Not even five hundred. They tried to kill Isen and failed. Now they've tried to get Rule put away, but the frame's sloppy. Quit that," Max snapped when Cullen moved another bottle. "My bartender won't be

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able to find anything." "You're assuming we know their goals," Rule said slowly. "Isen isn't dead, but he's out of the picture for awhile. That may serve their purpose just as well. And we don't know why Fuentes was killed—or that I'll manage to stay out of jail." "You're not going to jail," Max insisted. Cullen turned. "Stop playing Pollyanna. The role doesn't suit you. Rule is right. Our opponents are subtle, and we can't afford to underestimate them." Max snorted. "You been tuning inMission Impossible on your crystal ball? Subtle's another way of saying convoluted. In real life, the fancier the scheme, the more likely it is to fall apart." "Some do." Cullen picked up Max's lighter, flicked it, and studied the flame. "There's a rumor of a banshee sighting in Texas." "Is that what this is about? Signs and portents?" Max cackled. "The big, bad werewolf has his panties in a twist because some idiot can't tell marsh gas from a banshee. And inTexas!" That, apparently, was the best part of the joke, for Max slapped his knee and nearly fell off his stool laughing. Cullen didn't say a word, but his face tightened, his pupils contracted—and the lighter's flame suddenly shot up a foot and darted toward Max. "Hey!" Max did fall off the stool this time, landing on his butt. "Are you crazy? You want to set off the smoke alarms? Burn the place down? Like I really need to explain to the fire department and the insurance company about my crazy were friend who has this little problem with anger management." He stood up, muttering and rubbing one hip. "Cullen," Rule said. The other man looked at him. After a moment his eyes went back to normal, and the fire died. "I'm not laughing," Rule said. "What are you suggesting?" "I tossed the bones after the cops left." Max rolled his eyes. 'Teenage tricks." Rule knew little about divination, but everyone tried tossing the bones at some point—usually, as Max had said, as a teenager, when the lure of the forbidden was strong and common sense was short. The results were unreliable, at best. Or so he'd always thought. But done by a sorcerer of the Blood? His eyebrows went up. "And… ?" "I asked for information about your enemy. And got… this." He pulled a handful of dice out of his pocket and tumbled them onto the bar. Snake eyes. All of them. All six dice had a single dot on every side. There was silence for a moment, then Max breathed, "Jesus."

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Rule's mouth was dry. "I don't suppose there's a chance you did that yourself? Accidentally?" "About the same chance you have of turning into a kitty cat at the next full moon." "Another sorcerer?" Cullen's lip curled. "I don't think so." "There's some of the Fae could do it," Max said. "Don't know why they would, but who knows why a Fae does anything?" "Or we can consider the obvious." Cullen looked at Rule. "Yes." Rule drew a deep breath. "Maybe one of the Old Ones has woken, and is stirring this pot." FOUR THE low ceilings and twisty ramps of the subbasement parking at headquarters always made Lily feel as if she were traveling through the guts of a concrete behemoth. Her cell phone rang as she pointed her oldToyota down yet another rigid intestine. She glanced at the Caller ID, grimaced, and answered anyway. "Hello, Mother. I'm a bit pressed for time. I'm due in the captain's office at nine." "The captain's office? Are you in trouble?" Why did her mother assume that? It's not as if Lily had been in trouble all the time as a kid. Just the opposite. "It's a briefing. Kind of like a meeting, you know? Like people with real jobs have." Dead silence on the other end. Lily's breath huffed out. Her mother could cram more reproach into silence than most people managed by screaming curses. "Sorry. I'm short on sleep." "This will just take a moment. You left last night before I got a firm date from you for the fitting." "I'm being digested by the parking garage at the moment. I don't have my planner handy." "Then you will call me once you do. Really, Lily, my cousin's friend is a very busy woman, and she's given us a handsome discount. You must show some courtesy. You've already missed one appointment, and your bridsesmaid gown simply has to be altered. The bodice looked terrible on you." Lily wanted to say that no amount of alteration would make her look good in puke green, but she was already in trouble. "I'll check my schedule and E-mail you, okay? That will be quicker for me than calling." Her mother wasn't fond of E-mail but grudgingly accepted the compromise and launched into a detailed description of the newest wedding crisis. Lily's older sister was going to be married in grand style if it killed their mother. Lily pulled into her parking place deep in the belly of the garage, most of her attention on the report she'd pulled together before leaving her apartment. "Mm-hmm," she said as she grabbed her backpack,

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shut and locked her car door. Then what her mother had just said sank in. It seemed the menu for the rehearsal dinner had to be changed. The groom's sister was allergic to ginger. "Lily? What is it?" She realized she'd made some small noise. "You mentioned ginger, and it reminded me. I saw Ginger Harris last night." Her mother made one of those very Chinese exclamations, sort of a shorteh ! It was a sure sign of distress. Normally Julia Yu sounded as Californian as The Beach Boys. "Ginger Harris? Why would you want to see her? What's going on?" "I didn't want to see her, I just did. It was in connection with a case. Do you know what happened to the Harrises, where they moved?" "This is not healthy. I thought you'd put all that behind." "I have." Except for the nightmares, but they were rare. "This is for the job, Mother." "I don't know where they went. I don't remember. I suppose I could ask Doris Beaton." The offer was obviously dragged out. "I believe she kept in touch." "I'd appreciate it if you would." Lily punched the button for the elevator. "I don't understand why you need to know about the Harrises." "I'm not sure yet. Police work would be a lot easier if we knew ahead of time which leads were important." Was it intuition or the past crawling across Lily's shoulders? She rolled them, trying to dislodge the sensation. "Thanks, though, for offering to check with Mrs. Beaton. I know the subject distresses you." "This isn't about my feelings. I worry about you." "I know. I'm fine." But it had always seemed to Lily that itwas about her mother as much as herself. So many threads spinning out from that one event… no matter how she tugged, clipped, or tried to untangle them, the knots remained. "The elevator's here. I'd better go." Julia reminded her to check her planner and said good-bye. Lily slid her phone in her backpack and stepped into the little metal box. It was a relief to return her mind to the case, the facts and the possibilities. Threads. That's what she had—a confusing tangle of threads, and not much in the way of hard facts to tell her where to tug. She'd taken a lot of statements, but there would be lies twisted in with the truth, and all sorts of evasions, omissions, and simple mistakes. Time of death was likely to be critical with this one. Maybe the lab would have a preliminary report soon. Not that they'd be able to tell much, but they should at least be able to confirm that the killer was one of the Blood. Science depended on things happening a certain way without fail. Water boiled at 100 degrees C at sea

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level no matter who did the boiling. Mix potassium nitrate, sulfur, and charcoal together in the right proportions, and you ended up with gunpowder every time, no random batches of gold dust or baking soda to confuse matters. But magic was capricious. Individual. The cells and body fluids of those of the Blood—inherently magical beings— didn't perform the same way every time they were tested. Which could make it possible to identify the traces magic left in its wake, but played hell with lab results. The elevator creaked to a halt on the first floor, where two people got on. Lily glanced at her watch. Maybe she should have taken the stairs. If the parking garage was the beast's guts, the elevators were its circulatory system. Which meant the building was often in shock due to circulatory failure, because the elevators were notoriously slow and cranky. This one did eventually deposit Lily on the third floor. She checked her watch again as she shoved open the door to Homicide. If she hurried, she could grab a cup of coffee. "Hey, Lauren," she said to the chunky blonde woman at the first desk. Three of the five desks in the bullpen were occupied. Mech's wasn't. "Is Mech here?" "Do I look like a receptionist?" Lauren squinted at her computer screen and kept typing. "Why does everyone mistake me for the goddamned receptionist?" "It's your charming manner. Makes us feel all warm and welcome." Mech was probably around. He would know she'd want to talk to him before reporting to Randall. She headed for the coffeepot. Sean Brady looked up from the folder he'd been studying, grinned, and howled like a wolf. "For crying out loud," the woman at the desk next to his muttered, "turn it down, will you? No one, but no one, is going to mistake you for a lupus." T.J. poked his head out of his office. "Hey, has anyone seen my—oh, hi, Lily." He grinned and exchanged a glance with Brady. T.J. had been a cop since God was young, and a detective almost as long. He had Santa Claus hair, gold-rimmed glasses, a face with more droops and folds than a basset hound's, and an appalling sense of humor. Lily wondered if she should check her desk for booby traps. "Anyone seen Mech?" she asked. The pot was nearly empty. It was always nearly empty. The rule was that whoever emptied it had to make the next pot, so everyone tried to leave a little liquid in the bottom. Lily poured a few swallows of black sludge into a mug that read, UFOs Are Real. The Air Force Doesn't Exist. "You talking to us peons?" Brady asked. "Should we tug our forelocks when we answer?" Lily rolled her eyes. "Heaven help us. Brady's been reading his vocabulary list again." "I just wondered. You're consorting with royalty now. The prince." He made another howling sound. "Someone put a muzzle on him, will you?" Lily headed for what she liked to call her office. It was really just a small ell off one end of the main room, lacking the dignity of a door of windows. But it was a private nook and had room for her desk, some filing cabinets, an extra chair, a struggling philodendron,

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and a pot of ivy out to conquer the world. "You know, Brady," Lauren said, "I bet you have no idea what a forelock is." "I'm sure I could find one. Hey, maybe this—" "You go tugging onthat in here, I'm arresting you for indecent exposure." "Mech's guarding your domain," T.J. said as she passed him. She paused. "Your eyes are twinkling, T.J. I don't like it when your eyes twinkle." He shook his head. "So young and so cynical." Then he smiled. "Hope you enjoy our little present." Oh, crap. Lily was on guard as she approached her office, though she couldn't imagine what they'd cooked up. If Mech was there, she ought to be safe from practical jokes. Mech was the polar opposite of Brady and T.J., serious to a fault. He'd tell her if they'd rigged her chair to collapse. So what kind of "present" had they left for her? She rounded the corner and found out. "Detective Yu," Rule Turner said, rising politely from the battered wooden chair to the left of her desk. "Your colleagues assured me it was all right to wait for you here." His smile was crooked and charming. "I think I've been used." "Um," she said cleverly. He was wearing black again—an open-necked black shirt with a black jacket and slacks. Very Hollywood. The jacket looked as if it had cost as much as her car was worth. "I'm afraid so. The joke is strictly on me, however." It was a backhanded jibe at her lack of a social life. She sighed. "Cop humor has a lot in common with kindergarten humor, only more R-rated." "The chief sent him to see you," Mech said. He was sitting on Lily's desk, trying to look relaxed. Mech was ten years older than Lily, five inches taller, and eighty pounds heavier, with every ounce muscle. He was a quiet, methodical man with Job's patience, skin the color of her favorite caramel latte, and a strong streak of the puritan. Mech didn't do relaxed well. "He—uh, His Highness wants to assist in the investigation." Turner shook his head. "I'm not a highness. The press likes to call me prince, but the press likes to sell magazines and newspapers." "I've noticed that about them." Lily slung her backpack onto her desk. "Thanks, Mech. You can tell T.J. he's on my list. Brady, too." Mech hesitated, as if he weren't sure he should leave her alone with Turner. She flicked him a glance as she unzipped her backpack. He nodded reluctantly and left. She pulled out her laptop. "While we always appreciate civic-minded citizens, there's something of a problem with one of the suspects in an investigation assisting in that investigation."

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Turner's straight slashes of eyebrows lifted. "You're blunt." "But I did use my polite face. Chief Delgado sent you to me?" "He did. I called him this morning, offering my help. If you want to catch a lupus, you need to know something about us, and I doubt you do. That's not a criticism. There's very little real information available." "You mean Hollywood didn't get it right withWitches Sabbat ?" She shook her head. "Next you'll be telling me Charlie Chan wasn't really Chinese." He chuckled. "Point taken. He was played by an Occidental actor, wasn't he?" "Sydney Toler, among others." Lily would never admit she had a sneaking fondness for the old Charlie Chan movies, chock-full as they were of cliche and stereotyping. But they were so much more fun than James Bond or Bruce Lee. Chan had relied on brains, not technology or kung fu, to defeat the bad guys. "Your information might be difficult for me to verify." "And you have no intention of trusting me. Understood. But I've a strong interest in seeing this case solved quickly. I want to see only one lupus blamed for the killing, not all of us. And I don't want that one to be me. I didn't do it, but you'll need proof to believe that." Taking a sip of the cooling sludge in her mug, she studied him. It wasn't unheard of for a lupus leader to cooperate with the police. If a werewolf went on a rampage and wasn't caught, the repercussions for all lupi could be severe. People tended to panic about that sort of thing. And there-was a bill coming up in Congress—the Species Citizenship Bill—that could be affected by adverse public reaction to the case. But the lupi version of cooperating with the police didn't necessarily involve niceties like testimony or evidence. They'd been known to deposit a body at a police station with a note saying that the problem had been taken care of. She set her mug down. "Last night you said you didn't have any idea who killed Carlos Fuentes." "I don't." "I won't tolerate any form of vigilantism. Murder is murder in my book." "An admirable attitude. Of course, the law only considers it murder if we are killed while two-footed." He waved that aside. His hands were graceful and long-fingered, like a pianist's. It was hard to imagine them turning into paws. "But you misunderstand. I'm not offering to find your killer for you. I'm offering to brief you on lupus culture and habits." If he was dealing straight, this was a first. On the candid and forthcoming scale, the lupi ranked about even with the Mob or the CIA. "I do want to talk with you," she said, reaching for the printer cable and plugging it into her laptop. "But I'm due in the captain's office in… damn," she muttered when she glanced at her watch. "Two minutes. If you wouldn't mind waiting in the other room, Sergeant Meckle could get you a cup of coffee." He winced. "Are you referring to whatever is in your mug?" She smiled. 'Too strong for you?"

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"You give it to suspects to soften them up, right?" "Only works on the wimps." He shook his head. "I'm in trouble. Already you've discovered my weakness. I'm a coffee snob." It wasn't what he said so much as the way he said it. She burst out laughing. "Don't let anyone tell you you do humble well. You don't." "We can't expect to master every skill." He smiled, and his gaze flickered over her—too briefly to be insulting, but his appreciation was obvious. "I have the feeling you don't do humble well, either, Detective." "My grandmother claims that humility is the public face of envy." And why was she talking about Grandmother to this man? The little ping that had landed with a tug in her belly might be a clue. He'd probably picked up on her response, too, dammit. He'd been winning at boy-girl games for a long time. She shook her head. "You're good, I'll give you that. But I'm not playing." "And you're direct. I like that." He moved closer, smiling, and brushed his fingertips over the ends of her hair. "Your hair smells of oranges." She leveled a stare at him and ignored the flutter of pleasure. "You're beginning to annoy me." "You'd like to keep this impersonal." He nodded and let his hand drop. "Reasonable, from your point of view. But you should know I'm not good at treating a woman I'm attracted to impersonally." "Another of those skills you haven't mastered, I take it. Cheer up. It's never too late. You can start working on it right away." His lips twitched. "I have a ten-thirty appointment, and you're late for your meeting. Do you work on Saturdays, Detective?" "I will be. Why?" "Why don't we have a nice, businesslike lunch tomorrow and discuss things? Somewhere public, to encourage me to behave myself." She'd seen him in public last night at Club Hell, and he hadn't been behaving himself. But so what if she couldn't trust him? She trusted herself. "That works. You know Bishop's, on Eighth?" "I'll find it." His eyes laughed at her as he held out his hand. "One o'clock?" "Okay." He might have meant the handshake as a dare. She accepted it for her own reasons—mostly to get a feel for his brand of magic. His hand closed around hers, large and warm and solid. Her stomach hollowed. Her breath went shallow, her head light, as if she'd lost oxygen. The muscles in her inner thighs quivered, and she stared at his mouth—at the neat, white teeth revealed by lips that had parted, like hers. Lips that looked soft. She wanted to touch them.

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Her eyes flew to his. She saw flecks of gold in the dark irises, and the way his pupils had swollen. The pink triangles at the inner corners of his eyes. The dark, thick eyelashes. And the way his lids had pulled back in shock. He dropped her hand. For a moment they stared at each other. Her heart pounded. His nostrils were flared, his breathing fast. Dear God. What did she say? How did she put that moment away, unmake it? He broke the silence. "I won't be behaving myself," he told her grimly. And turned and left. FIVE THE hall leading to the captain's corner office was beige— beige walls, beige woodwork, beige carpet. No windows. Lily headed down that beige tunnel with her heartbeat still unsettled, her report in her hand, and her mind in a whirl. Popular fiction was full of stories about the supposed sexual power of lupi, their ability to entrance helpless females. Most experts believed those were self-perpetuating myths. Wickedness has always possessed a certain glamour, and mystery casts its own spell. Until a few moments ago, Lily had agreed with the experts. Now… well, whatever had just happened between her and Turner shouldn't have. No question about that. What's more, it shouldn't have been possible. Even if lupi did possess some arcane sexual power, she was supposed to be immune. Magic slid over her surface, prickling along her skin. It didn't get inside and affect her. Yet she couldn't accept what had happened as normal sexual attraction—it had hit too fast, too hard. And he'd looked so shocked. As if he, too, had been blindsided… Lily shook her head, trying to physically throw off confusion. None of that mattered as much as what hadn't happened. She'd shaken the hand of a lupi prince—and felt not one tingle of magic. For that, she had no explanation at all. She rapped once on the captain's door, then opened it. "Glad you could join us, Detective," Captain Randall said dryly. Lily checked on the threshold. The room held three men, not one. Frederick Randall sat behind his desk. The captain was a short, bald man on the shady side of sixty with all of his features crowded together in the bottom half of his face. He looked like a bureaucrat—well-fed, not too bright. It was a misleading impression. The other two men wore suits and professionally grave expressions. Uh-oh, Lily thought.Feds . "Yes, sir. Sorry I'm late." "These are Special Agents Karonski and Croft from the FBI. They're interested in the Fuentes case."

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Got it in one. Lily nodded a greeting, but doubt tugged at her. Randall wouldn't have told them about her—would he? The two men started to stand. Randall waved. "Sit, sit." It was a corner office, but it wasn't large or fancy. The only empty chair was plain wood and sat on the right of the captain's desk, which put her sideways to him and to the men sitting across from him. The agent closest to her had good teeth, skin several shades darker than Mech's, and a pleasant smile. He was growing more forehead than hair these days. "I'm Martin Croft," he said. "As I explained to your captain, we're not claiming jurisdiction—" "We could." The other one didn't smile. "Karonski," he said to Lily. The captain snorted. "You don't have a leg to stand on." "Murder by magical means is a federal offense." Lily tried to be tactful. "Um… magical means? Fuentes was killed by teeth, not a death spell." "According to the captain, he was killed by a magical creature," Karonski said. "That's murder by magical means." Her eyebrows rose. Her captain's response was more direct. "Bullshit. Even if you convinced a jury that murder done by one of the Blood constitutes murder by magic, the courts would throw out any conviction." "Maybe." Karonski was eyeing Lily with disapproval. "She's young." "Not as young as she looks, and she's fully qualified. In addition, she has contacts in the, ah, paranormal community that may be useful. Is that your report you're clutching, Yu?" Okay, he hadn't told them. She hadn't really thought he would. "Yes, sir." She leaned forward and handed it to him. Croft said wryly, "There's some disagreement here, obviously. Since this is the first murder purported to have been committed by a lupus in wolf form since the Supreme Court's ruling—" "The first?" Lily said, surprised. "In the country?" "The first when the killer's identity is unknown," he amended. "There was a murder in Connecticut, but the case was, ah… solved by the lupus community." He meant that the killer had been killed by his own people. She remembered reading about it. His body—in wolf form— and a signed confession had been left at the courthouse. "And that business in Texas last year was ruled self-defense." His eyes widened slightly. "Yes. An interesting case, from a legal standpoint." She nodded. The lupus involved had been in man form when attacked by a dozen gang members. He'd

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Changed. Three of the gang members had survived. "The ACLU was involved." "It's a landmark, the first judicial recognition that the right of self-defense can apply to a lupus in wolf form. Limited in its application, of course, because of the way the judgment was worded." The defense had argued that, under the circumstances, Changing was no different than loosing a trained guard dog. That the defendant's wolf form had protected his human form, which was legally entitled to self-defense. The appeals court had agreed, but… "The judges waffled around about what constitutes sufficient 'clear and present danger' to justify turning wolf. So it's a precedent, but not a clear one." He smiled. "I begin to see why your captain wanted you on this case. I don't often encounter officers with such a good grasp of my turf. Ah… I don't think Captain Randall mentioned it, but we're MCD." Magical Crimes Division. Well, that made some sense, but calling this a federal case was a stretch. But they weren't claiming it officially, were they? Just putting the captain on notice that they could make things difficult if he didn't cooperate. Cooperate how? What did they want? She glanced at Randall, who spoke without looking up from her report. "Your written reports will be copied to these gentlemen after I've seen them. Go ahead and hit the high points for them." "Thank you, Captain," Croft said. "But we can wait and read the report. Between your briefing and what's in the papers, we have the basics, I think. Except for one thing. I need to know how sure you are, Detective, that the murder was committed by a lupus." "For proof, you'll have to speak with the coroner's office. But I'm pretty sure of it." She couldn't tell them why she was so certain, and it would be inadmissible, anyway. But there were plenty of of other indicators. Lily reconstructed the attack, describing the wounds, blood splatter, and severed hand. "One of the first-on-scene officers used to be X-Squad," she finished. "Fifteen years' service. He believes the attacker was a werewolf." "Lupus," Croft corrected her absently. "It is consistent with a lupus attack." Karonski scowled. "Consistent isn't conclusive. Now and then someone who wants to get away with murder tries to make it look like a lupus kill. Though most attempts are crude," he admitted. "This isn't." She studied him. Average height, bad suit, built like a barrel. A little younger than Croft, and a wedding ring on his left hand, which Croft lacked. "The killer almost certainly left saliva in the wounds. The lab may not be able to run a DNA match on it, but they can tell if it came from one of the Blood. Someone clever enough to fake those wounds—which I do not think were faked—would know that." "Magic can create some great fakes." That jolted her. "Is that possible? I mean… I suppose the wounds themselves could be faked, but could magic duplicate the kind of weird results typical of body fluids from a lupus?" "I don't know," he said gloomily. "Do you?" It was a disquieting thought. Magic on that level was illegal, of course—but so was murder. "If such a

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thing were possible,it would constitute murder by magical means. Is that why you're here?" Croft shrugged. "Partly. We need to confirm or deny the possibility. There's also a concern that this will have political repercussions." Lily frowned. "The Species Citizenship Bill?" Congress had almost managed to duck its responsibility by losing the bill in committee, but its sponsors were pushing for a vote. "Politics." Randall spat out the word, putting down Lily's report. "Not my job, thank God. When you talk about magically faking things, you're talking sorcery." True. Witchcraft couldn't change the basic nature of things, and she'd know if sorcery were involved… wouldn't she? Croft was unmoved. "It's a possibility." "It's a dead art," the captain said impatiently. "Sure, we run across a dabbler now and then, someone who thinks he's found a fragment of the Codex Arcanum. But no one's been capable of transformative magic since the Purge." "Which was a European phenomenon," Croft pointed out. "There are African sorcerers, and rumors of sorcerers who escaped the Communist cleansing of the sixties." Randall shrugged. "There are always rumors, and African sorcery is more like witchcraft than true sorcery. Or so I've read. You saying different?" Croft and Karonski exchanged one of those impenetrable looks shared by longtime partners and married couples. Croft spoke. "We're not suggesting you should doubt your laboratory results." "That's good, because I don't intend to. You two are supposed to be hoodoo experts, not stringers for theRational Inquirer ." That irritated Croft. "The only real experts in magic are its practitioners. Abel and I can advise you about investigative procedures and apprehension, and we know a few things about lupi that aren't common knowledge. This case is likely to set precedents. The agency feels our experience could be valuable to you." Oh, my. Lily's lips twitched. Captain Randall's gaze swung to her. "Something funny, Yu?" Her sense of humor was going to get her in trouble yet. "I just realized that these gentlemen are offering to be expert consultants." "That's right." Croft smiled at her. He really did have a nice smile. "It, ah, struck me as funny. You see, I ran late because Rule Turner made me the same offer. We have a meet set up. He wants to instruct me about lupus customs." Croft tensed, as if he were coming to attention sitting down. "Rule Turner? The Nokolai heir?"

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Could there be two people with that name? "Yes." Croft and Karonski exchanged another of those looks. Captain Randall said, "Turner's a suspect." "Yes, sir. It generally pays to let suspects talk as much as they like." Karonski looked irritated—but that seemed to be his normal expression. "Turner didn't kill Fuentes." She decided to let her eyebrows do the talking for her. "I suppose you have to consider him a suspect," Croft conceded. "But it's unlikely he's guilty. First, lupi are not sexually possessive, so the motive doesn't work. Second, if he'd killed Fuentes, you'd never have found the body." "You know him?" "We have a dossier on him that you might want to look at." "That would be useful. Thanks." "You want to read it before you talk to him." Karonski had a way of leaning his upper body toward her as if he wanted to grab her and make her agree. "You need to know what you're dealing with." Randall looked at him with open dislike. "Maybe the two of you could leave that file with us and make an appointment to brief Detective Yu later. Right now, I need to talk to her about her caseload." They didn't look happy about the dismissal, but there wasn't much they could do except leave. Lily wondered what lay behind Randall's antagonism—it seemed like more than the usual territorial wariness. Maybe he had a history with one of them, some old case where they'd clashed? Or maybe Karonski just rubbed him the wrong way. The man was intense. Both men stood. Croft dug into a leather briefcase and pulled out a fat folder. "These are copies, so you can keep them." She stood, to be polite, and accepted the file. "Thanks. I'm likely to be tied up until midafternoon, I'm afraid. Three o'clock okay?" "That works." Croft held out his hand. "We'll meet you here." They shook hands, then she held her hand out to Karonski… and got her next big surprise of the day. This one didn't send her into a sexual trance, but it sure did raise questions. A witch. Karonski was a practicing witch. The door shut behind the two agents. "What's your caseload?" Randall asked. "You ready to close on anything?" She jerked her attention back. "The Meyers case. Valencia, too, I think. I'm waiting on lab results on two others. The rest," she admitted, "are pretty cold." "Keep the cold cases. They won't distract you. Pass the others on. Give the Meyers case to Lauren. She

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wants to make detective, so she needs the experience—and something more to complain about," he said with the ghost of a smile. "But…" But they wereher cases. He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over the little potbelly that never got bigger or smaller. "You're ambitious. That's not a bad thing. But you're part of a team here. You've got a good record. Letting someone else get the credit for closing a couple of your cases won't hurt you. You'll get plenty of shine if you nail Fuentes's killer, and that's where I want you focused. Got it?" "Yes, sir." But he was wrong. She didn't want to keep the cases so she could hog the credit. Well, yes, she did want credit for her work, but… but that wasn't the main reason. With the Meyers case, she wanted to be the one who clapped the cuffs on the slime who had offed his ex-wife. With the others, she wanted to finish them. To connect the dots herself. "Good. What are you pursuing yourself? What's Mech doing?" "As you saw in the report, two of the five lupi at Club Hell are alibied. Mech's checking those alibis, then he'll talk to Fuentes's boss and coworkers. The beat cops are handling the door-to-door near the scene. I'll be in touch with them. This afternoon I'll talk to the widow. She was too distraught to get much from her last night. I plan to speak with the neighbors, too. And Turner's neighbors. The timing's going to be important on this one." He nodded. "If Turner's guilty, you'll want to make sure he can't wiggle out with some trumped-up alibi. The closer you can pin down Fuentes's and Turner's movements, the better." "Yes, sir. I also want to check out the church where Fuentes was supposed to have been rehearsing with the choir. The Church of the Faithful, it's called." Randall raised his eyebrows. "Yes, sir. Bit ironic, under the circumstances. It sounds like more of a cult. They worship some goddess,call themselves the Aza." "The Aza. I've heard of them. Got a temple or something like that up in L.A. There was some kind of trouble with a group of fundamentalists, can't remember the details." Lily nodded, making a mental note to find out more. "What about this morning?" "I'll be using my contacts in the paranormal community," she said, straight-faced. Humor flickered in Randall's eyes. "You do that, Detective." He picked up her report and tapped the pages into tidiness, signaling the end of the discussion. "Reporters'll be all over you like fleas on a dog with this one. Refer them upstairs. Don't give any interviews yourself." "I… wasn't planning to." "Good. Your report's thin," he said. "But it will do, under the circumstances. Keep in mind that all your reports will be shared with the Feds."

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Was he warning her not to put everything in writing? But she never referred to her less respectable abilities in a report. She never quite mentioned them out loud. Neither did he.Don't ask, don't tell . So what did he mean? There was something here she wasn't getting. "Yes, sir. Ah, is there something I should know about the MCD agents?" "Pair of glory hounds. Especially Croft. He's the kind who likes to go in with guns blazing. He'll try to pump you for information. Don't let him. Here," he said, passing her a form. "You'll need to requisition special rounds and restraints. The pencil pushers insist I sign off on them—pretty pricey, with the amount of silver required. Now go make Lauren's day." He waved her out.

LILY frowned at the folder she'd just closed. Lots of interest in the dossier the MCD agents had given her, but one fact clung to her mind like a burr. Rule Turner had a child. An eight-year-old son. Technically the boy's mother had custody, but the woman was a reporter, off on assignment all the time. Years ago she'd dumped him with her mother to raise. It wasn't an unusual story these days. Mom's too busy to be a mom, and dad has better things to do, too. Like attend Hollywood parties and hang out at Club Hell. Ridiculous to be upset, she told herself as she stood and moved to the tallest file cabinet. What was it to her if Turner's interests didn't include his son? She might think that made him a scumbag, but he was hardly the only man with serious failings in that area. He'd taken some responsibility, she admitted as she yanked open a drawer. He paid support, and the boy spent summers at the Nokolai enclave, where presumably he got to see his father now and then. It wasn't enough. She shook her head, impatient with herself. She had better things to do than waste time deploring Turner's flaws. She had to pull the files on every case that stood a good chance of being solved, and pass them out. Better not forget to check her planner, either. Somehow she had to make room for a fitting. But as she removed files, her mind wasn't on weddings, or on what Lauren would do with the Meyers case. She was trying to decide if she was being set up. She tapped one finger on the folders she'd pulled, unhappy with her thoughts. She'd always thought Captain Randall was a fair man as well as a good cop. Dammit, she trusted him. Some of that trust came from their history, true. He'd been a brand-new detective, and kind; she'd been eight years old, and traumatized. But he'd earned her respect as an adult, too. Still, Grandmother always said that the canard about death and taxes left out another inevitability: politics. Two people will fight, play cards, or make love. Three, and someone's going to start playing the angles. If this case blew up on her, she'd be left with one huge failure on her record… and a handful of cold cases. No recent successes.

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Lily's finger tapped a little faster. Was that why she hadn't told Randall about Karonski? She didn't tell him every time she ran across someone with a Gift or a touch of the Blood, true. But he'd want to know about an FBI agent who was a practicing witch. She didn't want to tell him. Was that instinct or hurt feelings? The captain was going out on a limb, making his newest detective lead on a case this big. It made sense for him to limit the damages. If she solved it, everyone looked good. If she screwed up, or if the case dragged on too long and someone had to be sacrificed to the media sharks… well, she could see that it might seem best to risk a fledgling rather than someone with fifteen or more years on the force. It might be easy to risk losing a woman… a Chinese woman. Or maybe she'd turned paranoid. She grimaced and dealt with the simplest problem on her list, opening her planner. Brief study confirmed her suspicions: no time was good for fittings. She supposed she'd have to give up a meal. Probably wouldn't be the only one she missed with this investigation. But not tomorrow. Tomorrow she was having lunch with Rule Turner. Today, she'd eat on her way to check with her "contacts in the paranormal community." She turned to her computer and sent a quick E-mail to her mother. Then she picked up the phone and called Grandmother.

TWELVE years ago, Grandmother had shocked the family by moving out of the Chinese neighborhood where she'd lived since coming to the U.S. as a war bride. Her home sat on the five acres she'd kept out of a larger tract she'd bought over forty years ago, long before the city grew out this far. She'd had it built to her specifications, and she'd paid cash. The house didn't exactly blend with its neighbors. It was a square stone building gabled with a biting roofline more suited to the snows of northern China than the heat of southern California. The windows in the exterior walls were high, horizontal slits, giving it the look of a fortress wearing a fancy hat. There was no driveway. Grandmother didn't like driveways. She wasn't crazy about cars, either, though she owned one. The aging second cousin who lived with her was allowed to pilot it occasionally. Lily parked in the street and headed up the wandering gravel path to the bright red door flanked by snarling stone lions. She rang the bell. "Lily. So good to see you." Age had softened the square of Li Qin's face and blurred the angular body into something more androgynous than feminine. Her voice was her one beauty— low and soft and clear as bells. "Come in. Your grandmother is in the garden." "Thank you. You're looking well." Something about the older woman's gentle courtesy always made Lily feel clumsy, as if she might accidentally bruise some tender petal with a hasty word. Which didn't make much sense. The woman lived with Grandmother. She had to be tough as nails, or she would have cracked years ago. "Thank you. I'm feeling well." Li Qin moved aside. Lily stepped out of her shoes and into a small slice of

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China… or Grandmother's version of it. The entry was small and almost bare. An intricately carved stone fountain tinkled on a shiny black table, and a plain wooden rack held outdoor shoes and several pairs of slippers. Lily slipped on a turquoise pair and followed Li Qin. They passed through what Lily and her cousins called the Trophy Room, filled as it was with Grandmother's collections— jade, pottery, lacquer. New pieces were mixed with old. A handful were museum quality, and a few were just plain odd. Grandmother's tastes were unpredictable. The door to the garden stood open. Passing through it, Lily moved from China to an exuberant mix of the Mediterranean and the tropics. A flagstone courtyard shaped like a lifesaver left a circle of grass open at the very center and rounded off the square courtyard. In the four corners, sticks on fire mixed with hibiscus, lavender bloomed, and bamboo thrived, while Santa Barbara daisies frothed around the feet of a small orange tree. Dead center in the courtyard, a tiny woman sat at a round table. Her face showed signs of age, but her bones were limber, for she sat tailor fashion. The black hair with its dramatic white wings was pulled into an unforgiving bun. She wore tailored black slacks and a collarless red shirt, both silk. Her face was turned up to the sun. Lily walked out to her. "Grandmother," she said reproachfully as she bent to kiss a soft, powdered cheek, "the lavender is blooming." "I like the scent." Grandmother spoke in Chinese. This was a rebuke. Reluctantly, Lily switched to Chinese. She understood it better than she spoke it. "It's the wrong time of year for lavender to bloom. That's hard on the plant." Penciled-in eyebrows lifted. "You are here to ask me a favor?" And hadn't yet been invited to sit. She was not off to a good start—yet she laughed, suddenly rushed with affection for the old woman. "Wo ai ni, Dzu-mu." The old woman reached up and patted Lily's cheek. "I am fond of you, too. Though I don't know why. You are impertinent, and your accent is barbaric." The small hand waved regally. "You may sit. Li Qin will bring tea." Which meant they would not be getting down to business right away. Lily sat and managed not to squirm with impatience. For the next twenty minutes they sipped oolong in delicate, handleless cups and discussed The Wedding—it was beginning to appear in Lily's mind in capitals—and California politics, which amused Grandmother vastly. And baseball. Grandmother was a passionate Padres fan. No number of lackluster seasons could dim her ardor. After making pronouncements about several of the players, she added, "I have had the team's horoscope cast. This will be their best season yet, if they can avoid injuries." "That would be a first. They had, what—five players out last year?" "So many injuries can't be natural." Grandmother brooded on that a moment. "I will send the manager the name of a good antihex firm." She cast Lily a sly look. "I hear Chang's company is looking for a

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sensitive. They pay very well." "Not you, too!" Grandmother chuckled. "It would please your mother. But not, I think, me." Lily had never wanted to work for any of the private firms that employed sensitives. Or for the government in that capacity, for that matter. For centuries, sensitives—and some who claimed to be, but probably weren't—had been used to sniff out otherness. It had been worst during the Purge, but it continued to this day. There was still so much prejudice, and sensitives could be used to "out" someone who had good reason to keep his Gift or bloodlines a secret. "Actually, I came here to ask you about that. Being a sensitive, I mean. And about lupi." "I read about this in the paper. You are with this killing, are you? No." Grandmother switched to English, which she spoke perfectly well, though with an accent every bit as bad as Lily's was in Chinese. "I mean—on the case. You are on the case." "I'm lead. And I need to know more about lupi than I do." Grandmother tapped the rim of her cup with one long, painted fingernail. "This is your favor? You wish to ask me about lupi?" Lily answered carefully. Some things were not to be spoken of directly. "I know a little, of course. But there are so many stories. I need help sorting story from truth. Lupi are grouped by families or clans—" "Eh! I know little about lupus clans. They are a secretive people." "Yes, but… you can help me understand what they're capable of, what their weaknesses are. They're fast. I know that. But how fast? The report I read estimated that they could run a hundred miles an hour in wolf form." That sent Grandmother into peals of laughter. "This is experts? Experts believe this? Cheetahs run this fast! Wolves do not." "But they aren't regular wolves." "No, but they aren't cheetah, either." Her eyes were shiny and damp with mirth. She dabbed at one with her fingertip. "What they have—you know this!—is very quick response. Two times as fast as human? Three times? I don't know. I don't put a number to it, but very much faster than humans. When they try," she added, still amused. "They don't go around speeded up all the time." Two times faster would be plenty quick, Lily thought "Weaknesses?" "They don't like small, closed-up places. Putting them in jail is bad idea. They go crazy sometimes." Arace of claustrophobes ? "They can regenerate limbs, right? That's why registered lupi were tattooed on their foreheads. When they tried tattooing their hands, the lupi cut them off and grew them back without the tattoos."

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Grandmother shrugged. "Sometimes experts are right." "What about the rumors about their, ah, sexual potency? Is there anything to the idea that they bespell women?" Grandmother snorted. "They are potent, yes, but there's no magic to it. Unless you call it magic when a man pays attention to what a woman wants." That amused her. "Maybe it is. You have a lupus's attention, child?" "I'm meeting with one today, about the case." She frowned and pushed her hair behind her ear. She hadn't really thought she'd been bespelled… but whathad happened? "Is there any way for a lupus to lose his magic? A curse, or some kind of magical accident? Can a lupusbe a lupus without magic?" "What?" She drew herself up, stern as a cat presented with the wrong food for dinner. "You will explain." "I shook his hand. The Nokolai prince. I shook his hand, and I felt nothing." That wasn't quite accurate. She flushed. "No magic, that is. I have to know why. If my ability is fading—" "You know better. You can lose an arm or leg. You cannot lose what you are." "Then what happened?" she cried, frustrated. "He's supposed to be the heir, the number-two muckety-muck in his clan. He must be lupus, yet I didn't touch magic! I have to know why. I have to know if it's him or me. If I read him right, then he can't Change, so he can't be the killer. Which I won't be able to explain to anyone or prove, but it's a starting point.If I'm right. I have to—" "Enough! You are overwrought. Be quiet. I must think." With difficulty, Lily subsided. Grandmother's fingernail tapped the rim of her cup—ting, ting, ting. She sat very still, very straight. There was a distant look in her eyes and a worried tuck to her thin lips that made the wrinkles show more than usual. Of course Grandmother saw the implications, and a good deal more. That's why Lily was here. A lupus's magic was innate, like Lily's ability to sense it. If one could be reft away, so could the other. As could other things. "You were right to bring this to me," she said at last, reverting to Chinese. She gave a sharp nod. "But I do not know the meaning. I will have to inquire of… another." "Who?" Lily asked, startled. "Someone who knows—" "You will not ask," Grandmother told her firmly. "This is not someone I go to lightly, but a favor is owed… has been owed for a long time. A very long time now." Alarming possibilities skittered through Lily's mind. She leaned forward, touching Grandmother's hand. Magic purred from the wrinkled skin into hers. "Don't put yourself at risk." The thin lips twitched, and the dark old eyes softened. She patted Lily's hand. "I am very fond of you, it is true. But I do not do this for you. Notjust for you. And now," she said, settling back in her chair, "I will tell you what else I know about lupi."

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SIX THE Fuentes apartment was inLa Mesa . The bland, two-story buildings formed a square with a swimming pool and parking filling the center. Some poet wanna-be had named the complex The Oasis—a name it failed to live up to. There were two royal palms street side. No gardens, porches, or balconies. No green. At least the exterior wasn't pink. Lily sighed as she hunted for a parking spot, thinking of her own tiny apartment. She put up with the Pepto-Bismol paint job and lack of space because the place was three blocks from the beach, but sometimes she suffered dwelling envy. She had to park two blocks away, but the walk was pleasant. It was one of those clear, perfect days that hit the city sometimes in the fall, the kind of day people move toCalifornia for. It made Lily want to get her hands in the dirt. Not that she had a garden of her own, except for a few pots, but she had free rein in the naturalized area around Grandmother's place. Maybe she could squeeze out an hour later. Lily buzzed Rachel's unit; after a long wait, the girl told her to come up. The Fuentes apartment was a corner unit, second floor. The staircase was enclosed, and the stairs themselves were cement and led to a landing that served two apartments. Lily would talk to the residents of 41-C later, see what they knew about Rachel and Carlos Fuentes. She rang the bell and waited. She was debating whether to ring it again when it opened. Rachel Fuentes looked like hell. Her face was splotchy, and the big eyes that had glowed last night were dull and red today and hidden behind a pair of rimless glasses. She wore shapeless sweats that had been washed with something red at some point; they were a funny shade of purple. That luxuriant mass of hair was tied in a rough knot at her nape. "I guess I have to talk to you." "This is a difficult time, I know. I'm sorry to intrude." "Come in." Despite the pleasant weather, Rachel had the air conditioning on. The apartment was downright chilly. It was larger than Lily's, but whose wasn't? It was also more cluttered—not out of control, but not the place of a neatnik, either. And a lot more colorful. All the color that tragedy had sucked out of Rachel still lived in her apartment. The walls glowed a rich, multihued gold. The couch was slipcovered in red and strewn with throw pillows in orange, yellow, and lime green. The chairs in the dining area were each painted a different color. There were paintings on the walls, not prints but actual oils—a bright, slightly surreal landscape, a grinning blue dog surrounded by colorful shapes. "Did you do the room yourself?" Lily asked. "What?" Rachel paused in the middle of her pretty room, blinking. "Oh. Yes. Carlos likes bright colors, too, but he isn't… he wasn't interested in decorating." "I'm impressed." And she was. Too bright for her tastes, but it had taken an artist's eye to put so many vivid colors in a small space and make it work. There was passion here, Lily thought. That didn't surprise

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her. The sense of balance and harmony did. She wasn't sure Rachel had heard her. The young woman stood near the couch, hugging her elbows to her body and frowning around at the room as if the sofa or table could tell her what she was supposed to do. How do you treat the detective investigating your husband's death? Lily tried to help. "Your sister isn't here?" "She had to work." "Would you rather do this when she can be with you?" "I want to get it over with. And there are some things… it will be easier to talk about it without her. She's protective." Rachel shrugged. "My big sister, you know?" "I've got one of those. She's okay, but she never forgets that she's the big sister. Can't quite get it that I know how to tie my own shoes these days." A glimmer of humor appeared in Rachel's dark eyes. "Sounds familiar. Delia, she wants to help, but she didn't think much of Carlos. And she really hated Rule—oh, not him, exactly, but that I was involved with him. It's hard to be around her right now." "Your parents don't live here, I understand." "No. Mama moved back toTucson after Daddy left, and none of us knows where he is. She…" Her grimace held pain and guilt. "She's praying over me. I hate that. I hate it that she thinks I'm some sort of adulteress. It wasn't like that." "What was it like?" Rachel gave her a long, hard look, but Lily saw her throat work when she swallowed. "I guess I have to tell you. I want you to catch him. I want him punished, whoever it was. Carlos… he was a mess." She gave a short, harsh laugh. "More of a mess than me, believe it or not. But he didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve to have all his chances taken away." "No, he didn't. Maybe we could sit down, and you can tell me about it." "Oh. Sure." She dropped onto the couch. "I should have… I'm not thinking right." The chair opposite Rachel was striped in yellow and lime green. Lily moved a newspaper to the floor and sat down. "You won't be, for awhile." "I guess not." A long strand had worked loose from the knot. Rachel shoved it behind her ear and leaned forward, her hands gripping each other between her spread knees. "You want to know who did it, who killed him. I can't tell you that, but it wasn't Rule." "You sound pretty sure." "He didn't… he couldn't…" She had to stop and swallow. "I could tell you that he couldn't have sat there with me at the club and talked and smiled if he'd just

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killed my husband, but that's just my opinion, isn't it? And you're thinking that of course I'd say that. Otherwise Carlos's death would be my fault. But it is anyway, isn't it?" Lily's throat ached with pity. "Why do you say that?" "It was a lupus who killed him." She shot to her feet and began pacing. "It wasn't Rule, but it was a lupus, so it has to have something to do with Rule, or with the club. Something to do with me. Only I can't figure out what it could be." "I'd say you're thinking pretty clearly." Rachel paused, shot Lily a bitter look. "And maybe that's not a compliment. Maybe I should be falling apart." "We all deal with grief differently." And there was no doubt in Lily's mind this woman was grieving. "Did your husband own a gun, Ms. Fuentes?" "Yeah, he…" She rubbed her forehead. "Did you say something about that last night?" "I did." But Rachel had been incoherent then. "We found a gun nearby. We're running the serial number, but it would help if you could tell me what kind of gun your husband had." "It's a pistol. A twenty-two." "Did he often carry it with him?" "No, but when we went to Club Hell, he did. It's not a safe neighborhood." Lily's eyebrows rose. "He went to the club with you?" "Not… not lately." She stood very still, hugging her arms to her, looking down—or into the past. "I'm going to tell you how it happened, how Rule and I got together. I don't want to. I don't want it to be any of your business, but I want you to catch him. Whoever did it, I want him to pay." "Catching him is my job. Making him pay is up to the DA." "Good enough." But she didn't move or speak, just stood there, her arms wrapped tight around herself. Lily tried to give her a place to start. "I understand you met Rule Turner at the club." That much she'd learned from Turner. He'd been closemouthed about most everything else about his relationship with Rachel, though he had admitted to knowing Carlos. "Yeah." A small, sad smile played over Rachel's mouth. Her eyes softened as if she was looking back at memories that comforted. "I never thought it would work. Most men are easy—they think they have a chance at sex, they take it, you know? But Rule… he could have pretty much anyone, and I'm nothing special. Not ugly, but not beautiful, either. But he made me feel beautiful." Heady stuff, Lily thought.And all related in the past tense . "You fell for him."

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"Not the way you mean. I was dazzled, I guess. But not in love or anything, no more than he was." She woke from her memories to give Lily a sharp look. "He liked me. He was kind to me, too, the sort of kindness that's hooked to respect, not pity. But he wasn't jealous, not at all. You might say he was born with what Carlos wanted, or thought he wanted." "What do you mean?" Her mouth thinned, though whether from pain or anger or some combination of the two, Lily couldn't tell. "You must have guessed that Carlos and I didn't have a picture-book marriage. More like a roller coaster. Things were really good, or really bad. He'd be super sweet for awhile, then he'd twist off, and I'd be the one trying to hold steady so we could put things back together." She took a shaky breath. "I got tired of being the steady one." Lily took a guess. "He had affairs." "He screwed around." She'd held still as long as she could, apparently. Her legs pushed into motion. "He loved me. I knew that, even when I was crazy with hurt. But he had to prove something to himself, over and over. See, he had mumps when he was sixteen." The words stopped; her legs kept moving. "He was sterile?" She nodded, reached the wall, and turned back. "We've been together ever since I was a sophomore, got married right out of high school. He was the only one for me. The only one I wanted, the only one I'd ever been with. I needed him to feel the same way. I needed to be the only one he wanted, too, but he couldn't give me that. Time came when I couldn't deal with it anymore. So finally I gave in. This last time, when he started in about how jealousy's the big evil, not infidelity, I said, okay. Let's see who's right." "You decided to have an affair." "Iagreed to have an affair." She stopped, chin up, mouth in a bitter twist. "Does that shock you? It was Carlos's idea. He wanted me to unlearn my jealousy, he said. He talked about equating sex with love, said it was a childish attachment to a romantic ideal that messed up people." Her eyes blazed. Her fists clenched at her sides. "Only it was alltheir words. Not his. He was just mouthing what they'd taught him." "Who taught him to say that?" "That stupid church he went to. The Aza."

AT eleven-thirty on Friday night, Lily was curled up in the chair and a half that constituted one-third of the furnishings in her living room. The other two-thirds were the teak coffee table by the window and the red floor cushion next to it. What she lacked in furniture, she made up for in plants—ivy on the kitchen pass-through, an ambitious azalea in one corner, and eleven terra-cotta pots sharing space beneath the single large window. Lily had a pint of Ben and Jerry's in one hand, a pen in the other, a yellow pad on the arm of the chair, and a nineteen-pound gray tabby with one and a half ears curled up on her feet. Much as she appreciated her laptop, it didn't help her think the way a yellow pad did. She'd turned the pad sideways so she could make columns. The names of the lupi who'd been at the club last night topped

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four of them; the others were Carlos, Rachel, Aza, and Lupi. She couldn't assume the killer was a lupus who'd been at Club Hell that night, but the club was tied in somehow. Someone had killed Fuentes less than a block away. That couldn't be coincidence. Two of the lupi who'd been there last night were solidly alibied; no known motive for the others, except Turner. Her pencil tapped the second name. Cullen Seabourne. He stood out in one way: he wasn't Nokolai. The other three were. When she'd asked the name of his clan, he'd smiled sweetly and told her he didn't have one. Back when registration was being enforced, every lupus who'd been caught had claimed to be clanless to keep the authorities from using them to flush out others. But there was no reason for a lupus to insist on that fiction anymore. What did it mean to a lupus to be clanless? Why would it happen? Was he outlawed, or had he never been brought into a clan for some reason? She'd tried calling him around supper, but no one answered. Not even an answering machine or voice mail. She'd left a message with the surly gnome who owned the club, since presumably Seabourne would show up for work tonight. She jotted "Outlaw?" under Seabourne's name and moved on to the next column: the Aza. Her pencil began tapping again, this time with irritation. Mech had left a message on her voice mail. He'd interviewed a couple of elders at the Church of the Faithful… which would have been okay if he'd checked with her first. She was lead. He wasn't supposed to hare off on his own. Not that he'd done a bad job. Mech was methodical, and he'd covered the obvious questions about Fuentes. But the message he'd left raised other questions for her. Tomorrow, she told herself, she'd read his report, then check out the church. And have a little talk with Mech. Her pencil moved on, stopping atLupi . Under it she'd written, "Promiscuous. Species Bill/prejudice. Pack (Clan): the priority, messy internal politics. Hierarchical. Jealousy?" Rachel said that lupi weren't jealous. But Grandmother said the apparent lack of jealousy was nurture, not nature, in action. They were taught not to be sexually possessive, just as children are taught to share their toys. But childhood greed often lives on into adulthood. Lily had arrested plenty of people who wanted what they wanted, when they wanted it, and didn't see anything wrong with taking it— as long as they weren't caught. "Play nice" training didn't guarantee results. Had Turner burned with a jealousy all the more powerful for being prohibited, hidden? Her foot was falling asleep and her hip was throbbing. Lily frowned at the cat. "I am going to have to move soon." Dirty Harry's eyelids lifted just enough for him to glare at her out of baleful yellow slits. He punctuated his nonverbal comment with a flex of one paw, digging the claws into the cloth of hergi . "Quit that," she told him. "I'm in no mood for a demanding male." In fact, if she didn't know better, she'd have thought she was getting her period. She felt restless and grouchy, and she'd apparently moved into klutz territory.

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She'd landed badly tonight. A simple shoulder throw, and she'd gone down hard, like a beginner afraid of the mat. Hugely embarrassing. John had looked at her so reproachfully. But then, hersensai had never really forgiven her for not pursuing the art more diligently. He'd wanted her to compete, but judo had never been about trophies for her. At first it had been a way to feel safe. Now… she wasn't sure. Habit? An unwillingness to lose her skills… or maybe she still needed to feel safe. Her frown deepened. "Okay, Harry, move it. I may need to use that foot again someday." She reached for him, knowing he'd jump down before he'd let her pick him up and move him. He did. Then he sat there glaring at her like a fuzzy, malevolent demon, tail twitching. When he was sure he had her attention, he stalked into the kitchen. "Oh, all right." She got up and followed him. He wasn't supposed to be fed again till morning, but Harry didn't agree with the vet about his proper weight. She supposed if she'd lived on sparrows and garbage for awhile the way he obviously had, she'd have some food issues, too. Lily got out the dry food. He looked disgusted and stalked over to the refrigerator. "Just a little bit," she told him, put the dry food back, and got out some milk. The vet said cow's milk wasn't good for cats, especially overweight cats, but Harry adored it, and she hated to deny him his treat. She poured a stingy amount into a saucer and set it down. Lily wasn't at all sure she was doing things right with Dirty Harry. He was her first cat—if she bowed to convention and called him hers. Most of the time she thought it was the other way around. She'd found him on the beach about a year ago, half-starved, with one leg swollen and useless and killing him with infection. It was the only time he'd ever let her pick him up. "So what do you think, Harry?" She leaned against the refrigerator, arms crossed, and watched him lap up his treat. 'The animal world—excuse me, I mean nonhuman-type animals—isn't free of sexual possessiveness. Chances are that's what happened to your ear, back before we met." Harry ignored her. "And wolves do fight over females. But lupi aren't exactly wolves, are they? They have rules about fighting, ritualizing it, Grandmother says—though it's not supposed to happen over a woman." Harry polished off the last drop and began cleaning his face. Lily rubbed her hip absently. Something was nagging at her, some sense that things didn't add up. "Either Turner killed him in a jealous rage, or… what?" She pushed away from the refrigerator and started pacing. It didn't take many steps to be back in her living room. "Unless Turner is besotted or wildly territorial about Rachel, he didn't have a reason to kill Fuentes. Maybe he did it. But if not… if not, what's the motive?" Lily stopped by the window, scowling at the closed drapes. Who benefited by Fuentes's death? That was always a good question. Half the time, the answer involved money. Maybe not this time, though. There was a small insurance policy through his job, according to Rachel, but it wouldn't do much more than get him buried.

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Passion? He'd played around, again according to Rachel. But it hadn't been an angry husband or boyfriend who'd killed him. It had been a wolf. Well, what was the most obvious result of his death? "Me," Lily said slowly. "Investigating his murder." And focusing on Turner because he'd been involved with Rachel, and he was a lupus. And the one thing they were sure of was that Fuentes had been killed by a lupus. Wait a minute. Maybe the question really was, why had Fuentes been killed by a wolf? Not just by a lupus. A lupus who'd Changed. A lupus who might as well have left her a note telling her one of his kind had done this. The lupi were most deadly when they were furry, but they were fast and scary-strong in human form, too. He could have killed Fuentes without Changing. Harry stopped against her leg once, purring. "You're right." Lily said. "It's late. I'd better get to bed." But as she went through her bedtime routine, one question kept circling around in her head. Why had Fuentes's killer Changed? SEVEN A scrappy little road wound up into the mountains northeast of the city. About twenty miles up that road some forgotten county planner had stationed a scenic overlook boasting a cement picnic table and a metal trash drum. At eleven o'clock Rule was waiting there, leaning against his car with his arms crossed and his nose lifted. The sun was a glaring disk in an empty sky, but there was wind—a sharp, dusty wind smelling of sage and creosote and rabbit. Before him the folded earth descended in irregular humps to the city, satisfyingly distant. A mile up the road, hidden by scruffy oaks and the curve of the little road, lay the entrance to Nokolai lands. Rule closed his eyes and wished for time. He needed to be in two places at once right now—and neither was where he wanted to be. He'd been trying to reach Cullen all morning. He needed to find him, or at least find out if his friend had pulled one of his disappearing acts. Every so often Cullen dropped out of sight, telling no one where he was going or when he'd be back. It was annoying at the best of times. This was not the best of times. Rule held himself in quietness, trying to settle. It had been too long since he'd run these hills in his other form. Too long since he'd even walked them in this one. He needed to absorb and be absorbed by the land, and there was no time… yet he was here now. He looked upwind, searching out the source of the rabbit scent, and found it beneath a scrubby bush, where a dun-colored patch of fur quivered, barely distinguishable from the dirt. Rule watched, motionless himself, and breathed deeply. It helped. Her face floated across the surface of his mind… a heart-shaped face with a strong, straight nose and

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eyes like black almonds. When she smiled, her mouth made a pretty triangle, and her cheeks rounded. He thought of her skin—thick cream, with honey stirred in. And her scent. A touch spicy. Wholly human. Unique. The memory aroused him, turned him restless. He wanted to see her now, not two hours from now. And that, he thought, was not a good sign. Not good at all. A few minutes later, tires crunched on gravel. The rabbit bolted from its hiding spot. Rule turned to watch a dirty gray Jeep pull up behind his convertible. Two men got out instead of the single man he'd been expecting. Both wore jeans and athletic shoes. Both were bare from the waist up. One—the Jeep's driver—had three long scars across his chest, remnants of the attack two days ago. He was a big man, with the build of a fullback and a basketball player's hands. Unusually dark for a lupus, he had his mother's coppery skin. His silver-shot hair was black and very short. The leather sheath on his back held a machete; the one at his waist was for his knife. The blades of both would be sharp, Rule knew, in spite of the softness of the metal. There was too much silver in the alloy for it to hold an edge well. The Jeep's passenger was built like the blade the first man carried—long and slim, with broad, bony shoulders standing in for the hilt. His face was narrow, his skin and eyes pale, and his light brown hair was long enough to tie back. Most people would have guessed him to be about Rule's age. They would have been right. But then, most people didn't know Rule's real age. "Mick." Rule straightened, a familiar wariness stealing the bit of ease he'd snatched. "I didn't know you were here." "Drove down," the slighter of the two men said as he approached. "The vineyard can toddle along without me for a few days. Toby sends his love," he added. "Along with a request for Sweet Tarts or anything else to rot his teeth. You know how Nettie is about a healthy diet." Rule's heart jumped. "You saw him?" "For a few minutes, before the slave drivers carted him off to his lessons. You're overreacting there," Mick commented. "No need to yank the boy clear across the country. No lupus would harm a child." Rule just shook his head. Mick didn't know about Cullen or what he'd discovered. For now, that's how Rule wanted it. He held out his hand, and the two of them clasped forearms in formal greeting—then Mick grinned and pounded Rule's back hard enough to have staggered a human. It wasn't the mock-friendly blow that had Rule pulling back, his lip lifting in a snarl, knees flexed, and arms ready at his sides. It was the scent. The big man gripped Mick's shoulder. His voice was cavern-deep. "Cry pax." "For the Lady's sake, I just slapped him on the back!" Benedict snorted. "You stink of so muchseru even a human would react. I've no time to waste on this foolishness. Cry pax." Mick looked sullen, but he muttered the word. Rule eased his stance, but it would take a while for the chemicals flooding his body to disperse. The stink of his brother's hostility hung heavy in the air.

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"And you," Benedict told him, "had better learn control. The Lu Nuncio can't afford to react like a challenge-crazed adolescent." Rule's lips tightened. He didn't react that way anymore— except with Mick. The two of them had always been competitive. Mick had envied Rule for living at Clanhome. When they were children, Rule had envied Mick for having a mother who wanted him. But the relationship hadn't turned bitter until Isen named his youngest son his heir. "I know. I'm on edge." "All the more need for control." Benedict released Mick's shoulder. "We need to get straight to business. I don't want to be away from the Rho for long." "Your choice," Rule said. "We could have met closer to him." Why had Benedict brought Mick to their meeting? He must know there were things Rule couldn't discuss with anyone else present. "I argued with him about that, believe it or not," Mick said, rubbing his shoulder. "Not that it did any good. But I don't see any reason to ban you from Clanhome." Benedict favored him with one of those expressionless looks that used to make Rule squirm, back when Benedict was training him. "You're very tender about your brother's rights." "I suppose you expected me to rejoice that he's banned." One side of Mick's mouth tucked down. He looked away. "I've got a problem with my little brother being Lu Nuncio. You know it, he knows it, everyone knows it. Maybe that makes me all the more angry when someone else shows disrespect." "The ban is customary. Wait." He slashed a hand through the air, cutting Mick off. "I'm aware that custom bars him from the Rho's presence, not Clanhome. But Isen agreed with my decision." Mick looked shocked. Rule wasn't. He'd guessed as much. Isen hadn't been asleep or in Sleep the whole time. He could have countermanded Benedict's orders… if he'd wanted to. "Rule," Mick said, "I—I don't know what to say. Our fathercan't suspect you." Rule shrugged, ignoring the ugly tangle in his gut as best he could. "Isen always has reasons for what he does." "If it makes you feel any better," Mick said, "I'm not allowed to see him yet, either." He gave Benedict a sour look. Benedict was unmoved. "I let you tag along so I wouldn't have to say everything twice. So listen." Anger flashed in Mick's eyes. "So speak." "It looks as if Nokolai has a traitor. That's the main reason Rule is banned from Clanhome while our father heals." Rule felt sick. "The attack. They didn't know you planned to meet Isen on his return, but they knew you hadn't accompanied him." "Wait a minute," Mick said. "First, Benedict is good, but his mere presence doesn't magically ward off attack."

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"There were five of them," Rule said. "Would you be willing to go against Benedict and our father with only four at your back?" "Okay, you have a point. But we know who did it. Leidolf. Three of the attackers were definitely theirs. The two who got away probably were, too." "Clan Leidolf has been contacted," Benedict said. "The Council issued a formal complaint and demand. Their Rho disavowed the attackers." "The Council?" Rule frowned. "If the complaint didn't come from Isen, they'll know he's badly injured." "That's how he wanted it." Rule chewed that over. Apparently Isen wanted to present the appearance of weakness—make it seem he didn't trust his heir, let their enemies know he was badly hurt. But what did that gain them when the pretense was at least half true? He looked at Benedict, worried, and got back the smallest of shrugs. So Benedict didn't know what their father was up to, either. "I don't suppose Leidolf offered reparation." "No, though they must realize they'll have to, eventually. For now the Council is willing to let them drag things out. Both sides are growling. No one is challenging." Rule nodded. Leidolf and Nokolai were enemies from way back but had managed to avoid Clan Challenge for the better part of the last sixty years. War was too wasteful; Isen preferred more devious means to his ends. Leidolf, being more numerous, might think the all-or-nothing justice of war favored them, but Nokolai had too many friends. They wouldn't fight alone. Even Leidolf could see what a disaster a widespread conflict would be. "The point is," Benedict said, "the attack was timed too well. Very few knew about the meeting between Nokolai and Kyffin. On our side, just the three of us and the Council. I told no one other than the guard I sent with Isen, and he's dead." "Leidolf is notoriously sloppy about their word," Rule said, "so it's conceivable they'd kill their tool to keep him from talking—" "Rule," Mick said, shocked. "You're talking about Frederick." Rule shook his head. "I know. Instinct rebels at the idea, but I'd still like Benedict's opinion. He was there." "Frederick died defending his Rho," Benedict said flatly. "There is no room for doubt. Did you mention the meeting to anyone, Mick?" "Of course not." "Rule?" One person outside the clan had learned about the meeting, though not from Rule. Cullen. Rule phrased

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his answer carefully. "I spoke to no one about it before it took place." "I've spoken with the Councilors," Benedict said. "None of them admits to having told anyone." Mick snorted. "Which proves nothing, since you won't let Rule into Clanhome to put the question to them." Rule lifted his brows. "You'd have me put the question toCouncil members? Without the Rho's orders?" Mick grimaced. "All right, all right. I wasn't thinking. But we're getting sidetracked. Even if the Councilors kept their mouths shut, there were two clans at that meeting. What about Kyffin?" "Jasper's a hothead," Rule said, "but an honest one." I'm not accusing their Rho of anything except talking to the wrong person." Benedict shook his head. "Jasper kept the meeting even more secret than we did. He says only he and his Lu Nuncio knew about it in advance—and he is willing to back his word. He has agreed to submit to Nokolai in formal ceremony." "Merde!" Rule exclaimed. He shook his head in rueful admiration. "Isen manages to land on his feet even when they've been bitten off. This isn't the way he'd planned to obtain Kyffin's support, but I'll wager he'll be pleased. Restrictions?" "Nothing unusual. Year-and-a-day term." "You'll have to let Rule into Clanhome, then," Mick said. "Unless you plan to keep Jasper kicking his heels until our father is well enough to participate." "The Lu Nuncio must accept for Nokolai, of course. Jasper arrived an hour ago with seven from Kyffin plus two from other clans to bear witness. The ceremony is set for two o'clock. Rule will return to Clanhome with us." "Now?" Rule said, startled. "Was there some reason you needed to arrange this without contacting me?" "You've a peculiar idea of my authority. I didn't arrange it. The Council did." Of course. Rule felt foolish. Had his desire to see Lily addled his thinking? He'd have to call her, postpone their date. Not that she was thinking of it as a date… "It's lousy timing, but I suppose that can't be helped." "You had something more important to do than accept Kyffin's submission to Nokolai?" "If I were sure it was more important, I'd ask the Council to reschedule," he snapped. "But I am trying to avoid being arrested for murder. Aside from my own feelings on the matter, California is a death penalty state. It wouldn't be good for the clan for the heir to be executed." A flicker of emotion disturbed Benedict's face. "Who did you kill?" "No one lately. Bloody hell. You don't know, do you? Does no one at Clanhome ever listen to the news?"

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"We've been a little preoccupied," Benedict said dryly. Rule ran a hand through his hair. His question had been largely rhetorical. Many of those lucky enough to live at Clan-home did shut out the human world. The Council couldn't afford to, but, as Benedict said, they'd had other things on their minds. "It looks like I've been set up," he said, and hit the high points. "So they're after you, too." Mick scowled. "They want to destroy Nokolai. And we know why, don't we? Isen's damned political maneuvering! Why can't he see that meddling in human politics never pays off for us?" Rule said nothing. As Lu Nuncio, he wasn't allowed the luxury of opinions. Benedict didn't comment either, but that was typical. He would have made a perfect Lu Nuncio, had things been different. "You need bodyguards," he told Rule. "Killing me would disarrange their plans." "They may prefer getting you arrested to killing you, but what happens if you aren't arrested?" Rule nodded, conceding the point. If they couldn't get rid of him one way, they might try something more direct. "Understood. But I can't do what I need to do while trailing bodyguards. And it's not as if I would be easy to kill." Benedict gave him a hard look but dropped the subject. He might rule over security within Clanhome, but he couldn't force Rule to accept bodyguards outside its boundaries. He dug in his pocket and tossed a set of keys to Mick. "I need to talk to Rule. Take my Jeep back." Mick's expression darkened with temper, but there wasn't much point in arguing with Benedict, After a moment he shrugged one shoulder and nodded at Rule. "See you shortly," he said and headed for the Jeep. Benedict waited until Mick pulled away. "All right. What's going on? That cryptic warning you gave me this morning needs explaining." "That's why we're here." Benedict was responsible for protecting the Rho. He had to know what he might be up against. "Do you remember Cullen Seabourne?" "Seabourne…" Benedict paused, frowning. "You used to hang out with him, back when you were younger and dumber. But that one… wasn't he clanless?" "Yes. And also my friend." "You have some peculiar friends." Something like bafflement overtook his dour expression. "I remember now. He had a cat." That made Rule smile, if fleetingly. Lupi and cats generally avoided each other. "So he did. What I'm going to tell you is for your ears only, Benedict. Isen knows about this. The Council doesn't." Benedict nodded. "You're itchy," he observed.

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"Moonchange is close, and it's been awhile. And…" He thrust a hand through his hair. "There's a lot to be itchy about right now." "You need a workout, but there isn't time. We'll walk." He started for the road. One of the annoying things about Benedict was how often he was right. It did feel better to move. "Cullen is only one of those I've kept in touch with from my younger and dumber days. Not just lupi, either. Too often, those of us of the Blood operate like little islands in the sea of humanity. We don't talk to each other, much less cooperate." "I'll assume you're not suggesting we make common cause with banshees." "I think that was a joke." "Let me know when you're sure." They turned together just short of the road, automatically moving against the wind. The ground along the shoulder was hard and dusty. Rule's footfalls were soft; Benedict's were all but silent, even to Rule's ears. "We're used to hiding," Benedict said. "All of us. Plus there's a few centuries of dislike and distrust involved in some cases. There are reasons for that." "Some of those reasons should have stopped mattering after the Sundering. Most of the rest have been asleep for centuries." "You'd have me believe that's no longer true." Rule nodded. "Not that I'm certain, but Cullen is." "You have some reason other than friendship to believe him?" "You remembered his cat. She was his familiar." "He's not a witch. He can't be. He's of the Blood." "Not a witch, no. A sorcerer." Benedict's breath sucked in. "I take it you mean a real one, not some idiot dabbler. But… how? That path is closed to us." "I don't know, except that his mother was a witch." "Which also shouldn't be possible. A lone wolf sorcerer…" He shook his head. "You're scaring me." "I haven't gotten to the scary part yet," he said grimly. "Cullen came to me a few weeks ago. He'd noticed some odd things about the energies he uses—turbulence, he called it. I won't go into detail. Well, I can't, because I didn't understand the half of it. But basically he suspects a conflict between forces in other realms is being reflected here, and Nokolai is somehow involved—or our enemies are, with the same result." Benedict shook his head. "There's not enough congruence between the realms for that. Not anymore."

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"That's what we've believed. But there have been rumors of things sighted that shouldn't have been able to cross—a banshee in Texas, a gryphon in Wales." "Rumors," Benedict said dismissively. "I know, I know—rumors don't prove anything. But Cullen came to me because… damn. I almost forgot to tell you." Rule inhaled slowly, trying to calm himself. Movement had only helped for a few moments. The restlessness was back, and getting worse. There was an odd crawling sensation in his belly. "In return for Cullen's warning, Isen extended him the aid and comfort of the clan for a month. I doubt he'll show up, but if he does—" "I'll see he gets in. Finish explaining." "Right."Keep moving , he told himself. But he was going the wrong way. He was headed for Clanhome, and he wanted… needed… "Cullen came to me after an elemental took up residence in his scrying flame. It was frightened." Benedict made a scoffing sound. "Isn't that how scrying works? In return for the flame—or water, or whatever is used— the elemental shows pictures. Mostly lies," he added. "Or useless. Elementals are too simple to sustain a thought or much of an emotion." "Normally, yes. But this was a very old, verylarge elemental. And, according to Cullen, it was not from our earth." "You're right," Benedict said after a moment. "That's scarier." Rule's head was growing light, as if he weren't getting enough air. His feet drifted to a halt. "Last night Cullen cast the bones. I saw them afterward, Benedict. Snake eyes, every one, on every side." Benedict never cursed, but his expression suggested he wanted to. "I'm not swallowing his story whole, understand, but if even half of it—what's wrong?" "I can't…"Breathe. Can't … "I have to go back." He turned—and wobbled so badly he might have fallen if Benedict's hand hadn't closed over his arm, steadying him. "I have to get back." He started walking. Yes, this was right—this was the right direction. The dizziness eased, but the urgency increased. He picked up his pace until he was running, with Benedict running silently beside him. He must think I'm crazy. He'd be about half right. But Rule didn't stop to explain. Seconds later he reached his car and stopped, bending over with his hands on his thighs, dragging in air in gulps. Such a brief run shouldn't have elevated his heart rate, much less winded him.Damn, damn, damn … Benedict scowled. "You're going to tell me what's wrong. Now. Right now." "Sorry." Rule straightened. He had to call Lily—to change the time for their lunch, for one thing. And to make sure she was okay. If she'd been driving just now… "I can't enter Clanhome. You'll have to bring Jasper here. No, maybe he'd better come to my apartment in the city. We have to settle how we'll handle the ritual." "What are you talking about?"

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"I wasn't sure until now, but… it seems the Lady has chosen for me." Benedict's eyes widened. "Who?" He took one more breath and held it, letting it out slowly as his heartbeat settled. "The police detective investigating the murder I'm supposed to have committed." "Bloody hell," said the man who never cursed. EIGHT THE neighborhood where Carlos Fuentes had been shot looked just as seedy by day, but Lily noticed that the area immediately surrounding Club Hell was a wobbly notch above the rest. Most businesses had bars on the windows, true, but at least they were open, not abandoned. The usual clutter of sullen young men dotted the sidewalks, but there were women out, too, and not just the working girls. Ahead of Lily two old women moved slowly, casting baleful glances at the young men and chattering at each other in fierce Spanish. Today Lily's feet were silent on the sidewalk, no awkward clicking of heels. No ugly cop shoes, either. Running shoes were one of the perks of moving out of uniform. She was glad to have them. She felt itchy, on edge. As if she might need to run. "Did you pull her sheet?" she asked. "No sheet." Officer Larry Phillips sauntered along at her side, still tall, skinny, and sarcastic. "Juvie might have something, but it'd be sealed. She's been on the street awhile, but not as an adult. According to her ID, she just turned nineteen." He snorted. "Gonzales thinks she's clean." "Mmm." It was theoretically possible for a prostitute from this neighborhood to avoid using drugs. Just not likely. "You did good finding her." He shrugged. "She's not exactly ironclad, but who else was I gonna find who'd been out at night around here? Pimps, whores, pushers, and users. That's about it." "You left out gang members." There was a tugging beneath the itchiness, as if she needed to go somewhere, fast. What was the matter with her? She knew very well she wasn't a pre-cog, so it wasn't some kind of psychic shit. "The gangs mostly stay away. It's that one on the end," he added, nodding at a run-down brick building at the west end of the street. "Third floor. You seem awfully damned pleased about this. Doesn't her story mess up things with your prime suspect?" "It fits with other testimony. We have Fuentes leaving a church in La Mesa around eight-thirty." "That's thirty minutes away, tops. So what else did he do between then and nine-fifty?" "Don't know yet." Lily walked on a moment before adding, "Tell me something, Phillips. You've got experience with lupi. Why would one of them change to wolf to kill?"

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"I dunno." He sounded surprised. "Instinct, maybe. Fuentes had a gun." "From what you've told me, and what I've read, a .22 pistol isn't much of a threat to a lupus." "If he'd been shot, it would have fingered him pretty clearly for us. They heal quick, but not so fast you wouldn't have seen the wound when you went to Club Hell." "I wouldn't have gone to Club Hell right away if we hadn't known a lupus was responsible. It's like he posted a sign for us: Killer lupus on the loose." "Or else he just wanted to get his teeth into Fuentes. Hell, could be all kinds of reasons no human would think of." "Maybe." Or maybe she was being steered. Why had the killer turned wolf to attack Fuentes? Had it been deliberate or instinctual? The instinct argument didn't hold up unless there was something unusual about the circumstances she didn't know. Other lupi hadn't been driven by instinct to Change and kill, not in the last eleven months. But killing in wolf form would have been necessary if the killer wanted the lupi blamed for it. Or one lupus in particular. The one she'd see at lunch. A weird little spasm in her gut left her feeling hollow. She rubbed it absently. Had she eaten breakfast? 'This it?" she asked when they reached the dilapidated brick building on the corner. "Yeah." He reached over her shoulder and pushed open the door. The vestibule was tiny and dirty. She started up the stairs ahead of him. "What did you mean about the gangs staying away?" "The wolves," he admitted grudgingly. "Word is they put the fear into a couple gang leaders so customers at the club wouldn't get hassled. Or maybe that weird little guy that owns it has 'em spooked. For whatever reason, none of them claim the immediate—hey! What is it?" She'd stopped, her hand tight on the rail. Trying to keep from tumbling back down the stairs. "I… give me a second." But the dizziness that had hit so quickly wasn't easing. It seemed to be squeezing the air out of her chest. "You don't look good." "Dizzy," She put her hand on her chest, as if she could push more air in that way. And breath by breath, the spell began to pass, until she was standing there feeling foolish. "Whew. I don't know what that was, but…" She caught a glimpse of Phillips's expression. "I am not on anything," she said sharply. "You're a little young for a heart attack. Low blood sugar?" He sounded skeptical as only a cop can. "Maybe. I forgot to eat breakfast." She'd never had a problem before, though. She thought of the way she'd bruised her hip last night and frowned. Maybe she was coming down with something. "Never mind. I'm fine now, and we've got a witness to talk to."

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THE witness's room was tiny and crowded with dolls. Baby dolls, Barbies, porcelain-headed dolls with lacy dresses and shining, perfect hair. They filled two bookcases, cuddled into corners, sat on the coffee table, and lay on the pillow on the twin-size bed. And every one was blonde. In addition to dolls, the room also held an ancient refrigerator, a two-burner stove, a chest of drawers, and a lumpy blue love seat without legs. Therese Martin had waved them to the love seat. She sat on the bed, a skinny little waif in an oversize blue T-shirt and nothing else—no pants or bra, certainly. Lily didn't know about panties. Therese had shiny blonde hair like her dolls, though the color was a result of better living through chemistry. If Phillips hadn't sworn the girl's ID was valid, Lily would never have taken her for legal. "I oughta be sleeping, you know," Therese said, eyeing her hostilely. "This is the middle of the night for me." "I appreciate your willingness to help us out." Lily took the photo of Carlos Fuentes from her purse. "Don't know why you're here. I already told him every thin'." She jerked her chin in Phillips's direction. "He didn't have a photograph to show you. I do." Lily didn't have any illusions about the girls and women on the game. Prostitution was survival at its grimiest, a life based on using and being used. It didn't allow much room for morals or standards. But those dolls… the hard ache of pity had Lily clearing her throat. "Is this the man you spoke to last night?" Therese took the photo Lily held out, looked it over, and handed it back. "Yeah, that's him." "Officer Phillips said you knew him." She shrugged one thin shoulder. "Not by name. I've seen him around. Helps to have an eye for faces in my business." "I can see where it might. What time did you talk to him?" "I already told him. Oh, all right. I'll show you." She scrambled off the bed, which answered the underwear question. She wasn't wearing any. She snagged a cell phone from the lap of a doll on the coffee table and handed it to Lily. "See? I've got Caller ID. It records when I get calls. Last night, I was headed for my spot when Lisa called. I wasn't workin' yet, see? So we were talking when I saw this guy pull up by the playground." Lily looked at the phone, which did indeed show that a call had come in at 9:49 p.m. the night before. She made a note of the number. "You say he pulled up. Was he alone?" "Yeah." "What kind of car?" They'd found Fuentes's car parked just down from the playground—a big, dark blue Ford, several years old. "Dunno. Big, ugly car, four doors. Dark color." She went back to the bed, this time sitting with her feet dangling. "So anyway, I was talking to Lisa an' I watched him for a minute. You can ask her about that,

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'cause I told her. Then I thought, why not give him a try? So I told Lisa bye and went to see if he was, you know, lonely or something." "He arrived at the playground shortly after nine-forty-nine, then." Which meant he'd still been alive between nine-fifteen and nine-thirty, which was when seven witnesses had Turner arriving at the club. Therese rolled her eyes. "That's what Isaid ." "You talked to him for how long?" "Hardly any time at all." She grimaced. "He wasn't buying, an' I got a living to make, don't I? I headed for Proctor— that's my regular spot." "You didn't see anyone else approach him?" The girl shook her head. "Was anyone else in the area?" "Maybe some people got out up at the club." She squinched her face up. "Yeah, I think so. They parked in that lot." "They? How many were there?" "I dunno. They were women, see, so I didn't pay attention. Didn't see no one else till I got to Proctor." "All right. What about this man?" Lily took out a picture of Turner. "Did you see him that night?" "Not then. Seen him around a few times, talked to him once." She sighed. "Just talked. His kind, they don't pay for it. He's okay, though. Real respectful." "What about this man?" The photo Lily offered this time was of the dancer, Cullen Seabourne. Therese's tongue darted over her lip. She looked greedy. "Course I've seen him. He dances there, you know. Takes off all his clothes. Just like me." She giggled. "Told him that once, that he and I had sorta the same job, only mine was more hands on. He laughed." "Did you see him last night?" "I told you who I saw—that first guy, and some women. That's it." "One more thing, Ms. Martin. Have you spoken to anyone about seeing that man arrive at the playground?" She snorted. "Hell, no. Think I'm an idiot? Around here, you shoot off your mouth, you get in trouble." "That's good. Just keep thinking that way. What about your friend—the one who called you? Did you tell her?" "Just said I might have some business, then hung up. She don't know who it was."

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Lily stood. "Thank you for your cooperation. Officer Phillips will bring you a statement to sign so you don't have to go to the station house. I'm sure you don't want anyone to know you've spoken with us. I don't, either." Lily gave Phillips a few instructions—he'd follow up with the friend, get that confirmed, and make sure she didn't know anything. Then she left. She checked her watch as she started back down the stairs. Twelve-oh-five. Plenty of time to make it to Bishop's. She was looking forward to the look on Turner's face when— Her cell phone rang. She fished it out. "Detective Yu." "This is Rule." Oh, she wished her heartbeat hadn't done that skip-jump thing. She spoke sharply. "Yes?" "I deeply regret this, but I can't make lunch. Some clan business requires my attention. Can we get together about two-thirty?" "I've an appointment at three." Lily stepped onto the sidewalk. Dammit, she was not disappointed. "What about dinner, then?" "What about four-thirty? We don't have to eat while you tell me about lupi." "Why not, though? We both eat. You can ask questions about lupi pertinent to your investigation, and I'll have the opportunity to hit on you again." The laugh was out before she could stop it. Oh, he was dangerous, all right. "This isn't social." "You're free to continue thinking that." He hesitated. "There's a chance I can get you into Clanhome, if you're interested. There would be conditions." "I'm interested." For years, most people had thought the Nokolai enclave outside the city belonged to a nutty, pseudo-religious group who didn't allow outsiders on their land. Though the clan had come out of the closet after the Supreme Court ruling, they remained unwelcoming—and outside the city limits. A city cop didn't stand much chance of getting a toe across their boundaries without a warrant. "We can discuss it over dinner." "All right. I'll be working late. Eight-thirty okay?" "Dum alius hora, delicia." "What does that mean?" He chuckled. "So suspicious. Eight-thirty is fine." "At Bishop's," she reminded him. "At Bishop's. Be safe," he said and disconnected.

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Be safe? She frowned at the phone in her hand. One of her instructors at the academy had ended every lesson with a similar phrase, but she'd never heard a civilian use it. They used to say it on that cop show, too… What was the name of it? Maybe Turner had been a fan. The idea of a lupus prince hooked on a television cop show had her grinning as she finished descending the stairs. Enough about Turner, she told herself as she headed for her car. There was another man she needed to know better: Carlos Fuentes. He'd arrived at the playground shortly after 9:49. But why had he gone there? Who had he met? And how had he really felt about his wife's affair? One of the last people to speak with Fuentes before he died was the Most Reverend Patrick Harlowe. So her next stop was the Church of the Faithful. She could eat on the way.

"WHAT do you mean, he can't talk to me?" The pudgy little man was upset. "I didn't say that. Oh, no. The Most Reverend will certainly talk to you, Detective, but he isn't here right now. He had to go to our Mother Temple in Los Angeles. He should be back tomorrow." He smiled at her hopefully. 'Tomorrow." Lily frowned. When was Turner planning to get her into Clanhome? Her gut was telling her she might find some answers there. This was beginning to look like some kind of lupi-against-lupi deal, for all that the victim had been human. "What time?" "In the evening, I think. Father Hidalgo will be handling the morning services." "You have two fathers?" "Two priests," he corrected her. "There are several degrees of priesthood—father, reverend father, most reverend, holy, and the most holy, who's rather like our Pope." He beamed at her. "He's in England normally, but he's been visiting our new Mother Temple. That's why the Most Reverend Patrick had to be away." "That's a lot of structure for such a new religion." And were all the priests male? In a religion centered around a female deity, that seemed odd. "No, no, the church isn't new. Well, it's new to America, but the faith has been around a long time, a very long time. It originated in Egypt in… oh, my, I'm not good with dates. The Second Dynasty? We were dreadfully persecuted during the Middle Ages." He shook his head. "We had to go underground. That's why you won't have heard about us, but the rituals weren't lost. Not entirely. Many of them can be traced back for thousands of years." The battier the cult, Lily thought, the more they liked to claim an ancient lineage. And there was nothing like a little persecution—preferably in the past—to lend their beliefs a certain cachet. "You seem pretty knowledgeable. Maybe you could help me out, answer a few questions." His smile faltered. "I don't see what I could tell you. I knew Carlos, but not well." "You spoke to him Thursday night."

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"Briefly." He was unhappy. "I told your officer that." "I just need to confirm a few things, get some background." She gave him a trust-me smile. "You know how it is. I have to be able to answer anything my superior might throw at me." He nodded, but doubtfully. "I suppose we could use the secretary's office." They were in what she assumed was the sanctuary, though it looked rather like the bank lobby it used to be, only with pews. "You don't have an office?" "Oh, no." He shook his head, smiling again as he started toward the back of the building. "I'm just a lay brother. A carpenter—or was. Retired now, you know, so I help out, but I've no official status." "Did you do some of the work here?" "I did." His face shone. "Used to be a bank, right?" "That's right." He glanced around with proprietorial pride. "Built in 1932, but it was empty for years. We take pride in the restoration we've done here. The building was in dreadful shape, truly dreadful." "Mmm." Took a lot of money to restore an old building. This one was small, as banks go, but it still seemed an odd choice for a church. But apparently the Church of the Faithful wasn't hurting for money. As it turned out, the chubby lay brother and retired carpenter really didn't have much to tell her. He confirmed that Fuentes had been at the church Thursday night—he'd seen him arrive— but not to rehearse with the choir. He'd been closeted with the most reverend fellow, receiving some private counseling. Tomorrow, she promised herself as she unlocked her car, she'd talk to the Most Reverend Patrick Harlowe. Tonight… her lips curved up. Tonight she'd have dinner with Rule Turner. She was looking forward to seeing his face when he walked into Bishop's. NINE RULE knew he'd been set up before he'd been in the place ten seconds. Bishop's was more bar than restaurant, with all the ambiance of a locker room. Photographs in cheap plastic frames hung on paneling from the seventies. The wooden booths lining the narrow room looked as if they'd been through a couple of minor wars and would still be around after the next one. The place smelled of fried fish, hamburgers, and hostility. As Rule made his way to the back of the room, heads turned. Conversations paused. Being watched was nothing new, but the expressionless gazes that tracked him weren't the reaction he usually received. Bishop's was a cop hangout. Lily Yu sat at the next-to-last booth on the left. She wore an icy yellow jacket with a black tee and slacks. The jacket, he knew, hid a shoulder holster. No jewelry. Her hair— shoulder-length, lustrous, as black as the inside of his eyelids on a moonless night—hung loose.

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He wanted to run his fingers through it. To nuzzle her neck beneath that shining curtain and soak up her scent. Fat chance. That didn't keep his heart from pounding as he slid into the booth across from her. He could feel the wanting in his fingertips, a tactile need for her. He smiled crookedly. "Maybe I will behave. There are a lot of guns in this room." Amusement lit her eyes, that fugitive humor he'd glimpsed before. It gave him hope. The Lady knew he needed some. "You guessing about the guns?" she asked. "Gun oil has a distinctive scent." She nodded. "It's weird to think you're getting information all the time that's not available to me. Just how sensitive is your sense of smell when you're… well, like you are now?" "Not as good as when I'm four-footed. Then, the air has weight and texture, and scent moves through me like a shifting tapestry." "You miss it." "Yes. It's been awhile." It was the sort of place where the flatware comes wrapped in a skimpy paper napkin. Lily unwrapped hers, giving the task more attention than it rated. "I've heard that lupihave to Change every so often. That you can only put it off so long, and the full moon… damn." The young woman who'd glided up to their booth wore baggy jeans that hung low, showing off her belly button ring. Her hair was short, as was her T-shirt. Her nipples were hard. She held an order pad, and she smelled excited—and frightened. "I'mSharon ," she said, her voice slightly breathless. "What can I get you?" Automatically his smile gentled. "Hamburger, rare, made with two patties. Serve it dry, please. Is your coffee any good?" "It's okay. I'll make some fresh," she promised. "Thank you. Lily?" He quirked a brow at her. "I think you mean 'Detective Yu.'" She looked at the waitress. "I'll have a hamburger, too, but make mine well done with extra pickles. Lots of extra pickles. And coffee, blond." "Sure thing. I'll be right back." She stared at Rule a moment longer before giving a little sigh and hurrying off. "You feeling more welcome now?" Lily asked dryly. "As welcome as a man can be when he's having dinner with a lovely woman under the eyes of a couple

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dozen of her big brothers." She chuckled. 'Testosterone practically drips off the wall in this place, doesn't it? But you're from a male-dominated culture. Ought to feel normal." "Lupi are male, yes. But our culture isn't male-centric. We treasure women." "Funny, that's what the men say who lock their women up in purdah." "It's not like that." He studied her a moment. There was something different about her tonight. More relaxed. That was exactly what he wanted, but he'd expected to have to work for it. "It must have been difficult for you, succeeding in a field that, ah, drips testosterone. You would have had to prove yourself over and over." "They want to know you've got their backs, that's all. You know what it takes to really join the gang? Get in a fight." She shook her head, amused. "One good knock-down-drag-out, and you're one of the guys." He went still. "You've fought? Hand-to-hand?" "You can't always avoid it, though I… you've got a funny look on your face." She was so small. Tough in spirit, physically fit, but no match for nine out of ten men. "I've a strong protective instinct. All lupi do. We see Deity as essentially female." Her eyebrows lifted. "The Great Mother, you mean?" "Something like that." "Who probably doesn't need big, strong males to protect her." His lips twitched. "Point taken." "I've been talking to some other people who worship a female deity. Supposedly her name is too sacred to be spoken except by priests consecrated to her service." "Talking in connection with your investigation?" She ignored that. "They're the Church of the Faithful, officially, but like to call themselves the Aza. It's supposedly from some ancient language—Babylonian or something. Ever hear of them?" "Can't say that I have." He spread his own napkin in his lap. "You said you were interested in seeing Clanhome." "I am." "There will be a ceremony tomorrow that I must attend. I believe I can arrange for you to accompany me." She had to be there, of course. At least, she had to be close to Clanhome, or he wouldn't be able to attend, either. "You're the heir, the crown prince. How much arranging does it take?"

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He shook his head. "My position is… you'd call it high-status. And that counts among lupi, certainly. But I've no real authority. That rests with the Rho." "Your father." "Yes. Can you give your word to hold confidential everything you observe that isn't directly applicable to your case?" "I've never heard of an outsider being allowed, much less invited, to attend a lupi ceremony. Why me?" Rule gave her the truth—or part of it. "I want you to trust me." Her index finger tapped the table as she thought it over. Not much given to impulse, hisnadia . Finally she gave a brisk nod. "All right. You have my word. What time?" "I'll pick you up at eleven." "No, I'll pick you up. Where will I find you?" "I prefer to drive myself." "So do I." Why did that not surprise him? "We don't always get what we want, do we? You won't—ah, thank you." The waitress was back with their coffee and water. She'd spritzed herself with a musky scent. Long practice kept him from wrinkling his nose in distaste. "Sharon, I think you forgot my companion's cream." She blinked. "Oh. Oh, right." She dug into a pocket on her thigh and pulled out two containers of a substance that had never been within shouting distance of a cow. "Here. Be right back with your burgers," she told Rule with a smile and started to move away. A man in the table nearest their booth grabbed her arm. He was young, with buzz-cut brown hair. The two other men at the table were slightly older. "Sharon, if that guy gives you any trouble," he said loudly, "you let me know." She bunked, confused. "Uh, sure. But he isn't—" "I know what he is." The young cop gave Rule a hard look, then turned it on Lily, though he still pretended to be talking to the waitress. "I also know you've got too much self-respect to hang out with his kind." Rule tensed. Lily wouldn't thank him for smashing the pup's face in, but— "Hey, Crowder," Lily said loudly. "Got a tissue?" One of the older men at the table looked taken aback but recovered quickly. "Nah. Didn't bring my purse." The other man snickered. Lily shook her head sadly. "You ought to be better prepared." She pulled her purse onto the table and ostentatiously dug inside it. "Here," she said—and tossed him a packet of tissues. "Wipe behind your

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trainee's ears, Crowder. He's dripping." That brought a round of laughter—and not just from the three men at the table. The young cop flushed and released Sharon's elbow. "You handled that well," Rule said. She grimaced, broke open the coffee creamer packet, and emptied it into her coffee. "I didn't realize it would be this bad. I wonder if this is how a white woman felt in Alabama thirty years ago if she ate with a black man." "Not quite that bad, I hope. Our fellow customers aren't likely to drag me into the alley and beat me up." "I don't suppose they could, unless they drew on you. There are parallels, though, aren't there?" She sipped her coffee, eyeing him over the rim of the mug. "The civil rights movement opened doors for lupi that would have remained closed otherwise." 'True. If people hadn't started refusing to sit in the back of the bus, measures like the Species Citizenship Bill wouldn't be possible now. I need to talk to you about that. First, though, have you given any thought to going out with me?" She sputtered into laughter. "Does the head-on approach usually work for you?" She shook her head, amusement fading. "It's not going to happen, Turner. You're lovely to look at. Charming, too, if a bit cocky." "Cocky is for puppies." "Did I mention arrogant? Never mind. It doesn't matter how pretty or charming you are—you're not worth tossing my career out the window." "Is that what would happen?" He paused, then nodded. "I see. That makes things difficult for both of us." "There is no 'us.' I'd like to ask you some questions." "I hope they're personal." "About lupi. Does the full moon force a lupus to Change?" The temptation to keep pushing her was almost irresistible, but he wasn't here to indulge himself. He sighed. "To business, then. The full moon affects all of us, but only forces Change on young lupi. Like most adolescents, they have to learn control." "So the Change is volitional?" "Generally." The pucker between her brows suggested she'd marked his evasion, but she didn't pursue it. "What about very young lupi? Children lack control." "The Change arrives with puberty, not before."That startled her. Good . "I hope you won't put that in your report. It's not exactly general knowledge."

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"I'm aware of that," she said slowly. "Why did you tell me?" "I'm cooperating. Would it be possible for me to see Fuentes's body?" "Good grief. Why?" "There's an outside chance I might be able to scent his killer. If not, I could still pick up information that wouldn't be obvious to others." Her ringer began tapping the table again. "What sort of information?" "The wounds might give me some idea of the nature of the killer—first, whether he really was a lupus, as you are assuming. Also whether he was an adolescent or a berserker." "Berserker. That sounds ominous. Is that a certain type of lupus?" "More like a condition. Rare, fortunately." "Speaking of rare, here comes your burger. Hope she remembered mine." Sharon wafted up on a cloud of musk, smiling shyly, and delivered two enormous hamburgers on plates piled high with french fries. She lingered a moment, fussing with the condiments, asking if Rule wanted anything else. More coffee, maybe? Another customer called to her to bring the coffeepot his way. Sharon sighed and departed. Rule waited until she was out of earshot to say, "I've often wondered why human men like women to smell like the musk gland of a male deer." "I take it you're not fond of perfume." Lily spread mayonnaise on the bun. "Hey. I've misjudged Sharon. She remembered my pickles." "She's just a little starstruck. I'm probably the only lupus she'll ever meet. Knowingly, at least." "Hmm." The pickles were thick wedges, not slices. There were six of them. She cut them neatly to fit, then began layering them on top of the meat. "In every picture of you I've seen, you're wearing black. You wore black last night. You're wearing it today. That's on purpose, isn't it? You want people to recognize you. You want them to know they're meeting a lupus." "Black is good theater," he admitted. "Are you really going to eat that?" "You like raw meat. I like pickles." She set the top of the bun on her pickle mountain. "You do the mystery bit well—sex, sophistication, the allure of the forbidden or the dangerous. It's on purpose, isn't it? That's the image you want people to associate with lupi. Glamour, not bestiality. You've made yourself into a poster boy for your people." His lip curled. "Why, thank you." She grinned. "Starting to believe your image?" "Maybe I really am sexy, sophisticated and—how did you put it? Full of the allure of the forbidden."

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"Full of something, anyway." He grinned back, enjoying her, and reached for the ketchup. "What about you, Lily? Do you believe your image?" "I don't have an image." "Sure you do. The tough, cynical cop." "No, that's the real me. No secrets… well, maybe one or two." Suddenly all the fun leaked out of her expression. "But not on your scale. I don't keep any kids tucked out of sight so they won't spoil the image." TEN LlLY thought he was going to jump her. The fury that leaped into his eyes looked like violence about to happen. For a long moment he didn't move, didn't speak. At last he asked, low and silky, "How do you know about my son?" Her mouth was dry. It infuriated her. "You don't want the police to be aware of him?" "I forgot I was talking to the police. Foolish of me. No, I don't want the police to know about him. I don't want anyone outside the clan to know about him—though not for the reason you suggested." His lip curled. "What an interesting opinion you have of me." She'd hurt him. The notion shocked her, and immediately she tried to reason it away. He wasn't a serious suspect now. Too many witnesses placed him at Club Hell at 9:30, and Therese and her cell phone proved Fuentes was still alive at 9:50. So maybe she'd relaxed too much. She'd let things get too casual, too friendly. Maybe, for some ungodly reason, she actually liked this man. She'd felt bad for him, talking about how he missed the Change. What had happened to wrest his magic from him? Could he get it back? She couldn't ask. But she didn't know him, not really, nor did he know her. Her opinion couldn't matter. And yet… "I crossed a line," she said quietly. "I'm sorry." "My son isn't part of your investigation." He tossed his napkin on the table, slid out of the booth, and pulled out his wallet. She slid out and stood, too. "You don't have to—" "I invited you. I'll pay." He threw a couple bills on the table. "Bon appetit, Detective. If you wish to see Clanhome, be at your headquarters building at ten-thirty tomorrow morning. I'll pick you up." He left to the same silent chorus of stares that had greeted his arrival. Okay, Lily thought, picking up her hamburger and trying to take some interest in eating it.Looks like I

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blew that one . She was chewing a tasteless bite when Crowder came up. "Lost your date?" He slid in across from her without asking. "I'm trying to have supper here." "You go right ahead," he said, and dragged one of the fries on Rule's plate through the ketchup. "Got any mustard?" "No." She deliberately took another bite. "Oh, there it is." He pulled the squeeze bottle over and squirted a thick yellow stream on the bun. "Be better with some onion," he said, fitting the bun on top, "but I'm not picky." "The meat's rare." "Like I said, I'm not picky." He took a huge bite. She sighed and put her hamburger down. "You aren't going away, are you?" "Nope." He chewed, then wiped his mouth. "Wanted to apologize for Tucker. Kid's wet behind the ears, just like you said. Thing is… well, I thought you ought to know. Someone's been shooting his mouth off. Tucker's too green to take what he hears with a grain of salt." "Talking?" Her stomach felt tight. "About me?" He nodded and disposed of another fourth of the burger in one bite, chewed, and swallowed. "Nothing that bad, just… you know. Talk. About you and Turner, the effect his kind have on women. That sort of thing." "Who?" she demanded. Dammit, she'd only been on the case since last night. "Who's talking me down?" Crowder shook his head. "I don't like to say. You know how it is." Yeah, she knew. You were one of the guys—right up until you weren't. Locker room talk was still governed by the high school code: don't repeat it to the girls. Probably just as well, a lot of the time, or none of the women on the force would be able to stand working with a lot of the men. Crowder had bent those unspoken rules by coming over here. "Thanks for the warning." "No problem." He polished off the burger. "Would've been better with onions," he said, and pushed to his feet. "You take care, now." "Yeah. Stay safe." Crowder ambled back to his table, leaving Lily thinking furiously. Crowder worked the same shift she did. Who knew about her case that might have been in the locker room at the end of shift, shooting his mouth off? She grimaced. Too many possibilities. But she couldn't help remembering the way Mech had tried to protect her from being alone with Turner.Don't jump to conclusions , she warned herself.

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But the ugly thought had destroyed any hope of forcing more of her meal down. She grabbed her purse and scooted out of the booth. "The food wasn't good?" The starstruck waitress stood in front of Lily, her eyes dark with anger and disappointment. It wasn't the food she was worried about. Lily sighed. "The food was fine, but he had to leave. And so do I." Sharon shook her head. "Take my advice, and don't go running after him. Make him come to you. Not that I blame you." She sighed. "That man just radiates sex. Like a stove. I'll bet he—okay, okay!" she called to someone else wanting her attention. "Be right there." She smiled kindly at Lily. "My momma always said, if you can't play hard to get, then just play. Have fun." She patted Lily on the arm and hurried off. Lily stared after her. She had definitely misjudged Sharon. She forced her mind back to business.

PAIN was a dull, sullen presence, hardly compelling. But something else pushed at Cullen, telling him it was time. Time to wake up. He stirred, Something hard beneath him… hard, it was so hard, to wake up. Shouldn't be. He'd been… he was… For a moment the knowledge simply wasn't there. The spurt of panic pushed him the rest of the way to the surface. He opened his eyes. Raw wood overhead. Wood beneath him, too. The cabin.Yes , he thought, relieved.That's right . He was at the cabin. He'd come here to… the thought slid away. His ribs hurt. He sat up carefully, letting the blanket that had covered him slide to his lap. He blinked. He'd been lying on the floor, fully clothed. And there was a large hole in the north wall. Oh, yeah. He'd gone sailing through it when he got into a little disagreement with Molly's friend. He touched his side, grimaced. Hadn't won that argument, had he? The memory was oddly fuzzy. He must have been slightly concussed, though his head didn't hurt. Healed it while he was out, he supposed, and pushed to his feet. He'd had time for that. The light streaming in through the damaged wall told him it was early morning. He'd come to the cabin with Molly and her sorcerer friend yesterday about noon. They'd talked about exchanging spells, and then… Had it been yesterday? He frowned. Must have been, he decided. If he'd been out for more than a night, his ribs wouldn't still be this sore. And he'd be a lot hungrier. Not that he wasn't hungry. First things first, though. He touched his wards mentally, found everything secure, then went to check the damage to his ramshacklepied-a-terre .

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He wasn't much of a carpenter, but the repair seemed to lie within his skills. He'd have to get to it pretty quickly, though—the roof was sagging. Someone had wedged a couple of the broken two-by-fours across the top beam, temporarily reinforcing it, but a good wind could take it down. Considerate of them, he thought, ambling over to the ice chest he'd brought. They'd knocked him out, cracked a rib or two, but at least they'd kept the roof from falling in on him while he was unconscious. They'd tossed a blanket over him, too, before departing. That had probably been Molly's idea. She had a soft heart. But he didn't think she was strong enough to have made the temporary repairs to his roof. That must have been… what was the man's name? Frowning, he took out the carton of eggs, then paused, trying to identify the mechanicalwhup-whup sound his ears picked up. A helicopter, he decided. Off to the south. Not a common sound up here—he was pretty remote. But not alarming, either. He headed for the little propane-powered stove. He'd have to give Rule a call. There was some serious stuff going on, weird energies moving between the realms that he didn't understand. Though he had an idea, from something the other man had said… something to do with the realms shifting? Dammit, he really needed to remember. He turned on the burner and poured oil into the cast-iron skillet, scowling. What was his last clear memory? The encounter with that pretty little detective at Club Hell was clear enough. Cullen grinned. Rule had a definite interest there. Should he tell his friend that his newest inamorata was a sensitive? Maybe, but never mind for now. That memory was clear enough. So was the next morning, when Molly's phone call had dragged him out of sleep far too early—and seriously aroused his curiosity. A few hours later, he'd gone to the airport to pick up Molly and her current lover, who was a sorcerer, like him. Only not like him. Cullen frowned. That's where things got fuzzy. He couldn't call up the man's face or much about what happened after Molly and what's his name arrived. They'd argued, him and the other sorcerer. He remembered that much. He'd wanted more than the other man… Michael. Yes, he thought, relieved to have retrieved that much. The man's name was Michael. The one he'd used, anyway. Sorcerers were a secretive bunch, so it probably wasn't his real name. Normally Cullen wouldn't have invited another student of thesorceri to his retreat. There was a small, untapped node beside the cabin, one he didn't intend to share. But Molly had vouched for the man. And Cullen had ended up unconscious for about twenty-four hours. Well, he thought, absently rubbing his side, maybe he'd deserved that. He and Michael had swapped a couple of basic spells—nice stuff, but nothing really new. When they started talking theory, though, it had been obvious the man was holding back. Cullen couldn't recall exactly what had happened, but he had the notion he'd pulled something a bit underhanded. It had worked, too. He grinned, elated, the two eggs in his hand forgotten as at last one memory kicked in, clear and sharp. What was a cracked rib or an unplanned nap on the floor? He had a dandy new illusion spell, elegant and powerful. Far more sophisticated than anything he'd run across or dreamed up on his own. The setting sequence alone suggested all sorts of possibilities___

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Grease spat on his hand. He started to rub it, noticed the eggs he was holding, and cracked them into the pan, then added a third. Food first, and then—oh, then he'd settle into some serious study of his new acquisition. He'd better not get too deep into it, though, or he'd forget to call Rule. Cullen sighed. Pity, but he couldn't just drop out of sight and work on this, not now. Who else could tease out the truth? In this benighted age, so few grasped even the basics about magic. They didn't burn to understand, the way he did. No, just as children afraid of the dark pull the covers over their heads, they burrowed into their ignorance—and cast out those who didn't want to live trapped beneath their stifling restrictions. As the clan that should have been his had cast him out. Cullen drew a shaky breath. Enough. Rule had never shunned him for doing what he had to do. For that, Cullen owed him friendship. And a phone call. When the eggs were done, he lifted them onto a plate, carrying it and the loaf of bread over to the table. He got a can of Coke from the ice chest and refueled quickly, hardly noticing what he ate, his mind teeming with symbols, structures, and relationships that had no direct physical analogue. Thirty minutes later, the plate with its bits of congealed egg sat forgotten on the floor, where he'd moved it when he noticed it was in his way. The table was littered with scraps of paper, and he was frowning at a row of glowing symbols that hung in midair. After a moment, two of the symbols slid to the right, and another sequence took their place. Yes, that was it. That's what he'd been missing. If the congruence between the object and the illusion was to hold, he had to— A red energy ribbon snapped across his field of vision. He jolted. One of his wards had been breached. Not tampered with, not finessed. Something had powered right through as if the ward wasn't there. Which should not have been possible. Cullen lacked the usual lupus aversion for guns. With a quick wave of his hand, the glowing symbols vanished, even as he dashed for the corner where his shotgun waited, loaded and ready. He grabbed it, paused. A second's concentration, and the scraps of paper burst into flame. And he headed for the exit, moving fast. Not the front door or the impromptu exit he'd added when he went through the wall yesterday. A trapdoor at the back of the shack. It opened on a cramped tunnel that led to a cave— one he'd long ago explored thoroughly. Cullen didn't like small, enclosed spaces any better than the next wolf, but he liked even the less the prospect of meeting whoever or whatever could brush through his wards that way. Call him paranoid. Friendly visitors knocked, dammit. He tossed back the throw rug, grabbed the edge of the trapdoor, and yanked. It was heavier than it looked, being made of solid steel. And was hit by pure, burning agony. His back arched as his fingers released the shotgun. His knees buckled. He fell to the floor. Cullen had a high tolerance for pain. Most lupi did. But this was like nothing he'd ever experienced, as if

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he were being burned alive from the inside out. He heard himself screaming and tried to clamp his jaws together, but his body twitched and spasmed and wouldn't obey. Instinctively, he tried to Change. And couldn't. Terror, as primitive and consuming as the physical agony, seized him. Like flipping a switch, it ended. As sex leaves an afterglow, so does intense pain. He lay there twitching and panting, his mind dimmed, his entire body aching like a bad tooth. The gun. It lay inches from his out-flung hand. He reached for it—or tried to. His arm didn't move. Frantic, he gathered his focus and tried again. His muscles gave a single obedient twitch— and sent a wave of fresh pain rolling through him. He gritted his teeth, riding that wave.Okay, so the attack was physical, not psychic. It did some damage. I can heal it. Lady, grant me time to — Several black-clad forms burst through the door. Three— four—and another two erupted from the hole in his wall. They wore what looked like blackgis belted by long strips of red cloth tied with deliberate intricacy. Black scarves wrapped, Bedouin-like, around their heads hid the lower parts of their faces. And they had rifles. Every damned one of them. Ninja wanna-bes with guns? "You," barked one of them—short guy, pale skin, smelled of seru—excited and aggressive. "Where are the others?" "He can't answer, Second." Whisper-soft, that voice came from behind the knot of black-clad bodies near the hole in his wall. It sounded childish… if you could imagine a computer having a childhood, for there was no life, no feeling in that voice. "I'm surprised he's conscious. Speech will be beyond him for several hours." The black-clad forms parted. A woman in a long red robe picked her way daintily through the bits of broken boards. She was small, not much over five feet, and looked barely adolescent. Her hair was long, jet black, and hanging loose. A narrow silver band circled her head. The opal it held was large and black, and covered the brow chakra. She carried a staff of black wood banded in silver that was as tall as she was. It reeked of magic. He wanted to find her ridiculous, a child dressed up like a B-movie extra. Instead, the hair on the back of his neck lifted. A wave of hatred—instinctive, unreasoning—curled his lips back from his teeth. The tiny movement hurt like blazes. Damn, damn, damn, there were tears in his eyes as she sauntered over to him. "Look for them," she said crisply, a queen addressing her minions. Them? Michael and Molly, he realized. These escapees from a costume drama wanted the other sorcerer, not him.

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All this, and they aren't even after me. That's a pisser. "Madonna," the man who'd spoken before said hesitantly. "Stay back, please. Let us protect you." "Fool," she said in that baby-computer voice. "He can't move. See where that—" she gestured with her staff at the tunnel—"leads. And who might be in it." The short ninja barked out orders. Three of them hurried to obey, lowering themselves one at a time into Cullen's escape route. Shortie moved closer to Cullen, watching him suspiciously. She paid him no attention, her gaze fixed on Cullen. Her eyes were uncannily dark, so black he couldn't separate pupils from irises. There was something odd about her scent, too, but the smell of magic from her staff was so strong he couldn't tease out much else. Her staff… "I wonder why you're conscious," she said. The staff. That's where his hatred focused. The need to destroy it rose fiercely in him. He wanted to Change, to take it in his teeth and sprinter it, but—wait a minute. He hadn't been able to Change earlier, but the assault had ended. He'd been damaged, but maybe— "All right," she whispered, "let's see what you're thinking. Where are they?" He met her eyes—and crossed his own as her probe slid harmlessly off. He'd have stuck out his tongue if his jaws had cooperated. "You're shielded!" she cried, high and astonished. Her face puckered, and she jabbed him in the ribs with her staff. /will not be touched by that abomination . The power of hatred sent him surging to his feet, aware of pain but consumed by the need to crush the unclean thing. But pain disregarded isn't pain defeated. He was slow, clumsy. He staggered and missed when he grabbed for the staff. And when the rifle butt descended, he caught a glimpse of it—too late to keep it from slamming into his skull. ELEVEN TWENTY minutes outside the city and climbing, Lily looked out the window at chaparral, scrub oak, and rock. The road was steep, the sky overhead so clear and intense it seemed she had only to put the window down to be able to breathe in the blue as well as see it. Compared to theRockies to the northeast, they were runts, these mountains, but she loved them. They made her think of old cowboys, worn down to spit and sinew by hard living. Rule's father owned a fair slice of these mountains. That wasn't all Isen Turner owned, according to the dossier the FBI had given her. There were vineyards inNapaValley . Chunks of real estate inSan Diego and L.A. Stocks, bonds, and more land in a remote part ofCanada . The FBI estimated his holdings at three hundred million, and Rule managed them.

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Not that the Feds knew everything. They didn't know who Rule's mother had been, or how old his father was. They weren't even sure how old Rule was. In his thirties, she thought. Though he could have passed for a twenty-something, his bearing spoke of someone older. Of course, being semiroyal might have that effect, too. She glanced at him, then looked out the window again. The view was more interesting than a pouting werewolf. His car, however, woke lust in her heart. A shiny new Mercedes convertible—silver outside, dark leather inside, onboard navigation system. She hadn't wanted to suggest he put the top down, given the prevailing atmosphere of snit, but it was easier to hear the incredible stereo with the top up… not that there was much worth listening to. He'd been playing Dvorák when he picked her up. Mostly she tolerated classical music pretty well. But not that one, not one of the quartets. Maybe she should have gritted her teeth until it ended, but she hadn't. She'd asked politely if he could play something else. Equally polite, he'd switched at once to an oldies station. Which may have been a backhanded slap at her musical taste. She didn't care. She'd apologized last night. What more did he want? And dammit, was she really wishing he'd go back to flirting with her? She couldn't be that dumb. All right, she admitted silently. Maybe she could be. She'd work on it. But he didn't have to be so—so blastedpolite . She'd tried. Hadn't she tried to start a civil conversation? Amazing how quelling a simple yes or no could be. He'd managed to freeze her courteously into silence, too. He reminded her of her mother. That thought was absurd enough to make her smile. She was taking herself—and him—far too seriously. And this was an investigation, not a pleasure drive. She'd cleared it with the captain this morning. He'd agreed to her omitting all irrelevant details from her official report; he liked the idea of keeping the Feds in the dark. Then she'd gone to talk to Fuentes's neighbors, and caught two of them at home. The one on the floor below hadn't known the couple at all. No help there. She'd struck pay dirt with 41-C, though. Erica Jensen was a young single woman who was Rachel's friend. She'd agreed that Carlos had had a wandering eye—also wandering hands and other body parts. He'd persuaded Rachel to try the scene at Club Hell and had been pleased when she attracted the attention of a lupus prince. "Whole thing's weird, you know?" Erica had shrugged. "Carlos talked about how possessiveness is wrong, but I dunno. If you ask me, he liked it that other men wanted his wife. Made him feel important, because she was his. Just a different way of making like he owned her. But she seemed okay with it." "Did Rachel tell you this, or did you talk to Carlos about it?" Lily had asked. "Mostly Rachel, but Carlos talked about that weird church of his to anyone who'd listen." She'd looked sad. "I'm making it sound like he was a real lowlife, and he wasn't. He worked hard, and he was sweet with Rachel most of the time. You ask me, he had some wires crossed, was all. Rachel loved him like

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crazy. The deal with Turner… well, she loved that, too. She says the sex was incredible, but I think he made her feel special, too. And it made Carlos appreciate her more." All in all, she'd made it sound as if Rule Turner was being a Good Samaritan by diddling Rachel Fuentes. Lily didn't buy that, but lupus moreswere different. They didn't believe in marriage, for one thing. Lily glanced at the Good Samaritan behind the wheel. He'd forgotten to mention that this was casual day. He was wearing his usual black, but the jeans were worn at the stress points and his T-shirt was old and faded. He wore tennis shoes, no socks, and mirrored sunglasses. And he hadn't shaved. So why did he look so blasted elegant? She broke the silence. "Clanhome is owned by your father, I understand." "Technically, yes," he said in that cool, polite voice he'd used ever since picking her up. "He holds it in trust for the clan." "A corporation could do the same thing." "There's been some discussion of that, now that it's legal to be lupi. But corporate law and lupus custom don't mesh well." "I suppose not. Stockholders are allowed to vote." The mirrored lenses tipped her way briefly, then faced the road again. "No doubt you believe clan members are being deprived of their rights and would be happier if they were allowed to vote." "Wouldn't they?" "No." Just that, no explanation. Lily clamped down on her irritation. He was hardly the first uncooperative witness she'd dealt with. 'Tell me about your father. Will I meet him today?" "He's a canny old bastard. I mean that literally, of course." Now there was something other than courtesy in his voice. Mockery. "We're all bastards, by your standards." "You don't know what my standards are. Is there anything I should know about today's ceremony?" "No. You won't be attending." Temper was bubbling up under the lid she'd put on it. "So that business of requiring my word was, what—window dressing?" "All visitors to Clanhome are asked to promise not to talk about what they see. You can't attend the alliance ceremony because another clan is involved, and their Rho didn't want an outsider present." Another clan—a new ally? Lupus politics, Grandmother had said, were played according to the

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rules—lupus rules. Which included ritual combat, sometimes to the death. "Which one? What's going on?" "This isn't part of your investigation, Detective." "It's wonderful how you can make 'Detective' sound like an insult." "I'm doing what you wanted. Keeping things impersonal." "Are you?" She turned to study him, then shook her head. "I don't think so. If things weren't personal, you wouldn't be pouting." His eyebrows lifted. "Pouting. That's certainly in line with your other notions of my character. But you're right, of course." The car slowed. "Things are personal between us. I'm not the one in denial about that." "I meant that you keepmaking things personal. Or trying to. Which your present snit proves is a big—what are you doing?" "Behaving like a fool, most likely." He'd pulled to a stop, dead center in the road. "You aren't going to suggest I get out and walk." "I wouldn't dream of it." He tossed his sunglasses on the dash, then unfastened his seat belt. The sudden jump in her heartbeat said she knew what he intended. She refused to listen to it. He wouldn't. Not when there was so much at stake, not while he thought he was still a suspect—not in the middle of the road, for heaven's sake. "There's a blind corner just ahead. You'd better move this car, unless you want to get hit." "You may hit me," he said, and seized her left arm. "In a moment." Her right hand flew out—not to slap, but to punch. He snagged it in midblow and struck back. Not with his hands, but with his mouth. On hers. She bit him. His breath sucked in, but he didn't pull back. No, the bastard chuckled. He rubbed his bloody lip over hers, slowly. Gently. Then he licked her lower lip. And she… didn't move. Couldn't move. As if he'd shot a bolt of some strange metal through her body, she was pinned and quivering, her entire being vibrating to a new, soundless music. He let go of her hand to cradle her head, deepening the kiss. And once freed, she didn't push him away. She touched him. His ear, and the hair that curled over it. His shoulder, firm and flawlessly male. His fingers stirred the hair at her nape, and God help her, but the music took on a familiar beat, the pounding rhythm of need. She made a small noise and chased his mouth with hers. He answered with a masculine purr of approval. His hand settled over her breast, teasing the nipple. His mouth stopped coaxing and took. She met his greed with her own. His shirt was thin, yet still in her way. She needed his body, needed it

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bare so she could touch and claim every plane and hollow. She knew him—no, she needed to know him, would know him, now, always, every part of him— Lily heard herself moaning. The sound shocked her back into her right mind—or whatever was left of it. She jerked her head back. He bent to her exposed throat, kissing, sucking. "No—no, you can't. We can't—" The frantic sound of her voice frightened her. She pushed at him. He lifted his head and looked at her out of eyes gone blind with desire, the pupils so large they nearly swallowed the irises. "No, of course… not here. I shouldn't have… come here,querida , you need to be held. Come, I need this, too," he said, and unfastened her seat belt. His hand was shaking. Like her. As if she'd been plunged into an icy pool, tiny shudders chased up her spine and shivered along her thighs. Her jaw tightened, and it was hard to get words out. "Don't touch me. You can't help. You did this. You did this to me." "I kissed you. The rest is not my choice, either. This console is damnably in the way," he added, but it didn't seem to be giving him much trouble. Nor was she. She let him arrange her, her mind overturned by confusion… her body still craving his. His arm around her shoulders urged her as close as the console would allow. His chest heaved with breath as ragged as hers. "I'm sorry,nadia . I was angry, but I'd no right to be. You didn't know why you upset me. It's hard for you. So much you don't understand." She understood that this was wrong. She told herself that, but didn't move. "You're using some kind of spell. You must be, even though I can't feel it." "I'm not. You and I… you're right that this is no ordinary attraction. We are bound. Neither of us chose it, neither controls it." "No!" She forced herself to straighten, pulling away. "There's always choice. Sometimes limited by—by circumstance…" Such as developing an incredible case of the hots for a man she had no business getting involved with. A man who lacked even a nodding acquaintance with fidelity. A man who wasn't entirely human. "We can't always control our emotions," she finished more quietly. "But we choose whether to act on them." "Why do I think I know what your choice will be?" He rubbed his neck, sighed. "Lily, it won't work. No amount of common sense or willpower will cut the connection between us. You can't turn your back on this as you might an infatuation." "Amazing. We agree on something. I am not infatuated with you. I'm not altogether sure I like you." "I'm aware of that. At the moment, I'm not too thrilled with you, either. You're stubborn, infuriating, prejudiced—"

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"I am not prejudiced!" "Then you have no problem with my nature?" "It's your sexual habits I'm not crazy about." His crooked smile was less than happy. "You'll be pleased to know that you've changed my habits. Permanently." "Sure, and you've got a bridge you'd like to sell me, too." She looked straight ahead, tucked her hair behind her ears, and hoped she didn't look as all-to-pieces as she felt. Dammit, she was still shaky. "Don't you have a ceremony to attend?" He just sat there, looking at her. She refused to look at him, but his gaze seemed to have weight. And heat. Her heartbeat wouldn't behave. Finally he put the car back in gear. "There's a great deal you need to know, and no point in telling you any of it. Not when you're determined to disbelieve me. When you're ready to listen, let me know." For the rest of the drive, she was as silent as he.

CLANHOME was a long, winding strip of land that bordered BLM land in places, and a wilderness preserve elsewhere. Maps indicated it was accessible by only two roads—this one, and a private road to the north that led to the tiny community of Rio Bravo. The stretch of Clanhome that met this road was fenced and gated. Rule pulled to a stop at the closed gate. A young man in shorts—and nothing else—was waiting to open it for them. He looked fit and friendly, barefoot and freckled, a regular Jimmy Olsen of a werewolf. There was a walkie-talkie clipped to his belt. After opening the gate, he didn't move aside for them to pass, but came up to the window. Rule put it down. "Sammy." "Hey, Rule. Benedict says for you to take your guest to the Rho's house before you go to the Grounds." Rule flicked a glance at her. "You can tell him you gave me his message." The young man grimaced. "I said it wrong. It's the Rho who wants to see her, not Benedict." He peered into the car, obviously curious about Rule's passenger. Rule didn't introduce her. His fingers drummed once on the steering wheel, then he nodded. The young man stepped back, and they drove through the gate. "Apparently," Rule said, "you'll be meeting my father after all." "Good." "You're speaking as the detective with a murder to solve, I assume. Not as the woman I'm involved

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with." She wanted to tell him they weren't involved, but the words stuck in her throat. She'd all but inhaled him a few minutes ago. Whatever they were,uninvolved didn't fit. So she said nothing. Past the gate, the gravel road wound around the rocky shoulder of an aging mountain, then headed down into a long, shallow valley. Nestled in that valley was what amounted to a village. Two dogs—a terrier of some sort and a shaggy collie mix—raced along the shoulder with them as they neared the village. She hadn't expected dogs. It didn't seem to fit with the wolf thing. There was no clear line between wilderness and town. No tidy blocks or fences. The modest stucco, timber-frame, or adobe houses seemed to have been plopped down at random, with some on the main street, others peering out from the pines and oaks covering the slopes on each side. They passed a gas station, a small produce market, a cafe, a laundry, and a general store. There were people, too. The road split to circle a grassy area a little larger than a football field where several dozen people were gathered. The location for the ceremony she wouldn't see? Like the guard at the gate, the men she saw mostly wore shorts, period. The women—why hadn't she expected to see women?—wore shorts, too, though they added shoes and a T-shirt or halter A couple of them waved; several others simply stared as they drove past. Farther up the street, a teenage girl sat on the porch steps of a small stucco home, drinking a canned soda. She wore a gauzy dress… and had one arm looped casually over the huge, silver-coated wolf panting cheerfully in the heat beside her. The wolf turned his head to watch as the Mercedes went by. The Rho's home was set partway up the slope at the end of the street. It was a sprawling stucco home with a red tile roof— lovely, but hardly a mansion. Not what she expected of a man worth three hundred million. Rule pulled into the curving drive, and she saw the man standing at one corner of the house. He was middle-aged and as nearly naked as everyone else she'd seen. The blade in his hand was entirely naked. All two or three feet of it. "Good God. What's he, the palace guard?" "Something like that." Rule pulled to a stop in front of the house. The guard watched them. He didn't look nearly as friendly as the one at the gate had. "This doesn't say much for your claim that everyone's happy not having a vote." "You're unacquainted with the situation." "You could fill me in." "I don't know what the Rho wants you to know." "And you don't make decisions like that without consulting him?" "Not when I'm speaking to the police." He opened his door.

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She started to reach for him. She had no idea what she was going to say, and didn't have the chance to learn. The door of the house flew open, and a young boy burst out. "Dad! Dad!" Rule shot out of the car almost as precipitously. He was rounding the hood before Lily got her seat belt undone, his face filled with such a fierce joy that she felt embarrassed, as if she'd intruded. She climbed out slowly as the two connected, the man grabbing the boy and lifting him off his feet to swing him in a dizzy circle, then settling him on one shoulder as easily as she might sling her purse on a shoulder. The boy had short, straight hair a shade darker than Rule's, a softer chin, and no beard, but otherwise was a miniature of his father. Though maybe the resemblance was exaggerated by their identical, beaming expressions. "So what are you doing out here?" Rule demanded. "What about your lessons?" "It's lunch!" he cried, indignant "Anyway, I finished the spelling, and I know all the states, and Nettie says we'll do math after." He grimaced. "I am not looking forward to math, you know." "I know. But you're doing better with division all the time, and you've got multiplication dicked. What's seven times seven?" "Forty-nine! And you'renot supposed to say dicked." "I forgot. There's someone I'd like you to meet,ma animi ." "Yeah?" He looked away from his father's face, ignoring the guard, and saw Lily. "It's a girl." He was surprised. "A lady," Rule corrected. "Lily, this is my son, Toby Asteglio. Toby, this is Lily Yu." "You?" "It's a Chinese name," she said. "It sounds like the English pronoun, as if I'm always talking about someone else, doesn't it? But in Chinese it can mean lots of things, depending on how it's written." "Do you talk in Chinese?" "Sometimes, when I'm with my grandmother." "Cool. My friend Manny, he's teaching me Spanish. His folks talk in it all the time, and I can't tell what they're saying, but I know a little. I can count to twenty,¿Como está usted?" "Muy bien, gracias," she replied gravely. "¿Y usted?" "You talk Spanish, too! Hey, Dad!" He patted his father's cheek. "She talks Spanish. Maybe she can teach me so's I don't forget, since I have to be here a while. Gammy says you're nuts for dragging me clear across the country," he added. "Or if you aren't, then you'd better get your act together. I don't think I was supposed to hear that part." "Probably not," Rule said. "However, I'm working at getting my act together."

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"She didn't mean it bad. She says that a lot. If I forget my homework, she says I'd better get my act together. But I'm glad you haven't gotten it together, 'cause I get to be here awhile." A tall woman with a cloud of frizzy gray hair hanging nearly to her waist stepped out of the house. "Toby, you need to finish your lunch, or Henry will be convinced you're coming down with something." "I'm not sick!" "You know that, and I know that, but will Henry believe us?" The woman wore running shorts and an athletic bra. Her skin was coppery from heritage as well as sun, and her muscle tone was excellent, making it hard to guess her age. "Hello, Rule. Toby certainly knows the sound of your car. He shot out of the kitchen like we'd lit a fire under him." "It's just sandwiches," Toby informed his father. "But with Henry's bread, so they're good." He addressed the next to Lily. "He makes it himself. Gammy just buys hers, but Henry makes it. He lets me help sometimes." Back to Rule. "Are you going to have lunch with me?" "Ms. Yu might, after speaking with your grandfather," Rule said. "I can't, not this time." Toby made a face. "Oh, yeah. I forgot. You can't come in. But after the ritual…?" "I'll come see you," Rule said gently. "Work hard on your division, and you and I will go to the creek." He swung the boy off his shoulder, kissed his forehead, then set him on the ground and swatted his backside lightly. "Go eat." Toby didn't move. The stubborn look on his face reminded her of Rule. "I wouldlike to go with you." "Yes, you would. But children are not allowed, which you know very well. Now go tend to your duties, and I'll take care of mine." The boy heaved a huge sigh. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Yu. Maybe we can talk Spanish later." "Maybe so," she said, charmed. And feeling guilty. This was not the distant relationship she'd been picturing. "Though I don't know very much." "That's okay. I don't, either. Bye!" And he raced into the house at what she suspected was his usual pace: headlong. Lily flicked a glance at the guard. The others acted like he wasn't there, but she found it difficult to ignore a man with a sword. Well, a machete, she amended. It was closer to two feet than three. She spoke quietly to Rule. "Your son's a charmer." "I think so, too." He watched the door Toby had vanished through a moment longer, then turned to her. "I won't be going in with you, I'm afraid." "What's that about?" He just shook his head and gestured at the tall woman standing silently nearby, "This is Nettie Two Horses. I imagine she'll take you to meet the Rho. Nettie, this is Detective Lily Yu. You're expecting her?"

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"I am." She held out a hand. Lily took it, and received a tingle of magic along with a firm, no-nonsense handshake. Native magic—she'd encountered its like before. "Rule left off part of the introduction," the woman went on. "I'm Dr. Two Horses. Not that you're obliged to call me that. Heaven knows no one around here does." She had a quick, wide smile. "I don't suppose I look like a doctor to you." "Most doctors don't wear white lab coats at home." "And you're wondering whether this is home for me. Well, Clanhome is. This house isn't, but I've a patient here." She grimaced. "A bloody difficult patient." Rule smiled wryly. "He's awake, obviously." "And doing,well, under the circumstances. But I want him back in Sleep as soon as possible, which means I'd better take Lily to see him right away." Rule nodded."I'll see you later, then." He gave Lily a glance she couldn't read—then touched her cheek. "Be safe." She lifted her brows. "Don't you mean, 'Be safe,Detective ?' " He chuckled. Then, instead of getting back into his car, he loped off, moving at an easy ran that was pure pleasure to watch. "He's beautiful in motion, isn't he?" the woman beside her said. "They all are. I've never tired of watching them." Lily made a noncommittal noise, embarrassed that she'd been caught staring. "I didn't realize Isen Turner was ill. I hope it's nothing serious?" "Serious enough, but he's not ill. Come, let's go inside. I'll explain some of it, but you'll need to save most of your questions for Isen." She started for the house. Lily spared one last glance at the man with the oversize knife, then followed. "I didn't realize Rule's son was visiting." "Mmm. Tell me, should I call you Detective? Or Lily?" Meaning she wanted to know what it meant that Rule had touched Lily's cheek. Well, so did Lily. "I'm here as part of an investigation." "I'm sorry to hear that. Would it make you uncomfortable to remove your shoes when you step inside? It's custom here." "Not at all." Though in fact it made her feel a little weird, mirroring as it did the practice at Grandmother's. Just inside the door Lily paused, taking a quick look around as she bent to slip off the flats she'd worn

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with her linen suit. The entry hall was large, tiled, with a skylight. It ended in French doors, left open, that led to an atrium. Doorways opened off both sides; one led into a dining room, the other a hall. There was a shoe rack next to the door.Déjà vu all over again , Lily thought, straightening. The tiles were cool to her bare feet. Magic brushed her soles faintly, a fuzzy hum similar to what she'd felt at the murder scene. Lupus magic. Which Rule seemed to lack. She faced her guide. "If Mr. Turner isn't ill, then he's been injured." "That's right. Since you're a police officer, I'm hoping you aren't squeamish." "Traffic patrol generally cures any tendency toward squeamishness." "I can see that it might. Like working the ER, perhaps. But you're a detective now?" "I am. Homicide." Her eyebrows commented on that, but she didn't ask the questions Lily expected. Instead, she started for the hallway on the right. "Lupi heal better when their wounds are left uncovered, and, as you may have noticed, they lack body modesty. Isen isn't bandaged or clothed, and he isn't pretty to look at right now. He's regrown the skin and some of the muscle over the abdominal injury, but—" "Wait a minute. He's got a gut wound, and he isn't in the hospital?" Nettie paused, glancing over her shoulder. "Lupi generally hate hospitals. There are reasons for the Rho to remain here, and he's well cared for, though shock remains a danger. Which is why I keep him in Sleep as much as possible." "When and how was he attacked?" That sudden smile flashed over the other woman's face. "You're quick. Save your questions for Isen, though." "All right. But this one's for you. You've used that phrase, 'in Sleep,' a couple times now. What does it mean?" "A healing trance. It aids healing in almost anyone, but lupi benefit from it to an extreme degree, since they naturally heal so quickly. It virtually eliminates the possibility of shock." She started walking again, heading for the paneled wooden door at the end of the hall. "You're a touch healer of some sort, I take it." "I took my degree in conventional medicine in Boston, and trained in shamanic practices under my uncle." Lily nodded. Shamanic practices meant earth magic, which fit with what she'd picked up when they shook hands. She was surprised to find a trained shaman here, though. Native healers were hot these days, especially with the Hollywood crowd, but not many of them left the reservations. Even fewer cross-trained in Western medicine. "You practice here at Clan-home?"

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"Here and in Rio Bravo. I consult elsewhere sometimes. This is it," she said, and rapped on the door, then pushed it open. Over six feet of solid male muscle blocked the doorway. This one wore cutoffs and had one of the most impressive chests she'd ever seen. That chest was smooth and hairless, and crossed by a leather strap. Equally impressive was the machete he held as if he might want to skewer the next person to walk through the door. TWELVE "BENEDICT," Nettie Two Horses said, exasperated. "Move." "She has a gun," the man said calmly. "She's not allowed to bring it into theRho 's room." Lily had had about enough. "Put away the blade." He didn't move, His eyes were dark, his skin coppery, like Nettie's. There was another, smaller scabbard at his waist, a scattering of silver in his black hair, and no expression at all on his face. "Put it up," Lily repeated. "Or I'll arrest you for drawing a weapon on a police officer." From behind him came a low chuckle. "It would be interesting to see how you went about doing that, but we're short of time. Benedict, stand down. She may keep her gun." That voice was even lower than the guard's, seeming to rumble up from the bottom of a well. In one smooth motion the impassive hunk stepped back, sheathing his blade in the scabbard on his back. Nettie Two Horses moved into the room, and Lily followed. It was a large bedroom, woodsy and masculine, with a beamed ceiling and what looked like a medieval tapestry on one of the forest-green walls. A cello sat in one corner. The furniture was dark and lovingly polished; it had been shifted to accommodate the hospital bed at the room's center. In that bed was a bear of a man with an IV in one arm. He looked nothing like Rule. His face was craggy with a prominent Roman nose, his age hard to guess. Fifty? Sixty? And yes, he was entirely naked, except for a patch over one eye. He was also a bloody mess. The wound running from his cheek up under the eye patch was bumpy with a heavy scab. New pink skin had formed at its edges, trailing into what was left of a grizzled, rust-colored beard. The gouges on his torso started in the furry chest just beneath the left nipple and ran all the way down his belly, stopping just short of his genitals… which didn't seem to be damaged. His abdomen dipped in oddly, as if not all of the usual pieces were in place beneath the skin. She couldn't see his left arm, but his right hand had only two fingers. The rest were marked by tiny, pink nubs. "What," she asked, "was that all about?" "Please excuse my son," the Nokolai Rho said. "He is responsible for my safety and diligent in his duty. Our customs require that no one enters my presence armed." His son? Lily resisted the impulse to check Benedict for any resemblance to Rule and walked up to the

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bed, looking down at its mutilated occupant. She'd interviewed people in bad shape before, but usually they had more clothes on. This was… distracting. But maybe that was the idea. "You wanted me here. I'm a cop, cops carry guns, and I'm guessing you aren't an idiot. You could have settled the gun business before I walked in. So why the dramatic welcome? Did you want me too irritated to feel sorry for you? Or was it just another way of putting me off balance?" The single visible eye was set deep… and amused. "If my goal was to irritate you, I succeeded. Won't you have a seat?" Since there wasn't a chair near the bed, she started to make another smart comment. But Benedict was good for something other than looking menacing. He brought up an upholstered armchair, carrying it one-handed as easily as if it had been a plastic lawn chair, then retreated to his post near the door. Leaving her forced to put her back to him or refuse to sit. All right, she told herself as she sat down. Isen Turner liked to play games. She could handle that. She'd been dealing with Grandmother all her life. "You were attacked, nearly killed. Who did it?" "I don't remember an attack," he said blandly. "Perhaps there was a head injury, and it affected my memory. You smell of my son. The youngest one," he added. "You're beginning to piss me off." He made a muffled sound, and the lumpy skin on his abdomen shivered. "Ah…" he said after a moment. "That hurt. I can't laugh yet. Nettie, I need you to check on Toby. Or you could brew me one of your possets." "You don't have enough duodenum at the moment to digest a posset, but I can take a hint. I'll go, but say whatever you have to say quickly. I'm giving you fifteen minutes." "Thirty." "Fifteen, and you're going back in Sleep when I return." "The woman doesn't understand bargaining," he muttered, watching as Nettie Two Horses closed the door behind her. Lily thought Nettie understood just fine—you only bargained when you had to. Apparently she didn't, which was interesting. It was also interesting that the Rho didn't dismiss the blade-toting Benedict. "Fifteen minutes isn't much time," she said. "You've got an agenda. So do I. Maybe we should quit fencing." "Why not? You haven't rattled, despite my efforts. You don't even smell of fear. I wonder why that is?" "Your son—the one standing behind me with that big people-opener—won't take a stab without your say-so. And you didn't bring me here to cut me up." One bushy eyebrow lifted, and she suddenly saw a resemblance to Rule—not the features, but the expression. "And yet, even reasonable people fear us, at least at first. Logic can restrain fear but doesn't eliminate it."

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"Curiosity works against fear, too. And I'm very curious. For example, I'm wondering about your attackers. You don't remember them." She nodded as if that made perfect sense. "But if you were to speculate, who would you suspect?" "Well, now." That single eye was warm with amusement. "I might wonder if Leidolf was involved. I heard a rumor that three of their clan members suffered unfortunate accidents while in wolf form. As if they'd been in some sort of brawl." "Did you hear the names of these brawlers?" "I'm afraid not, but it hardly matters. They're dead." And it was no crime to kill lupi in wolf form, leaving her without an investigative leg to stand on. "I wonder who the leader of the Leidolf clan might be." "I can see why you might be curious about that." He smiled and said nothing more. It was a trick Lily had used herself often enough. Let a gap fall in the conversation, and most people were compelled to fill it—and in their haste and discomfort, said more than they'd intended. She smiled back at him. He chuckled. "I like you, Lily Yu. Not that you care, but I thought I'd mention it. As you say, let's stop fencing before my keeper returns. You mentioned agendas. Yours, I assume, involves your murder investigation." "I've got a killer to catch, yes. To do that, I need to be free to talk to your people. They'll not give me much help without your approval." "And yet I'd rather not see any of my clan behind bars. Particularly my heir." She shook her head. "No, you'll want to help, because whoever did it tried to frame your son. The other one, not the one standing behind me." That startled him. Good. She was taking a risk, gambling that what she learned here would be important enough to justify spilling a little information. "You have decided this? Or proved it?" "I have certain evidence. I also have instincts, and they tell me that Nokolai is connected somehow. Perhaps as a target. First, it's your prince someone wanted accused. Second, there's that ceremony today. You're making a new alliance, and I have to wonder why. Then there's you, and the attack you don't remember. Someone seems to have it in for your family. I want to know who and why." "I can't tell you who," he said slowly. "But I know why. Nokolai supports the Species Citizenship Bill. There are many who would do almost anything to keep it from passing." She could believe that, but… "It was one or more lupi who attacked you, and a lupus who killed Carlos Fuentes." "It isn't only humans who fear the consequences if the Citizenship Bill passes." She digested that. The Species Citizenship Bill had two thrusts. First, it officially defined those of the

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Blood as nonhuman—which was pretty much a given to a lot of people, but had never been codified. Second, it granted certain of them, including lupi, full citizenship. Lily brought up the part that bothered her. "Because they don't want to be legally nonhuman?" He waved that aside with the hand that had pink nubs instead of fingers. "Human, nonhuman—what's the dividing line? Genetics? We make babies with you, but that doesn't make us the same as you. Names don't matter. We know what we are. No, what the shortsighted among us fear is the effect of such a law on our culture, our governance and customs." "It would make it illegal for people to shoot you when you're furry, for one thing. That has to be a plus. But you couldn't kill each other anymore, either." "Which will change us more than you can understand. But there is little wilderness left, and hiding becomes increasingly difficult in a crowded, computerized world. We must adapt to survive. Some can't see that. All they see is that the Challenge will be changed." Lily's hip thrummed—not with magic, but from her cell phone, which she'd set to vibrate. "What's the Challenge?" she asked as she pulled her phone out of her pocket. Then she saw the Caller ID. "Just a minute. I have to take this." A minute later, face grim, she stood and slipped the phone back in her pocket. "I have to get back to the city right away. There's been another murder."

RULE smelled his oldest brother before he saw him. Benedict didn't smell of any special alarm, however, so Rule continued with the ceremony, even as part of his mind wondered what had brought Benedict here, away from the Rho. It was unlikely to be good news. But only part of his mind. The man part. Most of him was rapt in the sheer immediacy of the world—the feel of grass and dirt beneath the pads of his feet. The ruffled texture of sounds made by the people surrounding him and the Kyffin Rho. Though those attending stood quietly, there was a shifted foot now and then, the breeze hushing through bodies, hair. The breaths of those nearest him. And the air itself, so rich with scent it was like drawing the world inside every time he inhaled, then exhaling himself back into the waiting world. If vision was flatter, colors fewer and less vivid, the loss passed ungrieved amid such wealth. He wanted to run—run for the sheer joy of running. But the man part wasn't gone or eclipsed. The terms of the alliance had been announced while he and Jasper were two-footed, but their agreement was meaningless without the submission. Rule waited, motionless, as the Kyffin Rho approached. Jasper was a handsome wolf, slighter and sleeker than Rule, with a brownish dun coat and yellow eyes that reminded Rule of Cullen's wolf form. He was faster than greased lightning, from what Rule remembered from youthful tussles, and every bit as alpha as a Rho must be. Submission did not come easily for him. He also had an unfortunate tendency to lose himself in the wolf. Which was why, when he reached Rule, his hackles were raised, and the scent ofseru was strong. And why he immediately flopped down, belly up, like a puppy waiting for a rub.

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There were a few muffled laughs. Decidedly anticlimactic, Rule thought, lowering his head to sniff the offered belly. Usually there was some growling, a brief combat before submission. Not with the intent to do real harm, but to demonstrate the strength of each and lend authority to the eventual submission. Jasper had told Rule ruefully that he didn't think even a mock combat was a good idea. He was likely to get caught up in it. Rule didn't think less of him for it. A good leader understands his weaknesses as well as his strengths. He found a little fear-scent amid theseru , the wolf smell, and Jasper's individual scent, but not the mingled stink that spoke of guilt. Having accepted the submission, Rule stepped back, and the ritual was complete. By not ripping out that offered belly, he'd accepted that Jasper had played no part in the attack on his father, restoring Jasper's honor in the eyes of the clans. In return, Kyffin would subordinate itself to Nokolai for a year and a day. Usually at this point there'd be a general shifting, as some members of both clans—mostly the younger ones—took the opportunity to socialize in wolf form. Rule had expected to stay in this form to act as host and make sure the play didn't turn rough. But he sought the source of his brother's scent and found Benedict standing at the front of the circle of watchers, next to Rule's clothes. Benedict made the small, circular gesture that said,Change . Regretfully, Rule opened himself, reached for the order the earth required of him, and let the wildness sort him. It was easy, almost painless, with his paws on the earth of the ritual grounds. In seconds, he stood naked on two feet, with his head higher off the ground than before, and the world blunted to all senses except vision. Jasper had sprung to his feet and was regarding Rule with his head tipped quizzically. "I'm sorry. Benedict has need of me, but please—enjoy the friendship of Nokolai in whichever form pleases you." Rule glanced around, caught the eye of one of the older Councilors, and made the same gesture Benedict had. The man's eyes widened slightly, but he shifted obediently. Seth could serve as four-footed host—a necessity as well as a courtesy. Seth could keep the younger Nokolai in line. They were accustomed to obeying him. Jasper glanced at the Councilor wolf, at Benedict, and back at Rule. He nodded and sat, waiting for Seth to trot over. Rule hurried to Benedict "What?" he said, catching the clothes his brother tossed him. "Your detective needs to go back to the city right away." A hint of a smile ghosted across Benedict's blunt features. "She wasn't happy at being told she had to wait for your return." Rule stepped into his jeans. "What happened?" "A phone call. There's been another murder." Rule cursed, zipped the jeans, and stamped one foot into a shoe. "Who? Where?" "She didn't say, but of course I heard. She isn't aware of that, I think. Therese Martin, 1012 Humstead Avenue, Apartment Twelve."

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"A woman?" Rule asked, his voice sharp with disbelief. "Attacked by a lupus?" "The cops think so. You know her?"

"I don't…" But the name was vaguely familiar. "Humstead is near the club. I may have met her. Dammit all to hell." He was supposed to take Toby to the creek. He'd counted on that. Toby was counting on it, too. This sudden departure was a bitter disappointment. But unavoidable. He started for the house at a trot. Bystanders, both two- and four-legged, saw him coming and moved out of the way, watching with startled curiosity as Rule and Benedict moved into an easy run. "Toby?" Rule made the name a question. "Our father said he would explain to the boy. He won't let Nettie put him in Sleep until he's spoken with him. You have your own explanations to make. To your Chosen." There was nothing he could say to that, so Rule kept silent. Lily wasn't going to accept the truth easily. "Isen told her about the connection between the Citizenship Bill, the attack on him, and the murder she's investigating— after she told him you aren't a suspect anymore. She has evidence." "Shewhat ?" Rule should have been relieved, but the first flush of feeling that hit was anger. She'd told his father, but not him. A second later, he understood, though it didn't make him feel any better. She hadn't told him because she wanted walls between them—the higher the better. The good news, he told himself, was that by speaking of the conspiracy to her, Isen had lifted his ban on revealing anything to the police. He'd be free to decide how much to tell her now. "Would she lie about the evidence?" Benedict asked. "I don't know. I don't think so, but how can I be sure? I'm learning her as quickly as I can, but I don't know her yet" "I suppose not." Benedict was silent for several footfalls, then said, "Our father likes her." That lifted Rule's heart slightly. He'd known why Isen sent for Lily, of course. Benedict would have told him about her, and his father had wanted to meet Rule's Chosen. And the Rho had needed to assess one who—little though she knew it—would soon be part of his clan. Or so Rule prayed. Lily was waiting by the car with Toby. Either she really liked suits, or she found them convenient for hiding her shoulder holster. This one was black—a comment, perhaps, on the limited palette he employed. Her hair was pulled into a French braid, giving him a clear view of the smooth line of her jaw and cheek and the grave expression on her face. Hunger hit and hit hard, clenching the muscles of his stomach. His cock stirred. By the time he reached them, Lily would be able to tell how glad he was to see her.

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She was intent on whatever Toby was telling her. Rule slowed to a walk and caught a few of their words, and a smile eased some of the tightness. Though she must have been seriously impatient, Lily was "talking Spanish" to Toby. Then Mick walked out of the house, and Rule's smile slipped. Benedict spoke his name sharply. "I know, I know." Rule sighed, stopping. "Control. It wasn't hard to find at the proving grounds just now." "You like Jasper." And that was the sorry truth. He liked Jasper, and he didn't much like Mick these days. "You haven't told him about Lily." "Only Isen. I suspect he told Nettie." "Probably. She won't say anything." Mick would have scented Rule by now, given the direction of the wind, but he didn't glance their way as he joined Lily and Toby. He was smiling. He said something flattering about Lily's hair, then laughed when she gave him her cop look. Rule knew women wanted him. They always had, and giving them pleasure was his delight. But that pleasure was based on sensual excitement, with asoupçon of celebrity sweetening the mix for some. Mick didn't attract that sort of instant feminine notice, but women enjoyed him. They liked his teasing, his playfulness. It was an adolescent's dream to be lusted after by every woman you met, Rule thought. He was an adult. He'd rather be liked. He wanted… no, needed for Lily to like him, and he was afraid she'd like Mick better. And that was just pathetic. He dragged his attention back where it needed to be. "The next time the Rho is awake, let him know that I took his speaking of the conspiracy as permission to speak of it also." "I will." Benedict held out his hand. "And, when the time comes, I will welcome the one chosen for you." "Thank you." He gripped Benedict's forearm. He hadn't doubted that his family would accept Lily, but the gap between acceptance and true welcome can be painful. Benedict returned Rule's grip briefly, then loped off toward the house. Rule walked the rest of the way, making sure his body wasn't putting out aggressive signals. He might not enjoy watching Mick flirt with Lily, but he didn't want to get into a pissing contest with his brother right now. Not with Toby watching. Not to mention Lily. "You didn't have to rush," she said, frostbite chilly, when he reached them. "Mick said he'd take me back." "You'll return with me." Rule swung Toby up into his arms, cherishing the feel of his son's body. "That's not necessary." She glanced in his general direction, then away.

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"I'm afraid it is." "I don't want you to go," Toby announced. "You came back early for her, and now you're leaving, and I don't like it. Uncle Mick can take Lily back." Rule leaned his forehead against Toby's. "We'll miss our trip to the creek. That sucks." Toby nodded. "And neither you nor Lily understands why. But your grandfather is staying awake, postponing his healing, so he can explain to you." "You really have to go?" Rule nodded. The jut of Toby's bottom lip suggested he didn't think an explanation was a fair trade for his father's presence. He sighed hugely and wiggled, ready to be put down. Every time Rule saw him, he was less willing to be held—a passage Rule knew was necessary but still grieved over. He set the boy on his feet. "I'll have to go talk to Grandfather so he can sleep and get better. He's all messed up right now," Toby told Lily. "Did you see him? But he's growing things back. He'll be okay soon." "I'm sure he will. Ms. Two Horses will see to it." "Yeah. Nettie can fix most anything. Bye, Lily." "Hasta la vista," she said. "That means 'see you later.' I like it better than good-bye." "Yeah." He turned to Rule, his face solemn. "Hasta la vista. You'll call me tonight?" Rule ruffled Toby's hair. "I will." He called every night, but Toby needed to hear the promise often. Not for the first time, Rule cursed the mother who hadn't been able to deal with her son's nature. Such rejection cracked the soul in ways a father couldn't wholly repair. Who would know that better than he? But he, at least, had had Clanhome. "Math," he reminded Toby, who grimaced, then headed for the house at less than his usual headlong pace. "He's disappointed," Mick said, watching the door close on Toby. "I know I'm a poor substitute, but I can take him to the creek. I don't have to drive back until tonight." "Thanks." Mick had always been crazy about Toby. But then, Rule didn't doubt that Mick was basically a good man. And what lupus didn't rejoice in children? "Though I'd like that explanation, too." Mick's expression wasn't that different from Toby's, Rule thought—mulish, with a hint of hurt feelings. "I'd like to know why you don't trust me with the lovely detective." "Good God, Mick, it's nothing to do with you." "And you don't intend to tell me."

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"Not now. And the plain fact is, I owe Lily an explanation, not you." Mick stared at him a moment longer, then gave a quick shrug. "I guess you'd better leave so Lily can go solve crime. At least this time they can't pin it on you. You're alibied by a cop." Lily shook her head. "I don't yet know the time of death, so we have no idea who's alibied. But I do have to go." "Then I'll tell youhasta la vista , too," Mick said, the warmth in his voice matched by his smile. "This surely won't be the only time we meet. The Lady wouldn't be so unkind." "Hasta la vista, Mick. Rule—nowwould be good." It wasn't her voice that gave Rule the idea, though the way it changed between speaking to Mick and speaking to him irked him. Nor was it Mick's flirting. It was simple courtesy, after all, to let a woman know you appreciated her. No, it was the way Lily refused to see him, as if she could pretend she didn't feel the pull as long as she didn't look directly at him. He took two steps closer, stopping near enough that her scent welcomed him, even if the rest of her did not. The jump of his heartbeat warned him to make this quick. "Yes, we'll go," he said. "But first…" And he leaned in to plant a kiss on her frowning mouth. He expected a punch, and not just from the kiss. He'd already decided to let her connect. But he didn't expect to land on his butt in the dirt. Mick hooted with laughter. Rule stared up at her, astonished. She'd hooked her leg behind his knee, pulled—and down he went, before his mouth even touched hers. "Ask, don't assume." She opened the car door. "Oh, and you can give me that explanation," she said, climbing in, "on the way back." And she slammed the door shut. THIRTEEN Ms. Tough Guy, Lily jeered at herself silently as she pulled the seat belt in place. She'd overreacted… but it had sure been satisfying to see the look on his face. That satisfaction flickered and went out all too quickly. Beneath it she was shaky, like the time when, still a rookie, she'd been first on scene for a five-vehicle pileup. There'd been some reason, then, for her insides to squeeze and quiver and morph into jittery Jell-O. Now… She'd dumped him on the ground because she'd been scared. Not because she didn't want his kiss, but because she did. Badly. Lily inhaled slowly. She felt like an engine revving and revving but stuck in park. As if she were hitting some dangerous pitch and had to find a way to either shut off the engine or throw herself into drive. The driver's door opened. He got in. She stared straight ahead. "I hope you don't expect an apology."

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"Not at all." He started the car and put it through a quick three-point turn. "I'm amazed, not angry. It's been a long time since I was taken so completely by surprise. On the other hand, I'm not planning to offer you an apology, either. Not for the kiss I didn't get. I do regret making you wait." Lily thought of the kiss hehad taken and shifted slightly. "If you're going to tell me there's some kind of weird lupus rule—" "Not in the way you mean. But you'll consider my reason weird. And unwelcome." His words came out clipped, as if he were pushing them out through a tightening channel. Never had she felt so hot just sitting next to a man. Or so unsettled. Automatically she switched mental channels, pushing the button sure to get her back on track. "Never mind that right now. Do you know a woman named Therese Martin?" "You're avoiding the subject." "I don't recall giving you permission to choose the subject." He made a small sound, somewhere between exasperation and amusement. "All right. I don't remember her. She's the one who was killed?" She gave him a hard look. "Why do you think that?" "Benedict heard both sides of the call you took." "That's…" She wanted to say impossible. "Can you do that, too?" "My hearing isn't as good as his." "Which doesn't answer my question." "Vanity insists I retain some mystery." His voice turned grim. "If a lupus killed her—" "If?" "We don't harm women. I'm not saying it's impossible, but a lupus who would kill a woman… we'd call him insane." She frowned, trying to remember the lupus kills she'd read about. Surely some of the victims had been female? "I've been assuming Fuentes was killed as part of a larger scheme against Nokolai," Rule said. "My father spoke to you about that." "Some. I have questions." "Why does that not surprise me? But this newest killing— it doesn't fit. I wasn't involved with Therese Martin. I didn't even know her." He'd spoken to her at some point, though, and been "real respectful." "She was a working girl. Had a

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corner on Proctor." And about a hundred dolls, all with yellow hair. Did she have a mother or sister who'd want those dolls now? "She was almost certainly the last party to see Carlos Fuentes alive,other than the killer. Her testimony narrowed the time of death enough to get you off the hook." "Shit." "Pretty much so, yeah." O'Brien was handling the scene, and Mech was there. She knew they'd do a good job, but she needed tobe there. She needed to see the place, get a sense of what had happened. She needed to touch things, while they still held the buzz of magic. Pity she couldn't smell the way that… wait a minute. "Could you sniff out her killer? If I got you to the body quickly enough, could you tell who did it?" That surprised him. He didn't say anything for several moments. "In this form, probably not." "You'd have to Change." "Yes. I can't guarantee anything, but it might work." How much grief would she get if she gave him access to the body? Plenty, she thought, scowling. Because of what he was. If he'd been any other sort of expert consultant, no one would bat an eye over her asking for his opinion now that he wasn't a suspect himself. And that was just wrong. Someone had ended all Therese's possibilities, stamping out the stubborn spark that had made the girl surround herself with yellow-haired dolls. It was Lily's job to find out who. Damn those torpedoes and all that, she thought.I'm not going to get anywhere with this one by playing it safe on half throttle . "All right, then. Will you, um, need privacy to Change?" "I'd like to have earth beneath my feet, if possible. Privacy might keep your associates from freaking. Lily—" "What?" They'd left the valley behind and were drawing near the gate. The same redheaded guard opened it for them. "We don't want the press to guess why you're there, but I can't get you into the scene itself. Aside from the risk of contaminating it, a defense attorney would have entirely too much fun coming up with scenarios about that. So… the coroner's people will be ready to transport the body by the time we get there. Once I've looked things over, I'll have them bring her into the stairwell, and you can do it there." "I can Change there if I have to. You're avoiding the subject." "You know, I don't think you get to choose the subject. Were you at Club Hell last night?" His fingers drummed once on the steering wheel. "I ate with friends at my apartment. They left about eight-thirty. I spent the rest of the evening at home alone. Why? I thought I wasn't a suspect." "Dot thosei 's, cross thoset's" she said absently. Something about this second murder didn't add up, but she couldn't put her finger on it. "I guess someone could have watched to see that you were alone. Who knew you'd be at the club the night of Fuentes's murder?" He shrugged. "Any number of people. Thursday was my usual night to meet Rachel there."

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"Did you have a usual time, too?" "It varied." "Did you tell anyone other than Rachel when you'd be there that night?" "Why does it matter?" "Humor me." "All right. I told Max when to expect me. I believe he told Cullen. But Rachel could have mentioned it to any number of people." 'True." She chewed her lip. If only she knew how the killer lured Fuentes to the playground… Fuentes's two main interests seemed to have been women and the Church of the Faithful. The playground wasn't a likely spot for a romantic tryst. "Have you ever heard of the Church of the Faithful? They're also called the Aza." "You asked about them before. The name doesn't ring any bells. Lily, I've something to tell you. It's important." "So's murder. Give me a minute. I'm onto something." She thought hard for a moment. "Okay, working hypothesis. Let's say that Fuentes was killed to implicate you. Naturally, the killer wanted to do it when you weren't alibied, but that's tricky. He also wanted to do it on your date night so us dumb cops didn't miss spotting you as a suspect. He knows it's hard to pin down time of death, though, without a witness. Anyone who reads mysteries or watches crime shows knows that. So what he needs is a window when we don't know where Fuentes is." "I'm with you so far. How did he go about creating that window?" "Maybe he made it, maybe he found it. Either way, his main concern would be witnesses. He picks the playground because it's near the club and should be deserted. If he's smart, he wants to get there before Fuentes does and make sure no one else is around. But Therese didn't see anyone on the street or at the playground. She talked to Fuentes just before ten, and she didn't see anyone else nearby." "If he was in wolf form, it wouldn't be hard for him to hide." "Maybe, but then why did he go ahead and kill Fuentes? If he was there, if he saw Therese talking to Fuentes, he knew there was a witness for when Fuentes arrived." She shook her head. "Doesn't fit." "Okay, then, he didn't arrive before Fuentes, so he didn't know about Therese. When he found out…" Rule's voice trailed off. "Yeah." A hard knot of nausea lodged in her throat. She swallowed. "That's the question, isn't it? How did he find out?" "She might have talked to others about seeing Fuentes." "She swore she hadn't, and I warned her. I warned her not to talk about it. Maybe she did anyway. Or maybe someone saw us go to her place, but they wouldn't have known what she told us. The killer might

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have panicked—but why? We didn't arrest him." The nausea was growing. "He had no reason to think she ID'd him. He shouldn't have known what she told us. Unless…" Rule finished it for her. "Unless a cop told him." A sick sort of vacuum claimed her gut. Her mouth was bone dry.Follow it through , she ordered herself. Who had known about Therese? Phillips… but if he'd been bent, he wouldn't have brought her to Lily's notice. Who else? Who all had she told, who would have read the report about Therese? Mech. Captain Randall. The chief. Those two FBI agents. God. She ran a hand through her hair. Not the captain. Surely not. Mech? She couldn't believe it, but he was already at the scene. And the two FBI agents could show up there. No one would think a thing of it. "How fast will this thing go?" she asked. "A hundred and twenty." "Open it up." Rule took her at her word. He didn't hit top speed—even with his reflexes, there were limits imposed by physics and a winding mountain road. But he pushed those limits pretty hard. It was wonderful. "You're enjoying this," his passenger said. "Guilty as charged." He didn't glance at her. At this speed, that would be a bad move. "You're not throwing up," he observed. "Yet." She sounded more tense than frightened, though. "Maybe you're enjoying it, too, just a little." 'Trust me on this. I'm not." She paused. 'Tell me something. You have two brothers, and at least one of them is older than you. Yet you're the heir. Why is that?" "Lupi don't follow primogeniture." "So what do you follow?" Rule hesitated. He'd decided to hold off on telling her what it meant to be chosen. She'd just had a blow, one he understood all too well. Realizing there might be a crooked cop involved must have been a lot like hearing there was a traitor in Nokolai. But she needed to learn about the clan. "Custom. This varies from one clan to the next, but essentially the Lu Nuncio—" "What does that mean?" "Roughly, the acknowledged heir. The Lu Nuncio must prove himself through blood, combat, and

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fertility." "You have a child," she said slowly. "Yes. Benedict does, too, but not a son." "But…" Her voice drifted off, then she said, "All right. I guess I've made some dumb assumptions. Lupi are always male, so I thought you only had male offspring. Some of the women I saw at Clanhome would be related to clan members, then?" "Rather than being our sex slaves, you mean?" "Actually," she said dryly, "I was thinking more in terms of domestic slaves. Men have a tendency to keep women around to do the dishes and the laundry." "I think everyone at Clanhome today was of one of the clans." He had to slow then, as they were approaching the turn onto 67. He glanced at her briefly. "Did you think we drowned our female children at birth? Our daughters and sisters are Nokolai, too, though they aren't lupi." "I admitted that some of my assumptions are showing. I'm working on it. What about your mothers, aunts, and grandmothers? Are they clan?" "That's rare." How rare, and why, he couldn't tell her. Not yet. "Hmm" Traffic was light this far from the city. Rule slowed but didn't stop, accelerating strongly into the turn. "Hey!" Lily cried, grabbing the dash as she lurched to the side. "We are not in hot pursuit." "I love it when you talk cop," he murmured, and floored it. "Do you get to do this often?" "No. And the purpose here is not for you to live out your fantasies." "Newly developed fantasies. I didn't play cop as a kid. You folks were the bad guys." 'Times change. I—hey!" She grabbed the dash again. He'd zigzagged around a couple of semis that were dawdling along at eighty or less. "You did want me to hurry." 'Try to remember that I don't heal the way you do. Or you could distract me from my imminent death by explaining the parts about blood and combat." He chuckled. "Blood means I'm of the correct bloodline. Combat means exactly what you think it does." "You fought your brothers?" "I fought Mick and two others who challenged my fitness." One combat had been largely ceremonial, because no heir could be accepted without having proven himself in formal combat. The other had been deadly serious. But it was the battle with Mick that had troubled Rule's sleep for a long time afterward.

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Not the challenge itself—that had been inevitable, given his brother's nature. Even Mick's attempt to kill rather than merely defeat could be forgiven; some were more taken by the wolf than others. What Rule couldn't put behind him was the suspicion that Mick's man part had been willing to kill, too. "But not Benedict?' Lily persisted. "Your oldest brother didn't challenge you?" "Benedict supported our father's decision." Had he not, Rule wouldn't be Lu Nuncio. He couldn't have defeated Benedict. She shook her head. "Voting would be better." "Voting works for humans. We are not a democratic people, but neither are we passive enough to be ruled autocratically. Custom provides some checks on the Rho's power. The Challenge supplies the rest." "Your father said something about a challenge before we were interrupted. How does it work?" "Challenges are common, both within the clan and between clans, especially among the hot-blooded young. Think of them as duels fought with teeth instead of swords or pistols. When we saythe Challenge, however, we're referring to a clan member challenging his Rho." "Your father's not young anymore." "There are cases where a Rho must fight his own battles. Usually, though, if the Rho is challenged, the Lu Nuncio defends." "That's you." He nodded. "This kind of challenge—is it to the death?" "It can be. Don't worry, Detective. We fight in wolf form, so it's quite legal." "That was certainly my only concern. If you—Rule, for God's sake, watch where you're going!" "I am," he said, passing the tanker truck that worried her. He cut it a trifle close, perhaps, but the Datsun in the other lane gave him little choice. Lily was cursing under her breath. He glanced at her, and his pleasure fled. "I'll slow down. You're pale." "I turn Caucasian at ninety miles an hour and up. Pay no attention." He gave a quick bark of laughter and stole another quick glance. She was frowning slightly, that quick mind turning over what she'd learned. "Your challenges won't be legal if the Citizenship Bill passes," she said. "My father believes that only challenges to the death will be affected. Those involving lesser woundings simply won't be reported."

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"And you? What do you believe?" "The Lu Nuncio doesn't express opinions. It would be like an army general publicly approving or disputing the policies of his commander in chief." "Do you express opinions to your father?" 'To my father, yes. To the Rho—no." 'Tricky, when they're the same person." "He lets me know which one I'm addressing." They'd reached the city limits, and traffic was too congested for real speed. He did the best he could. "We should reach your scene in fifteen to twenty minutes." "Good. What do you think of the conspiracy angle your father brought up? He seems to consider Nokolai's support vital enough to the bill's passage that someone might kill him to stop it." "Without Nokolai, the other clans are unlikely to support the bill." "The clans don't have that much political clout." "Mmm. Not all lupi are as open about their nature as I am." Her eyebrows lifted. "Are you saying you've got people in high places? People with a furry secret?" He smiled. "The mystery bit is getting old," she observed. "So you think that taking out you and your father could affect the way things go in Washington?" "The idea wasn't just to remove me, was it? They wanted me arrested, imprisoned. If the, ah, poster boy for lupi is proved to be a murderer, will the public support a bill making us full citizens?" "Citizens kill each other all the time, unfortunately. But I get your meaning." She fell silent then, which was just as well. He needed to give his driving most of his attention. But driving, even in this traffic, didn't require his entire mind. She'd called him Rule. Such a small thing, a name. But she'd never said his. Yet it had come out in a moment of stress, as if she were beginning to think of him that way. Personally. Warmth spread through him. She was beginning to open up with him about her investigation, too. Discuss the possibilities. Such as the chance there was a dirty cop involved. Someone she knew, worked with, trusted. Someone who'd sold out the law she upheld, either for money or some twisted ideal that endorsed murder in the right cause. The warmth evaporated. A dirty cop could plant evidence or hide it. Not a happy thought, considering he seemed to be someone's favorite pick for suspect. But if one cop was working against him, another one was on his

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side. At least, he amended mentally, on the side of justice. How was she going to react when he told her the truth about them? He'd never expected this to happen to him. Never wanted it, to tell the truth, even as an adolescent. But he'd had Benedict's example and Nettie's warnings, so he knew the dangers. And being chosen was so rare… he'd felt safe. But he had at least known it was possible, had been taught what it meant. Lily didn't even know such a condition existed. She was not going to take it well. He wanted time to court her. Time for her to begin to know him, for trust to send down its first roots. But his body was urgent for her, insistent in a way that denied delay. She thought she could choose whether or not to act on what she felt; he knew better. And he knew he had to tell her the truth before they lay together. That's what young lupi were advised—if the Lady blesses you with a Chosen, be honest with her about what is happening. And be patient. "It would be your responsibility," Nettie had told him once, "to make it as easy on her as possible. But don't gloss over the difficulties If she's young and idealistic, she may romanticize it, see it as some sort of perfect union, a merging of soul." She'd snorted. " Don't let her get away with that." Rule crept along behind a bus occupying more than its fair share of the road, and glanced at Lily. She was young, yes, and possessed very high ideals, from what he'd seen. But she was not going to romanticize her situation. He'd give odds she would fight it, and him, like crazy—and the Lady only knew how much damage she'd do them both. Tonight, he promised himself. He would tell her tonight. FOURTEEN THE street outside Therese's walk-up was cluttered with cars: two black and whites, the ambulance and the coroner's car, Mech's blue sedan, and O'Brien's battered Chevy. Lily had Rule drop her at the corner. "I'll leave word to let you into the building," she said as she climbed out. "Good enough. I'll park at the club. Max's reputation discourages local entrepreneurs from treating his parking lot as a parts supply warehouse." He spoke lightly, but he looked grim. She felt the same. She didn't throw up anymore when the scene was messy, but her stomach wasn't happy. It was always worse if she'd known the victim, even slightly. "Are you okay with this?" she asked abruptly.' "I've seen death. Go. Do what you have to." She nodded, closed the door, and headed down the street. Lily recognized the uniform stationed at the entrance to the dingy lobby—the rookie fromWest Texas . She nodded at him. "Gonzales, right? Detective Yu. Is Sergeant Meckle in there?"

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"Yes, ma'am. He has a witness. He's using the manager's quarters for interviews. It's behind the stairs." "I understand she was found just before noon. Who found her?" "A juvenile name of Abel Martinez. Fourteen years old. Your sergeant took his statement and let his mother have him. She lives in number ten, same floor. No father in residence. Two sisters, both younger." "Number ten's right next to twelve," Lily said, remembering from her previous visit. "The walls are thin. No one heard anything?" "I don't know, ma'am. Phillips talked to a couple people before Sergeant Meckle arrived and took over, but I've been handling access." "Any Feds shown up? There's a couple that have taken an interest in the case." "No, ma'am." Her mouth tightened. This didn't eliminate Croft and Karonski, but it suggested she'd better look hard at Mech and the captain. Oh, Lord, she didn't want it to be the captain. "I've got someone coming who will act as an expert consultant. Rule Turner. When he arrives, let him into the building to wait for me. He's not to go up the stairs. Just into the building." His eyebrows went up, but he nodded. Lily started up the stairs. The sour smell of vomit hit her about halfway up. Might be Abel Martinez's contribution, she thought. She'd have to make sure a social worker talked to him. Phillips had the door to apartment twelve. He was talking with the ambulance attendants. She could hear the hum of a vacuum cleaner inside the apartment. "Damned if this isn't getting to be a habit, seeing you around here," he drawled. "I could break it, given a chance. You were first on scene again. Tell me what happened." "I got the call from Dispatch at twelve-oh-seven, checked the scene from the door. No question she was dead, so I called it in. While I waited, I talked to the kid who found her. Seems Abel stayed home from school today with an upset stomach but had an amazing recovery and decided to shoot hoops. When he left his apartment, he noticed that the door to number twelve wasn't closed. He says he went inside to check on her." Phillips shrugged. "Probably thought he could lift something. Poor kid. He found more than he bargained for." "O'Brien's inside?" "Yeah. Detective—she didn't deserve what that damned were did. I want to know how he found out about her." "So do I." This was going to be bad. Lily could smell the blood from here, and something nastier. She opened her purse and took out disposable gloves and booties. "Gut wound?" "Smells like one." That was from one of the ambulance attendants. "Haven't seen her yet."

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"Gut wound," Phillips confirmed. "Among others. Bastard ripped her up." Lily pulled on the last glove. The door was open a few inches. She pushed it wider. Therese was on the love seat. The one that used to be blue. "Bag your feet," O'Brien told her. He was crouched on the floor near the body, his back to the door. An evidence tech was on her knees in the tiny kitchen area, using a handheld vacuum. "I did." "Oh, it's Yu." He glanced over his shoulder. "Get it? You—Yu." "I get it." O'Brien's humor was even lamer than usual, but that may have been because his heart wasn't in it. The bastard had ripped her up, all right. She'd been dead awhile—ten, twelve hours, at a guess. Most of the blood had dried… but there was a lot of blood. She lay on her back, her head propped up on two pillows and turned slightly to her left. Her throat had been torn open. One arm hung off the side of the love seat, the fingers touching the floor. Some of her guts touched the floor, too. They had the look of hamburger left uncovered in the refrigerator— crusty brown on top with glimpses of moist red underneath. He'd slashed her repeatedly, opening the bowel, among other things. The ripe smell made Lily's stomach churn, but it was the doll that got to her. Therese was still hugging a baby doll with one arm. The doll's hair wasn't blonde anymore. Lily started toward O'Brien, watching where she put her feet. And stopped, frowning at the thin beige carpet. "There's no blood here." "That would be because she was killed here, not over there." "But he would have been drenched in it. He played with her enough. He should have been dripping when he walked away from her." O'Brien glanced at her over his shoulder, frowning. "You're right. Damn, I'm getting old. Should've spotted that. He cleaned up afterward. Mona found some blood by the kitchen sink. But he should've left spots or tracks of some sort on the way there." His face wrinkled in puzzlement. "Maybe blood doesn't stick to them when they Change." "Then why did he wash up?" She moved closer. No defensive wounds on the arm hanging off the love seat. Looked like he'd taken out her throat first, which explained why no one had heard screams or a struggle. "What have you got?" He was tweezing something from the blood-soaked carpet. "Hair. I'd say wolf hair, but we'll let the lab make sure. There's some stuck to her hand, too, but the biggest clump fell on the floor. Looks like she pulled a hunk out of him." Lily frowned. "She managed to rip out a handful of his fur while he was ripping out her throat?"

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O'Brien shrugged. "She let him in. No sign of forced entry or a struggle, so he was probably a customer. Maybe she was petting him or something while they warmed up. You hear about that, about women who want to make it with them when they're wolves. Maybe some of the wolves like it that way, too." "She wasn't working." "Why'd you say that?" "There's not much left of of the T-shirt she was wearing, but I'm pretty sure it's what she had on when I talked to her. That's her at-home clothes, not what she wore to attract trade." "So he wasn't a customer. Just a close personal friend." "Could be." Lily moved closer. The carpet squished. "What's that stuck to her side? Paper?" Lily tilted her head. "It looks like part of an ad. Glossy, like in a magazine." "Bingo. She was aCosmo girl." O'Brien's grin was brief. "I bagged the rest of it already." "So she was lying on the couch readingCosmo , petting her friend the wolf. Who suddenly decided to rip out her throat,her guts, pretty much everything but her face. Without getting any blood on himself." "Don't ask me. My job's to find stuff and log it. You're the one who explains it." She couldn't. "Those don't look like knife wounds." "You wondering if someone tried to fake a wolf attack?" O'Brien put his tweezers down and carefully sealed the plastic bag. "Doesn't look like it. Skin's ripped, not sliced." "But why did he keep ripping her up after he killed her? That didn't happen with Fuentes." "Fuentes was killed out in the open. He had privacy here, time to do what he liked." Lily shook her head. "This looks like hate. He didn't just want her dead, he wanted to shred her. Her body, not her arms or legs or face." "Maybe he hates women." Rule had said any lupus who killed a woman would be considered insane. Was that what they were dealing with, then? Not some big conspiracy but a single crazy lupus? Who just happened to pick Lily's witness for his next kill. She scowled. The evidence tech had moved to the tiny bathroom, leaving her and O'Brien alone for the moment. "I need to check something." "Right." O'Brien pushed to his feet. "I'll just get this labeled." With O'Brien ostentatiously looking the other way, Lily tugged off one glove, took a quick breath through her mouth, and touched Therese's shoulder. Magic shuddered up her arm. She snatched her hand back, startled by the strength of it… and by another sensation. An alien one. She bit her lip. Maybe it was just that this was so much stronger than what she'd touched of lupus magic before, but it didn't feel right. She had to try again, and was oddly

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reluctant. Lily crouched and pressed her hand to a place on Josefa's hip where the blood was dry and the skin intact And it hit again, harsh and discordant, like running her hand over nettles. She forced herself to remain still and pay attention, though she wanted to turn away, mentally and physically. There was a vague overtone of lupus to the sensation… and something else beneath. Something strong and jarring andwrong . Her breath shuddered out. She removed her hand and shook it, trying to dispel the sense of wrongness. What was this? Magic was neutral, a force like electricity or fire. It came in different flavors and could be used for good or ill, but Lily didn't pick up purpose or some kind of ethical charge when she touched magic. Only the power itself. At least, she never had before. Was that what evil felt like? She stood, tugged her glove back on, and tried not to sound as shaken as she felt. "Guess I'll let them take her away now." "Works for me." O'Brien looked up from messing with his samples. His eyes narrowed. "You okay?" She shook her head, dismissing the question rather than answering it. "I've got someone waiting to have a look at her. I need to get her moved so he can." Lily headed for the door, wondering what Rule's sense of smell would tell him. Would it be anything like what she'd touched? She paused to tell the attendants they could have her now and looked at Phillips. "With me," she said, and started down the stairs. She'd have to make sure that once Rule Changed he didn't stand where he might get hair on her. Not that the lab would be able to tell one lupus's hair from another's, not with the way magic screwed up tests. But this was an unconventional procedure. If the defense attorney screamed contamination of evidence, she had to be able to refute that. Which meant witnesses, at least two. Phillips, for one. He wasn't implicated in Therese's death, and his background with the X-Squad would make him look good on the stand. The defense couldn't accuse him of being soft on lupi. For the other… "Holy Mother, what's he—" That was Mech's voice, from below. "Get back. Everyone get back. You! Hold it! Don't move or I'll shoot!" Instinct and the rush of adrenaline said,Run, get down there quick . Lily knew better; racing into the middle of a possible shoot-out was a good way to get dead or block another cop's line of fire. She couldn't see what was going on. The stairwell framed an empty stretch of wall at the bottom, so she pulled her gun and eased down the last of the stairs, quick but quiet, trusting her ears to fill her in. Behind her, she heard Phillips doing the same. "I thought I was expected."

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Rule's voice. Lily's heart rate shot up another notch. She lowered her gun and took the last steps even quicker, rounded the wall enclosing the stairwell—and saw Rule standing just inside the door, his arms held away from his sides, his face turned toward someone to her right. Mech. Who held his Glock in regulation posture, two-handed, aimed at Rule. The uniform at the door had drawn on Rule, too—he stood ahead of him and to his left. And behind Mech—Ginger Harris? What the hell was she doing here? Lily holstered her gun. Phillips, she noticed, stayed in the stairwell, weapon still held ready. "I told you to expect Turner," she said to the uniformed officer. "I let him in. When your sergeant drew, I backed him up." Gonzales looked uncertain. Two other cops, including his partner, still had their weapons out, but the one with rank didn't. Lily turned. "Sergeant Meckle? You have a reason for this? Turner was threatening someone?" "I've got a warrant for him." Mech's eyes glittered. "Or will soon. It's on the way. So is special transport." "You've got a warrant coming." She couldn't believe it. "Before I even got to the scene, you applied for an arrest warrant?" "You were unavailable." Mech didn't take his eyes away from Rule. "I had my phone with me. I had my goddamn cell phone with me." "You were withhim ." "So?" She stalked right in front of him. "Put it up. Put it upnow ." He moved, trying to keep Rule in his sights. "You should never have been put in charge. You're not responsible for that. But you'll be responsible if he gets away." Phillips spoke from the stairwell. "Might be a good idea to get out of the line of fire, Detective. Take a look at his eyes." Lily turned. Rule hadn't moved. His face was calm, expressionless. But his eyes were black. Black all over, with little triangles of white left in the corners… like an animal's. She swallowed. "You okay?" "I'm in control." His mild voice was at odds with those beast-swallowed eyes. "But it would be a good idea if your men put their weapons away. I don't like having guns pointed at me, but I'm not going to Change. That's what he wants. But it upsets me," he said, his voice dropping to a low growl. "It does upset me to see guns pointed at me." Before she could repeat her order, Phillips slid his gun back in the holster. After a second's pause, his partner did the same. "What are you doing?" Mech cried. "You're taking orders from one of them?"

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Phillips glanced at him. "Hate to tell you this, but this spot's too small for shootin' to do much good. We're too close. If he wants to take us out, we're meat." "I've got special rounds loaded. One of those in the brain—" "Might stop him, if you hit him with the first shot. Might not. They don't all react the same, and he's their prince, so I'd guess he's one of the tough ones. I'd just as soon not get him twitchy." Lily looked at Mech. She didn't say anything. Just looked. Slowly his hands lowered. Even more slowly, he holstered his gun. "You're making a mistake," he told her. "A big one." "I already made it. Jesus." She shook her head, disgusted. "Iasked to have you on the case. Consider yourself on report." She glanced at Phillips. "You drew on him, even though you knew you were too close?" He sighed, gloomy. "You know how it is. You see someone pull a gun, you just got to pull yours, too." No, Lily decided. He'd done it to give Rule multiple targets if he attacked, giving the rest of them more of a chance. Lily wasn't sure she liked Phillips, but she was beginning to respect him. All at once she felt shaky. This could have been a bloodbath.Unused adrenaline , she told herself. Ignore it . Aglance around the little vestibule told her Ginger had vanished. The rookie looked worried, Mech stubborn, and Rule… his eyes weren't back to normal yet, but they were headed that way. He gave her a crooked smile, as if he were trying to reassure her. She wasn't the one about to be hauled away on a murder charge—a murder she knew he hadn't committed. Lily walked up to Mech, tight with anger. "Now, Sergeant, maybe you can take a minute to explain why you've violated procedure up, down, and sideways, and nearly rilled this place with bodies. Or is that your usual technique for interrogating a suspect? You draw on them just in case, never mind who's in the line of fire?" "Normal procedures are ineffective against one ofthem . I couldn't let him get away." "Yeah? So you see him running now that no one's holding a gun on him?" Mech's eyes flickered. "I… maybe I misjudged." "You think?" Lily let all her scorn show. "There's a few more holes you've punched in procedure, too. Like applying for an arrest warrant before you even spoke to the lead on the case." "I spoke to the captain. Ma'am." Thema'am was tacked on with barely veiled sarcasm. "No kidding? And I'm sure you told him I wasn't aware you'd decided to play Lone Ranger and round up the bad guys all by yourself." "Yes, 'ma'am." That was satisfaction in his voice now. "I did, though not in those words. He agreed that the evidence justified applying for a warrant."

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Without telling her? Lily felt cold. Was it the captain, then? Was Randall the one who'd set Therese Martin up to die? Or were they both in on it? Getting paranoid here, she told herself. Conspiracies can do that to a person. "You're going to fill me in on this evidence now, I guess. Seeing as I'm the lead and all. Be sure to explain why Turner killed the witness who stood between him and possible arrest for Fuentes's murder." "He paid her for that. I've got the deposit slip where she put ten thousand in her account, cash, right after she talked to you. She must have threatened him or gotten greedy, become a liability in some way. I've also got a witness who places him at the scene at the right time. That's motive and opportunity. For means—he's lupus. Heis the means." "You've been amazingly busy. Lucky, too, considering she was found only an hour and a half ago. Would that witness be Ginger Harris?" His gaze flicked toward Rule, then back to Lily. "I need to see if she's all right." "You do that." "I'm going to execute that warrant when it arrives." "I'm sure you are." She turned away, sick to her soul. This whole thing was a setup, and Mech was part of it. Either he was dirty or he was so warped by his prejudices it had the same result. And the captain? Was he bent, too? How could she proceed if she couldn't trust the captain? She turned slowly, feeling eyes on her. Rule stood where he'd been throughout, motionless as the predator he was, watching her. When their eyes met, her heart jolted in her chest. Even here, even now, she felt him pulling at her, as if he had a hook in her gut… or her groin. For a second, she hated him. And that didn't matter either, she thought, looking away as the steel box on wheels they called special transport pulled up outside. As far as the investigation went, it didn't matter whether she hated Rule or fucked him. Because it would soon be out of her hands. Therese Martin had been killed by sorcery, not a werewolf. Murder by magical means was a federal crime. She was going to have to let the Feds have this one. FIFTEEN "WHAT do you mean, we aren't going to tell them?" Randall clasped his hands on the desk in front of him. "What do we have? Yourfeeling . Which isn't evidence, isn't anything you can even put in a report." "I realize we'd have to level with them about my abilities," Lily said stiffly. "I don't like that, but there's no other way." "We aren't obligated to give them a thing that isn't in your reports. Particularly such subjective

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information. Wait." He held up a hand. "You're convinced of the accuracy of your, uh, impressions. But you said yourself you've never experienced sorcery. You don't know that's what you picked up." "It fits," she insisted. "All 'subjective information' aside, it fits. It's such an obvious frame! There's no trace of blood anywhere except by the body and at the sink, so we'd think he washed up. The deposit slip Mech found—we don't have a thing tying it to Turner. Anyone could have put that money in. Then there's the wolf hair. She couldn't have pulled it out herself. They left it there." "Listen to yourself for a minute." He was plainly exasperated. "Mech said you'd become biased, entranced by this lupus prince. I didn't believe him, but—" "Mech's got a hate thing going about lupi. I didn't realize that before, but it was obvious at the scene." He slapped his desk. "Andyou would rather decide that a fellow officer is guilty than that werewolf! You're postulating a conspiracy, and not just that, but one involving this department.And a murder committed at a distance through sorcery. That just isn't possible." "It's been done. The historical record—" "Before the Purge! That's four hundred years ago!" He leaned forward. "Let me make myself clear. I am not going to subject this department to a witch hunt by a pair of glory-seeking federal agents. And that's what would happen. They'd be looking at us—even at me—for a suspect. Or had that escaped your conspiracy-ridden mind?" "No, sir," she said woodenly. "That hadn't escaped me. Though it's possible one of the FBI agents did it, it's more likely someone in this department tipped off Therese's killer." His mouth tightened. "Get out." "Sir—" "Out!" He glared at her. "I'm not removing you from the case, but I'm close to it Go on. Go get your head straight." She left. She stopped at her office long enough to jam the FBI file and a couple more reports in her tote, then headed for the elevator. "Hey!" Brady called as she passed through the bullpen. "What's with you and Mech? You got it in for him?" She didn't slow down. "My report's on file. You want to know what happened, read it." Brady scowled at her. "Why are you making trouble for him? He didn't make a pass. Not Mech." T.J. shook his head. 'Try to think about something other than sex, boy. It'll be hard, but try. Lily…" She paused, met his eyes. "You take care now." Her smile flickered. "Right."

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At least T.J. didn't hate her, she thought as she slung her tote in the backseat of her car. Yet. If she kept pushing, though, against the captain's orders… but Captain Randall waswrong . Either that, or he was dirty. She couldn't make herself believe that, but she couldn't dismiss it, either. He'd had reason for what he'd done—not good ones, in her opinion. But plausible. She sent her car shooting backward out of her space, yanked the wheel, shifted, and hit the accelerator hard enough to burn rubber. The captain was right about one thing. She needed to get her head straight. Fifteen minutes later she slammed the car door shut and started up the path to Grandmother's house. She rang the bell. "Lily." Li Qin smiled. "How lovely to see you again. Please come in." Lily shook her head. "Not today, thank you. I just wanted to let you know I was here and would be working in the garden awhile." "Of course," Li Qin said, as if Lily often dropped by in the middle of a workday to pull weeds. "I hope you will allow me to bring you some refreshment. Tea or a cool drink?" "Perhaps later? I'm not fit company right now." She managed to take her leave politely, then hurried along the flagstone path to the back of the house where the toolshed waited. Five minutes later, she was in the native plants area west of the house, destroying invaders. The blue oak that anchored the space made salt-and-pepper shade, a shifting, dappled world. A strong breeze blew from the west. Lily knelt in the dirt in her linen slacks, uncaring of the damage she did them. She dug her trowel into the dry ground, loosened the roots beneath a clump of grass, and yanked it out with her other hand. Twenty years ago, after Sarah Harris died and Lily didn't, Grandmother had taken Lily to a section of her yard and told her to get rid of all the grass. She'd had so much fear and hate in her then. Therapy hadn't done much good. How could a therapist help a child who won't talk? Earth and sun and weeds had reached what words couldn't. Lily had pulled and dug, pulled and dug. Eventually, the grass had been gone and she'd planted. Eventually, her garden had bloomed. And she'd learned that life persists. Some live, some die, but life persists. Lily had gone on to create other gardens, like this one. Planning a bed was fun. Planting was satisfying, and watching the garden come to life filled her in a way nothing else did. But sometimes she just needed to dig and pull, dig and pull. Captain Randall claimed he'd left her out of the loop because she was with Rule. He'd been afraid she would inadvertently tip Rule off that something was up, putting both her and the planned arrest at risk. Mech was supposed to have told her as soon as she arrived at the scene, but he'd been with his witness. With Ginger Harris. Who must have lied. Why? Lily shook her head. She'd tackle those questions later.

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Randall's assumptions would have been less insulting, she thought, jamming her trowel in the earth, if the captain had known that lupi could hear both sides of a phone conversation. He didn't. He'd been worried that Rule would smell her fear. He'd assumed she wasn't clever enough to explain away a sudden attack of jitters. Or he'd lied. Maybe she was afraid of being with Rule, she thought, ripping out a greedy patch of star thistle. But she didn't fear him for the reason the captain assumed. Rule hadn't killed Therese—though so far, she'd had zero luck persuading anyone of that. Her word sure hadn't been enough. The captain had given Mech a disciplinary slap on the wrist. Not for the way he'd rushed to an arrest, though. Because he'd handled the arrest badly. Most officers had no experience arresting a lupus. Here inCalifornia , lupi hadn't been arrested; they'd been hunted, then captured or killed by the X-Squads. But everyone had been briefed on correct procedure for a lupus apprehension, and Mech hadn't followed those procedures. It could so easily have ended in officers down. Instead, it had ended in Rule being taken away in shackles. Lily's eyes burned, though whether from fury or tears, she didn't know. He was in a cage now—that's what it amounted to. Cities the size ofSan Diego had separate facilities for those of the Blood. They were too dangerous to mix with the general jail population, not to mention hard to hold on to. By now Rule was locked up in one of the eight-foot-square, steel-lined boxes reserved for lupi and other, rarer preternaturals. Grandmother said lupi were claustrophobic. That they went a little nuts if you locked them up. And those cells were so small… Lily shuddered and destroyed another clump of grass. She understood the horror of being trapped in a tiny space. No judge would grant bail to a lupus who was up on a murder charge. Rule would sit in a tiny metal cage until she could prove someone else killed Therese. She would prove it. Somehow. All right, she thought, sitting back on her heels and surveying her battlefield, strewn with the corpses of grass and weeds.Enough emoting. Look at the facts and the possibilities. Consider what's right, what's at risk. Then make a decision . She began digging more carefully. Weed seedlings had set up housekeeping next to the monkey flower plants. She loosened the dirt with her trowel and began plucking them out Fact: Captain Randall didn't want to tell the FBI they had a murder by sorcery. The possibilities, she thought, were three. First, he simply didn't believe her. Maybe he thought she was lying, maybe he thought she was mistaken. Maybe he couldn't bring himself to trust in something he couldn't sense himself. That could be, she admitted, shifting position so she could tackle the section near the manzanita. People

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knew that werewolves, brownies, and such operated in part on magic, but there were some who insisted that Wicca was strictly a religion, no magic involved. Like flat-earthers, they majored in denial, explaining away the disorderliness of magic and denying what they couldn't explain. The captain kept insisting that sorcery no longer existed. Admittedly, some experts agreed with him, but his attitude seemed more emotional than rational. Maybe he just couldn't admit real magic into his world. Okay. Possibility number two: Randall knew she was right, but he didn't want his department to get a black eye. He was willing to cover up for Mech. She didn't like that idea. It went against what she knew of the man, but it was possible. Randall was ambitious. He didn't like Croft and Karonski, didn't want them taking over, and most of all didn't want anyone finding evidence that one of his officers was dirty. Well, dammit, neither did she. Lily began pulling out weeds that had hidden beneath the shrub's leaves. But covering up was not an option. Possibility three: Randall himself was bent. He knew she was right about the sorcery, knew who had killed Therese and why. And if that were true, she was in danger. He'd have to discredit her… or kill her. Which could also be true if Mech was the crooked one. Sweat beaded on her forehead, but she felt cold. It wasn't the possibility of danger. It was the idea of being in danger from another cop. It hadn't always been easy, being a female police officer. And it hadn't helped that she was short, slight, and Chinese. But she'd made a place for herself. She belonged. But the cost of belonging had just gone up. To remain one of the boys, she'd have to continue to play by the rules, both written and unwritten. Hadn't she always been good at following rules? But this time, she thought as she savaged another cluster of star thistle, to play one set of rules meant ignoring others. Sheknew Therese had been killed by sorcery and that they had locked up the wrong man. But she couldn't report what she knew to the FBI, and she'd better not talk about it elsewhere, either. To stay on the case, she'd have to pretend there wasn't a traitor in the department. Look as if she were toeing the line the captain had drawn. Didn't that make sense, though? She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, smearing dirt in with the sweat. She could do more for Rule by staying where she was than if she went haring off on some solo truth-and-justice crusade. How far could she get if she didn't have the power of the law behind her? How far could she get if the power of the law was used against her? At least one of the people sworn to uphold the law was subverting it. Mech. Captain Randall. The FBI agents, Croft and Karonski. She didn't know who her enemy was… but he knew her. Rule was in a box, framed for murder. Framed by a cop. Lily stood. The wind whipped a strand of her hair across her cheek, and she turned her face into it. Clouds were piling up to the west, out to sea. Maybe they'd get some rain soon. The land could use it.

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Slowly she pulled off her gloves. Normally she tidied up all the unwanted plants and grasses she'd removed. Today she glanced at the mess and didn't care. Let the wind clean it up. She headed for her car. Her phone was there. She had a call to make. Then she had to go back to headquarters. SIXTEEN THEY never turned the lights off. There were many things to hate about the metal hole they'd stuck him in, and some that weren't so bad. Rule didn't mind the lack of a bed. He couldn't stop moving, so a bunk would only have been in the way. The sanitary facilities were sparse but decent; both sink and toilet folded up into the wall. The walls themselves, though, insulated everything. Rule could barely sense the moon through all the steel, but he'd developed a tolerance for that. Humans used a lot of metal when they built cities. The silence was harder to bear—he couldn't hear a thing from outside his tiny cell. But it was the unfaltering light that was making him crazy. If he could have closed the darkness around him, he wouldn't have been able to see the walls. He could have fooled himself that they were farther away. Darkness wouldn't have kept him from pacing. He'd tried it for awhile with his eyes closed to see if that helped. It hadn't. Things could have been worse. Because lupi healed so well, they made prime targets for a certain type of cop. Any damage wouldn't show for long. If someone did notice that the prisoner had a broken bone or two, it was easy to argue that he'd been unruly. It can take a lot of force to discourage an unruly lupus. And if some of the other cops suspected the truth, they didn't tell. Rule understood that. The police were like a clan, though an ill-run one, in his opinion. So much was expected of them, yet they were denied the status their work merited. It was no wonder some of them went off track. He'd been spared the indignity of being struck when he couldn't fight back, he reminded himself. He would rather have been beaten. Rule snarled at the metal wall and turned. Three steps one way, turn, three steps back. He'd been pacing since they locked him in here. Maybe in a day or two he'd tire himself out enough to sleep. He'd used his one phone call to let Benedict know what had happened. His brother would arrange for a lawyer, and sooner or later they'd have to let that lawyer in to see him. Whether anyone else would be allowed to visit, he didn't know. He didn't know if anyone else would try. His lip pulled back in disgust. No point in fooling himself; he wasn't worried about "anyone else" trying to see him. He wanted Lily to come. He wanted her to care at least that much. She'd looked at him as if she couldn't stand him. Three steps. Turn. She'd kept her man from shooting him, though. No question in Rule's mind that's what the sergeant had

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meant to do— provoke Rule into Changing if he could. If not, force Rule to move, to make any action that could be interpreted as threatening. He'd wanted an excuse to kill. The others would probably have let him get away with it. Lupi had been fair game for a long time. She'd walkedin front of the damned gun. What in God's name had she been thinking? She'd cautioned him earlier that she didn't heal the way he did. It wasn't something he was likely to overlook, but she seemed to have forgotten that fact. If her sergeant had pulled the trigger on Rule, Rule would almost certainly have lived long enough to take the bastard with him. The other cop had been right about that. He might have survived beyond that, too, depending on how many others shot him and where their bullets hit. Lily wouldn't have. If that cop had pulled the trigger after she stepped in front of his gun…Think of something else . Three steps and turn. What would happen to Nokolai if he were found guilty? What would happen to his son? Not the best choice of alternate subject. How long had he been in here, anyway? Usually he could tell time by the dance between earth and moon, but her pull was muffled by all the steel. It must be night by now, though. They'd taken his watch, his shoes, pocket knife, phone, keys—all those dangerous objects that were nothing compared to what he could do with his bare hands. Fools. He stopped and looked up at the bedamned lights. Two fluorescent tubes were set in a recess in the ceiling protected by steel bars. The floor-to-ceiling measurement was the largest dimension of his cell, perhaps ten feet. He could jump that high. Jump up, grab one of the bars, get his other hand between the bars, and smash the bloody glowing tubes to bits. He'd cut his hand, but what of it? They would come running, of course, with guns drawn, ready for him to make God knew what devious escape attempt. He was watched. He knew that. The round black eye of a camera perched high in one corner. Had it been lower, he could have pissed on it. A childish but understandable desire, he thought. Barring that, the camera would also be easy to smash, if he chose to do so. It would be a break in the pacing, wouldn't it? He bent his knees and launched himself straight up. Closed his fingers around one of the bars and hung there… and heard the snick of the lock. He dropped to the floor, spun to face the door. It swung open. "You okay?" a voice called. No one was visible in the doorway. "Door's going to stay open. No need to trample anyone."

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He blinked. "Karonski? Abel Karonski?" "Your memory's working, anyway." A bulky figure moved into view—rumpled suit, sour expression, stinking of those cigars he snuck. Definitely Abel Karonski, though it had been awhile since Rule last saw him. "You weren't on my list." "Would that be the good people list or the bad people list?" "Of people I might see. I thought a lawyer might show up soon, or… but I wasn't expecting MCD." "Well, you got us. Good news for you that you did. You're free." Free. He took a step toward the door, hesitated. Karonski stood back. Rule moved fast then. He shouldn't have. When you move too fast it scares humans, and scared humans with guns were likely to put holes in things. But… he stood outside his cell, looking around. The short corridor was empty except for Karonski and another man, one Rule didn't know. Neither had their guns out. "Am I in your custody?" "Nope. You're free, like I said, thanks to your girlfriend. I'd like you to come with us, though. You might want to do that, considering there's a dozen reporters salivating out front. They'll pounce when you come out. We've got a car waiting." Rule nodded at the other man. "And this is—?" "Martin Croft," the other man said. He was taller and darker-skinned than Karonski, and much better dressed. He held out his hand. Karonski elbowed him. "Not yet. He needs to settle more." He scanned Rule. "You're jittery but holding. Can you make it through the piranhas with microphones without biting off someone's hand?" "Of course." Reporters. He should have expected that. He wasn't thinking clearly. Rule ran a hand through his hair and wished for a mirror. He would perform for the cameras, but it had better be brief. "I trust someone plans to return my shoes. What time is it?" "About ten. This way to checkout." Karonski started down the short hall. The door at the end was blank metal, no way to open it from the inside. Rule concentrated on keeping his breathing steady. He was almost out. It wouldn't do to crack up now. The other man—Croft—smiled as he fell into step beside Rule. "If you're wondering why we had the honor of letting you out of your cell, you can thank Abel's descriptive abilities. He explained what happened once when a couple of cops released a lupus who'd been locked up too long." "For Chrissake, Martin, you trying to get me jumped?" Karonski growled."Turner, I didn't tell them why being locked up makes you folks twitchy. Let 'em think you just get put out at the injustice of it all."

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Obviously he'd told Croft, however. "You two are partners?" "For my sins, yes," Croft said. Unexpectedly, Karonski chuckled. "He means that literally," he said as he punched the button by the door. A few minutes later Rule slid his feet into his shoes and his wallet into his pocket, having signed for his belongings. Two more cops were waiting to escort him; the authorities didn't want him stopping for a press conference on his way home from jail, it seemed. Lily wasn't there. He hadn't realized how much he'd wanted her to be until the disappointment hit. It did his human side good to have his things restored, though. He wondered if humans experienced the same lessening of their civilized selves when they were stripped of the bits they normally carried on their bodies. "You said I was out 'thanks to my girlfriend,'" he said to Karonski. "What did you mean?" Karonski gave him a quick glance. "Explanations later. Let's get through the media mob and go somewhere we can talk." "Damn," Croft said as they reached the door. "It's raining again. I guess reporters don't have the sense to come in out of it." "You won't melt. Come on." Rule walked out into a damp night with Karonski on one side, Croft on the other, and a cop in front and one behind to clear a path. Lightbulbs flashed. Microphones were thrust at him. Voices called out questions. They crowded him—people, sounds, lights, all pressed in on him until it was hard to breathe. With darkness backing them, rain drizzling down, and lights held high for the TV cameras, they became a wall of people and sound, lacking individual faces or voices. Easy, he told himself.You can get out, so you don't have to . He paused, formed a smile for them, and put on one of the best performances of his life. "Gentlemen. Ladies. I'm far too vain to allow you to interview me like this." He gestured at his T-shirt and jeans, which were certainly more casual than he usually wore for a session with the press. A couple of them laughed. Someone gave a wolf whistle. "Thank you." He hoped he got the grin right. "Allow me to get a night's sleep and groom myself properly. I'll give you a statement and take questions in the morning." They didn't exactly give up, but, with the promise of an interview, they weren't as insistent. Rule's escort managed to get him to the dark sedan that waited. Croft got in behind the wheel; Karonski sat beside him, leaving the backseat to Rule. He concentrated on breathing. "You okay?" Karonski turned to look over the seat as they pulled away.

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Rule hated the way he reacted. Lupi uniformly disliked small, enclosed spaces, but not all were as bloody sensitive as he was. But it couldn't be helped. He was scrambled. "There's a park a few blocks away. I'd like to go there." "In the rain?" Croft asked. "Would you get over your thing about the weather?" Karonski turned back around. "My mama always said, don't crowd a jumpy werewolf. No walls at the park. Tell him where to go," he added to Rule, and chuckled. "I do." "All the time," Croft murmured. A few red lights later, they pulled up at the park. Rule got out. It wasn't much of a rain, but the wind whipped it around, making a fuss. He tilted his face toward the sky and let the Lady clean him. It helped. When the other two got out, he was able to say politely, "Excuse me a moment. I'll be back." And he ran. Twelve minutes later he returned to the car. He'd kept to an easy lope, no faster than most humans could manage, and had seen two others out for a run, unwilling to let a little rain keep them inside. It was a good reminder. Not all humans closed themselves away from nature. The FBI agents, however, had gotten back into the car to stay dry. When they climbed out, he apologized for having kept them waiting. "I wasn't in good shape to ask questions or hear the answers. Now I am. Why am I not in jail anymore?" "Just as well you ran off your jumpiness," Karonski said. "Normally you wouldn't shoot the messenger, but I'd rather you heard this with your head clear. You aren't going to like it."

CROFT and Karonski had Lily's address. They dropped him off. She lived on the second floor of a small, overwhelmingly pink complex that might have begun life fifty years ago as a motel. A cement walkway on each floor connected the outside stairwells and gave access to the units. The scent of the sea was strong and sweet in Rule's nostrils when he got out of the car. Water and decay, salt and sand… he was encouraged by her choice. Surely a woman who picked a spot so close to the ocean didn't automatically hide from the rain. Which didn't mean she wouldn't hide from other things. "Go away," she said through the door after he knocked. "No." "Suit yourself. I'm not opening the door." "And I'm not leaving." He settled himself on the damp cement, leaning his back against her door. No

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comment came through the door, but he knew she was still there. The door was too thin to hide her movements from him. "Do you go to the ocean often? You live close." Another pause. He imagined her shaking her head, perplexed by his subject. "I run on the beach. It's good for the calf muscles." "And the soul. We don't go to the ocean for anything as simple as happiness, do we? We go there to feel alive. Like life, the ocean holds chance and change, grief and terror and beauty. It promises mortality, not peace." "I'm not in the mood for poetry tonight." "I suppose not. You've had your life jerked out from under you. Hitting, screaming, and throwing things might be better. You can't hit me through the door, though." A long pause, then: "You're not going away, are you?" "No." A second later the lock snicked. He rose to his feet and faced the door as it opened. She wore old black sweatpants and a gray T-shirt that read,San Diego Police Dept. No bra, he thought. Her hair was pulled back in an untidy ponytail. Framed by the soft light from inside, she looked stark and untouchable. It didn't keep him from wanting to touch. She shook her head. "I ought to call you in as a prowler and let them lock you up again." "I'm fortunate that you're too kind to do that." "I'm not kind at all." She stepped back. "Come in so we can get this settled." He stepped inside and looked around, breathing in the scents—plants and spaghetti and Lily. Everywhere Lily. Her scent had sunk into the pillows and carpet and walls of her space, and it made him happy. But there was another scent. "You have a cat." Her lips quirked. "He's outside. You have a problem with cats?" "They often have a problem with me." He moved farther into the room, touching a leaf, the drapes, looking at the single print on the wall, a black-and-white shot of the ocean. Her living area was small, scrupulously neat, and almost bare, except for… "You prefer plants to furniture?" "I like to garden. Lacking a yard, I do it in pots." She crossed her arms, locking him away from her body. "You didn't come here to inspect my apartment, I hope." They were such pretty arms, round and firm, the skin smooth. He wanted to lick his way up one arm and down the other. To give his hands something else to do, he ran one through his hair, shaking out some of the dampness. "No, but I was curious about your space. It smells good."

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"Ah—thanks. Look, I'm glad you're out of jail, but I don't want company right now. If you came to thank me, let's consider it said." "Gratitude is a flimsy word when I owe you more than I can repay. Why did they take your badge?" She flinched. "It's temporary. And how do you know about it, anyway?" "The FBI agents you spoke to. They released me from the metal hole where I'd been placed." "I suppose they talked to the captain." She shrugged, but the movement was jerky. "It's none of your business." "Isn't it?" Without thinking he took a step toward her, then forced himself to stop. He was already too close, his heart beating too fast. This was a damnably intimate space. "Were you suspended for going to the FBI?" "Technically, no. Can't punish a cop for following the rules. Though I broke them, too… but it was the unwritten ones I violated." "Then why?" She grinned mirthlessly. "For having an affair with you." That sucked the air right out of him. "Your captain is prescient?" "Confident, aren't you? No, he's pissed." She started to pace, but the small room didn't give her much space for it. She reached the wall, turned, started back. "I'd been told to leave it out, you see. But that was wrong. Maybe I didn't have evidence, but Iknew it was sorcery that killed her. The captain didn't want to believe me, and you were so handy. As long as he could believe you'd done it, he didn't have to look for a dirty cop in his department. In the end, I forced him to." She passed within arm's reach of him on her circuit of the room. He didn't reach. Instead, he lowered himself to the floor and sat, to discourage himself from grabbing her. "How?" "I went to Internal Affairs." She reached the other wall, turned. "You wouldn't know what that means." "They're the cops who watch the other cops." "Roughly, yes. But you don't go to them. You don't rat on your supervisor or your brother cops, because no one will trust you if you do. I can't explain it. That's just how it is." "I think I understand. Internal Affairs are cops, but they aren't part of your clan of cops." "What?" She stopped, gave a nervous laugh, and resumed her circuit of the room. "This is not like lupus clans." "It seems very similar. The captain is yourRho . You knew he was wrong, but your rules don't allow you to challenge him directly. Instead you had to go out of the clan for a champion— which the rules allow, even encourage, but of course this behavior troubles you and your cop clan." He shook his head. "A strange system."

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"I must be losing it," she muttered. "That made sense." "In a true clan, you'd be punished through the Challenge itself. Your rules make it seem as if you can go out of the clan without paying a price, but that feels wrong. So the other cops find a punishment for you, even if it means lying. You and I aren't lovers yet." "Yet Yet. Would you stop talking that way?" She dragged a hand over her hair, caught her fingers in the band holding the ponytail, and jerked the bit of cloth out, throwing it on the floor. "Who told the lie about you?" "Mech fed the captain a bunch of bullshit. Randall knew it was bullshit—I think he did, anyway. But then there I was, telling him he had to release you. I did that after ratting to the FBI and to Internal Affairs. I needed to be punished, all right." She slowed. "It should be temporary. They can't prove something that isn't true." She couldn't believe that. He'd just been put in a cell because they'd been able to "prove" an untruth. But she wanted to believe it, needed to. She didn't want to lose her clan— that's what it amounted to. " Querida. You make me ache." Her glance hit him and skittered away, like a stone skipped over water. "I didn't do it for you. You should know that. I did it because I have to live with myself, and it was wrong to cover things up. Even temporarily." Her feet took her into motion again. "I wanted to handle the investigation myself. I tried to persuade myself I could, but in the end I decided that would be risking too much. More than I had a right to risk." She reminded him of himself earlier, pacing out his cell, unable to stop. What walls put her in motion this way? "What would that have risked?" "You, for one. You were in a cage. I know what those cells are like—tiny. Probably smelled bad to you, too. You might not have been able to stand that for long enough for me to fix things." "Merde! Did Karonski tell everyone?" "What?" "Never mind. You said you didn't do it for me." "You were one consideration." She passed him again, achingly close. "The biggest one, though, was that they might succeed in taking me out. If I was the only one who knew for certain Therese's murder was sorcery, I was a big liability for them. If they killed me and no one else knew—" He shot to his feet. "I didn't even think of that. I was so busy being crazy in that cell—" "Why should you have? Took me awhile to see it, too. I'm not used to thinking of other cops as dangerous to me. I didn't want to see that, but once I did, I knew I had to make sure I wasn't the only one looking at things from that angle. Telling the FBI was good, but it wasn't enough. They could have been part of it, part of the conspiracy. I didn't know." He dragged a shaky hand over his face. "Not Karonski."

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She was startled. "You know him?" "It's been awhile, but yes. I'd swear he's honest. Irritating as hell sometimes, but honest." "What did he tell you, then?" She faced him, still for the moment. "That you had called him because your captain wouldn't. That you knew the Martin woman had been killed by sorcery, not a lupus. He didn't say how you knew that. When I asked, he said I should ask you." "Well." She chewed on her lip. "I guess he knows how to keep his mouth shut." "You don't want me to know?" "I don't want him deciding who should know. But you…" She looked unhappy, but shrugged. "Why not? The captain's planning to out me anyway, so it won't be a secret much longer. I knew she'd been killed by sorcery because I touched the magic the killer left behind. I'm a sensitive." SEVENTEEN HE had the funniest look on his face. Lily frowned and rubbed her arms. She felt weird herself—cold and hot at the same time. Jittery as hell. Aroused… well, that wasn't strange. Rule's presence flooded her tiny living room. He seemed to be pressing himself on her, though he wasn't moving. She had to get away from him. That thought, barely formed but imperative, started her moving again. "What is it? You aren't spooked about sensitives, surely." "No…" He looked distant, shocked. "Sometimes it helps in my work, knowing who is of the Blood or Gifted. Like your friend Max—that was a surprise. I've never met a gnome. But I didn't mention what he was in my report. I don't out people." He shook his head the way a dog shakes itself dry, seeming to return from some interior space. "No, of course not. This explains… much." Explains what? Had she given herself away somehow?It doesn't matter , she told herself, impatient. Her secret would soon be no secret at all. Randall planned to put it in his report. He claimed he had to in order to explain why he'd put her in charge of the investigation. She reached the wall, turned. Maybe he did. It would be easy to think of him as wrong about everything now, when they stood on opposite sides of such a chasm. But that would be a mistake. Did the captain really believe Mech's accusations? Or had he seized on them as a means to punish her for going out of the clan? God. She was thinking like Rule, as if she and the captain were lupi. Had to stop that. She'd really get herself confused that way. She needed to figure out what Randall believed. If he'd gone after her from vindictiveness, he'd proceed

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differently than if he truly believed she'd stepped outside the lines herself. He was her opponent now. She hated that, but he was bringing charges against her. She'd have to defend against those charges. Lily paused, glanced at Rule—and away—and back. She couldn't seem to look straight at him for more than a second. She couldn't stop looking, either. "Your presence here tonight will not make it easier for me to refute Mech's accusations." "I'm sorry." There was a haunted look about his eyes. "I can't put it off any longer,nadia . You have to know." "Know?" Her heartbeat spiked. She didn't know why. Her mouth went dry, and she felt oddly aware of her fingers, her throat, her skin—the sort of supercharged awareness she'd had sometimes when danger turned the world crisp. Without even noticing, she stopped moving. "Know what?" "You and I are chosen for each other." There wasn't enough air. She tried to laugh anyway. "What's that? Some sort of lupus pickup line?" "It means we are mates, chosen for each other by the Lady. Bonded for Me. There is no breaking this bond short of death." "That's crazy. That's just crazy." She had to move. She couldn't take her eyes off him. "You can't expect me to believe that." "It's easily proved. If I reached for you right now, put my hand on you, you would be mine. In spite of all you have to lose, you wouldn't be able to refuse me. Your need is too great." "That—that—" She managed to tear her eyes away and was able to move again. To pace. "You've gone beyond arrogance to ugly." "You can't settle. Something's eating you from the inside. I can smell your arousal each time you walk past me." She went pale, then flushed. "Then breathe through your mouth, dammit. That's just—it's intrusive. You have no business—" "I can't help it. No more than you can. To be chosen is to have many choices taken away. They say that other choices arrive, some sweet, some terrible. It's a rare thing, to be chosen." He was bitter, not seductive. "You don't want to believe, but you must." "Idon't believe. I don't worship your Lady, and I don't think you're in love with me." "That's as well. The primary bond is between our bodies, not our minds and hearts. Though I like you very much, Lily," he said with a smile as sad as it was breathtaking. "I admire and respect you as well. We have much to build on." She couldn't say those things back to him. Not because they were untrue. Because she didn't dare. "I don't think God hands out a sexualgeas . That's what you're talking about, isn't it? Not a romantic bond, but some sort of divinegeas''

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'Tell me to leave." Her feet faltered. "If I'm wrong, if you are free to choose, tell me to go." She couldn't speak. Couldn't move. 'Two days ago, you had a dizzy spell you didn't understand." Her head was whirlingnow . "It passed within moments, fortunately. Because I realized what was happening and moved closer to you. There are limits to how far we can be separated. I'd surpassed those limits, and we both suffered." Her heart beat frantically. "I'm bespelled," she whispered. "Can a sensitive be bespelled?" She shook her head. "But I must be." "You aren't thinking straight right now," he said gently, stepping closer, "but that isn't your fault. I've the advantage of having had time to absorb the change in my condition. You haven't. You feel you're spinning wildly, coming apart while standing still. It will eat you alive, Lily. It's eating me alive. We have to touch." And he did. His hands were large, smooth for a man's—did he heal any calluses before they formed? He fanned his fingers out along along the sides of her face. She felt each finger clearly. She didn't move. Her mind was washed white of thought, of possibilities, of anything other than the lightness of his touch. He moved closer, bringing his head down as if he would kiss her. He didn't. Instead, his breath washed over her mouth. "Breath to breath," he whispered. "Sweet, so sweet to breathe you in." The air itself had turned rich. Breathing was heady, intoxicating. Her skin was alive and her body ached. But one thing remained missing. "Why can't I feel you? When we touch, why don't I touch your magic?" "Ah. That must have confused you. I would guess that our magics mesh so smoothly you can't touch the difference." She jolted. "I don't have magic." "Sweetheart." He abandoned her face to gather her close. His clothes were damp, his body hard and hot. "What do you think it means to be a sensitive, except that you're Gifted? A very rare Gift, but still a Gift." Later. She'd think about what he'd said later. How could she think with his body touching hers? Her skin seemed to vibrate like the skin of a drum. And his face, so near hers, the sheer fascination of it… She traced his eyebrow with one finger. "I'm pretty much scared shitless, you know." He answered with the sudden flash of a grin, so much less seductive than his smile. So much more

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dangerous. He was real when he grinned. "You do delight me." "That's great. I'm scared, and you're delighted." He shook his head, his grin fading. "We have so much to learn about each other." He ran his hands up her sides. "Later. I need you now, mynadia , my only one." He crushed his mouth down on hers. Everything in her leaped to meet him. His taste—yes, she'd tasted him before, and she needed that, needed him— A terrible, unearthly howl filled the air. She jerked back, eyes wide. He jolted and tilted his head up, eyes closed, his chest heaving. "Mother help me. Your cat wants in." Oh. Oh, yes, of course, she thought, leaning her head on his chest, trying to capture her breath. That was definitely Harry, howling his challenge. "He smells you." "Yes." He sounded grim. "You love this cat?" "Of course." "Of course." He sighed. "A dog would have been so much easier. And he's male, too. You had better let him in." "But—"But I can't let go, can't just stop, I hurt with wanting. Couldn't you —couldn't we… She shook her head, denying the image that had flashed through it. Her body mocked her, telling her clearly what she needed. Him. In her. Now. "I'm losing my mind." "You'll regain it, but not until we join. First, though—" He grimaced, dropping his arms as he stepped back. "I must meet your cat." She swallowed. She had to let Harry in. The neighbors would complain, maybe throw things at him. She didn't want him hurt. He was still howling, that rising and falling combat song of his. "I don't think meeting him is a good idea. I'll put him in the bedroom." "No." Rule shook his head. "He needs to defend you. Let him in." "You won't—" "I won't hurt him." He might hurt you, she thought, and grimaced. That was ridiculous. Rule fought other werewolves, for crying out loud. He could handle a cat. Even a seventeen-pounder with major attitude problems. Couldn't he? She glanced over her shoulder at Rule as she reached the door. He crouched in the center of the room, knees flexed, arms ready. He was taking Harry's challenge seriously. Maybe he should. "Um—his name's Dirty Harry." Rule's eyebrows rose. "You named your cat for a fictional cop who blasts the bad guys?"

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"It fits. Though his definition of bad guys is pretty inclusive." She turned the lock and opened the door. Harry shot in—straight at Rule. They moved too fast, cat and man both, for Lily's eyes to track them properly. She did see Harry leap. Rule seemed to translate from one spot to another without touching all the places between—something she'd seen Harry do at times. Then Harry was crouched a couple feet away, ears flat and tail lashing. "That's right," Rule murmured, not taking his eyes off the cat. "You've the right to protect, but I won't hurt her. You don't wish to share, either, but that you will have to do." Harry leaped again. Rule ducked—and had a cat on his back. There was another blur of motion, this one ending with Rule rolling on the floor, Harry separated and spitting. Blood dripped down Rule's face. Lily took a quick step forward. "Stay back," Rule snapped without looking at her. She halted. Man and cat stared at each other out of narrowed eyes while she tried to figure out why she was following Rule's orders. And what, exactly, was going on. Abruptly Harry gave one last growl and sat back on his haunches, looking away from Rule. Rule straightened and turned his head, as if fascinated by the wall. Harry stood, twitched his tail once, and stalked over to her, his fur still bristled. He stropped her leg once, meowed, and headed for the kitchen. "He…" She swallowed what might have been laughter. "He wants me to feed him." "He needs to assert his place with you," Rule said, still studying the wall. "This is weird." But she followed Harry into the-kitchen, where he waited by his dish, glaring at her. She fed him and went back in the living room, shaking her head. "I'm obeying a cat and a sometimes-wolf. I don't know what I'm doing. Obviously I've lost my mind. You're still bleeding." There were two crimson tracks along his cheek. One had bled down his neck. The other stopped just below his eye. She swallowed. "Did you let him do that? He barely missed your eye." "Don't belittle your champion's skills," he said wryly. "I let him do nothing." "You knew he would attack you when I opened the door." He shrugged. "I allowed him to set the terms of our negotiation. The claws in my face were entirely his idea, however." She started laughing. "That's a negotiation?" "Cats negotiate differently than humans." "I should get something for that cut. Some antibiotic ointment." But she moved toward him, not the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. The pull was so strong. "I didn't expect you to like cats."

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"I respect them." She stopped in front of him. He touched her hair. His eyes were hot and dark with need. "Nadia. I can't wait any longer." She swallowed. "I'm going to do this, aren't I?" "We," he said, and wrapped his hand in her hair. "Weare going to do this; yes." "Then do it," she said, suddenly fierce. "Quit talking and do it. Put yourself in me." As if she'd hit him, he gasped. Then his mouth came down on hers, hard. She clutched him with both hands, digging her fingers into the flesh beneath the damp T-shirt, and hung on. He ran his hands up her back, then down, cupping her butt and holding her hard against him. She moaned. He had a scent, too, she realized—one even her human nose could find when she nuzzled his neck. A wild scent, mingling man and damp cloth and something else, something indefinably Rule. It made her crazy. She bit him on the column of his throat. "Now." He groaned. One of his hands moved. He unzipped his jeans and sprang free, then tugged at her sweatpants and panties. She stepped out of them, dizzy with need. Shaking. "It's all right," he told her, and put his hands beneath her butt and lifted her off the ground. "Put your legs around me, Lily. Yes, like that." He shuddered when she obeyed, opening herself to him. "It will be all right," he repeated. Still standing, he slid inside. She made a noise, the sound of something breaking open— something private inside her being breached. "Ahh," she said then, clutching him, squeezing her eyes closed and seeing white, not dark behind her lids—swirling white. He was thick. Long and hot and thick inside her. Then he began walking, still lodged inside her. The sensation was incredible. Her eyes flew open. "What, you do it walking?" He may have meant the stretch of his mouth for a grin, but strain made it a grimace. "The chair. I can't make it to your bed." /love you . She almost said it and was appalled. Where had that come from? Because he was inside her? Because she was a fool, an idiot, unable to tell the difference between— "This will be crowded," he said, looking at her chair and a half. "It's made for snuggling, not fucking." And he ought to know. He'd probably fucked more women than she'd shaken hands with men. "What is it?" His eyes were suddenly fierce. "Where did you go? You aren't with me anymore."

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She stared back. "If I were an inch morewith you, you'd be inside my uterus instead of rubbing up against it." He groaned. And sank to his knees with her riding him, causing his cock to move inside her, rubbing places that had never felt quite that sensation before. "Hold on. Hold onto me," he said, and eased her onto her back. And began to move. Driven by the flexing rhythm of his hips, she flung her head back, dug her fingers into his shoulders, and met his thrusts with her own. It was a wild ride. Her need, and his, made it a short one. Climax ripped through her, bucking her body and blanking her mind. He cried out. When she drifted back to herself moments later, her face was wet. Her name, she realized. It had been her name he'd called when he came. Why would that make her cry? Rule was sprawled on top of her, his head next to hers, his breath stirring her hair. He'd caught himself on his forearms as he collapsed, so not all of his weight was on her. He was still inside her… and still hard. "Lily?" He propped himself up on one elbow. "Ah,cara , don't. What is this?" He pressed his mouth to the corner of her eye, then licked at the tears. He kissed her mouth, his tongue soft, persuasive. His lips said to trust him. To let him inside, all the way inside. "Don't cry. Please don't." "I don't…" Her breath caught as he shifted his hips. "I don't cry. I don't know what's happening to me. Is that"—she pushed up with her hips, demonstrating—"normal for you?" "Very little is normal for me right now. Or for you, which is why the tears, perhaps." "I guess." She wanted him still. She'd just hit a home run for the record books, and the need was already building. "If this was supposed to clear my mind, it didn't work." His eyes crinkled at the corners. "Then we'd better try again. See if we can get it right." "I know the male answer to everything is sex, but—oh!" He'd bent and was suckling her through her T-shirt. After a moment he looked up. "Naked would be better." "Yes." She ran her hands up his back. "Yes, it would." Thirty minutes later she was flat on her back in her bed. Rule lay beside her on his back. They were both breathing hard, which gave her some satisfaction, considering the advantage his nature conferred. "I think… I can safely say"— she had to stop and drag in air—"that yes, naked is better." He chuckled and rolled onto his side, propping himself up to look at her. "Mmm." He drew his hand along her ribs, down her hip. "You are as close to perfection as it's possible to get without boredom." She turned her head to look at him. "You couldn't possibly." "No?" He quirked a brow at her. "I've heard that the first month for a Chosen pair can be… strenuous."

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"I'm not sure I buy all this Chosen stuff. There's a bond, a pull, something. I don't deny that. But you might have some of it wrong." "Perhaps. I believe that everything I've told you is fact, but this… what's happened to us… it's rare. I don't know all there is to know about it." She fell silent. She ought to ask questions, and part of her wanted to do that. To interrogate him, break down his story— or find out the truth of her condition. She didn't want to know. Lily closed her eyes, tried to close off her thoughts. She was in bed with a man who was still a stranger to her in many ways. But worse was that she was a stranger to herself. She needed to finish what she'd begun, find the answers to Carlos Fuentes's death. To Therese's. She was a cop. It wasn't just what she did; it was what she was. But a cop without a badge—What did that make her? "All in all, it's been a hell of a day." "For both of us. These charges against you… we weren't lovers before, as they claim, but we are now. How will that affect you?" She turned her head. The pillows were on the floor, as were most of the covers, so she looked straight at his face with nothing between them. "I'm probably sunk." His face twisted. "I'm truly sorry." If he was being straight with her, he'd had no choice, either. He was as trapped as she was, as unable to undo any of it. All she could do was go forward from where she was now. And now… it felt so right to lie here with him. Necessary. And if that bothered her, she'd deal with it tomorrow. "Distract me," she said and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, running her hand down his belly. His breath sucked in. Already the pleasure was rising in her again, drawn from her as easily as the sun draws mist from water. "You can't make any of it go away," she said, "but maybe, for awhile, I can forget." She nipped the side of his throat. "Maybe we both can." EIGHTEEN THEY were coming for him again. Cullen lay on his back on the hard floor, picking up the vibrations from their footsteps with his body. He didn't get up. They thought he couldn't sense anything outside his cage, which was damned near true. Glass was miserable to work through, being all but impermeable to magic, and the walls and ceiling of his cage were heavy, tempered glass in a steel frame. The floor was rock, but with a mesh of power beneath it that resisted his seeking with painful efficiency. That mesh was tied to the nearby node, and the node was keyed to Her. The Old One these crazies worshiped. Desperation can be a real mother, though. His had given birth to patience bordering on obsession. And

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he'd know about obsessions, wouldn't he? They'd kept him alive at first for the novelty factor. A werewolf sorcerer? It wasn't supposed to be possible. He'd performed for her holiness three times now—the first time while in a great deal of pain. The pain wasn't so bad now, but her staff kept her safe, damn it and her, while he did his tricks. It held more raw power than he'd ever seen, more than enough to control him. But she wasn't herself a sorcerer. She had power, vast power—and little more idea of how to use it than a child playing in the cockpit of a 747. They needed him. They didn't trust him but wanted badly to use him. He'd had little trouble convincing them of his essential venality. "Ask anyone who knows me," he'd told her. "I'm a selfish sod. I can be bought—but money isn't my price." There were disadvantages to having lived a thoroughly selfish life, though. No one would look for him. Max would grumble when he didn't show up to dance, but he wouldn't be alarmed. Rule— The creak of the door had him sitting up. "She'll talk to you now." That was the guard he'd dubbed the Hulk. He was big and stupid, and he had a temper… which, unfortunately, Cullen sometimes couldn't resist tweaking. It was so damnably boring here. "But of course. I'd be delighted." He rose fluidly—that hadn't been taken from him, at least. His body and mind remained his own, much to his captors' frustration. "Am I presentable?" he asked. "I do so hate to look unkempt when I'm to spend time with a lady." The blow to the side of his head from a wooden staff staggered him. "No talking. Put these on." The handcuffs landed with a clink on the floor. He went still. The rage was getting harder to master, but he managed. It helped to picture her lithe body writhing in agony as fire consumed her. He was good with fire. The only outward sign he gave of his reaction was a single, shuddering breath. Then he bent, picked up the handcuffs, and slid his hands through the bracelets, locking them in place. "And my lovely necklace?" He got another blow, of course, for speaking. "Come here." He wanted to refuse, dearly wanted that. But the only way out of this cage—for now—lay in obeying. He stepped forward. This was the part he hated most. Hard hands slid the silver choke chain over his head, snugging it around his neck. Someone tugged on the other end of his leash. "Heel." Someone else laughed. Such a simple sense of humor his guards possessed. The same joke over and over, and it never failed to amuse them. Putting a leash and collar on the wolf-man was only part of the fun, though. The rest of the joke lay in teasing a blind man. Tripping him was always good for a laugh. Cullen took a single step. He knew the contours of his glass cage very well, and his guards never entered

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it, so he was safe from their humor until he left it. He felt with his foot for the steel doorsill… A sharp tug on the collar almost overbalanced him. "I said heel, boy. Hurry up." This time the rage won. He launched himself into space toward the one holding his chain. The guards were only human. They couldn't react in time. He slammed into a big, hard body and managed to loop his cuffed hands over the man's head as they crashed to the floor. He landed on top and pushed up on one knee, using his forearms as a vise on the man's head. One good twist— The pain hit, crippling him body and mind, making his arms spasm. Along with the rest of him. It was brief, though. An instant's overwhelming agony, then someone's foot rolled him off his tormentor and temporary victim. Who was moaning, Cullen noted as he lay on his back, twitching like a dreaming dog, each little spasm sending shards of pain through his muscles. Apparently she'd zapped the Hulk, too. And that smell… the Hulk had pissed himself. Cullen's mouth contorted painfully as the impulse to grin got tangled up by his scrambled nerves. "Did you think I wasn't here?" A thin ghost of amusement brought a rare touch of life to that high, hated voice. She stood near his feet. "You must leam to master your impulses, Cullen. I can't allow you to damage my servants. Second…" The slight shift in sound told Cullen she'd turned. "I asked you to tell the men not to tease Cullen. It causes problems." "I told them, Madonna." "Then John disobeyed." That high, cool voice sounded so like a child's… and not childish at all. "Madonna, please…" That was the Hulk. He was panting. "Please, make it stop." "I have stopped, John. You're only feeling the echoes now. I advise you to stop trying to move; that makes it so much worse. But I do require an answer. You forced me to use power to keep him from killing you. Did I waste that power? Are you going to continue to disobey?" "No, Madonna." He was sobbing now. "No, I obey you in everything." "Try to remember that. Second, have him removed. He smells bad." Cullen lay there recovering while they hauled John the Hulk away, whimpering. It was one of the best moments he'd had since a horde of ninja wanna-bes came crashing into his shack. "I suspect you can stand up now," computer-girl said to him. "You're more durable than John, and it was such a brief punishment." Was there any advantage in pretending weakness? Not enough, he decided. She was unpredictable. He inched his head around, able to "see" her by the power bound up in her staff, which wasn't a staff at all to his sorcerous vision, but a rent in reality outlined by pulsing red and purple energies. The reek of it made him want to snarl. He smiled instead. His muscles were obeying him again, though it hurt like hell. "Shall I stand, then? You

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see how tractable I am, asking permission." "Not tractable at all. But you are clever and supremely self-interested. You'll behave for now. Yes, stand. Second, take his leash and bring him to my quarters." The slight swish of cloth told him she'd walked away. Moving was a bitch. Cullen managed it without wetting himself or whimpering, a small triumph that helped him endure the walk to her quarters, directed by tugs on his collar and an occasional word. His world wasn't completely dark. He was blind to the material world, yes, but he had other senses. He knew they were well belowground, for example; he even knew the approximate area from reading the ley lines that radiated from the node. Once they left the large main room that held his cage— he knew the room was big by the way sound behaved there— the air smelled of damp stone. It was some sort of tunnel, the walls and floor hacked out of the rock. Sorceri danced here, shifting auroras shed by the node that was so close and so unavailable. But sorceri weren't much help when it came to avoiding walls or crossing an uneven rock floor. They'd put out his eyes while he was still unconscious. To keep him from escaping, he'd been told. He didn't buy it. True, that was a time-honored means of discouraging sorcerers. During the Purge the authorities had blinded and maimed those they hadn't killed outright, cutting off their hands and removing their tongues. Couldn't cast a spell then, poor bastards. Couldn't wipe their own asses, either, so Cullen was glad he'd kept his hands. But he thought spite, not practicality, was the real reason for his blinding. Her holiness turned pettish when thwarted. The sorceri grew thicker as they neared the Madonna's rooms, which were very close to the node. There were tales of adepts in the old days who'd been able to use the dancing lilies of energy with their minds alone, with no spoken or physical components to the spells. Cullen sighed. He was far from being an adept. But so was she. She couldn't see the sorceri and wouldn't miss what he harvested. He wasn't sure she knew they existed. Sorceri weren't like ley lines; they were more of an energy leakage. Low in power compared to a node, but theywere power. Cullen couldn't call them to him by mind alone like an adept, but if he brushed against one, it was his. He stumbled for the fourth or fifth time—and collected a green line. The chain tightened around his neck. 'Two feet and turn left," the one she called Second told him. Cullen had noticed that names were low status for these people. Once they reached a certain level, they were always called by their titles. Or maybe they still believed you gained power over a person through his name. Which was theoretically possible, but the spells for that had been lost long ago with the vanished Codex Arcanum—the Book of All Magic. He made the two steps, turned, and didn't walk into a wall, which was a relief. The stink from her staff told him he'd arrived. The jerk on his collar confirmed it. He turned toward the staff and gave a little bow.

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"He's a bit of a mess," a man's voice said, amused. "Can't you get him to wash?" "You are so tidy, Patrick." That washer . The staff was, as usual, right beside her. "He might be able to make use of water if I allowed him enough to wash with. I'm not sure of the extent of his skill with magic. And having him washed by others could result in some of my servants being damaged. Cullen, this is the Most Reverend Patrick Harlowe. You will address him as Most Reverend." "My pleasure, Most Reverend." Cullen offered another little bow in the general direction of the man's scent—easy to find, since he was wearing one of those musky men's colognes. "I apologize for my disheveled state." "Quite understandable." The amusement deepened. It was a rich, mellow voice, the kind people consider charismatic.A touch of a Gift there , Cullen thought. "Won't you be seated? Ah—there's a chair to your left." "Thank you." Cullen slid his foot to the side until he'd located the chair, identified which way it faced, and seated himself. "You'll find a cup of tea on the table to your left," her frigid holiness said. "I believe it's still hot." 'Tea. How lovely." He found the cup—an awkward business with his hands cuffed in front of him, but he managed to pick it up and take a sip. Nasty stuff. They could have offered him whiskey. "How long will it take to grow your eyes back?" the Most Reverend person asked. "They don't seem to have done much healing yet." "The lids have to regrow first." A lie, but worth trying. "Can't have bare eyeballs, can I? That should take about a week It would go quicker if you let me have a blindfold. Given some protection, the eyeballs could get started. But faster may not be better, from my point of view. I'm wondering if I'll be allowed to keep them this time." "You would be allowed much," said that light, dead voice, "if you were more reasonable." "Ah, well. We have differing ideas of what's reasonable, don't we?" He set the cup back on its saucer, pleased that he managed it without fumbling. "I don't consider it reasonable to allow you to meddle with my mind." "I'm not requiring you to remove your shields entirely. Just long enough for me to confirm what you say." "And yet—forgive my distrustful nature—once I lower my shields, you could do pretty much whatever you wanted, couldn't you?" No sorcerer, this woman, which was why she was talking with him instead of killing him. They needed him. But she was a telepath, quite a strong one. And she had that thrice-cursed staff. She could stir his mind into a puddle of goo in short order. Or plant a compulsion to obey her, which was more likely. "Where did you get these shields of yours?" Patrick asked. There was a clink of china, as if he were sharing in the little tea party. "Helen tells me she's never encountered any quite so complete." Helen. The bitch's name was Helen. He closed his mind around the name greedily. "I traded for the spell

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that created them shortly before her holiness paid me that little visit." "Oh, yes." Leather creaked as the man leaned forward. "The other sorcerer, the one we'd hoped to find. You said his name was Michael?" "That's the name he used. I doubt it's his real name." "And you have no idea where he went." "None whatsoever." Though he'd give his eyes all over again to find out. The man owed him. "Nor any reason to lie to you about it. I don't care what happens to him." "Yet if we found him, would we need you?" That was her again. "Madonna, I couldn't say. You've told me so little about your plans." Though he knew a good deal more than they'd told him, having overheard things while in his cage. Maybe they thought glass stopped sound as well as magic. "But you have me, and you don't have him." "Dowe have you?" That was His Reverendness. "Your body, yes. But you won't let us into your mind, and you aren't committed to our cause. You don't worship Her." Cullen shrugged. "I worship knowledge, and I'm very fond of power. The Madonna can give me both. I see no reason we can't deal." She spoke. "You proposed some ways to test your sincerity the last time we spoke." She seemed to be musing aloud, as if turning things over in her mind, but it rang false to Cullen. Her Bitchiness— Helen—never spoke without thinking first. She'd decided how to use him. His heatbeat picked up, and it was all he could do to keep his face and posture easy. He had a chance. "Most of your little tests involved killing you if you failed us." There was a rare touch of feeling in her voice—faint, but discernable. Killing him held some appeal for her. "But none of them involved killing others. Will you kill for me, Cullen?" "Yes." It was like being back in school. Feed the teacher the answers she was looking for, win an A+. "Just yes? You have no questions about who or how or why?" "My questions involve payment. If I pass your test, what do I get?" "Madonna." Patrick shifted in his chair, perhaps turning toward her. "He's entirely amoral. Is this the type of person we want working for us?" "Withus," she corrected gently. "We can't afford to have him work for us. He's too dangerous, too capable of turning on us. We must enlist him entirely." "But if he won't give himself over to Her, how can we do that?" Oh, yes, Cullen thought. The Patrick person was better at it than she was, but this conversation had

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been choreographed. They were leading him somewhere. "We make sure he has every reason to please us. First, by giving him some of what he wants. Second, by making it impossible for him to survive without us. Cullen, you said you would kill for me." "That's right." "You would kill strangers? People you've never met?" "If the price was right." His stomach knotted as he thought of one conversation he'd overheard. "You would be paid in knowledge. I don't share power." No kidding. "And perhaps better quarters." "Perhaps." She was amused again. "What if I asked you to kill in wolf form? In such a way that it would be obvious a lupus had done it?" That surprised him. He let it show. "You don't want me to work magic for you?" "Perhaps later, when you are bound more fully to us. Which you will be, once you have killed in wolf form. We will use you to destroy—" "Helen!" Patrick's protest sounded genuine, not planned. Interesting. "We must tell him our goal, Patrick. He's bright enough to figure things out on his own. Better he knows now what he's agreeing to." A pause. "You're right, as usual, Madonna." "Cullen, you are aware of what I am." He nodded. "A telepath, very strong. One of the rarest of the Gifts." Because of its tendency to drive its possessor crazy. "Yes. My Gift allows Her to use me. To speak to me and sometimes to act through me." There was actual feeling in her voice now—a burning undercurrent, the throbbing passion of fanaticism. "She has rewarded me richly, far beyond my deserving, for my service, but the true reward is that contact with Her. I know what She wants, what She dreams of. It is my joy and delight to work to give that to Her, Cullen. But—" the amusement was back— "Her dream may not delight you." Sometimes Teacher wants her students to ask questions. "And what is Her dream?" "The first step is keeping the Species Citizenship Bill from passing, and we are well on the way to achieving that. But that is only the beginning. We will kill a number of people, Cullen. A great number, quite violently, all over the country. They will be lupus kills, and there will be no more talk of tolerance or legal standing for lupi. The American people will demand the extermination ofyour people, Cullen, because that is Her dream. The destruction of the lupi."

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One good thing about lacking eyes. People were used to looking for reactions there, reading your feelings by what they saw in your eyes. Couldn't do that with him, could they? "I have no people," Cullen said. NINETEEN MORNING sun striped the bed, falling in thin slices through the vertical blinds of the single window. Lily's bedroom wasn't that much bigger than the cell Rule had paced yesterday, and was almost as empty. Aside from the bed, there was a chest of drawers placed so she could watch the television on top of it. That was it for furnishings, though there was a large, unframed print over the bed—something Oriental, Rule remembered. He couldn't see it from where he lay. It wasn't the light that had woken him, though. It was the seventeen-pound cat sitting on his chest. "You don't approve, do you?" Rule murmured. He didn't make the mistake of moving so much as a finger. Harry was enjoying his dominant position too much. He'd be sure to punish any suggestion of independence on Rule's part. "You'll adjust," he told the cat. As Rule would have to do, too. There would be huge changes in his life, the shape of which he couldn't yet see clearly. But there were some perks involved for him. He doubted that Harry saw a brighter side to Rule's intrusion. Lily made a sleepy sound and nestled closer. As a boy, Rule had heard tales ofChosen who'd killed or died for each other. Thrilling tales, heroic and satisfying to a child. But there were cautionary tales, too, ofChosen who couldn't accept the bond or adapt to the other. Tales of suicide and insanity. Then there had been Benedict's example. Rule didn't know the whole story, but he knew its outcome. He'd seen the shadows cast by wounds that couldn't heal. In spite of the grim tales, theChosen state was celebrated. Rule hadn't understood that. To be chosen was to be set apart from other lupi. Already, because of his birth and his position in the clan, there was distance between him and the rest. He hadn't wanted anything that would further separate him. Nor had he wanted any one person to mean so much. What could possibly be worth such a risk? Lily rolled onto her stomach, poking him in the ribs with her elbow. And his heart turned over. He understood now. "Lily," he murmured, "I think Dirty Harry wants to be fed. I'm hoping he has cat food, not fresh meat, in mind." "What?" She lifted her head and frowned at him from behind a curtain of tangled hair. "Good Lord. It wasn't a dream." "No." He started to reach for her, to smooth the hair out of her face. Harry growled. "Ah… does he usually sleep with you?" "He?" She shoved her hair back herself and twisted her head. "Oh." A smile tugged at her mouth. "Looks particularly evil this morning, doesn't he?"

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"I suspect he's hoping I'd take the hint and leave." "Mmm." "Were you," he asked carefully, "hoping the same thing?" Her eyes met his. She shook her head but didn't speak. "Or wishing last night hadn't happened? She took her time responding. "Can't put the genie back in the bottle. And it would be hard"—at last, slowly, a smile—"if not impossible, to wish away last night. But this morning is complicated." Harry decided he'd been left out of the conversation long enough. He stood, stretched, and planted his front feet on Lily's shoulder, staring at her intently. She shoved him aside. "All right, Harry. Move it, and I'll get up." The cat jumped down, and Rule thought wistfully about delaying her for thirty minutes or so. But she was right. This morning was indeed complicated. Lily rolled over and got out of bed. "Come on, Harry. Food for you, a shower for me. And for you"—she looked at Rule— "questions. Some of which I should have asked last night." He sighed. "Of course. You always have questions." "That's my approach to most things. The trick is finding the right questions." She turned, opened the closet, and took out a robe. It was pretty, a bright blue silk, but not as pretty as her skin. "You have coffee beans?" he asked hopefully, swinging his feet to me floor. "A grinder? I could put some coffee on." She disappointed him. "There's some already ground," she told him as she stepped into the tiny bathroom. "Coffeepot's by the stove. Feed Harry, will you?" The door closed. The cat stopped next to it, offended. He looked at the cat. "I think she wants us to bond, Harry." Harry glared and twitched his tail. "True. But I'll feed you anyway."

LILY took her time in the shower, hoping to wash some clarity into her head. Nothing was right this morning. She ought to concentrate on how to defend herself, she thought as she lathered her hair. But she hadn't seen the charges against her yet. She was suspended pending charges, but didn't know exactly what she was up against. She'd worry about that later, she decided, and rinsed.

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Damn Randall, anyway. The sense of betrayal went deep. She ought to be getting ready for work right now. She had leads. She needed to talk to the Aza's Most Reverend guy. Then there were Ginger and Mech. Ginger had lied about seeing Rule. Mech had been all too eager to frame Rule. They were part of it. And she wasn't. The Feds would follow up with Ginger and Mech, not her. At least, she wasn't supposed to___ When she emerged, she knew Rule had found her coffee. The aroma drew her out of the bedroom as soon as she'd pulled some clothes on. He'd also found her stereo, which she kept on the shelf in the coat closet. And her CDs. Several of them were scattered on the floor. But he wasn't playing her music. He was listening to opera on the radio. Standing there totally naked in her living room, listening to a soprano warble through some aria. "Rule," Lily said, appalled. "It's seven-thirty in the morning." He cast her an amused glance and turned the volume down. "Not an opera fan, I take it." "No." She frowned at the mess. "Don't you think you should put some clothes on?" "If it makes you more comfortable." He turned to face her. His body expressed its interest at seeing her, and he smiled. "1 need coffee," she said and retreated to the kitchen. "Where's Harry?" "He ate and ran. I hope it was okay to let him out." "Can't keep him in. He lived on the streets too long to be happy with walls twenty-four/seven." She noticed Harry's food dish was nearly full. Rule had given him way more than he was supposed to have. Lily filled a mug with coffee and stayed where she was, sipping. Given the size of her apartment, the kitchen afforded only a semblance of privacy. But she needed that semblance. It had been a long time since she'd woken up beside a man. Even longer since that man had been here, in her space. She couldn't decide how she felt about it. Confused, mostly. She liked having him here… or maybe that wasn't her, but the mate bond thing, screwing with her mind. She'd figure out how she felt later. For now… how did this Chosen business work? How could she find out? Even if Rule was being completely honest with her, he might have some of it wrong. It seemed to have religious connotations for him, and religion sometimes kept people from asking the right questions. If you think you already have all the answers, you stop asking. All Lily had were questions. It was time to go ask some of them. She took a last swallow of coffee went back into the living room. He'd pulled on his jeans and was replacing the CDs he'd hauled out. Which was good, but— "They're organized by type, and alphabetical by artist within each type." He glanced at her, eyebrows lifted. 'Tell me you don't alphabetize your spices, too."

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"I might, if I cooked." He went back to replacing the CDs. 'This is going to be a challenge for both of us." "What do you mean?" "You'll understand when you see my apartment." She rubbed her chest, where the skin felt oddly tight. That jumpy feeling was back. "You're making assumptions based on your beliefs. I'm more into evidence than belief." "I suppose a cop would be." He slid the final CD back in place and turned. "I thought you might like opera. You have a lot of classical music." "Instrumentals. I played violin at one time." She caught herself moving toward him, stopped, and scowled. "It's pulling me, isn't it? Making me want to touch you." "We need to touch, yes." He came to her and put his hands on her arms. "Is that so terrible?" "I don't like being forced. I don't like having something make me need this." But when he pulled her to him, she leaned into his embrace, laying her head on his chest. He was too tall. She'd never liked men who were this much taller than her… but his heartbeat steadied her, wiping away the jumpiness, leaving her both calm and revved, ready to go. "It isn't even sex. I mean—that's there, but sex isn't all of it." "No." He ran a hand down her back. "For the first few weeks, especially, we'll both need the feel of the other, the physical contact." "Like an addict needs a fix." She pulled away. "Well, I've had mine for the time being." He wasn't happy. "Have you noticed that there are two of us involved? What if I didn't get my fix yet?" "I…" What was she supposed to do? Make him suffer— make both of them suffer? But if she gave in, allowed her craving to win, she wouldn't beher anymore. Something else would be driving. "I'm scared." "I know. But this isn't a habit you can kick with some twelve-step program. The sooner you accept that, the easier it will be." "We'll see." God, the jitters were back. As soon as she stopped touching him, they came back. "How far can we be away from each other without having dizzy spells?" "It varies, but… not far," he admitted. "We won't always be pulled this hard. Sometimes a Chosen pair can be many miles apart for a time. Not with comfort, but it becomes possible for some. Mating will have tightened the bond for us, though, so for the next few weeks we'll need to stay close. After that—" "Wait a minute. You didn't say anything about sex tightening the bond." She felt panicky. "You mean it's worse now?" "It will be, for a time. Lily, we had no choice. We're free to choose how we deal with the bond. We aren't free to refuse it."

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"That's your belief." "It is fact." He looked as if he wanted to shake her. "If you fight the need too long, you go crazy." "Thisis crazy." She gave in to one need and started pacing. "But I'll sort it out later." Her list of things to deal with later was getting longer. "For now," she added with grim humor, "it looks like you're going to be a big part of my investigation." "I thought you'd been taken off the investigation." "That's going to make it tricky." "Lily—" He stopped, glanced at the door. Two seconds later, the doorbell rang. She hadn't heard anything. Obviously, he had. "You take some getting used to," she muttered and went to the door. The peephole showed her Croft's chocolate face. Great. Should she ask Rule to hide? No, dumb idea. It would be too easy to prove he'd been here all night. It went against the grain to play cover-up, anyway. She sighed and unlocked the door. "You're out early." "We need to talk to you," Croft said. Karonski stood behind him, scowling. "May we come in?" "Why not? There's coffee." Karonski brightened marginally. "With creamer?" "I've got milk." She stepped aside and let them in. TWENTY NEITHER of the federal agents looked surprised at finding Rule in her living room, half-dressed. Karonski nodded at him. Croft did seem discomfited when he realized there was only one chair. "You can wrestle for who gets the chair. The yellow pillow's mine," Lily told them, retreating to her tiny kitchen. "Let me know who wins." No one took the chair. When she came back with four mugs, sugar, and a little glass of milk on a tray, they were sitting around the square coffee table she used as a dining table. The pair from the FBI looked funny sitting on the floor in their suits. Rule looked bare and quite unbothered by it. He was talking to Karonski. "Surely you can do something." Karonski shook his head. "Doesn't work that way. Not only would the locals resent the hell out of it if we tried to interfere, we don't—hey, here's the coffee." Lily put the tray on the table. "Help yourselves." She looked at Rule. "Were you asking them to intervene with the captain for me?"

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He shrugged. "Yes." "Like he said, it doesn't work that way." She went to her oversize chair and retrieved the folders she'd brought home. She brought them with her to the table. The yellow pillow was next to Rule. She hesitated. Better if she had the table between them. The need to touch him was strong and sneaky. It would be embarrassing if she started groping him or something. Embarrassing, too, if she asked everyone to move so she didn't have to sit next to the man she'd woken up beside. She'd just have to watch herself. She sat tailor-fashion on the pillow. "I assume you want to ask me some questions about the Fuentes investigation, since it relates to yours. This has copies of my reports to date." She handed Croft a folder. "And this is yours." The second folder she held out was the one he'd given her. The one about Rule. Croft and Karonski exchanged a glance. Croft spoke. "We do have some questions, but that isn't our priority." Karonski snorted. "Skip the fancy lead-in. We're here because we want to recruit you." Her jaw dropped. "We believe your captain made a serious misjudgment," Croft said with that pleasant smile. "One we hope to take advantage of." She shook her head. "Wait a minute. The FBI doesn't go around recruiting police officers who are neck deep in disciplinary shit. You don't recruit individuals at all." "The FBI as a whole doesn't, no. We're MCD. We operate less bureaucratically." Karonski had already turned his coffee pale with milk and was busy loading it with sugar. "What the hell. Let's go ahead and brag. Turner already knows, and she'll have to." He leaned forward. "We're not just Magical Crimes Division, we're part of a hotshot unit within it. Hush-hush stuff. We've got the authority to hire on the spot, and we want you. You're not an idiot. You know why." "Because I'm a sensitive." It left a sour taste in her mouth. "A touch sensitive." "Which makes you one in a million. We need you." "Forget it. I don't out people." "We don't do that," Croft said. "True, MCD has been responsible for identifying lupi and others in the past, but that's never been the unit's job. We're sent on the unusual cases, the ones where special knowledge or abilities may be needed." She glanced at Karonski. He grinned and added another spoonful of sugar. "Like witchcraft, yeah. With some prep I was able to confirm what you told us about Martin's murder." He took a sip of the noxious brew he'd made of his coffee and sighed with contentment. "Sorcery, all right. Nasty business."

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"And you?" She looked at Croft, curious in spite of herself. "I didn't pick up anything when we shook hands." "Not everyone in the unit is Gifted. I'm just an experienced field agent with an unusual hobby. I've a rather broad knowledge of magical systems, persons, and creatures." Karonski chuckled. "He's an egghead with a weird obsession. Useful, but weird." Rule spoke coldly. "Is that why you won't help her clear her name? You wish to recruit her. It's to your advantage if she's off the force." "We can't help. We could put in a word for her, sure, but Randall has a thing about Feds, and he can't stand Croft. They bumped heads on another case a few years back. If either of us speaks up for her, it's likely to backfire." "Youcould do more than speak up for her." Karonski looked pained. "Persuasion spells are illegal." Lily slapped the table. "Hold it. Just hold on, both of you. I do not need anyone fighting my battles for me, and I'm not off the force. Suspended for now, and I may get demoted for unprofessional conduct. But it isn't likely I'll be kicked off." Croft looked worried. "You may be underestimating your risk. If Captain Randall did tip the killer off about Therese Martin, you're a major threat to him." "I don't think it's him. I don't have any evidence, but I can't buy it. He's acop !' She looked at the two skeptical cops listening to her. "Randall doesn't just do the job, heis the job. He couldn't step outside it enough to set up a murder and a frame. Not for any reason." Karonski nodded. "I hear you. But sometimes a cop starts thinking the job is justice. They break rules because their idea of justice is more important than the law." "Not Randall." He and Croft exchanged one of those looks. Croft spoke. "You've worked with the man. Your opinion is part of the picture. But we want more than your opinions. We want you to continue with your investigation—only for us." "You mean…" Her mouth was suddenly dry. She licked her lips. "You want to recruit me right this minute. Sign me up, and I can keep the investigation. Both of them, really— Fuentes and Martin—since they're linked." "That's right. You'd be working with Abel and me." "Don't you have to run me? A security check, deep background… oh," she said, reading their faces. "You already have." "We haven't got the deep background check yet," Croft said. "Just the basics."

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The basics would be enough. Twenty years was a long time, but it had been in the papers. She looked at the two men—one dark, urbane, and smiling, the other rumpled and pushy. They knew, and they weren't asking questions. That was a mark in their favor. Karonski was leaning toward her again. She could almost feel him pushing at her, willing her to agree. "We don't just want you because you're a sensitive, though God knows that's important. We need someone who can't be fooled by magic, Lately there's been—" "Abel," Croft said, giving him a warning look. Surprisingly, it was Rule who finished Karonski's sentence. "An increase in the number of magical crimes committed?" he suggested. "More odd reports coming in. Reports of unlikely or inexplicable events." Croft gave him a hard look. "What do you know about it?" "Not enough.Was a banshee sighted in Texas?" The two agents exchanged a glance. "I'll need to know your source, Turner," Croft said. "But we can discuss that later." Karonski turned back to Lily. "We need you because you're a sensitive, yeah. But you're also a cop, a good one. Not many Gifted go into law enforcement. There are still laws on the books in several states prohibiting it, for one thing." "Not to mention federal regulations," Lily said dryly. "Yet here you are." "We don't operate under the same regs as the rest of the Bureau," Croft said. 'That's one reason we don't advertise our existence." "The point is," Karonski said, "you're already trained. We need you on this one because you know the case, the city, the people involved. And you've got one hell of an in with the lupus community." He glanced at Rule and waggled his eyebrows. "And you don't have a problem with that?" she demanded. "You come here, find Rule running tame in my place, and you don't question my involvement with him? My judgment?" Croft spread his hands. "As I understand it, you had little choice. Which is another reason to consider our offer. You might have some difficulty explaining a necessary association with Turner to your superiors on the police force. We'll be glad to work around whatever, um, special requirements are necessary." Her head swung toward Rule. "Youtold them?" But he was looking at Croft with that peculiar, threatening stillness. "The existence of the Chosen isn't known outside the clans." Croft met Rule's eyes, unfazed. "I know people in the clans." "Okay, fine." She pushed to her feet. "You two go ahead and duke it out. I need to think." She started to pace but reached the wall and stopped, hugging her elbows. She needed space, time, and privacy to consider her options. She wasn't likely to get any of them.

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Lily didn't hear Rule stand and come toward her;she felt him draw near. He stopped behind her and put his arms around her… and, with a sigh, she leaned into his body. "You're used to dividing your life into tidy compartments marked Professional and Personal," he murmured. "It's uncomfortable for you when they slop over into each other." She grimaced. "Uncomfortable isn't the word I'd use." Almost everything had fallen in the Professional pile the past few years, but he was right. She hated having the job invaded by her personal life. She hated needing his touch, and she hated the FBI agents for being there, because she was beginning to need more than a touch. Yet as the warmth of his body seeped into her, her thoughts began to settle. Their offer was tempting. Terribly tempting. She could work with people who valued her more unusual abilities instead of having to hide them. She could finish what she'd started with this investigation, and do it wearing a badge. But she'd have to turn her back on Homicide. For years, that had been her one goal: to be good enough to work Homicide. When she turned back to face the two FBI agents, Rule kept one arm around her waist. She didn't pull away. "I'd have to resign from the department to accept your offer." Croft's eyebrows rose slightly. "Well, yes." "I'm not willing to do that. I'm not sure what I'll decide, long term, but I don't want to leave the force right now. Wait," she said when Karonski started to speak. "I've got an offer of my own. I want to stay on the case, and you want me there. Why don't I give this deal you're offering a test drive? I could serve as your expert consultant." Karonski's mouth snapped shut. He looked at Croft, the two of them wearing identically surprised expressions. Beside her, Rule chuckled. "What do you think?" she said. "You'd have to clear it with the department, of course. I'd suggest going up the ladder for that. The captain isn't likely to approve it." A smile spread over Croft's face. "I think something could be arranged. And it won't do you any harm to be requested by us while you're on suspension, will it?" Karonski nudged his partner. "We'll get Brooks to call the chief. He's got the pull, and he talks almost as slick as you do. Time he made himself useful." "Brooks?" she said. "The boss. He runs the unit." A flicker of panic touched Lily. She didn't know anything about this unit of theirs, and she'd just agreed to work for them. No, she corrected—withthem. Temporarily. It was all temporary. Rule's thumb stirred little circles on her waist through the silk of her T-shirt. "It's getting confusing, isn't it?" he murmured. "I think I'm now an expert consultant to an expert consultant." Heat was pooling in her stomach. Touching him was more distraction than comfort now. She moved away and ran a hand through her hair—still damp from her shower, she noted. She always blew it dry right away, but this morning she hadn't.

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Nothing was the way it was supposed to be. "Why am I doing this? I'm a color-inside-the-lines sort of person. This is so far outside the lines I—" Over by the chair, her purse chimed. Or, rather, the phone in it did. She glanced that way. "Damn." "You're doing it because you want to stop a killer," Rule said quietly. "And the lines keep moving." "Yes." She met his eyes. "1 guess they do." Her phone chimed again. "I'd better get that. What do you think?" she asked the others as she crossed the room. "Have we got a deal?" Croft nodded. "We do." "Good." It was good, wasn't it? She pulled out her phone and touched the Talk button without looking at it. "Yu here." "Have you heard from your Grandmother?" her mother asked. "She's disappeared." "Disappeared?" Alarm shot through her. "What do you mean? How long has she been gone?" "Well, not disappeared, exactly. But she is gone. Li Qin tells me not to worry, but how can I not worry with the wedding only three weeks away?" Lily sat on the edge of the chair. "Li Qin knows where she went?" "Not that she'll tell me. Grandmother asked her not to discuss it." Julia sniffed. "I suppose it's too much to expect that your grandmother would tell her own daughter-in-law when she leaves town. But why did she leave? This is not like her. She never travels, and to take off like this, just before the wedding, without a word to me…" Her voice lowered. "Do you think she could be getting… well, you know. She is old." Lily swallowed a bubble of hysteria. "I don't think Grandmother is going senile." "I didn't say that. I just wondered… ah, well. You haven't heard from her?" "I spoke to her a couple days ago," Lily said carefully. "She said something about getting in touch with an old friend. I thought she meant by phone, but maybe she intended to travel to see this friend." To collect on that favor she was owed… by someone. Her mother grumbled a bit more about Grandmother's odd behavior. Lily didn't really listen. She'd have to tell her family she was suspended. God, she hated that. She could just imagine what her mother would say. Maybe she could get everything cleared up quickly, before she had to tell them. "Sorry. What did you say?" she asked when she noticed that a pause had fallen. "My mind drifted for a moment." "I reminded you to get your dress fitted, and I asked if you'd found a date yet." A date?

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"For the rehearsal dinner," Julia said, reading her mind in the uncanny way mothers have. "You've been putting me off. Have you even tried to find a date?" "No, but—" 'This is a formal dinner, Lily. You simply can't attend without an escort. Your father and I would lose face." The face argument was impossible to counter. "All right. No problem. I'll bring a date." "Who? Have you found someone?" Lily's gaze went to Rule. That bubble of hysteria was back. "As a matter of fact, I have."

RULE was supposed to give a press conference. He also needed clothes. After discussion, it was decided that Croft would handle both chores. He needed to issue a statement anyway, informing the press about the FBI's new role in the investigation. Otherwise, as Croft said dryly, they'd just make up stuff. He could tell them that Rule was "assisting the investigation" and had been asked not to talk to them at this time. Rule couldn't even go get his own clothes. Not unless Lily went with him. They didn't know how far they could stretch the mate bond, but his apartment was almost certainly too far away. Lily was making a second pot of coffee. Rule lounged in the doorway—there really wasn't room in her kitchen for both of them—finishing an apple. Apples were the closest she'd been able to come to actual breakfast food, since the bread had turned out to be moldy. She filled the pot and slid back in place. "Is this joined-at-the-hip business as weird to you as it is to me?" "It's disconcerting. I never expected it to happen to me." "You said it was rare." "Yes, and…" He hesitated. "The Lady has never gifted a Lu Nuncio with a Chosen. Not since the days of the old tales, at least, and those are as much myth as history. This is unprecedented." "I guess the odds caught up with you. You were pretty much blindsided, too." "I did at least know such things were possible, but yes." Another pause. "My brother had a Chosen." Had? She faced him. "Which brother?" "Benedict. It worked out badly for him." She studied a face turned suddenly impenetrable. "You don't want to talk about it." "I'm averse to turning my brother's tragedy into a cautionary tale. Though it makes a good one." Obviously ready to change the subject, he moved forward. "Where's your trash?"

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Her skin prickled as he drew near. Her heart beat faster, and she wanted to touch him, to lay her hand on that firm chest and see if his heartbeat had quickened, too. She stepped back. "Organic wastes go in the little ceramic container under the sink, for composting." He found it and deposited his apple core. "You care for the environment?" "I'm a gardener. We're greedy about organics." He smiled slowly. "You're greedy about other things, too, as I recall." Heat climbed in her face—and throbbed lower down. It infuriated her. She turned away. "We need to get to work. Karonski's waiting." "Lily." He stopped her when she tried to go past. "Don't fight it too hard. Animals who gnaw their legs off to escape a trap bleed to death." "How do you expect me to react? I've known you five days, and we're supposedly bound for life. How am I supposed to deal with that?" She pulled her arm away. "Don't crowd me." Karonski had spread papers and files all over her coffee table. "If you two lovebirds have finished billing and cooing, we need—okay, okay," he said hastily when he saw Lily's face. "No lovebird jokes. Got it." "I have a couple questions," Lily began. "Naturally," Rule murmured, entering the room behind her and crossing to the table, where he made himself comfortable. He picked up one of the folders—the one containing copies of her official reports, she noted. Karonski didn't object. Apparently they were letting the civilian in on everything. Which might be okay if the civilian was equally forthcoming with them. She was fairly sure he hadn't been. She frowned at Rule's bent head. "You had questions?" Karonski prompted her. "Right. First, you only found out yesterday that I'm a sensitive, yet you've already got a background check on me. Even for you people, that's quick. You had me checked out before, didn't you?" "We ran backgrounds on several of the players involved in this," Karonski agreed. "Didn't know which way things would shake down, but we wanted to be ready." "Ready for what? That's what doesn't make sense. Why are you two here in the first place?" "The boss is a precog. He says go, we go." Startled, she stared for a moment. "I thought the government didn't use them because they weren't reliable." "Brooks tests at about seventy percent. I figure that's low; the tests are pretty boring, and precognition picks up the juicy bits better. Stuff with some emotion attached."

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"I've never heard of a precog hitting seventy percent. Not consistently." "He doesn't pick up on everything, but when he does get something, he's right. Croft thinks Brooks has a touch of elf in him. Be interesting to see how you read him when you two meet." "Ifwe meet. I haven't agreed to join your unit. One more question. How do you know Rule?" Karonski grinned. "He consulted on another case of mine, back before I teamed up with Martin here. Had ourselves a pretty good time after we wrapped things up." She glanced at the ring on his finger. He caught it. "Hey, I wasn't married then. But my party days are over now, and this one's far from being wrapped up, so we'd better get busy. We need to bring you up to speed on what we've got," he said, sorting through the debris on her table. "Mostly background, like I said. But some of it makes for interesting reading. Now where… oh, here it is." He handed her a folder. Her eyebrows lifted. "You have a whole folder on the Aza?" Rule looked up. "That's just the recent stuff. We've been watching them since they set up shop in L.A. three years ago." "So who or what are they?" Rule asked. "They originated in Great Britain but claim to go back to ancient Egypt. Cults go for that sort of thing—ancient heritage, knowledge passed down in secret. Makes 'em more interesting. We watch them because they've been tied to death magic." "Death magic!" "Animal, not human, and nothing's been proven against them since they crossed the big puddle. But yeah, they source some of their rites on animal sacrifice." "Ugly." She began skimming the ile. "I never heard of this goddess of theirs. Ani—" "Uh—don't say it, okay?" "Why not?" She looked up, caught his sheepish expression. "Oh, come on. Name magic has been obsolete since the Purge." "I know, I know. But Brooks told me not to say the name. Not to let anyone with any magic in them say it, either." He shrugged. "He doesn't know why. But when he warns me specific like that, I listen." "Let me see that." Rule reached for the page she'd been reading. Lily handed it to him, frowning. His voice sounded odd. He glanced at it, his eyes scanning quickly—then stopping. He sat motionless for a long moment. "What is it?" she asked. "You said you hadn't heard of the Aza."

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"Them, no. But Her…" At last he looked up. "Have you ever had a legend jump up and bite you on your ass?" "Quite recently," she said without thinking. Surprised pleasure flashed across his face. "Thank you." Karonski cleared his throat. "So you've heard of this goddess of theirs? She's part of your legends?" "Legend, history… the two become tangled after a few thousand years. But yes, I've heard of Her. She is the reason my people exist." "She's your Lady?" Lily asked, finding the idea distasteful. "The female version of Deity that you worship?" "You misunderstand." He met her gaze, his eyes hooded and dark. "My Lady is Her enemy. We were created to destroy Her." TWENTY-ONE CULLEN lay on his side with his hands carefully disposed. As a token of his slightly improved status, they'd given him a mattress and a lightweight blanket. He was still very much a prisoner, but they wanted him to believe he would be treated well once he'd proven himself. Right. He sneered at the blackness surrounding him. And he believed in Santa, too. No question that the mattress was more comfortable, but otherwise it was a damned nuisance. The power grid beneath his cell had been hard enough to trace when he was lying directly on the floor. Now he had a mattress between him and it. But the blanket was pure blessing. A blind man in a glass cage never knows when he's being watched, but the blanket provided a smidgeon of privacy. If one of them saw the slight movements of his hands beneath it, they'd probably think he was playing with himself. Lord knows there wasn't much else to do… aside from what he was really doing, that is. Weaving sorceri. Spells were normally woven with words, material objects, or a combination of the two, and could be powered various ways. Working directly with sorceri was about half-mad, he supposed, for anyone short of an adept. But in theory, it could be done. The idea was to make his own spell bits match the fluid patterns of the grid closely enough to slip them into it. Once enough of them were in place, he could take control of the grid. Theoretically. In practice, he might succeed in blowing himself and his glass cage into teensy-weensy pieces. If that happened, he hoped Helen was standing very close by. Funny. He'd never believed those stories about the Great Wars and how his people had been created to serve as warriors for one side. The side of truth and justice, of course. The good guys. Oh, he'd believed there had been a conflict—a tremendous, realms-wide conflict—in the remote past.

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Before the Codex Arcanum was lost, that much had been accepted as fact, so it was probably true. But the tales handed down among lupi were of heros and villains, gods and goddesses. Those he'd dismissed as myths. No oral history could have held onto so much detail over such vast amounts of time. Besides, the good guys were the ones who lived to pass on their version. Obviously his side had survived. It had taken one whiff of that staff to change his mind. Maybe he didn't know how to spot the good guys, Cullen thought as he painstakingly urged a crimson sorceri into the proper pattern. But he knew who the bad guys were now. He studied the pattern he'd made. It looked right… only one way to find out. He let one hand slip off the mattress, his fingertips touching the floor, and began easing his spell into the grid beneath. At first the voices were an annoyance, a distraction to close out. Then he realized that one of them was familiar—and not from his stay here. Startled, he let go of the spelled line. It vanished into the grid. "… not happy with… Turner is still. ?. must be stopped." That was Her Rigidness, too far away for him to catch all the words. He spared a second's focus to check on his spell. It seemed to have integrated smoothly… "… not exactly thrilled, either, Madonna. Removing him is… joined you. Which is why… came here today." Andthat was the voice he'd recognized. Mick Roberts. Rule's brother. "Not looking as pretty as usual, is he?" That was Mick again, amused, standing right outside Cullen's cage. No point in pretending he didn't hear. Mick would know better. Cullen swung his legs around and sat up, facing in the general direction of the voices. "Hello, Mick. Fancy meeting you here." "He knows you're here," she said, shocked. "Of course he does. You didn't remove his ears along with his eyes. Hello, Cullen. I hear you're trying to talk your way out of that cage." "We do what we can," he said mildly. The nausea came as a surprise. He hadn't thought he possessed enough ideals for betrayal to affect him so viscerally, but talking to Mick made him ill. "You don't seem to be in one." Mick laughed. "Same old Cullen. But there's more to you than I'd realized, isn't there? The Madonna here tells me you tinker with sorcery. For shame." "Speaking of shame, why are you out there, chatting up the Madonna? I expect that kind of behavior from me, but you're supposed to be a cut above a lowly clanless type." "Don't be comparing yourself to me." Mick's voice throbbed with a sudden influx of emotion. Anger, mostly, with a healthy serving of contempt. "I'm fighting to save my clan. You're just trying to save your own sorry hide."

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"Forgive me for being dense, but I'm not quite following you. You've allied yourself with our hereditary enemy and are doing your best to kill your father and destroy your brother… for the good of the clan?" "You always were a fool. TheRho would destroy us all with his political pipe dreams. He'll destroy the Challenge and turn us into imitation humans, pale copies of those who have never heard the Lady's call. I won't let that happen." Mick's voice was hard now. Determined. It reminded Cullen of Rule… a sad, twisted version of Rule. "Well, to each his own. Um… I can't help wondering. My lamentable curiosity, you know. Youare aware she can read your mind, aren't you?" At the very least. It was supposed to be impossible to actually take over another person's mind, but she had a lot of power in that staff… though he couldn't imagine any lupus allowing such an abomination to touch him.

MICK laughed. "Not mine, or any other lupus's. You really are a fool, aren't you? She whom the Madonna serves can't affect us that way." But She didn't have to. The cold bitch who was Her priestess had her own Gift—possibly augmented by power from the goddess, but not originating with Her. Cullen suspected this wasn't the time for a lecture on the differences between sorcery and the Gifts, however. "Did you stop by to buck up my spirits? How considerate. I'm feeling better already." "I wanted to see you in your cage. I thought I'd enjoy that—and I was right." The Madonna spoke. Her high voice came through the glass softly but quite clearly. "Mick has a notion about how to use you. I had planned another means for you to prove yourself, but I rather like his idea. It allows me to make sure of you and advances our cause at the same time, and we wouldn't have to wait until your eyes finish regrowing." "Beguiled by efficiency, are you?" Cullen spoke lightly, but his heartbeat accelerated. He wasn't ready. The grid wasn't under his control yet. Though he was close— "It all depends on how flexible your sense of loyalty is," she went on. "Mick assures me it's extremely flexible. But you consider yourself a friend of Rule Turner, don't you?" "Sure. Rule's a female magnet. Not that I have any problems attracting women, but they fall over him in such numbers, he couldn't possibly service them all. I take care of the overflow." "I don't care to hear about your sexual habits." Distaste thickened her voice. He'd noticed that the lovely Helen hated any reference to sex. "Are you willing to lure him to us?" He smiled. "What do I get in return?" "Aninnas wishes to eat him. If She doesn't get to, she might settle for a werewolf sorcerer." "You do know how to motivate a guy."

AT eleven-thirty, Rule was on his way to see Ginger. With Lily, of course. He'd won the toss for who

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would drive, so they were in his car. Croft was pulling more data on the Church of the Faithful. Karonski was going to pay a visit to Internal Affairs and see what they'd learned about Mech and Randall. Lily had wanted a shot at Ginger. It would have been practical to split into a different set of pairs—Lily with Croft, Rule with Karonski—but the mate bond made that impossible. Even if it hadn't, Rule had no intention of letting her out of his sight. Lily was a threat to the killers and to the rogue cop working with them. He wasn't taking any chances with her. They'd gone looking for Cullen first. He still wasn't home, and a call to Max confirmed that he hadn't seen or heard from Cullen, either. Rule was annoyed with himself for worrying. Cullen went off for weeks sometimes, playing with some snippet of a spell he'd uncovered. He was always rooting around in old manuscripts and journals looking for that sort of thing. "You're sure Seabourne's a sorcerer?" Lily asked for the third time. "Not just someone with a bit of a Gift who wants to sound interesting?" "Lupi don't have Gifts." "You aren't supposed to be sorcerers, either." True. "He casts spells that are sourced outside himself. That's the definition of sorcery, isn't it?" "How do you know where they're sourced? You can't see or sense magic." Out of patience, he snapped, "He was stripped of his clan because he wouldn't give up sorcery, which suggests his motives go a little deeper than wanting to sound interesting. They must have thought he was the real thing. And that," he added with a sigh, "is more than I should have told you." "I'll keep it private, unless—" "Unless you can't. Understood." He was beginning to regret telling her about Cullen. But when he'd realized the identity of the Old One that was stirring this pot, he'd felt she and the two Feds needed to know everything he did. Cullen had been studying what he called disturbances in the flow that made him think the relationships between the realms were shifting. He'd sensed a connection to Nokolai, some kind of conspiracy, and come to Rule. Using Rule as the focus for a more complex spell, he'd discovered a plan to kill the Rho—slightly too late. She touched his arm. "I won't out him, Rule. Not unless he's guilty of more than practicing an illegal art. Though I have to say, this is the first time my privacy policy has protected a sorcerer." "Cullen says sorcery has gotten a bad rep. That it's not inherently good or evil, no more than electricity is." "That's what I always thought, too. Magic doesn't carry a moral charge; it's how it's used that matters. But what I touched in Therese's room…" She shook her head as if trying to throw off a bad memory. When he reached for her hand, it was already waiting. The bond was working, he thought. It would

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continue to work—if only she'd let it. "So what does it feel like to touch magic?" he asked, glancing at her. She smiled wryly. 'Tell me how it feels to Change." "Wild. Painful. Right." "Okay, you're better at finding words than I am. Magic feels like… texture. Sand or glass, wood or stone or leaf… when I touch something or someone that holds magic, it has this extra texture." "Not always the same one?" he asked curiously. "Oh, no. For example, lupus magic feels a little like fur, a little like teeth'" That made sense. Sort of. If he could imagine something feeling furry as well as hard and pointed at the same time. "Which is why I don't understand what I felt in Josefa's room. Texture isn't good or evil—it just is. I suppose you could have a texture that hurt, like ground glass. But pain and evil aren't the same thing." "Not once we pass the age of three or four," he agreed, signaling a turn. "I guess…" She seemed to notice that she was holding his hand and pulled hers back. "Hey, didn't you just drive past Ginger's place?" Patience, he reminded himself. "I didn't see any parking spots." "Oh. Good. I mean, it's good to know you're only human— oh, that didn't come out right. Mortal like the rest of us, I should say. I never find a parking place when I need one." His humanity, or the lack of it, bothered her. He didn't know what to do about that. Did she find his nature hard to deal with because she felt ambiguous about her own? "What's the hardest thing about being a sensitive?" "Being neither one thing nor the other, I suppose." "I'm not sure what you mean." He pulled into a parking place. "You're certainly human." "What does that mean? Where do you draw the line and say, everyone on this side is human—the rest of you are something else? You're comfortable being outside that line. I just want to know where it is." She opened her door and got out. Why did she need lines? he wondered, climbing out Maybe it was a consequence of being clanless. He'd always known who he was. But in some ways, her family was her clan. That reminded him… He spoke as he joined her on the sidewalk. "Wasn't there something you needed to ask me?" "Frequently, but not right this minute." "You were going to ask me for a date."

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"Oh." She shot him an annoyed glance. "I gather you heard both sides of my conversation with my mother." He smiled. "All right. Would you go to the blasted rehearsal dinner with me?" "I'd be delighted. I was beginning to wonder if you meant to ask Karonski." "I thought about it." Her surly tone amused him. "How formal is this dinner? I have a tux." "You would. No, a suit will be fine. It's being held at my Uncle Chan's restaurant. Maybe you've seen it? The Golden Dragon in the Gaslamp Quarter." "I've been there. Excellent moo shoo pork." He glanced at her. "You're less than enthused. Am I an embarassment?" "No. No, it isn't that. Actually," she said, a small smile starting, "I'm looking forward to seeing Mother's reaction to you." "So you invited me to irritate your mother." She nodded thoughtfully. "Pretty much. Mother insists she isn't prejudiced, but of course she is. Not against lupi in particular, but let's face it. You aren't Chinese." He let out a laugh. "No, I'm not." "It would help if you were a surgeon. Or a lawyer, as long as you worked for a prestigious firm. She's big on personal achievement. But a playboy…" She shook her head. "Though she'll like the part about you being rich." "I'm not rich." She glanced back at his car, then at him, her eyebrows raised. "A prop for the image." "Which you enjoy very much." He grinned. "I do." "You'll also be meeting my father, but he's pretty easygoing. My sister Susan—the one who's getting married—is perfect, so she won't be a problem. My younger sister, Beth, will probably flirt with you. Um… then there's Grandmother." "You have just the one?" "No, but Grandmother is one of a kind. She…" Lily sighed. "There's no explaining Grandmother. You

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have to experience her." "I'm looking forward to it." "Shows what you know," she muttered. They'd reached their destination—La Jolie Vie, an upscale salon owned by Ginger Harris. "Lily." He put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her from opening the door. "What's wrong?" Her eyebrows expressed polite surprise. "You mean, aside from being bound for life to a man I barely know? Or finding out that the perp behind the killings just might be an immortal goddess?" His lips twitched at hearing Her described as a perp. "An Old One. I prefer not to honor Her with the other term. You'll have trouble making an arrest, I'm afraid, since She can't enter this realm." "You said something about that earlier, but how can you be sure? Your knowledge is based on legends so old there's no telling when they originated." "If She were here," he said grimly, "you wouldn't have to worry about our mate bond. I'd already be dead. So would most of my clan, along with the majority of lupi on the planet. Not to mention any humans she considered a threat—the president, Congress, some portion of the military." "Okay, you're starting to scare me." "Good." But she'd been scared before. The closer they got to the salon, the more fear scent he'd picked up from her. "You aren't going to tell me why seeing Ginger upsets you, are you?" She looked away, her face closing down. "Memory's a bitch sometimes. Sure you don't want to get your hair or nails done while I talk to her? No one's going to jump me between the hair dryers and the mud room." "My nails are in fine shape, thank you." He wondered if she knew she'd put her hand on his waist. "I won't interfere, Lily." She looked up at him, grimaced, and pulled her hand back. "Don't stand so close. It doesn't make the right impression if I'm rubbing on you while conducting an interview." TWENTY-TWO GINGER had done well for herself, Lily thought as she stepped inside the salon. Venetian plaster on the walls, slate tiles on the floor, a crystal chandelier overhead, and a receptionist who looked like a blonde Julia Roberts seated at an antique desk. "May I help you?" the woman asked with a warm smile. Amazingly, she barely glanced at Rule. There were disadvantages to being an expert consultant. Lily's hand started to reach for her ID before she remembered. "I'd like to speak with Ms. Harris. I'm sure she's busy, but I'm an old friend." Lily smiled. "Tell her Lily Yu is here to see her." "An old friend?" Rule said, very low, while the woman spoke into an in-house phone.

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"Later." The receptionist had already finished and was standing. "Come with me, please." Lily followed six feet of fashionable blonde skinny into the main part of the salon—a trendy place with eight-foot potted palms, decorative tile, chemical smells, and women. Lots of women. Every one of them stared at Rule as they passed. Maybe the receptionist was gay. They passed through a door at the rear into a more utilitarian zone—a brief, carpeted hall with doors at either end. Lily made a halfhearted effort to persuade herself it was relief making her heart pound. She hadn't been at all sure Ginger would see her. But relief doesn't make your palms damp. They stopped at the door on the east end. The Julia clone gave it a quick rap, then opened it and stood back, still smiling. Ginger's office was furnished in expensive kitsch: a neon palm in one corner, pink fuzzy chairs for visitors, a chrome and glass desk. Ginger wasn't behind the desk but stood at the window as if she'd been looking out. She wore a brief, stretchy top in fuchsia and snug cropped pants that showed off her belly button ring. She turned as the door closed—and her eyebrows climbed. "Rule. I wasn't expecting you. Since you're here…" She glanced at Lily, and her lips curled up at the corners. "We could try a threesome. The love seat's too small, but there's always the floor." To her intense aggravation,Lily felt herself blush. "Does that mean you don't mind having sex with a murderer? Or that it doesn't worry you to get naked with a man you tried to frame for murder?" "Ooh, you talk tough these days." She shook her head, and for a second Lily thought hurt flashed through those big eyes. "I guess you're not here to talk about old times, after all." "Good guess. I should mention that I'm not here as a cop, either. I'm assisting the FBI in their investigation." "The FBI?" Ginger ran a hand through her cropped red hair, fluffing it. "How scary. Have I mentioned that I swing both ways?" She gave Lily an up-and-down look, that cat smile curving her lips. "Nice jacket." "Thanks. Who persuaded you to lie about seeing Turner last night?" "I didn't lie." She glanced at Rule, shrugged. "Didn't mean to get you in trouble, sweetie." "As you see, the trouble was of short duration." His smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "I understand that lying to federal officers creates more lasting problems." "Could be I made a mistake, but it sure looked like you." She waved at the fuzzy pink chairs. "Let's do sit down. Can I offer you anything? We've a nice Chardonnay, or you could have some fizzy lemon water, if you're being all prim and proper and on duty."

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Letting Ginger set the dial to chat wasn't going to help. The other woman would keep control that way, flirt with one or both of them, and tell them nothing. Lily walked up to her. "These people—the ones you're protecting—are killers. Do you know what they did to Therese Martin? Ripped out her guts. Made a real mess of her, right there in her home, where she thought she was safe." Ginger's tongue darted out, touched her upper lip. "That's awful, I'm sure, but nothing to do with me. Maybe I made a mistake about who I saw come out of that building, maybe not. Either way, I'm not guilty of anything." "What were you doing there? Not that night—I understand you'd been at the club. The next day, when you just happened to see the cop cars outside Therese's place and wandered over to see what had happened." "My, it does sound odd, the way you put it." Ginger tilted her head to one side, then brushed Lily's cheek with her fingers. "You know, sugar, your skin's good, but I don't think that shade of foundation is working for you. Makes you look sallow. I could work you up a personal palette with the brand we carry. You'd love it." Lily wasn't wearing foundation. "You didn't answer the question." "For someone who isn't here as a cop, you're sure sounding like one." She shrugged. "Why not? I told the other officer about it. I'd left my purse at the club, which I didn't realize until I tried to pay the cabbie." She grimaced. "He wasnot very understanding, let me tell you. I had to wake up my neighbors and borrow some money, and they weren't understanding, either. I went back to get it the next day." "Why did you take a cab home?" Ginger rolled her eyes. "Just between you and me, sugar, I've had a little trouble with my license. I take cabs everywhere these days." "Club Hell is two blocks away from Therese Martin's apartment. How could you see Turner clearly enough to identify him from that distance?" "We drove past it, sugar. I don't know if the cabbie saw him or not, but I always notice Rule." She slanted him a smile. Lily nodded slowly, wondering if they—whoever they were—had arranged for a man to leave Therese's building at the right time for the cabbie to see him. "It's a good story, Ginger. Tight." "Story?" Those thin eyebrows lifted in outsized surprise. "Sweetie, I'm not the one who makes up stories about where she's been or where she's going. That was you and Sarah." The air was sucked right out of Lily's chest.Was it my fault? Have you blamed me all these years? I could have said no, could have talked Sarah out of it … She got her breath back. "Good one. That connected. But I'm not eight years old anymore, and I hit back. You might want to remember that, because you really need me to be your friend. You're in a world of shit, even if you are too dumb to know it."

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Anger flashed through Ginger's eyes. "Now, now. Mustn't call names." 'Think it through. If you saw the killer, you're in danger from him. If you didn't—if you agreed to lie for some reason— you're in even more danger." "How sweet of you to worry about me." Her voice lowered to a purr. "Poor little Lily. You think highly of safety, don't you? After what happened, I'm sure I can't blame you. Did you go into police work because you felt safer with a gun and a uniform between you and the bad guys?" Another good one, Lily thought. But Ginger had always known how to jab below the belt. "The thing is, Ginger, I know you didn't see the killer. Because the killer wasn't there." The thin eyebrows lifted. "Now, that's quite a trick. He killed her without showing up?" "Yes. You see, Therese wasn't killed by a lupus. She was killed through sorcery." For a second, fear flickered in those expressive, too-familiar eyes. Ginger gave a nervous little laugh. "You've been watching too many trash movies." "I said I was assisting the FBI, remember? They've got the case now. Murder by magical means is a federal crime… the only one with an automatic death penalty." For a second, Ginger didn't say anything. Then she jerked one shoulder in a dismissive shrug and turned away. "I've really got to get back to work, sugar. I do appreciate you filling me in on all these fascinating little details, but—" Lily took her by the shoulder, stopping her. "Listen to me. They don't need you anymore. We know Turner didn't do it, so you're a loose end. You think they won't hurt you as long as you keep your mouth shut, but that isn't how they'll see it. You could change your mind. As long as you're alive, you could decide to talk. And the person who killed Therese can reach out and stop your heart any time he wants." "Wow." She was trying for smart-ass but couldn't quite pull it off. "That's some imagination you've got." Lily said nothing, letting Ginger's own imagination work. She looked away, fiddled with one earring, looked back. "So what happens if I tell you someone asked me to say what I did? Will I get in trouble?" "I think I can see that you aren't charged with obstructing justice." "Well." Ginger bit her lip. Her gaze darted around again, as if she were seeking some reassurance. It landed on Rule, who'd stayed back near the door. "All right." She heaved a sigh. "It was Cullen. He asked me to say that." "Cullen Seabourne?" She nodded. Her lower lip jutted out like a sulky child's. "He and I have had an on-again, off-again thing for awhile. That's the way it is with lupi. But when they're on… oh, my." Her smile returned briefly, smug, then faded. "We've been more off than on lately, and I was hoping to change that I didn't know what he was going to do to that poor woman, but I guess I knew he wanted to make trouble for Rule. I didn't realize how much. Truly I didn't."

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"SHE'S lying," Rule said. He slammed his door shut. "Maybe." Lily pulled her seat belt across and fastened it. "When I looked for Seabourne the other day, I couldn't find him." She glanced at Rule. "You did well. Didn't butt in." "It wasn't easy," he said grimly. "Lily, I know Cullen. He's not part of this." But it fit awfully neatly. They were looking for a sorcerer. He was the only one Lily knew about. "You're friends. Close friends?" "Yes. I know it looks bad for him, but Ginger isn't the most reliable witness." "Considering that she's already lied once, no. But what does she gain by lying about him?" "It could be her way of protecting herself, but I'd vote for spite." "Hmm. Are she and Seabourne involved, then, like she said?" "Involved might be too large a word for it. Cullen doesn't indulge in relationships. Just sex." He pulled out into traffic. "Which won't make you think highly of him, but there's a difference between promiscuity and ripping out a woman's throat." She turned it over in her mind. "Ginger lies easily, but she was genuinely frightened." "You're scary when you get going." "How long has she been coming to the club? Is she one of your groupies, or is it lupi in general she likes?" "She likes having sex with lupi. She doesn't actually like us." He swept her with a quick glance, his expression unreadable, and returned his attention to the street. "I never had sex with Ginger." "I didn't ask." "You were thinking it loudly enough," he said dryly. "She's afraid of us. I found that a turnoff." That startled her. "She hangs around lupi because she's scared of you?" "She enjoys fear. It excites her." Lily sorted that into what she knew of Ginger as she had been and as she was now. It fit. "I want to—hey. Why are you stopping here?" He'd pulled into the parking lot of a beachfront restaurant. "For lunch." He shut off the motor and turned to look at her. "And for questions. This time I'm asking them." "I'm not hungry."

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"I am, but it can wait. You said you'd explain later. This is later." "Tonight will be later, too." Seeing Ginger had been more than enough of a trip down memory lane. She didn't want to linger there. "Look, I was friends with Ginger's sister in grade school. Bad stuff happened. It was a long time ago, and I've got an investigation under way." "You're hurting. I want to help." Lily looked out the window. Beyond the parking lot, a slice of ocean showed between buildings. It was a deep blue today, sparkling back at a cloudless sky. Twenty years ago, sky and sea had been gray. Gray and stormy. Deep inside, something tugged at her, urging her to tell him. To trust him. She couldn't. She unfastened her seat belt. "I can't talk about it. I've never been able to talk about it." "Never?" He laid his hand on her shoulder. She felt the warmth immediately. The connection. She shook her head. "All right. It's up to you, but the mate bond can be good for more than sex, if you let it." Lily looked out the window again, at gulls wheeling overhead and a sky as clean and shiny as polished glass. At first they'd all wanted her to talk about it—the cops, her mother, the therapist. She hadn't been able to. Parts of it, yes, but never the whole story. Never the worst part. But it had been a long time since she tried. A long time since anyone urged her to try. Maybe, she thought, she could do it now. Maybe she was tired of silence. She bent and pulled off her shoes. "Let's walk on the beach."

IT was surprisingly uncrowded near the water. Families mostly came on weekends, of course, at this time of year. "All we need is a sunset," Lily said, "and we could be in an ad. We must look like the perfect California couple, walking barefoot and hand in hand on the beach. Lord knows you're photogenic enough." "Someone's usually smiling in those pictures." "I'm fresh out right now." She wasn't sure she could do this, or that she wanted to. "We need to keep this short." "All right. You knew Ginger several years ago." 'Twenty. Twenty years ago last month." Was it sick to know to the day how much time had passed? No, she decided. Sad, maybe, but inevitible. "Her sister was my best friend in grade school. I spent the night with her often enough, played with her after school. So I saw a lot of Ginger."

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"Did you like her any better then?" She smiled without humor. "No. But she was the older sister, so naturally she was contemptuous of us little kids. Back then, Ginger was the obedient child, believe it or not. Sarah…" Her breath caught. She so seldom said that name out loud. "Sarah was the one who got into mischief." "I've a hard time picturing you getting into much mischief." "I was pretty much a Goody Two-Shoes. I did my homework, didn't cut in line, didn't talk in class. But Sarah loosened me up some. She could talk me into things. We played hooky one day," she said abruptly. His hand remained warm and easy, holding hers. "Not a large rebellion." "You wouldn't think so." She walked on in silence a moment. Her blood seemed to pulse through her body at a new tempo, quick and insistent.Keep going . "We didn't like our teacher, and somehow it made perfect sense to punish her by skipping school. We had it all worked out—how to slip away before class started, which bus to take. We hadn't planned on the weather, though. It was working itself up to storm, so hardly anyone was at the beach. At first we were bummed, but then we decided it was cool. We had it almost to ourselves." "What happened, Lily?" "We were abducted." His breath sucked in. For a moment, his fingers tightened hard enough to hurt. "He was a friendly man." It was like presenting a report, wasn't it? She'd written up cases every bit as bad, and worse. "He reminded me of Santa Claus, only without the beard. Grandfatherly. He just started talking to us, teasing us about not being in school. At first I wouldn't answer. I told Sarah we weren't supposed to talk to strangers. So she asked him his name, then she introduced him and me and said we weren't strangers anymore. She thought that was terribly clever." Her feet stopped. She stared out at the gulls swooping low over the shifting blues of the water. This was where she always stopped, the point she couldn't go beyond, not out loud. There was pressure in her chest, as if all the words were backed up there, pressing, all but cutting off her breath. Rule moved behind her and began to rub her arms gently. Up and down, up and down. The repetitive touch soothed her physically. She grew aware of him standing there, just behind her. Not touching, not asking questions or making her deal with his shock, his feelings. Just there. He had her back. And the words came tumbling out. "He got us to go with him to his car. He didn't try to talk us into getting in. That would have scared us. He said he needed help getting his picnic stuff to the beach, and we were helpful little girls. We went with him. We didn't think about the trunk, that it could be dangerous. "He hit her. I saw that and tried to get away. I don't remember him hitting me. I don't remember that, but I woke up in his trunk. My head hurt, and I'd thrown up. I tasted it in my mouth. Sarah was crying. The car would turn, and we'd bump into each other, but we couldn't see each other. It was so dark. You felt

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like you couldn't breathe, like all that dark was sucking the air right out of you—" Her breath caught now, remembering. "Breathe now." He wrapped his arms around her. "Breathe now, lily. You're safe." He was wrong. There was no safety. But his arms felt good. She leaned back against him and, after a moment, continued quietly. "He drove around until night, when he took us to his house. Sarah was a pink-and-white little girl with pretty blonde hair. Her bad luck. He tied me up, saved me for later. But I was there. I was in the room when he raped her." A shudder went through Rule's body. "I don't think he meant to kill her. He looked so surprised." That was one of the worst parts, for some reason. The surprise on his face when Sarah stopped moving, when her legs stopped kicking and her eyes bulged open, unblinking. He'd choked her, but he couldn't seem to connect what he'd done with her being dead. "It scared him. He wanted me to agree it had been an accident. I did. I agreed with everything he said." Rule rested his chin on the top of her head. He was wrapped all around her now, and it helped. It helped. He didn't speak, and that helped, too. For a few moments she stood there and let comfort seep into her body from his. "I was lucky," she said at last. "I didn't know it then, but someone had seen him put us in his trunk. A jogger. She got the license plate number. The police had been looking for his car for hours. They found it just in time… for me. Not for Sarah." She swallowed. "He didn't rape me. The officer who spotted the plates called it in, but he didn't wait. He broke the door down. He came in alone, against regs. He said later he'd had a feeling that he couldn't wait for backup. He was a patrolman, only a few years on the force. His name was Frederick Randall." "Hell." "Yeah." Her voice wobbled. She got it steady again. "That's why I had to go to Internal Affairs. I couldn't be sure I was seeing him clearly, because of our history. But he feels betrayed. I hurt him." "You said he's a cop all the way down. That means putting the job first. That's what you did. He'll see that, sooner or later." "Maybe." She wasn't sure. Maybe because she wasn't sure she could forgive Randall for having doubted her. "Ginger was right, you know. I did join the police to feel safer. When you know in your blood and bones that there really are monsters, you want to do what you can to get them locked up. And you want as many others on your side fighting those monsters as you can get." He was so close she heard it when he swallowed. "You chose to work homicide." "Murder doesn't just destroy one person. It sends out shock waves that hurt so many… It broke something inside Ginger. She was a pain when she was eleven, but lots of girls that age are a pain. Especially to their little sisters and their sisters' friends. But she wasn't all twisted up the way she is now." "You warned her. You offered as much help as you could." She didn't speak. A jogger thudded past between them and the sea. His dog, a big black Lab, loped alongside him in violation of the No Pets signs. The dog's tongue lolled happily.

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"What's it like?" she asked quietly, watching the dog. 'To be a wolf, I mean. Do you think and feel as a wolf?"Do you feel safe then ? Knowing you're stronger, faster, able to heal almost anything that's done to you ? "The wolf is always with the human, and the human is always with the wolf. I'm myself in both forms, though not exactly the same self. Are you still yourself when you sleep? When you dream?" "I see what you mean." She turned her head slightly so she could breathe him in. His scent settled her. He hadn't answered her unspoken question, but it was a stupid question. No one was safe. All too often, though, the monsters who had hurt his people had worn badges. "Is it a problem for you, me being a cop?" "A complication." His voice was wry. "Lily?" "Yes?" "What happened to him?" It was the only question he'd asked. She took a slow breath. The pressure in her chest was gone. "He was on death row for thirteen years. Lots of appeals. They finally executed him." "We handle things differently in the clans, but I guess your system worked. Eventually." "There are reasons for appeals. The law doesn't always get it right. But he was locked up all that time. He didn't grab any more little girls." He was silent. She let herself rest against him a little longer. It hadn't been so bad, telling him. He'd made it go easier than she'd expected… or maybe that had been the mate bond, tricking her into trusting him. At the moment, it didn't seem to matter. She felt…clearer. As if telling her story had let it settle into the past a bit more. Lily turned her head, looking up into his eyes. "Ready to go chase monsters?" "What did you have in mind?" "The Most Reverend Patrick Harlowe." TWENTY-THREE BUT Harlowe wasn't at the church. Lily had hoped the same helpful little man would be there—and would remember her as a police detective, so she didn't have to make any unnecessary explanations. But he wasn't, and the secretary regarded her request to speak with the church's leader with deep suspicion. They didn't learn much from her. They tried his house with an equal lack of success. Frustrated, Lily glared at the door—Spanish style, hand-carved, and very old. It suited the four-thousand-foot stucco home. "The Rev lives well, doesn't he?" "Religion has been good to him," Rule agreed. "What now?"

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"The neighbors. Then lunch." Two of Harlowe's neighbors were home. They spoke of a man who fit the house—urbane, upper middle-class, at ease in social gatherings. The first woman didn't like him much, though she didn't say so; the older couple both thought highly of him. She and Rule were eating seafood tacos when her cell phone rang. "Yu here." "Lily?" It was Ginger's voice, high and frightened. "Could you come over here? I'm at home and I—I think someone's watching me." "Have you called it in?" "You mean the police? No! No, I can't—some of them are in it.You know who I mean. I need you to come right away." "We'll be right there." "Hurry."She hung up . Lily explained quickly to Rule, grabbed her purse, and headed for the car. Ginger's apartment was on the other side of the city. They were halfway there when her cell phone rang again. This time it was Karonski. "I turned up some interesting connections between the Church of the Faithful and the little church your Sergeant Meckle attends. We're leaving now to have a chat with Harlowe." "Good luck. I struck out at the church and his home." There was a moment's silence. "Right," she said, rubbing her neck. "I should have checked in with you first. I'm still thinking this one's mine. Sorry. We're headed for Ginger Harris's apartment," she said, conscientiously filling him in this time. "She thinks someone's watching her." "I was going to ask you to join us for the meet with Harlowe." "You mean you got hold of him?" "Reached him on his cell phone. He's driving back from L.A. We're meeting him in Oceanside in twenty minutes." "Damn." Lily wanted in on that interview, but Ginger might be in real trouble—or spooked enough to cough up a few more facts. "Guess I'll have to read your report." He chuckled. "I'll fill you in. I've left a key for you at the front desk here. If you finish up before we do, let yourselves in, get comfortable. Order anything you like, as long as it's coffee." He disconnected. It was nearly five when they left Ginger's. She'd been drinking. It didn't bring out her best side. She'd alternated between abusing them for putting her in danger and begging them to stay there and protect her. They hadn't found any sign of a watcher.

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"What do you think?" Lily said as she climbed back in the car. "Was she for real, or was she playing us?" "I don't know. Ginger is a good liar, but I don't think she can make herself smell scared." He started the car. "She's frightened, but her watcher could be the product of guilt and alcohol." Lily was uneasy. "I wish she'd agreed to a safe house. Not that I have the authority to arrange one, but Croft could. Maybe we should stick around, keep an eye on her place." "Neither of us can protect her from sorcery. As she pointed out, a safe house wouldn't, either." "Yes, but…" She shook her head. "I don't know. Something's not adding up." She couldn't put her finger on what was bothering her, though. "You want to give Karonski a call and see if it's too late to join them?" Oh, yeah. But… "If they're still talking, it could throw things off for us to show up this far into things. I'm going to pretend I'm a grown-up and know how to let someone else run with the ball once in awhile." "Where, then?" "Karonski mentioned coffee. Let's head to their hotel and see if caffeine will wake up a few of my brain cells. I need to think."

RULE decided he'd had too many unpalatable cups of coffee in the last few days. He stopped at a small speciality food store and bought coffee beans, a grinder, and a French press. Lily seemed torn between amusement and exasperation until he pointed out that he wanted to have decent coffee at her place, too. Then she fell silent, no doubt brooding over the way he'd been forced on her. Between that stop and the traffic, the other two beat them shere. Croft and Karonski were on the tenth floor of a hotel that specialized in suites for business travelers. The small sitting room was pleasant enough in its generic fashion, with the usual amenities, including a round table with four chairs. An improvement over the conferencing arrangements at Lily's apartment, he thought with a smile. The hotel's housekeeping services left something to be desired, however. As soon as he stepped inside he noticed a faint, unwholesome odor. Nothing the humans with him would be aware of, he thought. A dead mouse in the closet, perhaps. "How'd it go?" Lily asked. "And what's the connection between Mech's church and the Church of the Faithful?" "There isn't one," Karonski said gloomily. "We had it wrong." Rule went to the table and began taking out his purchases. "Who wants a decent cup of coffee?" "Ah—none for me." Karonski had an odd look on his face. Sheepish. Croft frowned at Karonski. "What my partner is avoiding saying is that we've been barking up the wrong tree. There's no connection between the Aza and the killings."

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Lily stopped dead. "What do you mean, we're barking up the wrong tree? You talked with this Most Reverend guy for a few minutes, and he persuaded you that he and his entire organization are lily pure?" Croft looked annoyed. "A certain degree of coincidencedoes occur, you know. I'm afraid we jumped to conclusions." "Coincidence!" Lily looked ready to bust something. Maybe Croft's nose. "Of course they're connected. Finding out how is what police work's all about." Croft just shook his head. "We've come at this all wrong." Rule spoke before Lily could incur charges for slugging a federal agent. "Harlowe was the last one to speak with Fuentes, I understand. What did he say about that?" "He cooperated fully." Rule stared. "That's all you have to say? He cooperated fully?" "Look." Karonski ran a hand over his head, making a bad haircut worse. "Like Martin said, we jumped to some conclusions. Got a little carried away. We don't have evidence that Therese Martin was killed by sorcery, much less that the Church of the Faithful is implicated. A few old legends, a similar name…" He shrugged. "It's not much, when you get right down to it." Rule couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Abel," he said quietly, "how did they get to you?" Karonski scowled. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that." "Just a minute," Lily said. "Hold on a minute. We don't want to let our tempers take over." He glanced at her, puzzled by the sudden change. She looked calm. She didn't smell calm. And he heard, muffled, "Get ready. They may go for their guns." She'd subvocalized it. A trick used often among lupi—not one he'd expected her to be aware of. She smiled at the other two. "Rule and I were taken aback, that's all. I thought we were all on the same page, but it looks like you've skipped to a different chapter and don't want to fill us in on the details. Am I right?" "That's about it." Croft was apologetic. "Okay. I don't agree with your assessment, but you're the ones with the badges. I take it you don't want me on the case anymore." "We'll be leaving ourselves in the morning. There's no case here for us." "Well." She shrugged. "Guess we'll take our coffee and go, then. No hard feelings?" She held out her hand—and finally Rule caught on. He eased closer to the two agents. And stood ready.

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"Of course not." Obviously relieved, Croft stood and shook her hand. Rule heard the slight catch in her breath. "Karonski?" She turned and held her hand out to him. "No hard feelings?" Karonski seemed more confused than relieved. "You don't have to…" He shook his head and looked at her hand, still outstretched, then took it and gave it a brisk shake. "Sorry. I'm not sure what I was going to say." Lily pulled her hand back, holding it slightly away from her body. Her eyes cut to Rule, making sure he was with her. He nodded. She backed up a step, putting space between herself and the agents. Then she spoke. "You're bespelled. Both of you." "What?" Karonski laughed. "You're joking." "It's the same feel. The same ugly feel as the magic used to kill Therese Martin is all over you." "Can't be." Karonski was humoring her. "I know my protection spells. Martin and I can't be tampered with that way." "Think about it. Think about what you believed before you spoke to this man. Compare that to what you think now." Croft frowned. Karonski looked puzzled. "I changed my mind." "Abel," Rule said softly, "you performed your own tests at the murder scene. Why would you say there's no evidence that it was done by sorcery?" "Because…" Karonski's face screwed up as if he'd bitten into bad meat. "My spells aren't admissible as evidence except in certain rare and strictly defined instances." "But they did show that the woman was murdered by sorcery, didn't they?" "Definitely. The traces were strong, unquestionably the result of sorcery, and…" His voice drifted away. "I forgot what I was going to say." Lily looked at Rule. "A persuasion spell, maybe? What do you know about persuasion spells?" "Not much." Karonski answered. "They're pretty weak stuff, generally, even when used by someone with a Gift of charisma… huh. That's funny. I remember thinking when I met Harlowe that I wouldn't be surprised if he had a touch of that Gift." "We were there too long," Croft said suddenly. Beads of sweat stood on his forehead, as if he'd been exerting himself. "We arrived at three-thirty. We got back here at five-thirty. But I don't remember enough. I can't account for enough of the time."

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"Shit," Karonski said. "You're right We interviewed him for about ten minutes, then… I can't remember. Was someone else there?" He looked at Croft. "Did someone come in while we were talking to Harlowe?" "I don't know. I don't remember." Croft looked at Lily. "You're right. We've been tampered with. You can't trust us."

WHAT do you do with a pair of special agents who've lost their minds—or parts of them? Lily tried to determine the extent of the tampering. The two agents were willing, and they tried to cooperate, but it was soon obvious they couldn't reason their way past what had been done to them. Twenty minutes later, Rule put a hand on Lily's shoulder. "I think we'd better stop. Pushing them any further might do permanent damage to their minds." Croft was staring at his hands, clasped on the table. His face was chalky with strain. Karonski was muttering to himself, reciting a litany of reminders about why he couldn't trust his own mind. Every time he stopped, he reverted to the programmed thoughts. "They need medical help," she said. "Or some kind of help. I'm out of my depth here. If only we could get them to call their boss, he could—" Croft looked up. "Brooks, you mean? I already called him. He knows we're pulling out." "Right." Lily nodded. "That's good. You know, you aren't looking so hot. Maybe you should lie down." "I'm not…" Croft rubbed his forehead. "Have we been drinking? I can't seem to think straight." "Not pulling out," Karonski said suddenly. "Need to be out, though. Sedate us." "I can arrange that," Rule said. Karonski met his eyes. "Do it. Do it while I still remember why." Rule took out his phone. "While I arrange things, Lily, talk to them about anything other than the case. Karonski likes basketball."

KARONSKI had no trouble talking about basketball. Croft wasn't interested, though, and was in worse shape than his partner, his short-term memory scrambled. They needed to engage both men's minds as completely as possible, so once Rule got off the phone, they played poker. Croft was deadly at poker. Whatever had been done to him hadn't affected his ability to think and plan—as long as he wasn't trying to think about the case. The strain didn't disappear from his face, but it eased when he had something else to focus on.

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By the time help arrived, he'd fleeced Lily for thirty bucks and taken more than that off Rule and Karonski. "I hope you know what you're doing," Nettie Two Horses said as she came inside. "Where are my patients?" "Right here," Lily said. She hoped they knew what they were doing, too. Two muscular young men followed Nettie into the room. Lily recognized one—the redheaded lupus who'd been at the gate when she visited Clanhome. The two of them looked at Rule for a moment, then fanned out. Croft had risen to his feet when they entered. He had a tense, ready-for-trouble look. "What's going on?" "You weren't feeling well, remember?" Lily said. 'This is Dr. Two Horses. She's going to examine you." "I'm feeling better. No need for a doctor." Nettie set her bag on the table. "Why don't I check you out, just to be sure, since I'm here? Croft moved closer to Karonski. "I don't think so." "It's all right, Martin," Karonski said. "We asked them to come." "I don't remember that." His forehead glistened. The strain was back. "Yeah, well, we're having a little trouble with our memories, aren't we? That's why they're here." "I don't know…" His eyes darted around the room. Nettie and Lily stood closest to him, at the table; Rule was walking their way. The two young men were working slowly closer, coming from the sides. "We weren't having any problems untilthey showed up." He went for his gun. "Martin, no!" Karonski cried, hitting his arm—and the other three men turned into blurs of speed. Two seconds later, Lily had her weapon out, but it wasn't needed. One of the two young lupi held Croft's arms; he sagged, dazed. Lily thought the other one had hit him, but it had happened so fast… "All over?" Nettie Two Horses said. She was on the floor, where she'd dropped with admirable alacrity. "Pretty much," Rule said. He stood next to Karonski. "You okay, Abel?" "No." He was white and shaking. "Hell, no. Hanging on by my teeth… can't remember why we're letting you do this. It's like swimming in butter to try to think, dammit." "You get the first dose," Nettie said briskly, standing and taking a syringe from her bag. "Don't worry—your partner will be fine. Sammy didn't hit him too hard. Sammy, you can get the trunks now. Lily, you can put that up."

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Lily glanced at the gun still in her hand, shrugged, and holstered it. The redhead went out the door and came back in with a large, empty trunk. Then he brought in a second one. They put the agents in the trunks. Sammy and the other young man each carried one out, handling it as easily as if it were empty—which is what they hoped anyone watching would assume. Once they reached the panel van they'd arrived in, the agents could be removed from their cramped quarters. Lily began gathering up the papers and folders on the table. "Your men are alarmingly well-versed at getting bodies out of hotel rooms." "They watch television," Rule said. "I take it we aren't leaving things for whoever comes to see why Kronski and Croft don't return to headquarters?" "We're taking temporary custody of everything. We'll turn it over when the time comes. Get the laptop, will you?" He moved to help her. "Are we going to tell anyone about this?" "When someone comes asking, yes. Not now. I'd rather not spend the next twenty-four hours or so locked up. We know at least one SDPD officer is with the bad guys, so they're out. And the local Feds would pretty much have to take us into custody and holler for someone from MCD to come sort things out." "I have a few questions before I go," Nettie said. "I understand you're a sensitive, Lily." She glanced quickly at Rule, then away. "Yes." "What can you tell me about the feel of the spell on these two?" "Ugly. Raspy and sort of rotten-mushy. Like… like touching fresh shit with ground glass in it. Will you be able to help them?" "I don't know. I can keep them sedated, but I'll need to know more about the spell before I try removing it." Rule spoke quietly. "I smelled it." "What?" Lily turned. "You didn't tell me." "At first I didn't know what I was smelling. It was faint,and I'd never encountered its like before. Later I didn't have a chance. Unfortunately, subvocalizing only works one way between us." "That was weird, by the way," Lily said. "Handy, but weird. That's how you told those two men of yours what to do? Subvocalizing?" He nodded. "So what does the spell smell like?" "Putrefaction."

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Nettie looked at him sharply. "Yes. I'm told that death magic has the same reek." TWENTY-FOUR THEY left the hotel at twilight. The air itself seemed gray, as if all the color had bled out of it. Everywhere buildings were opening yellow eyes on the approaching night, and the dash lights stood out crisply against the muffled charcoal inside Rule's car. Lily rubbed her temple and tried to organize her thoughts. "One thing I don't understand," Rule said as he pulled out into traffic. "Why did Harlowe tamper with them? He should know by now that you're sensitive. He took quite a risk." She frowned. That hadn't occurred to her. "There might be a communications problem in their camp, and he didn't know. More likely, though, he didn't realize I'd be able to tell. I'm… well, I'm a lot more sensitive than most." "I don't know much about it," Rule admitted. "Most sensitives don't pick up secondary magic unless it's really strong. They'd be able to shake your hand and know you were a lupus, but they wouldn't feel the lingering magic on the floors of your father's house, left by the feet of many lupi." "You felt that?" She nodded, her mind on the question he'd raised. "Harlowe might have thought that even if I picked up on the spell, no one would listen. I'm off the force, discredited. Croft and Karonski were the only ones who'd believe me—and they're the ones bespelled." "Not a comfortable thought, considering we're likely to be visited by someone looking for them." "We have to hope MCD has witches on the payroll who can confirm the existence of the spell. A coven would be good. Solo practitioners can't summon as much power or perform the more intricate spells." "I'd assume they don't have a sorcerer," he said wryly, "given that sorcery's illegal. Dammit, I wish we could find Cullen." "So do I." Though not, she suspected, for the same reasons. "Um… I hate to sound ignorant, but why would a sorcerer be better than a coven? A first-rate coven can draw a lot of power." "According to Cullen, sorcerers see magic. That's how they're able to work directly with the forces involved, unlike shamans and witches. I'm guessing that a sorcerer would be able to look at Karonski and Croft and see the spell binding them—a great aid in removing it, I would think." "That would be handy," she admitted. If they could trust the sorcerer in question. Rule had a great deal of confidence in his friend. Lily didn't. "I can think of one more reason Harlowe took the risk of bespelling Karonski and Croft," Rule said slowly.

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"What?" "They've got something big planned for the very near future, and it was more important to get the Feds out of the way than to maintain his cover." A chill ghosted up her spine, the ripple of possibilities she'd rather not contemplate. What would a group like this consider big? They lapsed into silence. Outside, the city was waking to its nighttime self, stringing lights along its streets and spires like a lady donning a gaudy abundance of jewelry. Was it the growing darkness that made her so aware of Rule? Not that she'd been unaware of him before. All day she'd felt him near, known where he was without needing to see him. But the nature of it had shifted. Now it prickled along her skin, gathered in a hot ball in her belly. She could almost feel his breath, as if some part of her was leaning toward him, even though she sat perfectly still. She shook her head. This was not the time, dammit. She needed a clear head, not the fog of lust. She was missing something. Something important. All at once she had it. "Shit. Ginger." "You think they did to her what they did to Karonski and Croft?" Lily shook her head. "She touched my face when she made that dig about my makeup, and all I felt was annoyed. No, what hit me right now is that she decoyed us. Kept me from going to the meet with Harlowe, didn't she? They didn't want me there. I couldn't be spelled and would have tumbled to them." He checked the mirror—and made a sudden left turn across two lanes. Lily grabbed the dash. "What the—" "They've used her twice," he said grimly. "First to implicate me, then to draw you away from the meeting with Harlowe. But we know about her. She's pure liability to them now." Fifteen minutes later they were back at Ginger's apartment. She didn't answer her door. "What do you know," Rule said as he reached for the knob. "I don't think it's locked." "Wait a minute." She grabbed his arm with both hands— and wouldn't have been able to stop him if he hadn't let her. "Breaking in will make enough noise to get the neighbors all excited, and it won't help her. If they've killed her, she's just as dead with you on this side of the door as on the other. If she's there and not answering, she'll call the cops on you. Don't think she wouldn't." He nodded. "You're right. It's the back door she forgot to lock." "Hey! That isn't what I…" Too late. The door to the stairwell was already closing behind him. The only back door to the apartment was to Ginger's balcony, three floors off the ground. Lily didn't suppose that would stop him. Muttering under her breath about stupid, stubborn, arrogant werewolves, she drew her weapon and waited. Seven sweaty minutes later, the door opened. "She's not here," Rule said.

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Neither, it turned out, were some of her clothes. "Either she packed in a hurry and cleared out, or they want us to think that," Lily said as they got back in his car. "Is police work always this frustrating?" "Sometimes it's worse. At least we have some leads. You want to pick up a pizza? Lunch was a long time ago." "If we went to my place instead of yours, I could fix you a real meal." "You cook?" she said, astonished. "I eat, therefore I cook. Quite well, too. How can you not cook?" 'Takeout. And my uncle owns a restaurant." She considered the offer, then shook her head. "I have to let Harry in. Besides, so far the reporters haven't linked the two of us. It would only take one busybody hanging around your place to change that." "Your place, then." Lily lapsed into silence, thinking about their list of suspects, some of them certainly involved, some with a big, fat question mark after their names. Ginger. The Most Reverend Patrick Harlowe. Mech. Captain Randall. Cullen Seabourne, though he was only on her list, not Rule's. Someone in Nokolai, from what he'd told her of his father's attack, who might or might not be the lupus who'd killed Carlos Fuentes… "You know what's missing?" she said suddenly. "Motive. There are a lot of people involved. Can they all really be nuts about stopping the Citizenship Bill? There are a lot of ways to keep a bill from passing that don't involve murder." "The Old One the Aza worship doesn't think as a human would." "And lupi don't either, I guess. But it's mostly humans we're dealing with, humans who are either carrying out Her instructions or making things up themselves. Western, twenty-first-century humans. Why? What do they get out of it?" "I see your point, but fanaticism isn't reserved to certain portions of the globe." "So you think it's religious fervor? It's more fun to kill the nonbelievers than just to defeat a bill they don't like?" "Fanatics have been known to see things that way." "But they're risking so much. This church of theirs is just getting started here, but according to the FBI, they're picking up members at a fair clip. Donations, too. They cultivate a mainstream look, as if they plan to settle in for the long haul. Look at that house of Harlowe's. Money and position matter to him. Why would he risk everything this way?" "Maybe he has no choice. We saw what they could do to federal agents who believed themselves

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protected." He turned off on her street. "I'm not suggesting everyone involved is under a compulsion spell. But some of the bad guys may have been influenced in ways they couldn't guard against." "Mech," she said, startled by the thought. "Or Randall, or whoever it was… that's possible. I don't pick up anything through clothing usually, and I don't go around touching other officers. But compulsion spells are supposed to be very limited. The victim is compelled to one particular act, and it has to happen quickly, or the spell loses its power." "That's the problem with dealing with an Old One, even at one remove. We don't know what's possible and what isn't." "What if it wasn't a spell? There are mind Gifts that, being innate, don't rely on spells. Karonski said something about Howell being charismatic." "Hmm." He considered that a moment, then shook his head. "A charisma Gift boosted by power from Her might be irresistibly persuasive, but it wouldn't wipe out memory. Croft and Karonski lost more than an hour." "Drugs could do that. But why did they need to wipe out that hour?" She brooded over that as he pulled up in front of her apartment. Dammit, she was missing something. "Speaking of that lost hour—at least we know it takes them awhile to do whatever they did. It isn't just, zap! You're possessed." "Or it took an hour to question them and learn everything they know about the case." "You're not lifting my spirits." They got out and were met by an irritated cat. Harry led the way upstairs, tail twitching, reproving them loudly for having made him wait. "He's not attacking you," Lily observed, fitting her key in the door. "Harry and I understand each other. He'll tolerate my presence in your bed as long as I recognize his right to be there, too." She swung the door open and flipped on the single light, a floor lamp by her chair. Harry streaked past her, heading for the kitchen and the food dish Rule had filled that morning. "You make it sound kinky. Two males in my bed at the same time." "You could have that, you know." "What?" She turned. His expression was closed as solidly as the door behind him. Her mouth twisted as something inside her soured. "If you're offering to get together a threesome, don't." "I'm saying that you aren't bound only to me. Not sexually. If you choose to have others in your bed, you can." She turned her back on him, setting Croft's briefcase on the table. "Maybe by your standards that's a polite offer. By mine, it rates about a nine on the yuck scale. And I'm not extending the same privilege to you." "You don't have to. I will never be with another woman again." She stiffened. "Lupi don't believe in fidelity."

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"It has nothing to do with beliefs. You're myChosen ." Slowly she faced him again, feeling so tense a sudden move might shatter something. "You mean that you can't be with another woman? It isn't possible?" He grimaced. "Physically, it might be possible. But to the lupus half of a bonded pair it would feel filthy, a violation. Like rape or incest." Lily realized her hands were clenched and forced them to relax. Her palms felt clammy. "What about the human half?" "The woman, being human, reacts as a human. She behaves as her nature and beliefs dictate." "You mean I could be unfaithful, and you couldn't?" "I wouldn't put it in those terms, but yes." Her heart was pounding. "Why are you telling me this?" He didn't respond right away. The shadows cast by the single lamp made a mystery of his expression, and his body was utterly still. Finally he said, "Earlier you trusted me with a very tender place inside you. I wished to return the gift." She took a step toward him. He was making himself vulnerable to her, but she didn't understand. What did he fear—or hope? "How would you feel if I took another lover?" "I… wouldn't like it." Another step. "Rule, what's the difference between the mate bond and falling in love? Aside from the fact that the bond is imposed on us, I mean." "I don't know. Lupi don't fall in love. I… don't know if you experience the bond the same way I do." One last step, and she stood close to him, looking up at that beautiful, exotic face—the slashes of eyebrows, sculpted cheeks and eyes so dark… "How do you experience it?" His mouth crooked up on one side. He lifted his hand and laid the tips of his fingers on her cheek. "As bliss. And pain." Her breathing wasn't working right. "To a human, that sounds a lot like love." "Does it?" He skimmed his knuckles down her cheek, her throat, leaving a tingling wake. "For me, love is what I feel for my brothers, my father, my son." "Not your mother?" she asked softly. He shook his head. "That's a story for another time. You and I don't know each other well enough to love yet, do we? I hope…" His voice trailed off wistfully. "It would be good if we grew to be friends." Lily swallowed. "Yes. That would be good." Then she went up on tiptoe and kissed him. Not the hungry

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kiss she'd thought of, off and on, all day. A gentle kiss. One that spoke of… hope. Almost hesitantly, his lips answered hers. Slowly she eased up against him, lifting her hands to his face, cradling it as she deepened the kiss. His cheeks were rough with beard stubble, his body firm and angular. His mouth tasted of last night's passion and today's discoveries, of coffee and man. But it was his skin that fascinated her. The texture of it, the warmth… the sheer intimacy of pressing her hand along the skin of his throat made her breath catch. He rested his hands on her shoulders. Just rested them there, neither urging nor seducing, though his heart beat fast, like hers. Letting her set the pace. She ran her hands along his sides. The man liked silk. Feeling his shirt slide over his flesh beneath the stroke of her hands, she decided she did, too. He was lean enough that she could find the jut of ribs beneath the muscle, tall enough that her nose didn't quite reach the hollow of his throat. Too tall, standing up. In bed he was very much the right size. "Am I supposed to want you this much?" she whispered. "I should be working. I need to…" Something. There was undoubtedly something she ought to be doing instead of playing with the dip of his spine. He bent his head. "Nadia." His voice was low, the word a warm breath against her cheek. "You are supposed to have me anytime, anywhere, any way you wish. Work will still be there afterward." Could she take a few minutes for herself? Would it be right? She eased back slightly and looked in his eyes. Yes, she decided. And she could give those minutes to him, too. She took his hand. "In that case, I want you slowly. Very slowly." They didn't turn on the bedroom light. In dusk and shadows they undressed each other, pausing to kiss, to touch. Naked, he pulled back the covers and pulled her down with him onto the bed. Skin brushed skin as lips met, tested, parted. Need mounted, sweetened by delay. They played with each other, but it was serious play: light touches, indrawn breaths, the air turning thick as hearts pounded, pounded. His hands were fisted loosely in her hair when he pulled back from a thorough kiss. He leaned his forehead against hers. "Your breath makes me dizzy." Yes, that's how it was—a sublime vertigo she inhaled with every breath, as if she were falling, every second falling toward a steady, burning center. She rubbed her cheek against his, then urged him onto his back. For a moment she just looked at him—at an elegant body, lean and powerful. Long legs, strong shoulders. His penis, hard and ready. And his face, watching her. Waiting for her to tell him what she wanted. What she needed. "Now?" she whispered, and he smiled. She slid on top, using her hand to guide him inside as she sank down, filling herself with him. He gripped her hips and began to move—adagio, not fortissimo. She gripped his shoulders and matched him. The slow, aching tempo let her catch and hold each sensation, glut herself on them, pay attention to the

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shift of muscles beneath his skin and the subtleties of shadow on his face. She drifted ever closer to that burning center, reluctant to reach it, willing herself to stayhere —here with the delicious fullness, the friction. Here with his eyes on her, watching her, strain cutting grooves in his cheeks as he prolonged their pleasure, thrusting slowly. Slowly. Climax, when it hit, was a surprise. She bucked and cried out—and it hit again. And again. Dimly she heard him call out something and felt his seed pump into her. Her world whited out She came back to find herself sprawled over him, with his chest heaving and tears in her eyes. And knew herself changed. Quietly and forever changed. He ran a hand down her back. "You're trembling." "Sensory overload," she muttered into his chest. Which could bring on strange fancies… that's all it was, the odd fancy of an overwhelmed nervous system. People don't change in any fundamental way between one blink of the eye and the next. She was still herself. But her arm shook slightly when she propped herself up to look at him. "Hey. Something wrong?" He shook his head slightly, his expression bemused. "You pack a punch." Had he felt it, too?Stop that , she told herself. Nothing had happened—nothing except incredible sex, that is. "So do you. And now that I've had my way with you, we'd better—" The weight that landed on the bed made them both jump, lily looked over her shoulder into a pair of glaring yellow eyes. "Feed the cat?" Rule suggested. "Right. Andthen we'd better get back to work."

BUT they accomplished very little more that evening. They were going through the papers in Croft's briefcase and recent files on the laptop they'd brought from the agents' room when Nettie called. Her patients were installed in her guest bedroom, still asleep and under guard. It would take time to discover what had been done to them—if she could do it at all.

They did at least find the connection Karonski had mentioned so briefly when he called Lily. The elders of Mech's church—a fundamentalist Christian denomination—had secretly raised and donated a substantial amount to the Church of the Faithful. "Strange bedfellows," Rule murmured. "You'd think. But they found a common cause." Lily passed him a printout. It seemed that both churches believed fervently in the need to safeguard "the purity of the human race." Both opposed the Citizenship Bill and spoke of the destruction of decency and civilization. Though they defined decency very differently, they agreed that the lupi were creatures of the devil who should be

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exterminated, not enfranchised. Lily shook her head. "How could an African American buy into this drivel after what's been done to his people?" "How does anyone buy into it? No one is racially exempt from bigotry." "What about lupi?" "Certainly not us." He grimaced. "Not all of the tales of lupus savagery are fabrications. There have been those of us who preyed on humans. For some, lupi or humans, honor extends only as far as the line they've drawn between 'us' and 'them.' What's done to 'them' doesn't count." It was late when they gave up and went to bed. Rule was tired, but not so weary he wouldn't have welcomed another loving. But Lily was distracted, her eyes shadowed, her body language saying plainly she wanted sleep, not sex. But she did cuddle into him, and that was good, too. To fall asleep with her in his arms… Not so good being woken up by her moans, with the stink of fear-sweat thick in his nostrils. "Lily?" She was still in bed, but no longer cuddled up to him. In the darkness he found her by touch and smell. He spoke her name again, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Wake up, sweetheart." He heard her gasp. She went rigid, then a shudder passed through her. "Oh, God." He eased closer, murmuring love words, endearments. All of a sudden she rolled over and all but burrowed into him. She was shaking. He wrapped her up tightly in his arms and held on, just held on, until the trembling stopped. "A nightmare?" Her head moved against his shoulder in a nod. "I haven't had it in awhile. It's… from the abduction. I guess I should have expected it to pay me a visit after seeing Ginger today." He stroked her hair. "Do you want to get up? When I have a nightmare, I don't go back to sleep easily." She pulled back to look into his face. There was just enough light for him to see her wobbly smile. "What does a werewolf have nightmares about?" "The usual things. Fire, hatred, being lost or threatened, losing someone I love. Being locked up… trapped." The tremor that went through her answered the question he hadn't asked. He made hot chocolate. That had been Nettie's all-purpose remedy when he was a boy, and he still found comfort in it at times. They sat together in her single oversize chair, sipping and speaking very little, giving her world a chance to turn normal again. And he wondered bleakly if the nightmare had been triggered by seeing Ginger—or by him. Because Lily's demons were all about being tricked and trapped… and that was how she felt about the mate

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bond. Tricked into caring. Trapped for life. TWENTY-FIVE LILY woke disoriented. She wasn't in her bed, she was… she blinked, then smiled. Curled up with Rule in her chair and a half. She turned her head to look at him. He was bristly with morning beard, his head tilted back, eyes closed, mouth slightly open. So much less elegant than the man she'd seen in Club Hell. So much more real. And hers. For better or for worse… not that lupi believed in marriage, but what else was this mate bond but a marriage that no court could dissolve? Of course, marriage used to be pretty permanent, too. A few generations back, women often found themselves bound for life to men they knew little or not at all. In her own family, Lily had only to go back two generations. Grandmother's first husband had been a stranger to her on their wedding night. That didn't make what had been done to Lily right, but, as the T-shirt said, Shit Happens. And when it did, it was Lily's job to clean it up, put things right. Police work was a lot like housework, she thought. An endless and mostly thankless task that people only noticed when the dust bunnies or the criminals got out of control. It was all she'd ever wanted to do. The phone rang. She sat up carefully, but the phone had already woken Rule. "I can't feel my left hand," he muttered. "Sorry." She'd been sleeping on that arm. She stood, looking around. Where was her phone? In her purse, which was… not ringing, she realized as she reached it. "I think it's mine." He stood, shaking his left hand and frowning. She grinned as he headed for the bedroom and his jacket, where he'd left his phone. There was something silly about a werewolf's hand going to sleep. Silly and kind of endearing. A moment later he was back, all sleepiness wiped away. "That was Max. He's says Cullen left me a message at the club. He wants me to come see it."

LILY stared at the message written in sloppy cursive above the bar at Club Hell: "Rule—Don't believe me. Don't come. And don't mention this." The letters were still smoking. Beside them was a crude map—at least, that's what she thought it was supposed to be. "It's Cullen's handwriting," Rule said. "Does he often leave you notes burned into walls?"

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He wasn't amused. "No." Max was perched on top of the bar, glowering at Lily. "I know she's got great knockers, but did you have to bring her with you?" He'd been grouching about Lily's presence ever since they arrived. She'd had about enough. "Are all gnomes obnoxious little perverts, or is it just you?" "What the hell are you talking about? Just because I'm on the short side doesn't mean you can—" "Save it, Max." Rule pulled his attention away from the smoldering writing. "She's a sensitive." His squinty little eyes opened as wide as they were able. "No shit?" Exasperated, Lily said, "You want to just put a notice in the paper and save yourself the trouble of telling people one at a time?" "Max will no more tattle on you than you would him. Will you, Max?" "Haven't I taught you better than that? If you have to ask if you can trust someone, you can't." "I trust you. I also trust Lily." "Yeah?" He sighed heavily. "Well, you're young. So what do you make of the vandalism to my place?" "I don't know. He says not to come, but he drew a map. That upside down V must be a mountain, and SD would stand for San Diego, but the rest of it…" "The squiggles might be water." Lily moved closer. "And that's the number five, isn't it? Five miles, maybe. I'd better make a copy." "Don't bother, Knockers. I already did.'' Max held out a sheet of paper. Her eyebrows rose. It wasn't a sketch. It was an exact replica, done in blue ink. Rule spoke. "He's in trouble." Max snorted. "More likely he was test-driving a new spell. And picked my wall to do it on, dammit! I'm gonna have a word or two with him when he finally shows up." Max reminded Lily of a parent with a kid in trouble—mad on top, worried underneath. "You think he's in trouble, too." His long drip of a nose quivered. "Who knows, with a jerk-off like him." "Breakfast," Rule said suddenly. "Max, I know you've got mushrooms. If you can find some eggs, too, we'll eat. We need fuel and coffee… and then, I think, we need to talk."

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THEY adjourned to Max's private quarters above the club, a crowded hodgepodge of kitsch and art. One crowded end table, for example, held a beautiful Victorian lamp, a plastic hula dancer, three undistinguished rocks, a cheap candy db: shaped like a skull, six paperbacks, and a small stone replica of Michelangelo'sDavid that was, quite simply, perfection. Max saw her studying the little statue and smirked. "Mike copied me, but what the hell. He did a good job. Let him take the credit." She shook her head and followed Rule into the kitchen. They'd argued downstairs. Rule wanted to tell Max everything. Lily agreed that they needed help, but a lewd gnome with a bad attitude wasn't the source she'd have picked. "Max has been around a very long time," Rule had said. "He's seen things that are myth or history to us, and he can't be corrupted by our enemies." "You have a lot of faith in your friends," she'd said non-committally. He'd been irritated. "Don't they teach you anything these days about those of the Blood? Gnomes can't be corrupted by spell or by Gift. They're too bloody stubborn. Max has no loyalty to ideals as you or I think of them, but he would literally stop breathing before he betrayed a friend." He'd persuaded her. So, over mushroom omelets—Rule really did know how to cook—they filled Max in. Rule got as far as mentioning, without naming, the One the Aza worshiped when Max interrupted. "She? Who's she? Don't talk in riddles." Instead of answering, Rule asked for a pencil and paper, then in three swift stokes drew what looked like an advertising logo—a line drawing of an egg lying on its side with a slash through it. Max started cursing. Fluently. In several languages, for longer than Lily had ever heard anyone curse before. Eventually he stopped, wiped his forehead, and said, 'Tell me the rest." He didn't speak again until Lily described what had been done to the two agents. Then he asked a number of precise questions. Finally he nodded. "Okay. First, your federal cops weren't bespelled. There's a fuckingdifference between spell casting and mind Gifts, which no one these days—" "Skip the diatribe on our degenerate times," Rule said. "How do we tell the difference?" Max scowled. "Sorcery ain't like Wicca. If you work with power directly, you gotta shape it, which means you gotta get the pattern of the spell inside you. Mind Gifts you're born with, they're already part of you, like feet. You don't have to understand how your feet are made to walk on 'em. Which is one reason sorcerers are so blasted stuck on themselves, thinking they know so much more than anyone else—hell, never mind that. The point is, the results come out different. Your two Feds had these thoughts they couldn't get away from, set up like a loop. That means someone put those thoughts there and tied 'em in place with a good jolt of power." "Thoughts can't be put in place with a spell?" Lily asked.

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"Yeah, if you're an adept." He snorted. "Which no one in this realmis , or any of the nearby realms, either, never mind what his Hoity-Toitiness in Faerie thinks." She blinked. Was he talking about the King of Faerie? "This, uh, goddess of theirs couldn't make someone into an adept?" "Nope. Not that She would if She could, but She can't work here directly. Has to work through her tools—people native to this realm. Can't just hand someone the words and gestures to a spell and have it work, can She? No more than I could hand you a stone and chisel and you'd chip out a bust of Rule, here. But she can give them power." He leaned back in his chair—a barstool with arms and a footrest—and laced his hands over his belly. "Now, the way it works is, the new thoughts have to blend natural with the old ones. If you give someone who dotes on pretty little birdies a bunch of bird-hating thoughts, they're more likely to go crazy than to do whatever it is you wanted 'em to. So your telepath gets into someone's mind and—" "Telepath?" Rule's eyebrows went up. "Speaking of crazy, aren't telepaths driven insane by their Gift?" "Yeah, unless they're cats. So? You have any reason to think you're dealing with sanity here?" Unless they're cats? Lily was still chewing on that when Rule said, "Are we dealing with two threats? One is a telepath, the other a sorcerer. Or could both skills belong to the same person?" "You ain't listening to me! You don't have one bloody reason to think a sorcerer's involved!" "Hold on a minute," Lily said. "I felt the magic used to kill Martin." "Yeah, but you're as ignorant of sorcery as most fools these days. What you felt was power, power generated by death magic. Which your U.S. law calls sorcery, but that law was written by ignoramuses. Power is not the same as sorcery. A sorcerercould use raw power for a slice and dice, yeah, but so could anybody if they had a tool that stored enough juice." "Okay," Rule said. "So we may or may not have a sorcerer, but we know we have a crazy telepath who practices death magic and has access to a great deal of power." "Plus this telepath is under Her thumb, and She wants you dead or otherwise inconvenienced. Your best bet is to leave the country." "You know that's not possible." Max sighed. "I knew it. I just knew you wouldn't be sensible. Second choice would be her." He nodded at Lily. This time it was Rule who scowled. "What do you mean?" "Send Knockers after your loony-tunes. Can't bespell her, can't get inside her mind—sensitives are immune, period. She's the only one could get close enough to do much. Anyone else gets blasted."

LlLY asked a few more questions before they left, but Max didn't have much more he could tell

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them—a few guesses, a couple of shrugs. Rule was silent until they got to his car. "It was a damned stupid idea, talking to Max," he said, slamming his car door. "Just don't let him give you any damned stupid ideas." Lily buckled up. "Such as?" "You are not going after Harlowe alone." "I can't, can I? You'd have to be nearby." How near, they didn't know. They hadn't tested the boundaries of the bond. "Do you think Harlowe's the telepath?" she asked thoughtfully. "I'm not sure." "Who, then?" He jammed down on the accelerator. The man was in a seriously bad mood. "Well, if we accept Max's opinion as a working hypothesis, the telepath in question is nuts. Yesterday we talked to several people who know Harlowe and didn't get a hint of anything like that." "Crazy doesn't always show." 'True." Rule was scared for her. That's why he was so angry. It made her feel odd, disoriented. It wasn't as if no one cared if she put herself in jeopardy. Her family worried, though she took care to keep most of the scary stuff from them. But the risk inherent in her job was one reason they disliked it. Why did Rule's reaction make her feel so funny? "Lily." He'd forced more calm into his voice. "You aren't thinking of going after him alone, are you?" "He has to be questioned, and backup won't help if Harlowe—or whoever—can screw around with their minds." With a jolt she understood why Rule's reaction left her feeling all turned around. Sheliked it. She liked being important to him, but it was the mate bond making him feel this way. It messed with his feelings just like their hypothetical telepath had messed with the minds of the two FBI agents. In a tight voice he said, "If he can't screw around with your mind, he might settle for killing you." "What do you think I've been doing the last few years— going to tea parties? I've arrested plenty of people who would've been glad of a chance to kill me. They didn't get it." "Dammit, Lily, you can't arrest him anyway. You don't have a badge." She shrugged. "Even if I did, we don't have enough evidence yet for an arrest. I wish that I'd accepted the position with the Feds, though. Aside from the problem with making an arrest, the two of us aren't enough." "I can call on roughly two thousand clan members. What do you need?" Her eyes widened. "Just like that? I thought your father had all the authority." "Technically, I have no authority. But if the Lu Nuncio tells someone the clan needs him urgently, he'll come. Or she will," he added. "Some of our sisters and daughters marry out, but many remain within the clan."

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A sudden thought made her grin. "I see. You're like Grandmother—no technical authority, but if she says come, we come." "I really need to meet your grandmother." "Be careful what you ask for." She felt a little steadier. "We need to figure out what Seabourne's map represents, even if we aren't sure why he sent it. We need to finish the financials. Croft ran the ones on the church, but we should look at Harlowe, too. A few trained law enforcement personnel would be nice, but I don't suppose you have any of those." He was silent a moment. "Crystal and I should be able to handle the financial aspects, if you tell us what to look for." Lily raised her eyebrows. "Crystal?" "My assistant. I don't think you've met her. The map has me puzzled, but Walker knows the wilderness areas around here intimately. He might be able to identify some of the features. I can't get you any law enforcement personnel, but I can summon some security. I should have done it earlier." "If you mean bodyguards—" "I do. Has it occurred to you that if Max is right, Harlowe and company know everything that Croft and Karonski did? Which includes the mate bond. You're the only one immune to their tampering. You're also the key to controlling me. The only real question in my mind is whether they'll try to grab you or just kill you." THEY went to Rule's apartment. Hers was simply too small. He'd made several phone calls en route, and they'd soon be joined by a number of Nokolai. Rule lived on the tenth floor of a high-rise. It struck Lily as they waited for the elevator that this was odd. "Why would a claustrophobe want to ride up and down in an elevator every day?" "I'm not phobic. And Nokolai owns the building, so it's practical for me to live here." Testy, she thought.Don't call the man a claustrophobe just because small spaces scare him. Right . The elevator arrived, and they stepped inside. She had Croft's briefcase; Rule was carrying Karonski's laptop. She eased close to him, just in case the big, tough werewolf wasn't as comfortable as he pretended. He pushed the button for his floor, stuck his hands in his pockets, and said, "Besides, it's a fast elevator." She smiled. "What about you?" he asked quietly. "You okay in small spaces?" "Mostly. I don't do saunas." The trunk had been swelteringly hot. "When I moved here I thought it might desensitize me to ride the elevator every day." "Did it help?" His smile was wry. "Not noticeably."

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The elevator opened onto a small shared hall—only one other unit on this floor, she noticed. Must be large apartments. Rule's door was at the west end. He opened it. "I'm going to make some coffee." "Why am I not surprised?" She followed him inside, closed the door, and turned. "Where should I…" Her voice drifted off as she stared. The apartment had an open floor plan, and almost the entire west wall was window. It overlooked the ocean. "That's the other reason I live here," he said. Apparently the coffee craving wasn't too strong yet, because he stayed beside her. "That has to be one of the best views in the city." "I think so." She tore her gaze from the sea and skyscape and looked around the apartment itself. There was a long, sleek couch covered in a beautiful pale leather… and in newspapers, magazines, and books. The dining table was some rich, dark wood. What she could see of it, that is. Everywhere she looked she saw beautiful things. And clutter. "It's not as tidy as you're used to." She glanced at him. That wasn't a hint of a flush riding those elegant cheekbones, was it? "Who would have guessed? You're a slob." He scowled. "It's not that bad." "It's a mess." She turned and put her arms around his waist, smiling as she laid her head on his shoulder. "But that's okay. Under the mess it's a beautiful place." He pressed a kiss to her hair. The arms he slid around her were hard with tension as well as muscle. He cleared his throat. "So what do you think—could Harry be happy here? There's lots of room." Oh, shit. He wasn't really talking about Harry. She swallowed. "I don't know. He couldn't get outside from here. He's been on his own a long time. I'm not sure he could adapt to being penned up inside all the time." He didn't say anything, but his body remained tense. Unhappy? Hurt? She tilted her head back to look at his face and found his eyes, dark and grave, waiting to meet hers. "Maybe we could try him here for a little while," she said. "See how it goes." "Good idea." He used both hands to smooth her hair back from her face and dropped a kiss on her mouth, lingering long enough to make it more of a promise than a peck. "You ready for coffee?" Her laugh was a trifle shaky. "Sure, why not? Uh—mind if I clear a space on the table?" "My piles are organized, even if they don't look like it. Scoot them to the other end, but keep them separate." She saw what he meant when she started moving the stacks of papers. This wasn't the random mess of advertising and charitable solicitations; it was quarterly reports, correspondence, and other business-type

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debris. "Looks like you need an office," she said, sitting down and opening Croft's briefcase. "I've got one. I prefer to work out here." He set a mug by her elbow and sat across from her. "I do work, you know," he said dryly. "I manage the Rho's investments for the clan." "You oversee everything?" "Not all by myself." He was amused. "I have an excellent assistant, whom you'll be meeting soon. Also two secretaries and managers for the individual properties. We keep a very expensive accounting firm busy and have a legal firm on retainer." "So where is this staff of yours?" "They're clan, so they live and work at Clanhome. The last few days haven't exactly been normal. Usually I spend about half my time there." Okay, that made sense. It also underlined how little she really knew about him.Never mind , she told herself. That could wait. It would have to. "Here's the material on Harlowe," she said, taking a file from Croft's briefcase. "We have his social security number, checking account number, that sort of thing. Can you do something with that?" "Something, yes. What am I looking for?" "Connections, things that don't add up, properties he owns. Does he have a house or business in Oceanside, for example, where he met Croft and Karonski? Anything else up that way? We've only his word for it that he was coming back from L.A. yesterday." "It will take awhile. What will you be doing?" "Calling a friend to ask a favor. Then I'm going to ride the elevator, maybe take a little walk." She met his eyes squarely. "We have to know, Rule. We have to find out what the limits of the bond are." He took a deep breath, exhaled sharply through his nose. "Of course. And I have to get over the idea that something will happen to you if I let you out of my sight. But wait until my people arrive. If you go too far and keel over, it would be nice if someone was there to catch you." TWENTY-SIX LILY called O'Brien. She thought he might be willing to pass on what he'd learned from Therese's murder scene, and he was, though first he gave her a hard time about having "gone over to the dark side." Apparently the whole department knew she was in trouble with the captain but was working with the Feds. Cops were terrible gossips. He agreed to fax her a copy of his report. She gave him Rule's fax number, disconnected, and headed for Rule's home office to wait for the fax. It was every bit as messy as the great room. For some reason that made her smile.

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According to Max, if Therese had been killed by a telepath rather than a sorcerer, the killer had probably been on the scene. Eyeball range, he said. Without a spell guiding the power, the killer would have needed to see his victim. He could have stood in the doorway and slashed her up without getting blood on himself. Lily was hoping to find something to back that up. It would be good to know for sure if they were dealing with a rogue sorcerer as well as a mad telepath. Cullen Seabourne, maybe. He could have had his mind messed with. Hadn't he told Rule not to believe him in that odd message? But nothing in the crime scene evidence gave her any new ideas. She'd gone over it twice by the time Rule's people arrived—two brawny young men, including the redhead Lily had encountered twice before. The older man with watchful eyes wasWalker . And Crystal, Rule's assistant, a short, squat, sixtyish woman who looked disconcertingly like a bulldog— heavy jaw, square head, thick lips. Lily hoped her astonishment didn't show. "Glad to meet you,"Crystal said in a gruff voice that suited her face if not her name. She didn't sound glad. She spared Lily the briefest of glances before returning her attention to Rule. "Nettie wanted me to tell you that she's making progress with Croft, but Karonski will need to be treated by a coven. Something about the degree of trust involved. Can't say I understood, but that's what she said." Rule nodded. "I expect we'll be hearing from their superiors soon. Hopefully they can arrange something with a coven." "What do you need me for?" she said briskly, dropping her purse on a chair. "I'll show you in a moment,Crystal . First I need to make everyone aware of something. Lily is myChosen ." That bulldog face just lit up. She threw her arms around Rule's waist and hugged him hard.Walker was suddenly at Rule's side, hugging him around the shoulders. Both young men wore wide grins. "Son of a bitch !" Sammy cried. "When's the ceremony?" "Not for awhile yet," Rule said dryly. "We've a few things to attend to first." "Oh, sweetie,"Crystal said. "Oh, sweetie." She sniffed, patted Rule's cheek, and turned to Lily, beaming. "Welcome to Nokolai." Welcome to—? Stunned, Lily met Rule's eyes over the woman's head. He shook his head slightly and mouthedlater . Aloud he said, "You all know about the attack on theRho . You may also be aware that Nettie is treating two FBI agents whose minds were tampered with. These things are connected. There is a group of people, both human and lupi, who are trying to destroy Nokolai." That wiped away the grins. "Lily is a target. She's also the best hope we have for stopping them." "They'd target aChosen ?" Sammy said, incredulous. "The lupi involved may not know she's aChosen . The humans would use it against us." "What do we need to do?"Walker asked quietly.

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"I've a map for you to look at. Sammy and Pat, you'll go with Lily.Crystal is going to help me dig into the finances of one of our enemies."

LlLY had never had bodyguards before. She didn't like it. "I'm testing the limits of the mate bond," she said stiffly, pushing the elevator button. "We need to know how much distance we have." Sammy nodded. The other one—Pat—smiled shyly. "I've never met aChosen before." "I've never been one before," she said dryly. The elevator doors opened, and she got in, followed by her troops, who took positions between her and the doors. "I saw aChosen once," Pat said as the doors closed. "At the last All-Clans." Sammy jabbed Pat with his elbow. "Excuse me, Lily, but we aren't supposed to talk. It could distract us." "Then listen. The people we're investigating use death magic. Rule says it has a definite smell." She couldn't see their faces, but the sudden stiffness in their bodies suggested shock. Sammy's voice was steady, though. "It's supposed to. I've never smelled it." "I hope you never do. But if you should smell anything rotten—putrefaction, Rule called it—let me know immediately. Don't—" The dizziness hit so fast she couldn't finish the sentence. It was worse this time, a sucking vertigo that made her stagger and brace one hand on the wall, bent over. "Dammit. Dammit. What floor was that?" "Second." Sammy's hand was under her elbow, steadying her. "Are you all right?" "Wobbly." The elevator stopped. Sammy turned to face front again, keeping his hand on her arm, as the doors opened… on three men in dark suits. Two of them stood with professional readiness. The third wasn't standing at all. He was in a wheelchair. He was thin—wasted, really—with a narrow face and hooked nose. "Ah—Detective Yu," he said in a light, clear tenor voice. "Excellent. I'm Ruben Brooks. I believe you have my men." "Ah… not with me." She tried to straighten but had to lean on Sammy when the world grayed out. She tried the sub-vocalizing thing. "Sammy, you smell anything nasty?" He paused, then shook his head. All right, then. "Are you ill?" Brooks asked. "I'll be fine in a few minutes. I have to head back up, though. Not trying to get away or anything," she assured him. "Just have to get back."

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"I think you've misunderstood. I'm not arresting you. I'm here to place my unit at your disposal." TWENTY-SEVEN THERE were a few moments of confusion. Brooks's bodyguards didn't want to leave him, Lily's pair didn't want to leave her, and they wouldn't all fit in the elevator at the same time. Lily wasn't much help, since she was fading in and out. She ended up riding with Brooks, Sammy, and one of the FBI types, a tall, blond man. By the time they passed the third floor, she was fine. "Fascinating," Brooks said. "There's quite a sharp boundary, isn't there?" She glanced at the silent blond man, frowning. "It seems your men filled you in thoroughly." "Were you not in the habit of keeping your superior officer fully informed?" "Not about some things, no. Unverifiable evidence didn't go in my reports, and I didn't include anything orally that wasn't pertinent. I don't out people." He nodded. "Understandable. After we've worked together awhile, I believe you'll trust me with such information." "I haven't agreed—" "Ah, here we are," he said as the elevator stopped. "After you." His motorized chair followed her down the short hall. When she reached Rule's door, she didn't have to use the key he'd given her—he opened it. She walked straight into his arms. It wasn't professional, but it was necessary. She needed to feel his heart beating, needed the pressure of his body against hers. After a moment, though, self-consciousness had her pulling away. "This is Ruben Brooks," she said. "I don't know the other one's name. Gentlemen, Rule Turner." Rule glanced at her, eyebrows raised. She nodded slightly. "Come in, won't you?" he said, smiling as he stepped back. "Would you care for coffee?"

"CROFT called you from Clanhome?" Lily said a few minutes later, surprised. "I didn't realize he was—well, awake." "Dr. Two Horses allowed him out of Sleep long enough to—ah, thank you." Brooks accepted the mug Rule handed him. "Long enough to report, so I am reasonably up to date on your situation." "How is he?" "Doing well, though Dr. Two Horses wishes his mind to be at complete rest for a few days, which means being in Sleep most of the time. Karonski is being kept sedated until a coven can be flown out here. His Gift and religious beliefs make treating him more complicated."

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"You arrived very quickly," Rule said quietly, sitting on the back of Lily's chair and stroking her hair. After their brief test of the mate bond's boundary, they needed physical contact. "I was already en route when he called. When Croft and Karonski didn't return on time, I had a feeling I would be needed." Lily's eyebrows rose. "Karonski said you were a precog." "Yes." He sipped his coffee. "This is excellent. Precognition is the least reliable of the Gifts, of course, but this was an exceptionally strong feeling. It didn't carry much in the way of information with it, unfortunately, but Croft's call from Clanhome remedied that. So now you see why I need to place the unit in your hands for the time being." "Actually—no, I don't. I lack the experience, the training… I'm a good detective. I am not qualified to run a top-secret FBI unit I hadn't even heard about until a few days ago." "But you're the only one who can," he said gently. "Though I fully expect to contribute my skills and knowledge, the person in charge must be one whom we know, at all times, has not been interfered with." "The lupi," she said desperately. "They can smell the presence of death magic, so they'll be able to tell us if someone's head has been messed with." "Can they? That will be handy. But it will only work in person. Orders must sometimes be given over the telephone." Lily wasn't sure how it happened, except that Ruben Brooks was the most soft-spoken, polite steamroller she'd ever met. Fifteen minutes after meeting him, she took an oath to "support and defend the Constitution of theUnited States against all enemies, foreign and domestic." "Are you sure this is legit?" she asked afterward. "I thought agents had to go through training." "You will have to go toQuantico at some point, but this is quite legal. The President has granted me the authority to swear in agents at my discretion, waiving the usual requirements." The President? Lily felt dizzy, and it wasn't the mate bond this time. "Now," he said, glancing around at the lot of them, "I would appreciate a report, if you don't mind." Lily nodded. "All right, and when I'm finished, I'd like you to contribute your skills and knowledge. And maybe a map expert and the authority to look into a few bank accounts."

THINGS picked up speed after that. Brooks detailed one of his men to handle the paperwork for obtaining any court orders Rule andCrystal needed. A top-of-the-line computer mapping system was on its way, along with an expert to work withWalker on identifying Cullen's crude drawing. You might even say he took charge, Lily thought, amused. Not that he issued any orders, but everyone pretty much hopped to implement his polite suggestions.

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With the immediate needs taken care of, Lily called a conference of two. She sat on the end of the couch nearest Brooks's chair and leaned forward. "I don't know enough about federal laws. Now that Croft's going to able to testify, we've got enough on Harlowe to pick him up for questioning. But I'm damned if I know what to charge him with. Obstructing justice?" He nodded thoughtfully. "Legislators seldom pass laws covering impossible crimes, and no one knew investigators' minds could be altered this way. I conferred briefly with the U.S. attorney for this region on my way here. He's not eager to prosecute any charge short of murder by magical means or conspiracy to commit murder by magical means." Lily suspected "not eager" was a euphemism. "Okay, so my question is, do we get anything from arresting him now? Or do we get enough to outweigh the risks?" "Why don't you go over your reasoning with me?" "The way I see it, we don't know enough yet. If he's our hypothetical telepath, arresting him on a lesser charge might be worth it. But if he isn't and we pick him up, the rest of his crowd is likely to go into hiding. Including the telepath or sorcerer or whatever, and that's who we have to get." "I thought you were fairly confident of your informant's information. You believe a sorcerer might be involved?" "My… oh, yeah." She'd described Max as someone with wide experience and knowledge of magical systems who preferred to remain anonymous. Pushing to her feet, she began to pace back and forth. "I don't know. Simplest is often right, and simplest would be if there's just one big bad guy, a telepath with some kind of tool like my consult suggested. But it's still possible that a sorcerer's involved. Not as likely, maybe, but possible." He nodded. "It's reasonable to plan for various possibilities." "Right. But it has me spooked," she admitted. "I don't know the procedures for safely apprehending and neutralizing a sorcerer. If there are any." To her knowledge, it hadn't been tried since the Purge—and that had been a bloody and terrible business. Mostly they'd just killed those suspected of sorcery. "As far as I know, there aren't," he said calmly. "Some theories hold that truly holy men and women cannot be affected by sorcery because spiritual energies are of a higher order than temporal or magical energies. Even if that is true, however, I don't believe the FBI employs any holy persons." It took her a moment to see past the deadpan delivery to the twinkle in his eyes. She stopped pacing and said dryly, "I don't think the SDPD does, either." "The historical record indicates that all sorcerers are not created equal. There are degrees of mastery. However, I think we must assume that if a sorcerer is involved—even one with a relatively minor ability in those arts—arresting him or her is likely to involve casualties on our part. The use of deadly force may be necessary." In other words, things hadn't changed that much since the Purge. It was still easier to kill a sorcerer than to contain one. "One more thing. I told you I had a feeling I would be needed here. Connected to that was a strong—very strong— feeling of urgency. I offer this as information," he said in his calm, slightly pedantic

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way. "I don't wish to influence you unduly, but I am very seldom wrong about such things. It may be as important to act quickly as it is to act correctly." She scowled at the floor, thinking hard—felt a tug, and looked up to see Rule drawing near. If there was a sorcerer involved, it was likely to be his friend Cullen. Willingly or not. He slid into a chair near Brooks. "I'm superfluous over there at the moment. Crystal and your man are deep in the county records, which I know little about. I couldn't help overhearing your discussion." Lily raised her eyebrows at that. "Couldn't help overhearing?" "I eavesdropped shamelessly," he admitted cheerfully. "I have a suggestion. Use my people." "I don't follow you." "You're trying to decide what to do if it turns out you have to go up against a sorcerer. It would be foolish to send humans in. Lupi can absorb a good deal of damage and continue to function, and we have a large stake in this." Brooks steepled his fingers. "An interesting proposition." She glanced at him, startled. "You do realize what the press would do with this? Sending werewolves after the leader of a minority religious group?" "If we can prove sorcery was involved, all will be forgiven.If not"—he shrugged—"we'll need to be sure of our evidence." Which, at the moment, they didn't have. Lily began pacing again. "What we need is that damned tool. The one storing the power." If there was such a thing. Max had seemed pretty sure of it. "We don't know what it looks like, but I could identify it by touch. If we could find that, we'd have proof of sorcery as the law defines it. We'd also have stripped our perp of most of his power." She stopped, looked at Brooks. "I want search warrants for the church and for all Harlowe's properties, once we know what they are." "We'll have to word them carefully, and it may be tricky getting a judge to agree," he said slowly, "but I believe I can handle that." She looked at Rule. "Get me those people of yours. I want a trained team who knows how to follow orders. They'll be on standby. We'd all better pray we don't have to use them."

RULE contributed very little over the next couple of hours. He did call the Rho, who agreed to send a squad right away. Then he put on a huge pot of chili and tried not to think about Cullen or the danger Lily would be in. But thoughts are less obedient than arms and legs. He was in the kitchen stirring up batter for cornbread when she slipped up behind him and put her arms around his waist. The comfort was immediate.

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So was the arousal. He turned, tipped her face up, and kissed her thoroughly. "Well." Her face was flushed, her hair tousled, her pretty mouth damp and smiling. "Hello to you, too. It smells wonderful in here. You really do cook." "My father's houseman taught me years ago." He thought he could stand here for a day or so, just holding her, breathing in her scent. "Houseman? Is that like a housekeeper?" "Pretty much. Any news?" "Walker thinks he's identified the general area covered by Cullen's map. It's a remote portion of the mountains northeast of the city." A worried frown pleated her brow. "He says there are caves in the area. It's not easy to find a suspect underground." "That's what lupus noses are for. But it might be a good idea to call Max. Gnomes and caves go together. Now, if only we knew what the map signified." "One step at a time. I need to ask you something." "All right." He toyed with her hair. He loved the silkiness of it, the sheen. It reminded him of the night sky—so dark, yet full of light. He couldn't lose her. He'd just found her. Somehow he had to keep her safe. "This is important." That meant he wasn't supposed to play with her hair. With a sigh, he dropped his hands to her waist. "I'm listening." "Why did Crystal welcome me to Nokolai?" Uh-oh. "As my Chosen," he said carefully, "you are considered part of the clan." She was quiet. Dangerously so, for several heartbeats. "And the ceremony Sammy mentioned?" "There's a ritual to welcome you. It's intended to honor you, and… it's when you accept the clan as yours. If you so choose." Relief flooded her face. "Then I get a choice. This isn't just one more thing beingdone to me, whether I want it or not." "You get to choose." "Rule?" She frowned. "What is it? I'm sure you like the idea of me being in your clan, but it feels like one more thing I'm not qualified for. Not to mention the commitment. I can't swear fealty to your father." "That's not part of the ceremony." "There's something you aren't telling me."

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A great many things, most of which there simply wasn't time for now. His mouth twisted wryly. "There's one problem, from my point of view. If you refuse to be Nokolai, then neither can I." She stared, shocked. "As my Chosen, you will learn much about us that outsiders aren't allowed to know. You must either become Nokolai, or I must leave the clan." When she continued to stare, saying nothing, he smoothed his hands down her arms. "Nadia, I know this feels like one more chain around you, but—" "You don't know." She pulled out of his arms, putting space between them. "When were you going to tell me?" "After we were no longer chasing mad telepaths and their murderous friends." "Okay, that's reasonable." She took a shaky breath and used bom hands to push her hair back. "I'm going to have to think about this, and I can't right now." "I know. I wasn't going to—" The doorbell chimed, drawing his attention. Sammy was stationed there, so after a brief exchange, he opened it. Benedict entered with five others—his personal squad. "Smells good in here," Benedict said, looking around until he spotted Rule. "I hope you made a lot of chili." Rule was moving toward him. "There's plenty. I knew a squad was coming. I didnot know you would be leading it." "Rho's orders. He wanted to be sure nothing goes wrong if we do fight. I left Houston in charge at Clanhome. He's competent." Houston was a good deal more than competent in anyone else's terms, but Benedict was in a class by himself. "Lily…" He turned, knowing she was behind him. And saw every human in the room on his feet. One had his hand inside his jacket, reaching for a gun. "Ah—have a word with your men, would you?" "Stand down," she said sharply. "Now!" They did. The one who'd reached for his gun looked sheepish. Rule shook his head. "I wasn't thinking. I should have prepared your people." Lily said dryly, "Your squad isn't exactly what we're used to." Two of the squad, like Benedict, had multiple blades— scabbarded, but he could see that the humans would find them unsettling. One had a machine gun; all but one of the others had automatics holstered at their waists. And, of course, none were wearing much in the way of clothing, as they were dressed for combat. Denim cutoffs were the usual choice. "Devin has Pat's and Sammy's gear," Benedict said. "I'll want a word with them. They haven't worked with my squad before." "I believe," Brooks said placidly, "I will put a call in to the local police department. Mr. Turner's

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neighbors are likely to call them, and we don't want them getting excited." Crystal's voice came from the dining table, filled with satisfaction. "I've got it." Rule turned. Crystal had, of course, kept working. He liked to think she would have moved under the table to continue her task if a gun battle had broken out, but he wasn't sure. "What have you got?" "Harlowe's property. He owns a nice little section of land northeast of the city." She looked up from her laptop. "And it's right about where Walker places your friend's map."

THEREare fourteen men and two women in this room, Lily thought. Nine of them were at this table, trying to come up with a plan. And none of them agreed. Good thing this wasn't a democracy. "All right," she said, standing. One by one, the others quieted down. "We've hashed out the possibilities pretty thoroughly. First, I like the idea of getting the Air Force to do a flyby of the area so we know what's there now. Walker hasn't been there in a few years, and the aerial shots we got off the Net are dated. We need to know if Harlowe's put up any structures. "Second, I'm not sending a small group in to reconnoiter. We don't know this telepath's range. All the woodcraft in the world won't shield them if he or she can pick up then-thoughts." One of the FBI men spoke. "If we go in—" "Or if we do," said a dark lupus whose name she couldn't remember. "If anyone goes in," the FBI man said, "we'd need to make sure Harlowe wasn't at the property." She shook her head. "We don't know for a fact that Harlowe's the telepath. I'm not sending people in to have their brains picked or pickled. Or to get sliced up. We'll do this the boring way—with a search warrant. Which I will execute… with two lupi and two humans as backup." She paused. "The lupi will be there mostly to smell—people or spells. The humans will be there to watch the lupi. If someone gets tapped by our telepath, I'm hoping one of the others will spot it or smell it." Benedict—the only one at the table who hadn't offered an opinion—nodded slightly. 'This doesn't mean we're dropping the rest of the investigation. I still want search warrants for the other properties and the church, but this place is priority." She looked at Brooks. "What's your gut telling you?" "The sense of urgency hasn't abated." "All right. Get me that search warrant, and put in call to whoever can get us a flyby. Press them for speed. If—" Someone's cell phone rang. She paused, frowning. If that was her mother— "It's mine," Rule said, standing. He moved away from the table to answer it. She went on, "If we can't get the aerial photos in time, we'll go in without them. Benedict, I'm going to need a better understanding of what your people can do, but for now let's talk about contingencies. The first one involves chain of command. If I'm taken out or taken prisoner, that will devolve on Brooks—but he won't be in the field. I don't know everyone's capabilities. Suggestions for field command?"

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"For combat, tactics, and strategy," Benedict said, "I'm the most qualified. Give me a target, and I'll reach it. But in a chaotic situation, when goals change—" He stopped suddenly, his head swiveling toward where Rule stood with his cell phone. "Yes, I've got it, but don't hang—Cullen. Cullen! Dammit!" He looked up, his expression as grim as Lily had ever seen it. Lily's heart beat in her throat, throbbing in the sudden silence. "What did he say? Where is he?" "He says he was taken prisoner by the Aza, who want a tame sorcerer. He managed to escape, but he's badly injured. He doesn't know how long he can stay free. They're looking for him. He's holed up in a small shack in the mountains. I know the place." Lily swallowed. The next words were among the most difficult she'd ever spoken. "Rule, it's a trap." His eyes were hard as flint "I know. He warned me, didn't he? 'Don't believe me. Don't come.' The shack is twenty miles from the spot he marked on his map."

"THE question, then," Benedict said, "is who do we send to meet Seabourne? Rule can't go because of the mate bond." Surprise and gratitude flared in Rule, He met his brother's gaze and said simply, "Why?" "The Rho extended the comfort of the clan to him for a moon. That time isn't up. We don't leave one of ours in the hands of Her creatures." "Your friend may not be there," Brooks put in. "If their goal is to kill or capture you, his presence wouldn't be necessary." "But some ofthem will be," Lily said suddenly. "Probably quite a few. Maybe the telepath." She looked around at the rest. "It's easy to bring charges against someone who's shooting at us." Brooks tilted his head back to look at her. "And difficult to make the arrest if we start shooting each other. We do not know the capabilities of our telepath." "At some point we'll have to do it." But she looked frustrated. She shook her head. "In judo, the idea is to use your opponent's moves and momentum against him. They've made a couple of moves we should be able to turn to our advantage— tampering with Croft and Karonski, and now this. The first tells us what they can do. The second tells us where some of them will be at a given time. We need to find a way to use that information." The doorbell rang. Rule glanced at Sammy, who was stationed near the door, where he could hear any movement in the hall. He had a funny look on his face. 'Two people," he said. "Neither of them large. And… a cat." It rang again.

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"Who is it?" Sammy called through the door. He turned a puzzled face to Lily. "She says she's your grandmother. And that I'm to open the door this instant." Lily closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead with both hands. "Of course. That's just what this night needs." She started for the door. "Let her in." A tiny old woman in slim black slacks and a magnificent satin jacket, heavily embroidered, stepped into the room. Her skin was porcelain—pale, powdered, fragile with age. Her posture was perfect. Her eyes were black and imperious. A slightly taller and much plainer woman entered behind her. Holding Harry. Who was growling. "Well?" the old woman snapped, looking around the room. "Which one is he?" Lily reached her. "Grandmother, I'm pleased you are well, but this is not a good time, and… You brought my cat?" "He wished to come. There are too many people here. Which one is your wolf?" Her gaze flicked from one to the next, settling on Benedict. "The big one?" Unmistakable feminine approval lit her eyes. "I regret to disappoint you," Rule said, coming forward, "but I…" He stopped.What the hell— Dark eyes shaped much like Lily's laughed at him. "Hmph. Not so big as the other one, but pretty." "Grandmother, this is Rule Turner," Lily said. "Rule, I am honored to present to you my grandmother, Madame Li Lei Yu, and her companion, Li Qan. Grandmother, it pains me to be rude, but I cannot entertain you now." "Bah." She glanced at her companion. "Find a place for Harry. He is not happy with so many people." "The bedroom, I guess," Lily said helplessly, gesturing toward the hall. "You smell that?" Benedict asked. "Yes, but what is it?" Not human. Not anything he'd ever smelled before. Sharp black eyes swung toward him. "You. Stop talking of me. I do not like your smell, either, but I am not rude enough to say this." Rule's mouth fell open. That amused her. "You wonder about me, eh? I don't tell you yet. Lily." She turned to her granddaughter. "I am old, I am tired from much traveling. You do not offer me to sit down?" "Grandmother." Lily's voice was firm. "We are planning a major operation now. We cannot be interrupted." Thin eyebrows lifted. She raised her hand and, with one red-nailed finger, drew a shape in the air—a shape like an egg lying on its side. Then she slashed through it. "You are here to defeat Her. So am I." Shock held Rule still a moment. Then he moved to the old woman's side, holding out his arm. "Treat her

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like royalty," Lily had told him earlier. He understood now. "Madame, be welcome to my home. Be seated. And please, be quick about whatever brings you here. My friend's life is at stake." She laid one hand lightly on his arm, studying him with shrewd black eyes. "You worry for him. I forgive your rudeness. But many, many lives at stake." Rule escorted Madame Yu to the couch. Lily followed and sat beside her grandmother—and most of the others followed, too. Brooks positioned his chair next to Rule. "How did you find me?" Lily asked her. "Silly question. You were not at your little place. Your wolf is in the phone book. You must be where he is, so I come here." "But—you know about the mate bond, then?" "Of course I know. Did I not go to ask that very question?" "And Harry?" Rule asked, fascinated. "He did not like to be alone. He did not like me, either, but all cats like Li Qan, so she bring him." "I am sorry about the damage to your door, Lily," Li Qan said softly, reentering the room without Harry. "I think it will not cost too much to repair. Your Grandmother lacked a key." "Never mind that. Grandmother." Lily's voice was urgent. "Who did you go see?" The old woman looked down, frowning, and smoothed an imaginary crease out of her slacks. She said something to Lily in Chinese. "Youwhat ?" Lily exclaimed—then she, too, switched to Chinese. For a few moments the two women held a fast-paced, musical, and wholly unintelligible dialogue. Lily put her hand on her grandmother's and asked something. The old woman patted it and replied firmly. Lily faced the rest of them. "Grandmother does not think everyone should know who she spoke with, but he—he is one whose word we must accept. He sent her to us with information and… a gift." Madame Yu looked over her audience, her small, neat head held regally. "You will all be quiet now. I have much to say, and time is short. You all know of Her whose sign I made. You fight Her, which is good. You do not know what She plans. I do." She sought Rule's gaze and held it a moment. Then, one by one, she picked out every lupus in the room. "Youknow Her. In your blood and bones, you know. What She plans for your people is very bad, but is not all She plans. She wants to come here. To cross, to… bah. I don't know words." She shot another stream of Chinese at Lily. Lily looked pale. "Grandmother saysShe isn't supposed to be able to enter our realm, but the realms are shifting. Things in the other realms are changing, and…" She glanced at her grandmother, asked a question, then went on. "And some of those who watch are very old now, and weary. Others are busy. Distracted by—she's not sure. Conflict of some kind. Scheming or politics or war."

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Madame Yu picked up her tale again. "She make plans, can't cross yet. Needs much power. Needs also right conditions. To make ready, She gather believers to Her. They give Her power. They also ones to open… way, path. At place of power." She looked at Lily and spoke a single word. "Node," Lily said. "They'll open a path for Her at a node?" "Yes." She nodded once. "At a node. This node must be made different some way." She shrugged. "I don't know how. I tell you as I am told. Something to be changed at node. For this, humans here must open it to other realm. To Dis." She looked over her audience again, saw that they didn't understand, and muttered something Rule was sure wasn't complimentary. "You don't know Dis? Other name is Hell." Two or three exclaimed. Most looked doubtful. They'd been caught up in the old woman's story until then, but this was farther than belief would stretch. Lily had no doubt at all on her face, Rule noticed. And he found a sick, taut certainty inside himself. He believed. For whatever reasons, he believed this strange, imperious old woman who smelled like nothing he'd ever encountered before. Brooks leaned forward. "Madame. You expect us to accept that the Aza are willing and able to open a gate to Hell?" "Why not? Dis is close. Little openings happen all the time. Fabric between here and there not so strong. All know this." "Yes, but nothing major. A fool in Memphis managed to summon a minor demon last year, but…" Brooks shook his head. "Nothing like you're talking about. There has not been a major incursion from Hell in over four hundred years." "Four hundred years long time to you. Not so long to some. Things changing. You see other things leaking through, maybe? Little demon, maybe others?" The expression on Brooks's face seemed answer enough. She nodded firmly. "Odd things happening now. More will happen. Realms shift, we can't stop. Her, we must stop. She gather already one to Her with strong mind Gift, very strong. This one a female, lives below ground by node. This the one you must stop." "The caves," Rule said suddenly. "The caves on Harlowe's property." He was definitely calling Max. Alert eyes switched to him. "You know where this is? Good." "How?" Lily leaned toward her grandmother urgently. "How do we stop Her?" Some emotion tightened the muscles in that small, regal face. For the first time, briefly, she looked old. "He tell me much," she said softly, "but not that. He gave me gift for your wolf, though. Small spell. He is not supposed to, but he is great meddler." A smile touched her mouth—the sort of smile that softens a woman's face when she remembers a man who once pleased her very much. Rule's eyebrows went up. "What kind of spell, Grandmother?" "Protect—that part I understand. Also find spell—for finding wolf. This I don't understand." Lily asked something in Chinese. The old woman answered in that language, then reached into a pocket in her jacket. She held out her hand to Lily. In the palm rested a large bead or marble, pearly gray and

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softly glowing. Lily touched it. Surprise, pleasure, and a touch of wonder flitted across her face. "It feels… clean," she said hesitantly. "Strong and cool, like wind." She glanced at Rule. "It's a good gift." "You keep it for him." Madame Yu folded Lily's fingers around the bead. "When time comes, you break it on him." She slapped the palm of one hand with the fingers of the other. "Like so. It lasts many hours, but less than one day. Do not use it until ready." Lily looked at her closed hand. "It won't break?" "It must touch his skin. Work only on him." Lily slid it into the pocket of her slacks. "This is not a small spell." "For him, it is small." She chuckled, a low, raspy sound, incongruous, coming from such a tiny body. "He hopes so small no one notices. Get him in trouble. But he cannot or does not tell me what you do, only…" Now she took Lily's hand again, looking at her intently. "Only what She plans. You are part of Her plan, Granddaughter. You and your wolf. It takes much power to open gate. Can gather power slowly, but She is greedy, wants to gobble down big bite of power." She paused. "There is much power in mate bond. Power from Her enemy. She wants it. The one who serves Her will take you and your wolf, if she can. Sacrifice you to Her." "No." Instinctively Rule moved to sit beside Lily, who was quiet. Too quiet. He touched her arm, reassuring himself as well as her. "That won't happen." Dryly Madame Yu said, "It is good you think so, but Her handmaiden has much power already. How do you stop her?" Lily spoke two words. "We don't."

IT was the dark of the moon. The night wasn't wholly dark, though. The road ahead was lit by their headlights, and the stars were brilliant overhead. They were well outside the city. Not far to go now. Lily had expected resistance from Rule, and she'd gotten it. Aside from the danger, he knew what being taken— captured—meant to her. But she was asking him to risk himself. If she could do that, he could accept the danger to her. The stakes were too high. They couldn't hold back from fear for each other. Brooks had been more of a problem, since he could have taken back command. In the end he hadn't, for which he deserved a good deal of credit. After all, he didn't know Grandmother—or who had provided her information and that "little spell." She'd gotten unexpected support from two quarters:— Benedict, who had told Rule flatly that the plan was tactically excellent. And Grandmother. Rare approval had shone in the old woman's eyes. She'd patted Lily's hand. "Verygood idea. They think

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to swallow you, you make them choke. Heh. Yes, very good. And I," she'd announced, "will come after you. This time I will know where you are. Find spell is linked to me." Needless to say, no one in that room had understood that. One poor fool had grinned. Lily had left Grandmother to sort them out. Time was short. "Just who did your grandmother speak with?" Rule asked. She looked at him. He'd been silent most of the way but was driving with one hand so he could hold hers with the other. "I wondered if you were going to ask." "Am I allowed to know?" "It should be okay, since she—damn, we have too many anonymous females. The telepath won't be able to read your mind. The, uh, person Grandmother spoke with shows up in a lot of stories. Some of the Native American tribes know him as Raven." His breath sucked in. "Another Old One. Or god." "Well, yes." He slowed and turned off on a rough dirt road. The shack should be up ahead about six miles. Her stomach felt queasy with fear. It was one thing to decide, logically, that the best way to succeed was to use your opponent's move against her. It was another to walk into a trap. To let yourself be captured. And Rule. They would take him, too. She hoped he couldn't tell how frightened she was. "Lily," he said, "how does your grandmother know Raven?" "I don't know. One doesn't ask Grandmother questions like that. She said he owed her a favor." "Must have been quite a favor," was all he said. Then, a few minutes later: "This is it. The shack should be just around the curve." He stopped the car. They had to play this as straight as possible. Unless the Aza were idiots, they'd expect Rule to be wary, on the lookout for a possible trap. They'd make the last approach on foot. Two feet for her. Four for Rule, because that was how he'd handle this if he were trying to avoid capture instead of snapping the trap shut on himself. Lily opened her door. Rule had disconnected the interior lights, so no betraying light silhouetted her as she got out. She left the door open. No point in announcing their arrival. The air was cool and fresh and still. Scrub oaks climbed the hill to her right; the ground was dry and hard beneath her feet. It was very dark, with the shoulder of the hill and the scattered trees cutting off most of the starlight. Automatically she checked that her SIG Sauer was ready in her shoulder holster, then felt her braid. The thin knife woven into it was secure. Lily had flatly vetoed bringing anyone else along. The Aza wanted her and Rule alive and relatively undamaged. Anyone else was likely to be killed. Besides, they would all be needed later.

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Her plan hinged on two things. First, the spell. That would allow the others to find them—and should confuse whatever arrangements Harlowe and company had made. They'd expect their telepath to able to control Rule. Second, she and Rule had to be alive and awake for the sacrifice. Unconscious victims didn't yield the energies the goddess craved. Lily was fast. Much faster than they would be expecting. And it was very difficult to control a conscious and determined werewolf. Rule moved around the back of the car to join her, so silently that she didn't hear him at all. He'd changed to the cutoffs the others favored for combat; his skin was pale enough for her to see him in the darkness. She reached into her pocket and took out the spell bead and felt again the rash of wonder and pleasure, as if she held the wind in her hand. Then she slapped it against his chest, and the wind melted into him. For a moment she left her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. Her mouth was dry. He covered her hand with his, bent, and kissed her. With his mouth near hers he murmured, "I didn't agree to do this because you are in charge." "No?" she whispered. "I agreed because you were right. It's our best hope for stopping them." A sudden surge of feeling for him made her dizzy. There was gratitude, yes, intense gratitude for the way he'd tried to shoulder some of her burden. But there was so much more. More than she had words for, more than they had time for. She seized his head in her two hands, pulled it down—and instead of kissing him, pressed her cheek against his. Then, her heart pounding, she let him go and stood back. And watched him Change. It was as if reality itself flickered, time bending in and out of itself like a Mobius strip on speed. Impossible not to stare. Impossible to say what she saw in the darkness—a shoulder, furred, or was it bare? A muzzle that was also Rule's face—a stretching, snapping disfocus, magic strobing its fancy over reality. Then there was a wolf beside her. An extremely large wolf. The top of his head reached her breasts. An atavistic thrill shot through her, not quite fear—the visceral recognition of power. She rested her hand on his back.So this is how Rule's fur feels … and there was as much wonder in this touch as in the earlier one, when she'd held Raven's spell. Together they moved forward. This was the one way Rule wasn't keeping to the program he would have followed had he meant to walk away from the trap. Normally he would have coursed ahead, using scent and hearing to mark the presence of any attackers. But he'd refused to leave Lily's side. They would be taken together. Lily couldn't hear Rule at all; her own feet scuffed softly on the dry ground. They followed the road but kept to the cover at its side as they rounded the curve. Just ahead was a blacker shape that must be the shack. It, like the area around them, looked utterly deserted.

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A large, furry head pressed against her legs, stopping her. She looked down. Rule tipped his muzzle to the left, pointing. "They're in the trees?" He nodded. Okay. They'd go forward as if they didn't know that She drew her weapon and nodded. There was cover all the way up to the shack. The place might have been chosen for its accessibility to those who didn't want to be seen. Lily slipped from shadow to shadow, crouching now behind a bush, now behind a rusted barrel. Though she moved as quietly as she could, she wasn't as silent as Rule. He was a shadow himself, darkness wrapped in darkness. They were as close as they could get without going in. Lily was on one knee behind a tangle of high weeds, her weapon ready but pointed at the ground. Rule was beside her. If it hadn't been for the bond, she wouldn't have known he was there. He nudged her shoulder with his nose. Her heart was pounding hard—adrenaline as much as fear now. She hoped, burned for a fight. But that wasn't why they were here. She nodded at him. He slunk, near to the ground, up to the gaping darkness where the door should be, then stood upright, looking over his shoulder. That was a come-ahead look. She licked her lips, stood, and followed him. The door was missing, though she had to put out a hand to tell. The interior was utterly black. Rule moved forward, vanishing into that darkness. For a second she hesitated.It's no worse than opening your mouth when the dentist is standing there with his drill , she told herself.Sure, it's going to hurt. So ? She felt with her foot, found the place where dirt ended and floor began, and stepped inside. No one hit her over the head. She couldn't hear or see Rule, but she felt him nearby. Cautiously she eased forward, wondering if she should risk a light. But what was the risk? They were supposed to— The hissing sound to her left made her spin that way—only her head kept spinning. Round and round, a sickening spin that flung her loose from consciousness as the blackness swallowed her. TWENTY-EIGHT LILY woke slowly. Her mouth felt fuzzy, and her head pounded. She was lying on something hard. And she was cold. Her eyes blinked open. A gray ceiling… rock. Rock overhead, and rock beneath her. She was… Rule! Where was he? She turned her head too fast. Nausea rose, and her throat burned. She swallowed and closed her eyes again.

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"It should pass off quickly," a man's tenor voice said cheerfully. "Humans don't react as strongly to the stuff as lupi do. Rule's still out." "They gassed us." Already the nausea was passing, though her head hurt. "A derivative of fentanyl—crude, but effective. My suggestion, I'm afraid. I thought it would do less damage than a whack on the head if you two were stupid enough to show up for our little rendezvous." She turned her head carefully. And stared. "Cullen Sea-bourne?" "Live and in person." The beautiful face was wrecked. Scar tissue covered his empty eye sockets. His skin was patchy—dried blood from the terrible wounds had flecked or rubbed off in places but still stained him in others. His beard was growing out. He was shirtless, and his jeans were stiff with old blood. "You're a mess." "A sight to scare the kiddies, I'm sure. Itches like crazy." He was lupus, she reminded herself. He could heal the wounds… if they all lived through this. The fuzziness hadn't been confined to her mouth. As her head cleared, she stretched out her left hand and found Rule's arm. His skin was warm and comforting. He'd reverted to human form when the gas knocked him out. Feeling steadier, she gave sitting up a try. She didn't pass out. She did have to swallow a few times. Rule lay beside her, eyes closed. His nakedness wasn't a surprise, as he'd warned her that clothes didn't travel through the Change. The handcuffs were, but they'd allowed for that possibility. They should fall away when he Changed again. His breathing was reassuringly even. She put her hand on his shoulder and noticed that her arm was bare. She looked down. She was wearing a thin, white cotton shift and nothing else. Dammit, had they… she put a hand to her head and found that her hair was loose. The knife was gone. Not good news. Instead of panic, though, a hard, cold knot of anger began to throb inside her. "How long was I out?" "One loses track of time here, but I'd guess you were delivered about thirty minutes ago." Thirty minutes. Not bad, depending on how long it had taken to bring them here. The others needed time to get in place. 'Tell me what the place looks like, won't you?" Cullen said. "I've made some guesses—they let me out now and then to do tricks or take tea with our hostess—but eyes pick up more detail than ears." "We're in a glass cage—looks like pretty thick glass—in a cave or cavern—"

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"I've got all that." He was impatient. "Get to the details." Her heart was pounding hard, but steady. She was locked up, yes, but she was cold, not sweltering. She could see out. "We're at one end of a long, narrow cavern, maybe seventy feet from end to end. The ceiling's about ten feet here, rough gray stone. It rises at the other end. I can't see how high it is there—the light doesn't reach that far up. Two visible exits,but there could be more. The walls are uneven, and the shadows make it hard to tell." "How's it lit?" "Cables strung along the walls." "Anyone watching us?" God. He wouldn't know, would he? They'd blinded him and locked him in a glass cage… Would they have done that if they'd taken over his mind? "There's a guard about five feet from the wall facing the main part of the cavern. Big fellow, over six feet, maybe two hundred pounds. He's watching us, but not closely. Looks bored. He has a rifle, looks like an M-16, and… I can't see what's holstered at his hip." "Is he wearing black pajamas?" "Something like that." She squinted at the other end of the cavern, trying to make out details. The light wasn't good. "Why?" "Just wondered if they played dress-up all the time." "There are three people at the other end of the cavern wearing robes. White robes. Ah… they're cleaning a big slab of rock. Maybe an altar." She couldn't make assumptions about Cullen. Maybe sorcerers were harder to control than others, and they'd used pain to weaken him. "Getting ready for tonight's performance, are they?" He sighed. "Not to knock the company, sweetheart, but I was profoundly discouraged when they dumped you two in here with me. Seems to accord us all the same status, doesn't it? And I've worked so hard to persuade them of my willingness to sell out friends, family, whoever. I quite thought I'd succeeded." He paused. "Almost makes one doubt their sincerity." She looked at him, frowning. "What in the world are you doing?" He was sitting cross-legged, his back to the rest of the cavern, his hands busy—with nothing. He smiled. It was an odd sight in that ruined face. "Weaving. It helps to have a hobby. Would you like to meet my imaginary friend?" "No, thanks." Only one way to know for sure. She leaned toward him and put her hand on his arm. "Why, sweetheart." His smile turned suggestive—and that was just plain grotesque. "I'm not averse to an audience, but do you really think this is the time?" Lily snatched her hand back. The buzz of magic had been strong and strange—lupus, but mixed with something else. It had not been slimy. He was clean. "You're annoying, but you aren't bespelled." "Ah." He still had his eyebrows, though the hairs were rusty with flecks of dried blood. He lifted them.

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"So you know about Helen's habits? Interesting. No, I'm shielded, much to her frustration." "Who's Helen? The telepath?" He continued with his air-weaving. "That's all the name I have for her.They call her Madonna, and not after the rock star, which would certainly piss off a lot of… ah, he's waking up. Good." How did Cullen know that, without eyes? But he was right. Lily turned and found Rule's eyes open. "Give it a minute before you try to move," she said softly. "Cullen says the stuff they gassed us with hits lupi harder man humans." Automatically she rested a hand on his shoulder. And froze. He grimaced. "My mouth feels like I forgot to take out the garbage… what is it?" "The spell. It's gone." He didn't say anything for a long moment. "You're sure?" "Yes." She should have noticed right away, the first time she touched him. She hadn't been thinking—the need to touch had overridden everything else.Damn, damn, damn … "What spell?" Cullen asked sharply. Rule's eyes flicked to hers, a question in them. "He's clean," she said, "but…" "If he's clean, we can trust him." Grimacing, he rolled onto his side and sat up. His eyes widened when he saw Cullen. "Holy Mother. They did a job on you, didn't they?" Cullen spoke without looking up from his mysteriously busy hands. "Never mind that now. What are you doing here? I wasted a lot of time and energy getting you that message, dammit." "We're supposed to be defeating the bad guys and rescuing you," Rule said dryly. "But my protection seems to have failed." Cullen snorted. "No, it hasn't." Lily shook her head impatiently. "It's gone. I'm a sensitive. I can tell." "And I'm happy for you, I'm sure, but if Rule weren't protected, he'd stink of that damned staff of hers. He doesn't." "I know the spell is gone. I couldn't be mistaken about that." "Had a protection spell, did he?" Cullen looked up briefly. "You're right. I don't see anything like that. But there's some spooky things going on with the power flowing between you two. "Uh—you see this?" "I can't see your face, sweetheart, but I can see your colors."

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"Apparently you're seeing the mate bond," Rule said. "But it doesn't confer any kind of protection." "Well, it's doing something." He was back to playing with his fingers, frowning intently. "Which is not supposed to be possible, but a lot of odd things have been happening lately, haven't they?" That's what Grandmother had said. "But what? What could the mate bond do?" "I'd guess that Rule is somehow drawing on your immunity to magic. The downside is that the protection spell couldn't stick. But his borrowed immunity seems to have kept the lovely Helen from working her wiles on him, so it evens out." "Not entirely even," Rule said. "The spell was also supposed to lead the others to us." "Others?" "Max, several federal agents, Benedict, and his squad." Cullen sighed. "What I wouldn't give to see Benedict come howling to the rescue—if I could see at all, that is. But it sounds as if we'll have to handle things ourselves." Lily thought dimly that she should have been terrified. But the knot of anger was growing, taking over her chest. It was cold, icy cold, and calm rather than roiling. She welcomed it. /won't let them do it. I won't let them hurt him. I'm older now, stronger. I can fight back . Rule scooted close to her so that their hips and arms pressed together. He bent his head. "You all right?" "Yes." Rage was better than fear. She leaned her head close to his and breathed in his scent. The richness of it flooded her, blending with the rage. "We're down to your teeth and my reflexes." His smile was swift, the gleam in his eyes feral. "My teeth are sharp." "And I have my grandmother's reflexes." "There!" Cullen exclaimed, his voice thick with satisfaction. "That's the last one. Let's see how it works." She turned to look. He was lowering his hand, palm down, toward the stone floor, his head tilted as if he were staring intently at it. When his hand reached the floor, he waited a second, then exhaled gustily. "It didn't explode. Always a good sign, I think." Lily was beginning to think that Cullen's head might not have been tampered with, but it wasn't screwed on too tightly. "Can that guard hear us?" Rule asked. "I don't think so, if we keep our voices down," Lily said, then, "What?" at his and Cullen's identical astonished expressions. "I spoke under the tongue."

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"Subvocalizing, you mean? You couldn't have. I can't hear that." "Can you hear this?" Cullen asked. His lips hadn't moved. Wide-eyed, she nodded. "Yes." "Then I'd say you're getting a little something through the mate bond, too. Fascinating. But no time to dwell on your new trick. There are things you need to know. First…" He glanced at Rule, his voice for once free of mockery. "I'm sorry, Rule. Mick's with them." Rule's face went blank. After a moment he said, "You're sure?" Cullen nodded, his face twisted with pity. "He wandered over to exchange courtesies with me. Uh… your current predicament was mostly his idea, I'm afraid. His idea as prompted by Her Nastiness, that is. She has this bloody abomination of a staff that snap-crackle-pops with power. With it, she can plant thoughts, not just read 'em. It's not quite like mind control, but it comes close." They'd taken Rule's brother.His brother . They'd turned him traitor, using his mind against him. Lily's hands clenched into fists. "We saw the results with two FBI agents." "You have some idea, then," Cullen said. "From what I've seen, she finds thoughts that seem to head in the direction she wants, then twists them a few notches until she gets the results she's after." He looked at Rule, then away. "Mick, uh… the way she twisted him, he believes he's saving Nokolai by getting rid of you and Isen." Rule's eyes were bleak. "I will kill them for what they did to him." "You'll have to take a number," Cullen said grimly. "The good news is that these Aza don't know jack shit about sorcery. I've been collecting sorceri, and—" He stopped, his head turning. Lily heard it, too. Chanting. How far away? She couldn't make out words. "I can blow this thing," Cullen continued quickly. "Our glass cage, that is. I've got control of the grid under the stone. At least, I think I do. My plan was to wait for the next time Her Holiness showed up, and when she was standing close enough—ka-boom!" His ruined face was fierce with joy for a moment. Then he shrugged. "But I'm not crazy about going ka-boom along with it. So the question is, do we all go up in glorious martyrdom together? Or do we try something when they come for us? Which I gather," he added, "they are about to do." The chanting was closer. She could hear words now, but they weren't in a language she knew. "An explosion." Lily licked her lips. "Yes. It would make a good distraction." "If you can do it from a distance," Rule said. "Can you?" "Probably… yes, I can take this…" He put his hand back on the stone. "I need a piece of it. Like a fuse." Lily looked at Rule. "If Benedict and the others are anywhere close, they'll hear it." "But they may not be. Cullen and I will have to keep the rest of them back while you get the staff away

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from her." "Which means we need to be away from this cage but close to her before we act." "Shouldn't be a problem." Cullen's cheer bordered on the manic. "She'll herd us around personally with that damned staff. You should know, though—" "They're here," Lily said as the first cowled figures emerged from one of the exits. Their robes were white. They carried candles.Yes , she wanted to tell Cullen,they do play dress-up … "That staff of hers," Cullen said quickly. "She can paralyze you with it. The pain is… incredible. I don't know how close she has to be to use it that way." "She can't paralyze me," Lily said. "And if Rule shares my immunity—" "Maybe he shares it, or maybe it's halved, split between the two of you." Cullen grimaced. "Be good to make some tests, but—" The white robes had given way to a group wearing black— ninja-style dress like the lone guard near their cage. "—there's no time, is there?" White robes headed for the other end of the cavern, chanting. "There are twelve guards, twice that many in robes," Lily said quickly. "The guards are armed—rifles and side arms. All male, I think. With them is a woman dressed in white." "Headed this way," Rule added. "Her Holiness. God, I can't wait. If the Lady is kind, I'll sink my teeth into her throat tonight." "I'll make an arrest, if possible." But Lily's words were as much for herself as him, because the rage inside her understood. Agreed. Cullen's lip lifted in a snarl. "You can arrest what's left of her, if you like." The guards were forming up in two lines, leaving a passage for the woman. "If you've got any sense," Rule snapped, "you'll help me with the others so Lily can tackle Helen." "Get the damned staff away from her," Cullen said, low and fierce. "Get it away, and I'll burn it. It has to burn." A high, chilly voice said, "Open it." They were here. The woman was tiny. Her body was concealed by her loose white robe, and the hand holding a tall, wooden staff was almost childishly small. She had a high, rounded forehead, very pale skin, and a small chin. She looked about fifty.

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Lily felt her lip lifting in a snarl. This was the one who, through whatever intermediary, had killed Carlos Fuentes. She'd made a bloody pulp of Therese. She'd corrupted Rule's brother. She planned to kill Rule, to feed her goddess with his death and the mate bond. The burly guard unlocked the door and swung it open. "Madonna." Cullen was on his feet, smiling. "How nice of you to drop by. I'd ask you in, but my quarters have grown a bit crowded." "I am going to remedy that, Cullen. The woman first," she said to the guard. Lily had hoped they'd be careless with her—she was small, she was female, and they hadn't bothered to tie her hands. But the gun barrel in her back told her to wait. Wait a little longer. Instead she looked in the eyes of her enemy and said, "You're under arrest." That earned her a single peal of girlish laughter. Amusement lingered in the curve of her thin, pale lips. "With what am I charged?" "Murder by magical means. Conspiracy to commit murder by magical means." "You may have a little trouble bringing your case to trial, Detective. I don't think they allow dead people to testify." She looked at the guard behind Lily. The one with a gun in her back. "Use the knife—at her face, I think." The flat of a blade was pressed against Lily's cheek. "You will behave, won't you, Mr. Turner?" she said in that high, sweet voice. "Or my guard will remove your mate's eye. I prefer to deliver her undamaged, but it isn't necessary." Rule's lips were white. His eyes were black. Completely black. "Bend your neck and allow my man to slip the chain over." He bent. One of the guards slid a choke chain around his neck, then backed away and tugged. "Come on." Rule left the glass cage with three rifles trained on him. They led him to stand next to Lily. "Now, Cullen, it's your turn." "I think I'll sit this one out," he said amiably. She shook her head. "If I have to punish you so that my men can carry you out, I will not be gentle." Cullen heaved a huge sigh. "Persuasive as always." They tossed a pair of handcuffs into the cage. Cullen groped for them and put them on. He moved to the doorway,ducked his head, and received a chain like Rule's. They started down the cavern, with Helen bringing up the rear. Too far away.Wait , Lily told herself.

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The bitch was the priestess or something like that. She'd be part of the ceremony. She'd have to come close. "How far should we get to be safe from the blast?" Rule asked. "The farther the better, probably," Cullen replied. "Probably?" "You think I've done this before?" The white robes stood in curved rows facing the altar stone, with a wide aisle left open. They were still chanting as Lily, Rule, Cullen, and guards processed down the aisle like a macabre wedding party. Chanting the same phrase over and over. One man stood next to the altar, leading the chant. His hood was pushed back. He was an older man, with a pleasant but nondescript face. The kind you would forget two minutes after meeting him. "Is that Harlowe?" Lily asked, surprised. "Yes." That came from Cullen. "He's a slimy bastard—not a true believer like Helen, but he likes power. He's not happy with her right now. She's pushing them faster than he likes." Lily nodded. Her mouth was too dry to spit. Her mind was clear, though, her heartbeat steady. Her rage burned cold and strong.Not this time. You won't kill someone I love while I watch. Not this time . The chant stopped. "Line up in front of Her altar," that clear, childish voice said. Lily reached it first and turned to look out at a sea of anonymous, white-robed figures. Shadows danced from the candles they held. Rule stopped. "Mick," he said, his voice hoarse. He was looking at one of the white robes. One of the guards smashed a rifle butt into Rule's kidneys, staggering him. "Keep moving." The white-robed figure stirred slightly. "Mick," Rule said urgently, "never mind about me. Will you let them sacrifice myChosen ?" The figure spoke, his voice thick, as if the words were dragged up against resistance. "Your… Chosen?" "He's lying to you, Mick," Helen said. "There is noChosen here. Just one of your brother's whores." "I am Rule's Chosen," Lily said quickly. "That's why she wants us. Because of the mate bond. She—" The blow from her guard came too fast for her to dodge, an openhanded slap to the side of her head that sent her to the ground. "Rule." Mick's voice was suddenly clear and urgent. "On your honor.Is she your Chosen?"

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"Yes." Mick shifted, agitated. "That's wrong. That's wrong. You can't—" "Mick." Helen moved closer to him. "They're lying. You know they're lying." She held out her staff— "Now!" Rule said. And the other end of the room exploded in a blistering, white-hot flash. Lily was on the floor, so she rolled quickly two times to get out of the reach of her guard. Shefelt Rule Change as the room exploded again—with screams and gunfire this time— and she rolled up into a crouch, aimed herself at the small white figure who was turning toward Rule, staff extended. And leaped. She crashed into Helen, bringing her to the ground. The woman landed fighting, hitting Lily with the staff, screaming, "Damn you, damn, you,die !" Lily barely noticed the blows. She seized Helen's head in her hands and banged it against the stone floor. Once. Again. Yes,smash her head, yes, she won't touch Rule, won't hurt him . Helen was limp now, not moving— Something struck her shoulder. She felt this blow; the shock of it flashed down her left arm, which went suddenly weak. A bullet. She'd been shot. Lily bunked, dazed, and looked down at Helen, who was… dead. Helen was dead. The staff. Had to destroy the staff, too. But when she twisted, looking, she didn't see it. She did see Rule, his jaws clamped around the neck of one black-clad figure. He flung the man away, but there were others—others firing at him even as he launched himself at the next one. A gun. She needed a gun, had to shoot them, stop them—yes, there was an automatic one of them had dropped. She started to crawl to it, but her left arm collapsed under her weight, so she rolled again, ending with the unfamihar weapon in her hand. The huge, full-throated roar of a tiger sounded over the din of gunshots and screams. Oh, thank God. Thank God. Grandmother was here. Lily sighted as best she could, one-handed, and started shooting. TWENTY-NINE HARRY butted his head against Lily's leg, complaining loudly. "All right, all right. Not that I have time for this," she muttered, heading for the kitchen and Harry's food dish. Herown kitchen, in her own little apartment. Rule still wanted her to move in, but she wasn't ready for that. "The ceremony's in…" She started to glance at her watch, winced, and remembered to look on her

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other wrist. One hour and twenty minutes. She had time, she told herself. She was dressed, which was what took the longest right now. And it was ridiculous to be this nervous, only it took forever to fix her hair with this stupid sling. Just getting the lid off the bin holding Harry's food was a chore. She managed, and was replacing the lid when her doorbell rang. "Not a good time," she said under her breath as she went to the door. But when she looked through the peephole, she opened the door. "Well, look at you." Karonski was as rumpled and fashion-challenged as ever, but for once he wasn't scowling. "Got any coffee?" She shook her head, smiling. "There's probably some left in the pot. Come in. You'll have to get it yourself, though," she said, heading for the bathroom. "And talk while I finish getting ready. I'm, ah, due somewhere at noon." "I know." She glanced over her shoulder at him, surprised. He smiled crookedly. "I'm your ride. Rule asked me." "Oh. Well, that's great. How are you feeling?" she asked, picking up her brush and frowning at her reflection. There was no way she could braid her hair. It would have to be left loose. "Good. I'm good. I was one of the lucky ones." "Yes." She dragged the brush through her hair. When Helen died, there'd been a sort of rebound effect on her victims. Most of them had gone crazy, though in different ways. The ones who'd been under her control the longest and the deepest—many of them in the cavern—had exploded in homicidal fury. But two of them had suicided. So had Mech. Lily's eyes filled. "Dammit." She flung the brush down. If she hadn't killed Helen, Mech would still be alive. "It's okay," Karonski said quietly. "I've been there. You do fine when it's all going down, but afterward…" He shrugged awkwardly. "You get weepy all of a sudden." She tried for a smile. "You, weepy?" "Hey, us Poles are manly men. A few tears doesn't change that." She nodded, took a deep breath, and picked up her mascara. Good. Her hand wasn't shaking. It was hard to apply mascara when you had the shakes. "So how's Croft?"

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"Busy. He's the smart half of the team, you know, so I let him handle the paperwork." Karonski chuckled and went on to talk about his partner, idle talk that filled the moment, giving her time to get herself back together. Lily did her best to take advantage of that. But her attention wasn't with him or the familiar task of applying makeup. Karonski had been one of the lucky ones, all right. Still sedated when Lily killed Helen, his mind had been shielded from the worst of the rebound. And he'd had a trained shaman standing by. None of the others had been as fortunate. There was a city councilman in a quiet, private room at a sanitarium. The wealthy widow of a congressman was catatonic. The doctors were optimistic about a few of them, though. The Air Force colonel who'd turned himself in, for example, once his mind cleared. He hadn't been under Helen's control long. Captain Randall had been unaffected. He'd been clean all along. And he hadn't forgiven Lily for doubting him, though he had paid her a stiff courtesy visit before they discharged her from the hospital. She'd apologized. And then she'd quietly resigned from the department. As for Harlowe… Lily was trying not to worry about him. Not today, at least. They didn't know what the rebound had done to him because somehow, in all the confusion, he'd gotten away… apparently with the staff. They'd never found it, either. Or Ginger. Then there was Mick. Lily swallowed past the ache in her throat and dropped her lipstick in her purse. Rule had been down, bleeding. One of the Aza had been about to put a bullet in his head—a silver bullet. Mick had leaped between them. The bullet had smashed his heart beyond the power of even a lupus to heal. Some might call what he'd done suicide. But since he'd died saving his brother's life, she prefered to think he'd gotten a sudden, overwhelming dose of sanity. "I'm ready," she said. "Let's go."

"SO," Karonski said, sliding behind the wheel of his car, "you want to explain to me how you can be here when Rule is at Clanhome?" "I would if I understood it. For some reason the mate bond suddenly loosened after the big fight. Rule said that happens sometimes." It was still very much present, though. She needed him, physically and every other way, and didn't want to be away too far or too long. But shecould be away now, for awhile. And she'd needed that, needed a bit of privacy. Time to herself. She had a lot to work through. "Another thing I don't understand. How did the others manage to arrive in the proverbial nick of time?" She glanced at him, amused. "I don't know about nick of time. A few minutes earlier would have been

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nice." He sighed. "You aren't going to tell me, are you?" "Nope. Need-to-know only, Karonski. And you don't." The answer she wouldn't give him was Max. When the spell failed, the others had been halfway to the spot marked on Cullen's map. They'd continued, of course.Walker knew where one cave was, though they had no idea if it connected to the place where she and Rule had been taken. But they'd had Max. Gnomes know rocks and earth the way birds know air and wind. With his usual combination of insult and braggadocio, Max had assured them that he could find his way to any spot in any cave system blindfolded. It hadn't been that easy, of course. They'd made a few wrong turns, and some of the passages had been hair-raisingly tight. But once they got close enough for the lupi's ears to pick up the chanting, they'd had a directional fix. Max had been able to lead them straight to the cavern. Lily just wished she could have seen the confrontation between Benedict and Grandmother before they entered the caves. Lily had put Benedict in charge of the field team, and he had flatly refused to take an old woman into battle. He'd been ready to tie her up to make sure she didn't "tag along," as he'd put it. But no one was in charge of Grandmother. She'd resolved the argument by Changing. Lily shook her head, smiling. Trust Grandmother to pick the moment with the ripest drama to let the others know that lupi weren't the only ones with a second form. "What's the joke?" Karonski said. "Families. They can drive you crazy, but where would we be without them?" "True enough. You're sort of picking up a lot more family today, aren't you?" "I guess I am."

SOMEONE else was at the gate this time. Sammy, the redhead, was mending from the bullet he'd taken, but he wasn't fit for duty yet. They parked a little ways from the open field in the center of the village. It was filled with people. Rule was waiting. He limped toward the car, smiling. Rule had taken four bullets to her one. The guards had hesitated to shoot at her, since she was so close to Helen. One of the bullets had collapsed his lung, which hadn't slowed him much at the time but had made for some scary moments after it was over. But his wounds were nearly healed now, while her shoulder still hurt like blazes and kept her from using that arm. The mate bond hadn't given her his ability to heal. They were still trying to figure out what, exactly, had changed in each of them.

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In more ways than one. "Hi, there," she said, moving easily into his arms. He hugged her, careful of her shoulder. "Ready?" She nodded. Lupus ceremonies were more casual affairs than most human rituals. People called greetings to Rule—and some to her—as they walked, hand in hand, to the center of the field, where theRho sat on a large, flat stone. Normally he would have stood for the ceremony, she'd been told. He wasn't well enough for that yet, but he had insisted on holding the ceremony today anyway. Lily didn't understand why, but for the lupi, the discovery of aChosen —any Chosen— was cause for great celebration. It seemed to be tied to their religious beliefs. Whatever the reason for their feeling aboutChosen , it went deep. Deep enough to have jolted Mick out of Helen's control for a moment, giving them the chance they'd needed. Someone else waited in the center of the field. A lean man with hair the color of cinnamon and the most stunningly perfect face she'd ever seen—though part of it was hidden by dark glasses. Cullen's eyes hadn't finished regrowing yet. He was nude. Lily wasn't the only one joining Nokolai today. While Lily was still in the hospital, theRho had summoned Cullen. No one knew exactly what passed between the two of them, though Cullen had shared one part of it with Lily; even Benedict hadn't been present for that meeting. But Cullen had emerged dazed—and having accepted theRho 's offer. The clanless one would be outcast no more. Rule and Lily stopped a few feet back, leaving Cullen alone before theRho . "Cullen Seabourne," Isen said in a deep, carrying voice. "You are called to Nokolai by blood, by earth, and by fire. How do you answer?" Cullen dipped gracefully to his knees and bowed his head. "I submit, and answer with blood, to the earth, and through fire." "Raise your head and your arm." Cullen did, extending his right arm straight out. TheRho lifted his own arm. He bought up a knife in his other hand—and slashed Cullen's arm. Blood welled and dripped. Then he slashed his own arm. He turned it so the wound was facing the earth where Cullen's blood had spilled, and let his own blood drip into the same spot. "Our blood is joined," he announced. "We seal the union with fire." A woman Lily hadn't seen before stepped forward. She had gold-rimmed glasses and short white hair. She wore a loose green dress and carried a wand. She stopped three feet away from the two men, pointed her wand, and fire leaped from its tip to touch

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Cullen's wound, then theRho 's. Neither man's expression changed. Lily winced. That had to hurt. "Rule…" "Shh. Don't worry. You aren't called by blood, earth, and fire." Okay. Good. "By blood, to the earth, and through fire," theRho boomed, "you are Nokolai." There were a few cheers and a few who shouted "Welcome!" to the new clan member. Cullen rose gracefully to his feet and backed away. Someone tossed him a pair of cutoffs, and his grin flashed. He looked over at Rule. Rule gave him a grin and a thumbs-up. Then it was their turn. She walked with Rule to the stone where his father sat, and she knelt—less gracefully than Cullen, she feared. Rule knelt beside her. "We have been given a Chosen," theRho said, his voice even lower, a rumble like distant thunder. "The Lady has blessed Nokolai. When she calls on us, do we answer?" A hundred voices shouted, "Yes!" "But the Chosen also chooses. How do you choose, Lily Yu?" Lily had been told what the traditional reply was. She gave it—with an addition of her own. "I choose to honor the mate bond. I choose Nokolai. And… I choose Rule." Rule's hand tightened convulsively on hers. Isen blinked, startled, but he recovered quickly. "Then, in token of the Lady's choice and yours, accept this token from the hand of yourChosen ." He held out something that glittered, golden, in the sunlight. Rule took it. Lily bent her head, his hands at her nape as he brushed her hair aside, and he settled the necklace in place. She felt something else, too. Her hand went to the small gold shape suspended on the chain—a fluid shape, abstract, representing nothing that she recognized. But it felt familiar. It felt like magic, just a tiny breath of it. Magic… and moonlight. "Be welcome to Nokolai," theRho said in a voice rough with emotion. He leaned forward, took Lily's face in his two hands, and kissed her on the mouth. Then he sat back, grinning broadly. "And now," he roared, "we party!"

IT was hours before Rule had a moment with Lily alone. Finally, sensing that she was overwhelmed by all the attention—and frankly wanting to have her to himself—he'd pled his wounds and hers, and escaped to theRho 's house.

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"Thank God," Lily said, dropping onto the couch in the small parlor. "Everyone's been great, but it gets a little…" "Overwhelming?" Rule sat beside her. Now that he had her alone, he didn't know how to lead up to the question that had been burning in him all afternoon. She nodded. "I feel a little like a token myself." Her fingers brushed the little golden symbol that hung around her neck. "Everyone wanted to touch me." "We're a touchy-feely bunch." "But there's more to it than that. There's all this religious stuff attached to being aChosen . It's hard to take." "What you see as religion, we see as fact. Not undistorted," he admitted. "We've a long oral history, but the stories have undoubtedly lost pieces and gained others over the centuries." He took her hand. "Lily…" She leaned back, resting her head on the soft back of the couch and smiling at him. "Yes?" "You added something to the ritual. Words of your own. About me." "It seemed right." He swallowed. "Not long ago, you hated the bond, and you weren't too sure about me. What changed?" "As Cullen says your father told him, I may be stubborn. I may be slow sometimes. But I'm not stupid." She leaned close and kissed him, gently but thoroughly, on the lips. "It took me awhile, but it finally dawned on me that the mate bond hadn't been doneto me. How could it? I'm immune to magic. It had to come from inside me. I couldn't repudiate it without rejecting part of myself." The slow seep of relief, deep and profound, loosened his muscles. He sank back like her, resting his head on the back of the couch. And smiling. "Just think," she said dryly. "In a few days we get to go through another ceremony of sorts." "Hmm?" "The rehearsal dinner, remember? You'll meet the rest of my family. They may not be as welcoming as yours has been." He'd deal with that when the time come. Right now it was enough—more than enough—to be here with her. Accepted.Chosen … by the Ladyand by Lily. After a moment she put her hand on his thigh. "Tired?" "Exhausted," he admitted. And aching in a few places that hadn't finished healing… and beginning to ache somewhere that hadn't been damaged, as her hand eased farther up his thigh. He turned his head. "Nottoo tired," he told her. And, a second later, he caught her laughter with his mouth

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3 - Originally Human (2004)

Chapter 1 HELEN? Too dignified. I've never been terribly dignified. Rachel? A pretty name… it didn't feel right, though. I wasn't in the mood for Rachel. I paused, digging my toes into the sand. Overhead the sky was clear, its black dome fuzzed by the lights ahead.Galveston isn't large, but tourists like a place that's lively at night. I do, too, but prefer to live outside the city proper. Beside me the great, briny mother was in a quiet mood, her waves lapping at the sand like curled cats' tongues. That made me think of my neighbor, Mrs. Jenks—a nice woman, but with no talent for naming cats. She had three. The one she called Mona was a particular favorite of mine, sleek and black, who referred to herself as Wind-Who-Leaves-the-Grasses-Silent. Quite a mouthful in English, I'll admit. Well, what about Mona? A better name for a woman than a cat. No, it was too close to Molly, which was my current name. I'd be forever signing checks wrong.

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I sighed and started walking again. Walking in sand is good for the calf muscles. Doing it at night with the ocean whispering beside you is good for the soul. I'll admit to being vain about my legs. Otherwise I'm on the nice side of average, with my weight holding steady at fashionable-plus-fifteen and a thoroughly Irish face, complete with freckles and a pug nose. More motherly than cute these days, I suppose; I let my hair go white several years ago. But my legs are still excellent. Not that I was out walking for the sake of my muscle tone tonight. My calves were in better shape than my soul. Self-pity is so wearing. Unattractive, too. Really, I needed to settle on a name. It was time to move on. Just last night Sam had commented again on how I never seemed to change. Dear Sam. I sighed again. I would miss him. And several of the others, too, andGalveston itself. I loved the historic section and the view, breakfast at The Phoenix and seafood at Gaido's. I lived so close to the ocean that the salt-and-sea scent drifted in my window, and I could indulge in the private splendor of walking the beach at night… I was lucky, I reminded myself. Most women wouldn't feel safe alone on the beach at three in the morning. There have always been predators. But some would say that's what I am, too. I'm not easy to harm. I'd reached the narrow road that divided the public beach from the RV park where I live. Not that the owners call it an RV park, mind. It's a mobile-living village. That's the name, in fact: Beachside Village. I suppose a touch of pretension is inevitable if you want to charge such outlandish prices to rent a spot, and the location is wonderful—outside the city proper, right on the ocean. I stepped onto the soft asphalt, still warm from the summer sun. There was a soft sound, sort of apop-whoosh ! And a naked man lay at my feet. A beautiful, unconscious,bleeding naked man. Oh, dear. The air turned crisp and my hearing sharpened as those trusty fight-or-flight chemicals did their thing. But there was no one to fight—thank goodness—and I couldn't simply run away. I do not need this, I told myself as I knelt on the soft, tacky asphalt. My heart was galloping. I had no idea where he had come from or how he'd arrived, but those slashes across his chest, belly, and legs looked intentional. Someone did not like this man. I should head home immediately and call 911. I touched his throat, found a pulse, and exhaled in relief. The moon was nearly full, and I have excellent night vision. He was a breathtaking man, with skin so pale the sun might never have touched it. Pale everywhere, too, not just in the usual places. His hair was short, very dark, and almost as curly as my own. His eyelashes were absurdly long, giving him the look of a sleeping child… a look quite at odds with one of the loveliest male bodies I've ever seen. And I am something of a connoisseur of male bodies. And the slashes on that lovely chest, flat stomach, and muscular thighs were slowly closing. Blood barely

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oozed now. Whoever he was, he wasn't entirely human. Not as most people counted such things, anyway. And though I lovedTexas , there was no denying most people here were not very tolerant of those of the Blood. Not that he was lupus or Faerie or anything else I recognized, but who else could heal a wound so quickly? One of the Old Ones could. I shivered and shut a mental door before a name could slip into my thoughts. No point in taking any chances of disturbing Their sleep. Besides, one of Them wouldn't be so poky about healing a few cuts. The bleeding had stopped, but the gashes remained, a couple quite deep—though not, thankfully, the one in his stomach. One of Them could have made those cuts, though. And zapped Their victim here, or anywhere else They pleased. I did not need to be part of this. I'd call 911 and let them deal— He opened his eyes. They were silver in the moonlight, silver framed by a dark fringe of lashes. And so blank that I was sure there was no one home. The ache of that realization was sharp enough to surprise a small, sad "Oh" from me. All at once he wasthere , his gaze focused and intent, latching on to mine as if I'd tossed him a lifeline. " Ke hu räkken?" he whispered. I am so weak, I thought, annoyed. Long eyelashes and a body to die for, and I lose all sense. I wasn't going to call 911. "I do hope you speak English." "Enn… glish." He repeated the word as if he were holding it in his mouth, testing it for familiarity. "Yes. I can speak… English. This isEngland ?" "No, this isGalvestonIsland . It's inTexas ," I added when he looked blank. His accent was decidedly British—upper crust. "U.S.A.? Never mind. I'm going to help you, but I need to know who hurt you. And if they're likely to be close behind." "Who…" A frown snapped down. He lifted a hand to his side, touched one of the wounds, winced. He looked at his hand, the gory fingertips. "I'm damaged." "Yes, but not, I think, fatally. Though heaven knows I'm not a doctor. But a doctor would probably notify the police. Youwere attacked, weren't you?" He nodded slowly. "Who…" he said again, then stopped, looking baffled. "I'm bleeding." "Not as much as you were. Look, do you want me to call an ambulance?" "Am… bulance. An emergency vehicle." I nodded encouragingly. "Yes, you know—ambulances, doctors, nurses, the hospital, all that. They could take care of you there."

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"No." He was suddenly decisive. "No hospital." I sighed. "In that case, can you walk?" He considered that briefly. "I think so." "My motor home isn't far—you can see it from here, the Winnebago with the palm tree and the purple outbuilding. Oh, never mind. You can't see the color now, can you?" I was blithering, which annoyed me. "We need to get you out of sight. Someone might come along—an ordinary someone who would be startled by a naked, wounded man. Or the someone who attacked you. Will he, she, or it be able to follow you here?" "I don't know." Not much help. "Well, let's see if we can make it to my place. Please try to be quiet. Mr. Stanhope—he's my neighbor on the west—wakes up if anyone sneezes, and I'd just as soon not have to explain you." He nodded. Looking as if the motion required every ounce of concentration he could summon, he shifted onto his side, braced himself awkwardly with his hands, and pushed into a sitting position. He wobbled. I slipped an arm around him. "Dizzy?" "Not… used to this. It hurts." "I know. I'm sorry. Can you stand?" "I will try." Getting him vertical might have been funny if I'd been watching instead of participating. All those lovely muscles worked fine, but he was too woozy to know what to do with them. We did end up on our feet, though, with my arm around his waist where I wouldn't touch any of his wounds, and his feet set wide, like a toddler unsure of his balance. He didn't feel like a toddler. A decided sexual buzz warmed me, and it wasn't entirely due to the hard male body pressed against my side. He fairly hummed with energy, some breed of magic I'd never encountered before. He was also only about three inches taller than me, which was a surprise. Not only is everyone taller than I am these days, but he'd looked big lying down. I suppose it was something about the way he was proportioned—perfectly. And packed solid. Very solid. I'm stronger than I look, but if I had to support too much of his weight we might both end up on the ground. I turned my head and looked into eyes only inches from mine. The skin around those eyes was tight and bleached. "You okay?" "I'm unsure what okay means in this context. I can proceed. I want me out of sight, too." "Let's do it." A short chain-link fence runs all the way around the Village. Three years ago I persuaded management

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to let me put in a gate at my plot so I didn't have to go the long way around to get to the beach. By the time we reached that gate, neither of us was breathing normally. He was in pain. I was aroused. "Not far now," I assured him. I was going to have to behave myself, that was all there was to it. I glanced at his face, taut and damp with sweat. He looked to be in his mid-to-late twenties—too young to think of me sexually unless I wanted him to. Or got careless. I sighed. This was not going to be easy. "I don't have a thing you can wear." He stared at me, offended. "I am trying… to breathe. And not bleed. You are… worried about clothing?" I glanced down. The deep gash in his thigh had started oozing again, which wasn't surprising. I could see bone. "If we can get to the tree, you can lean against it while I get the door open." He grunted. We lurched forward. Getting through the narrow gate was tricky, but we made it and I more or less propped him against the palm. He looked dreadful. A couple more gashes had started bleeding again, which probably meant he was losing control, perhaps close to passing out. He leaned against the trunk, eyes closed, chest heaving. "I liked… lying down better. You have a place… I can lie down?" "You can have my bed. We just have to get you there." I hurried to the nearest door—which, with the way my Winnebago was parked, meant the driver's door. I didn't think he was up to trekking around to the other side. He was going to make a mess of my leather seat, I thought sadly as I dug in the pocket of my shorts for my keyless remote. The lock clicked before I punched it. I froze. "What is it?" His voice was low, hoarse. I turned slowly, my eyes searching the shadows. "Someone unlocked the door before I could." "Oh." He sounded apologetic. "That might have been me. I am wishing very much to be inside." "You aren't sure?" My voice may have been a little shrill. "I'm not used to this place. The energies are different than… they're different." He paused. "Who are you, and why are you helping me?" Suspicion would be natural, even healthy, under the circumstance. But he sounded more curious than wary. I opened the door, quickly shut off the dome light, and returned to him. "My name is Molly Brown. I'm helping you because you're hurt. Also," I admitted in a flash of honesty, "because I've been rather bored lately." "You are curious about me." Some fugitive emotion roughened his voice. Disgust? Satisfaction? "Very. I'll save most of my questions until I get you inside, but—" "I can't answer your questions."

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"You'll have to, if you want my help." "I cannot," he said hollowly. The despair in his voice tugged at me. I fought to hold firm against it. "I don't want your life history, but I do need to know who you are, where you came from, who's after you and why." "I don't know." "You don't know who tried to kill you?" "I don't know any of it." I believed him. I'm a fool sometimes, the same as everyone else, but I believed the crushed bewilderment in his voice. I didn't say anything more, just slid my arm around his waist again. "You will help anyway?" That was hope I heard now—and oh, how painful hope can be, in all its uncertainty. "Looks like." I sighed over my folly and and supported him the last few feet to my home. Chapter 2 WE got him up the step and into the driver's seat, where he discovered that he liked sitting better than standing, too. But he'd be visible up there, not to mention difficult to work on, so we heaved him onto his feet again and staggered together into my little bedroom, where he fell on the bed and promptly passed out. I stood there getting my breath back, and not due to unrequited lust this time. He was heavy. Then I tossed a blanket over him, grabbed a smudging stick and the bucket I kept under the sink, and headed back out. He'd left a good deal of blood on the road. He'd probably also left various magical traces. I wouldn't be able to get rid of all the blood or other traces, but I could make them less conspicuous. Twenty minutes later I'd washed most of the blood off the asphalt and tossed dirt on top of what remained to disguise it. I'd smudged all the way around my little lot, quietly calling up what protections I knew. I'm not Gifted, but there are some things even the magic-blind can do, and the sage I used had been prepared and blessed by a Wiccan High Priestess. I couldn't help feeling like the little piggy in the straw house, though. I suspected that whoever—whatever?—had clawed up my guest could blow away my puny protections with one big, bad huff. He was still out cold when I came back in, poor boy. I hated to wake him, but, magic or no magic, those wounds had to be cleaned. He needed fluids, too. But maybe I should callErin first—my Wiccan friend. I was going to need help. No, better wait until I knew who or what I was dealing with. I needed answers. Or maybe— Stop it! I told myself sternly. But the body sometimes reveals what we'd rather not know. The hand I lifted to rub my forehead was unsteady, and my insides were gripped by a fine vibration, like a dry leaf aquiver in the wind just before it quits its home on the tree.

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Why was I doing this? For all I knew, the unconscious man in my bed was the bad guy, not the victim. Or some complicated mingling of both. I could do something about that particular uncertainty, at least. I picked up the phone. "Erin?" I said to the sleepy voice on the other end. "This is Molly." For a little while longer, anyway. "Do you know what time it is?" she muttered. There was a sleepy voice in the background—Erin's husband, Jack, an accountant with a wicked laugh and no trace of a Gift. A good man, though he holds on to trump too long.Erin told him to go back to sleep, then spoke to me. "What is it?" "I need help." Now she was crisp, wide awake. "Immediately?" "No, in the daylight will be fine. Um… I've an unexpected guest, mysterious and somewhat damaged. I'd like you to meet him." Silence, then a sigh. "I suppose you don't want to tell me more over the phone." "I'd rather not," I said apologetically. It's very difficult to listen in on a call magically—technology is better at that sort of thing. But it is possible. "Oh, and could you bring me some more of that cleansing mixture you made for me? The one with rue, broom, and agrimony." Which, of course, are not cleansing herbs. They were components of a spell granting true vision, used to see through lies. Used by a Wiccan High Priestess, however, the spell could reveal a good deal more. "Look for me about nine-thirty." She was grim. "I'd be there earlier, but my car's in the shop. I'll have to take Jack to work so I can use his." "I owe you." "You know perfectly well it's the other way around. Molly, for heaven's sake, what have you gotten yourself into?" "I don't know yet," I said, eyeing the man in my bed—who had woken and was eyeing me back. "But it promises to be interesting. I'll see you in a few hours." I disconnected and put the phone down. In the soft light from my bedside lamp, my guest's eyes were a clear, pale blue. Quite striking. Also filled with suspicion. "To whom were you speaking?" Wasn't that just like a man? Earlier he'd trusted for no particular reason, now he suspected when there was little cause—and little remedy, if he'd been right. "No one says 'to whom' these days," I told him, heading for my tiny bathroom, where I collected peroxide and gauze and dampened a washcloth. "You'll need to learn more colloquial speech if you stay here long." "Whom is the object of the preposition." He frowned as I returned, either at having his grammar corrected or at the prospect of having his wounds cleaned. "How else would one say it?" "Most people would say, 'Who were you talking to?' Which is technically incorrect, but language changes."

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"Very well. Who were you talking to?" "A friend. She'll do you no harm, as long as you mean no harm. This, however, is going to hurt." I poured peroxide into the deep slash on his thigh and started mopping up the dried blood around it. His breath hissed between his teeth. He grabbed my wrist. "Stop that!" I have always wanted to be able to raise one eyebrow, but mine only move in tandem. I lifted them. "Are you certain you can prevent infection?" "Is that what…" His eyebrows drew together in a frustrated pleat. "There are other ways to prevent infection." "You didn't want to see a doctor, remember? You're stuck with me, and this is what I know to do." Grudgingly he nodded and released my wrist. I sat on the bed beside him. The next few minutes were harder on him than me. I learned long ago how to move into a mental room where sympathy can't intrude. It's a white, private place, nowhere I'd want to live permanently, but there are times when sympathy is a drawback. Besides, I saw no point in both of us suffering. There were four slashes in his flesh—one in the lower chest, another on the right side of his belly, and two in his thigh. He was lucky. The upper wounds were shallow, slicing through skin and a bit of muscle but leaving his innards intact. One of the thigh wounds was no more than a deep scratch. The other… I sighed, unhappy with what I saw with the blood cleaned away. "How good are you at healing? The muscle is badly damaged, and I'm not sure my sewing skills are up to putting it back together right." "Sewing? You wish to sew my muscle?" "I'll have to, unless you can do something." He was silent, but with an inward look that suggested he was checking things out in his own way. A moment later, the wound began to close. It was fascinating to watch. Flesh touched flesh as if hands were gently urging the sides of the wound together, then gradually meshed into unity like dough kneaded back into a single lump. And a delicious energy surged through me, conveyed from him to me through my hand on his leg. My fingers tingled. I licked my lips. And snatched my hand back. He was a guest, not a meal. Shaken, I let go of my hold on the white, interior space. The slow knitting of his flesh was still fascinating, but my vision was colored by compassion now. When he finished, the gash was nearly closed and his face was the color of mushrooms. I patted his knee in a motherly way. "Very impressive." His voice was flat with fatigue. "I cannot do the rest now." "None of the others are as deep. They'll heal on their own, I imagine." I stood. "Now, if you can stay awake a little longer, you need fluids. Since I can't provide an IV, you'll have to drink as much as you

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can. Water or orange juice?" He licked his lips. "Water. Molly?" I waited. "What are you?" I could have pretended I didn't know what he was talking about. That was my first impulse. He was weak, lost, sundered even from his name. He wouldn't be hard to deceive. I could have asked what he meant, then unraveled whatever chain of logic had led him to ask that question. I'm good at that. I have to be. And the thought of how he'd react to the truth ached like a fresh bruise laid down over old wounds. But those blue eyes held steady on me, and there was something about them… "I'm a succubus." His eyes widened. "Cursed, not damned," I added firmly. "A long time ago, by someone who knew what She was doing when it came to curses. I'm not a demon. Originally, I was human." "Ah." The tension went out of his face, and his eyelids drooped. "That explains it. Better hurry… with water." His speech was slurring as he let go of whatever force of will had been keeping him awake. He smiled at me. "Thank you, Molly." Chapter 3 HE liked television. And he loved the remote. At ten-twenty the next morning he was propped up on my couch, channel surfing madly. He'd woken whenErin arrived and had insisted on moving there, over my objections. But he was doing amazingly well. Erinwas outside, readying herself and the spell. She wouldn't perform it out there—between dogs, children, and nosy neighbors that simply wasn't practical. But she needed earth beneath her feet for the preparation. I'd shown her the spot where my guest arrived last night.Erin had hmm'd and frowned, nodding now and then like a doctor examining a patient, then sent me away. I was in my galley—it's too small to be called a kitchen—putting together abouquet garni for the chicken simmering on the stove. The connection between chicken soup and healing may not have been established scientifically, but I'm sure it exists. "Arthur?" I suggested. "Adam? Aillen?" He looked away from the television, a sudden smile lighting his face. "You find me handsome?" "You know Gaelic!" I exclaimed. Another puzzle piece, but I had no idea what to do with it. He looked Celtic, but that lovely, upper-crust British accent… I shook my head and plucked a bit of thyme from the pot on the counter by the window. "Of course I find you handsome. You're gorgeous. You know that. Even if you don't remember, you've seen yourself in the mirror." Before occupying my couch, he'd asked where he could relieve himself. I'd had to explain the plumbing.

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He touched his jaw as if reminding himself of the face he hadn't recognized. "It seemed to be a pleasing face, but standards of beauty vary widely." "I wonder if you talk that way in your native language. Have you remembered any more of it?" "Any more?" "You said something to me in another language when you first arrived." His brows knit. "I don't remember. What way do I talk?" "Correctly. Formally. Did any of those names ring a bell?" "Ring a bell… oh. You wonder if they are familiar. No, not in a personal way." An interesting distinction. The names were familiar, but they didn't belong to him. "Well, we have to call you something. Would you object to being Michael for now?" "Michael… Hebrew for 'gift from God.'" He cocked a single eyebrow at me—which he could do, blast him. "You consider me a blessing." The idiot male wasflirting with me. "What an odd memory you have. You know the meaning of Irish and Hebrew names, but not your own." That stole the smile from his face. I tried not to feel guilty. I tied the ends of the cheesecloth together and lowered the herbs into the simmering pot, catching it in place with the lid. Keeping my back to him so I wouldn't see the hurt I caused, I said, "Michael is also the name of a militant archangel. Evil is capable of masquerading as good, but generally it prefers not to annoy Michael. One aligned with evil would not be comfortable borrowing Michael's name." "I am not evil." "I don't think so, but we don't know what you are. That's what Erin will try to find out." Reluctantly, I abandoned cowardice and turned to face him. "Do you understand what a succubus is?" "The Latin term for a female demon who draws life from her victims through sexual intercourse. But you said you were cursed into your condition, which makes sense." He smiled suddenly, blindingly. "You aren't evil, either." "Nor am I good. Michael—" "You do like that name for me. Very well. I will be Michael." I could feel myself softening—inside, where it was dangerous, and outside, my muscles growing lax and warm with wanting. So I was sharp to him. "Listen to me. I look like a middle-aged woman, and I am one. A good deal more than middle-aged, actually. But I'm also a succubus, and I live off the energy of others. The energy of men, to be specific, which I acquire through sex." "Do you not eat?" he asked, curious. "It smells in here as if you enjoy food."

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My breath huffed out. He didn't seem to be getting the point. "I eat, but I don't have to. Other people need food and drink to live, and enjoy sex. I need sex to live, and enjoy food and drink." "I'm glad you didn't lose those pleasures when you were cursed. Do you need to sup in your fashion daily, the same as others need to eat every day?" "Not every day. Michael, you're either painfully naive or deliberately obtuse. I'm trying to explain why you must not flirt with me. I am not safe." "You're worried about me!" He was amazed. I rolled my eyes. The young always think themselves indestructible, but Michael should know better, after what he'd been through. But then, he didn't remember what he'd been through. "Yes," I said. "I'm worried about you." For an instant his face softened, and I glimpsed in his eyes the ragged edges of adult vulnerability, not the untried trust of youth, as if my simple words had sliced deep into a place that didn't bear touching. "You needn't," he said, and the edges closed up again, hiding whatever memories that deep place held. "You can take nothing from me I don't wish to give." "What if you wished to give?" My posture shifted as the energy gathered around me, swirling, aching… "I could make you want to give, Michael. You'd want to give… anything." The door opened. "Molly!" Erin said sharply. I snapped back. Then just stood there, disoriented, like a stooping hawk suddenly shoved from its plummet. The breath I drew was ragged. "Well," I said as briskly as I could, "what did you learn?" "Not much." She came in, eyeing me. Erin is a tall woman, bony by my standards but fashionably slender to her generation. Her face was made for drama, with a wide mouth, sharp cheekbones, and a beak of a nose that she considers unlovely but which I quite envy for its distinction. She's supposed to wear glasses, but often forgets or leaves them somewhere. Her hair is a fabulous red bush that nearly reaches her waist. Today she wore it pulled back from her face with a stretchy headband that matched her apple-green t-shirt. T-shirts are one of the best things about the current age. And bras. Bras have corsets beat all to pieces. "You must have learned something." She shrugged. "Node energy isn't my area. You knew he came in at a node?" I nodded. I'm not so utterly insensitive I'd be unaware of a node so close to where I've lived for twelve years. One of the ley lines from it runs beneath my RV. "What else?" "He's drawing from it." I glanced at Michael. "Of course," he said. "I could have told you that, had you asked. How else could I heal?" "And," Erin added, "he came from a long ways away. I couldn't trace him back—the energies are too foreign—but there's a feeling of a great gulf."

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I nodded. "I knew he wasn't from this world." "Not…" She shook her head. "That isn't possible." Erin is a very good witch and far wiser than I was at her age. But she is young, and thus prone to certainty. "Obviously it's possible, since he's here." She looked at Michael, eyes wide and suddenly wary. "Another world," he said thoughtfully, his voice so much deeper than Erin's light soprano. "That makes sense. I don't seem to know much about this one." "Supposedly you don't remember anything about any others, either," Erin said sharply. "I don't remember anything, no. But I think perhaps I know a great deal." "Is that supposed to make sense?" Scowling, she slung her bag off her shoulder and set it on the table of my little dinette. The bag holds her basic ritual apparatus, and is made of heavy black silk. I'd given it to her for Samhain last year. "The realms haven't been close enough to cross between in over five hundred years. Except for Faerie," she added. "And that's closed to mortals. And you aren't Faerie." "No," he said agreeably. "I'm fairly sure I'm not." "What about Dis? The place Christians call hell. It leaks into our world sometimes." "I'm not demonic, either. No more than Molly is." She looked startled. "I told him," I admitted. "Not the details, but it did seem he'd a right to know, if he's to stay with me awhile. Now, let's try applying a little reason. Magic is useful, but logic has its place. Michael said—" "He's remembered his name?" Her eyebrows made a skeptical comment on that. "I named him, for now." Erin's eyes narrowed, for names and naming have power, so I hurried on before whatever lecture was simmering could boil over into speech. "As I was saying, according to Michael, the energies here aren't what he's used to. And he tastes different, unlike anything I've ever—" "Molly! He's injured." "I haven't been nibbling," I said, testy. "But I've touched him. I'm sure I've never encountered his like before—and my experience covers rather a lot of ground." She nodded reluctantly. "I don't know what he is, but I know some things he isn't. He's not Gifted, not in the sense we use that term, at least. He's not Lupus. And he's not a sorcerer. Last night he unlocked my door without being

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aware he'd done it, and sorcery requires focus. So does telekinesis. Poltergeists, though—" "He isso not a poltergeist." "Will you stop interrupting? Of course he isn't. But he may be from the same place, or a similar realm." "Or he may be lying." "No." That came from Michael, who spoke with simple assurance. "I do not lie." Erin's lip curled. "What, you're from the angelic realm?" I suspected I knew what lay behind Erin's, antagonism, and it wasn't getting us anywhere. I spoke firmly. "That's what you're going to find out, I hope. Are you ready?" Her brow pleated. "I don't know, Molly. I'm tied to this world—my knowledge, power, and rituals are all of this realm. He uses node magic, not earth magic. If he really is from elsewhere, how much will I be able to learn?" "Ritual magic is practiced in forty-two realms," Michael said suddenly. "Many are variants of Wicca. Depending on how one defines the parameters, between eight and seventeen religiously oriented magical systems bear strong similarities to it." "Forty-two realms?" Erin shook her head. "There aren't that many." "Where did that come from?" I asked. Frustration was plain in his eyes. "I don't know. It was just there, but when I try to follow it… nothing." He spread his hands. "I, too, want very much to know what manner of being I am." Erin studied him a moment, and I suspected she was using other senses than sight—including, I hoped, the compassionate sense of the heart. Maybe she was finally considering the possibility that he was telling the truth. Erin has a problem with good-looking men. "I'll do what I can," she said at last, and began to unpack her bag. The tradition Erin follows requires nudity only for major workings, when the god and goddess are called rather than simply included in the rite. This was a spell, not an act of worship—though the two are not entirely distinct with Wicca—so she and I kept our clothes on. Michael sat up on the couch with the blanket providing a modesty drape. Not that he had any, from what I'd seen. Modesty, that is. He was well provided with what the blanket was there to conceal. Erin took out her athame, a glass vial, a black candle, a little pouch, and two silver bowls, each smaller than a cupped hand. "Stand to the south," she said, nodding at me. "No, a little more to your right. That's good. Michael—you have no objection to that name?" "I'm content with it." "I've set wards outside Molly's home for protection, and will cast a circle around the three of us to contain the spell. It's vital that you not break the circle once I've set it. You break the circle by stepping outside."

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He looked insulted. "Actually it is a sphere, not a circle, but I understand you are using the accustomed term. What type of spell will you be casting?" "A basic truth spell. It will urge but not compel the truth from you. If you knowingly speak false, I'll see it. With your permission, after a few questions I'll take the spell deeper. That can feel uncomfortable, intrusive. I'll be trying to bring truth up from wherever it's hiding inside you." He considered that, then nodded. "A great many things have hurt since I woke and saw Molly. I can abide a little discomfort in order to learn what I am and whether I brought danger here with me." "Alsowho you are, I hope." "I am now Michael. As I said, I am content with that." He looked at me then, and his smile burst over me with the pungent sweetness of summer berries. I was going to have to bevery careful. Erin doesn't use a compass. The direction of the cardinal points is as obvious to her as sunlight is to others. She put her bag on the floor and knelt beside it, then removed her portable altar—a hand-cut, hand-polished square of oak about ten inches on a side and one inch thick. It went on the floor between myself and Michael. On it she set her tools. The two silver bowls were filled with water and salt—salt for the earth, and the north; water for the west. She put a stick of incense in the altar's east quadrant for air, and a candle in the south for fire. Then she waved her hand. Like a faucet springing a drip, the candle's wick acquired a flame. A thread of smoke drifted up from the incense. She took up her athame and turned in a slow circle, her lips moving, pointing outward. Michael's eyes followed, not Erin or the athame, but the direction she pointed. I knew he must be looking at the energies she roused, and envied him. I've always wanted to see the colors of magic. Erin circled three times, then put her athame on the altar with the knife's tip pointing at Michael. She opened the vial, dampened her finger with the contents and touched each of her eyelids. Then she stepped forward and did the same with each of Michael's lips. "As I will, so mote it be." His eyes widened, though whether he was startled by her touch or some other sensation I couldn't tell. She nodded, satisfied. "Molly, you ask the questions." "All right." I licked my own lips, nervous for no good reason. "Michael, do you remember anything of your life from before you arrived here?" "The first thing I remember is your face. Your skin looked very soft and your eyes were sad. I couldn't see what color they were, and that was strange to me—I think I'm not used to losing colors in the dark. There was a pucker between your eyebrows. I like your eyebrows," he added. "They have a pretty curve." The eyebrows he'd complimented shot up. Those weren't the curves most men noticed. "You don't know your name from before?" "No."

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"Where do you come from?" "I don't know. I don't remember it, but it was different from this place. But I do know about this place." "What do you know?" "Languages. Facts. Not always the most useful facts," he said ruefully. "And I don't always know that I know until something floats up." I exchanged a glance with Erin. She nodded, telling me what I was already sure of. He wasn't lying. She spoke, her voice cool and soothing. "I'm going to take the spell deeper now, Michael. Molly will continue asking questions, but I'll be helping you find the answers." He nodded fractionally. His eyes never left mine. "Who gave you those wounds?" I asked. "I…" He licked his lips. "She? Yes, I think… I was escaping. That made her angry." "What is she?" "I don't… that's not coming. But I have the idea she's strong. Very strong." "Who is she?" A fine dew of sweat sheened his forehead. "I don't know." "What do you know about how you got here?" "They were… someone was… they want to catch me. Keep me." "Not to kill you?" "No, they want to—want to—" His head swiveled towards Erin. "Don't!" And he heaved himself sideways, one arm outstretched like a drowning swimmer reaching desperately for rescue. The circle broke. Chapter 4 THEpop ! was like clearing your ears during an airplane's descent with a jaw-cracking yawn, except that it happened under my solar plexus. It should have been similar forErin , though with more of a sting. It shouldnot have made her eyes roll back in her head as she sank to the floor in a faint. I jumped and managed to keep her from hitting her head, ending with both of us on the floor with her head in my lap. Michael rolled off the couch so awkwardly I thought something had happened to him, too. But no, he'd simply made an odd dismount, for he fetched up on the other side ofErin 's lax body and sat, staring at her in appalled fascination. "I didn't do it," he said. "I didn't mean to do it."

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"Breaking the circle shouldn't have harmed her." I checked her pulse. It was strong and steady, thank goodness. "No, it wasn't that. But it wasn't me, either—at least, it came through me, but I didn't will it. Maybe…" He put his hands on either side of her face and focused intently on her. I looked at him sharply. "What are you doing?" "Trying to fix her. Be quiet." Should I let him try to repair whatever he'd inadvertently damaged? Or prevent him from doing more harm? Before I could decide,Erin blinked herself back to us. "What… Molly?" She put a hand to her temple. "I have such a headache. What happened?" "I don't know. Michael broke the circle, and you collapsed." "Michael? Who's Michael? And what," she demanded, "am I doing lying on the floor with my head in your lap?" "You don't remember?" She shook her head. I considered going back to bed. "The amnesia should be temporary," Michael said. "I think." "You probably can't remember." "I believe that's sarcasm." "Good call." Erinsat up, pushing her hair out of her face. Her headband had come off. "The last I remember, you'd woken me up at a godawful hour to ask for help. How did—" Someone knocked on my door. We all jolted. "Michael, get on the couch and look like an invalid," I said, scrambling to my feet. "What does an invalid look like?" "Pale. You've got that part down, so just lie still and pull the blanket up over you. Make sure your wounds and genitals are hidden. Erin—" "Not wearing a stitch, is he?" She watched Michael's beautiful backside as he moved to the couch. I couldn't blame her for finding the sight distracting. "But I'm clothed, so we weren't performing a ceremony." "No, we—" The knocking came again, louder. "Be right there!" I called. "Erin, I know you need

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answers, but for now pretend you're here to help me with my nephew Michael, who's recovering from a mysterious fever. I thought he'd been cursed, which is why I called you." I headed for the door. "You don't have a nephew," she informed me. "That's a fiction," Michael said. "We are supposed to fool whoever is at the door." He pulled the blanket over himself and lay down as stiff and straight if he'd been en-coffined. "Do I look ill?" Erin was staring at him. "If you had a fever, there wouldn't be anything mysterious about it. Not with those wounds. What—" "Shh! Michael, until our visitor leaves, speak Gaelic." I jerked the door open and sang out a cheery, "Good morning!" to the stranger on my stoop. He was alone, so he wasn't from the Mormons. Probably not a salesman, either, not in that suit—gray wool, not top-of-the-line but not shabby, either. Either a Baptist or a business clone, I concluded. Probably the latter. Houston was only forty-five minutes away, and the dress-for-successers there wore suits in spite of our subtropical weather. This was not a testament to endurance; they simply never experienced more than a nibble of it, moving as they did between air-conditioned house, air-conditioned car, and tall, chilly office building. Or maybe they were icing down the parking garages now, too. "Such nice weather we're having," I told him. "Lovely," he agreed politely. He was about thirty, with seriously thick lenses on his gold-rimmed glasses. "I need to speak with you a few minutes, ma'am." "This isn't a good time. Have they started air-conditioning the parking garages yet?" "Uh… not to my knowledge. Perhaps I should introduce myself." He reached into a breast pocket, then held out a leather case. "Agent Rawlins. FBI." Going back to bed was sounding better all the time. "A real FBI agent," I said weakly. "How exciting. Are you looking for kidnappers? Terrorists? The Mob?" "Not today. May I come in?" "Oh, dear. I don'tthink my nephew is contagious anymore…" "Pete?" Erin said from behind me. "Is that you?" The professionally stern face startled. "Lady? I mean—Erin?" "Ná hinis faic dhó," said the naked man on my couch. I sighed and stood aside. "Never mind, Michael. Either someone here has some very odd karma, or God is feeling playful. It seems Agent Rawlins is in Erin's coven." Chapter 5 "THANK you, ma'am." Pete took the mug of coffee I held out. He was sitting on one of the bench seats

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at my dinette, looking uncomfortable. "Lady—Erin—I need to know why you're here." "So do I," she said, accepting her mug from me. He blinked. "You performed a truth spell on Michael," I told her, settling cross-legged beside Michael on the couch—which put me next to Pete as well, since my couch butts up against the dinette on one side. My quarters are small. "He has amnesia, too, but rather more thoroughly than you." "You learned I was telling the truth about that," Michael said. I nodded. "And then you took the spell deeper, trying to unearth those buried memories. But something went wrong. He broke the circle—" "I was trying to stop the—the—I can't find the word," he said, frustrated. "It slappedErin away and she passed out. It's supposed to protect me, keep me from being read without permission." Erin's brows drew down. "I had your permission." "You remember!" I cried. "Some of it," she said grudgingly, and sighed. "Most of it, I suppose. I'm pretty sure he's not evil, not inherently. But he's barricaded like crazy. I never saw such shields." She sipped from her mug. "Molly, you make the best coffee. The fumes alone are curing my headache." "I helped." Michael was pleased. Pete was lost. "Who are you?" "Michael." "Last name?" "Not yet." He looked at me inquiringly. "Do you wish to gift me with one?" "We'll worry about that later. Pete—" "I'm here as Agent Rawlins." "Don't be stuffy,"Erin told him. "We have a situation here. We could use some help. Probably it would be best if you started by telling us why you're here." Pete frowned at his coffee. "I can't tell you that." "You're putting him in a difficult position,Erin ," I said. "He owes you truth and all reasonable assistance, but he has a duty to the FBI, too. Pete, perhaps you could ask me whatever you came to ask, and I'll be a difficult witness or informant or whatever and insist on knowing more before I answer. Then we can trade information. Will that work?" He started laughing. It transformed his face, waking a spark of interest in me. I hadn't supped, as

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Michael put it, in a couple days. Not long enough to be a problem normally, but my appetite had been roused by Michael's presence. And Pete was really quite attractive when he forgot to wear his official face… Erin poked me in the ribs. Pete shook his head, still smiling. "I've fallen down the rabbit hole, haven't I? Okay, we'll give it a try, though I can't promise to tell you everything." "That's all right." I leaned towards him and patted his hand. "I doubt we'll tell you everything, either."

PETE was quite forthcoming about himself. He'd been born into a Wiccan family, but had inherited only a modest Gift—little more, he said, than many people unknowingly possessed. But that little had been well-trained, which made him valuable to the FBI. All of which Erin already knew, so his frankness didn't earn him any return information. He was much vaguer about his reason for knocking on my door. He was speaking to everyone at the Village, he said, because of a report of possible sorcerous activity. He glanced at Erin when he said that, troubled. "For goodness sakes, Erin didn't do it," I said. "As you ought to know. Not that there has there been any sorcery—at least, a node was involved, which I suppose is what you mean. But that isn't sorcery in and of itself. The current legal definition is absurdly broad." "How is sorcery defined?" Michael asked curiously. Pete cleared his throat. "Sorcery is magic that is sourced outside the performer." I grimaced. "An accountant's way of seeing the world. Follow the funding, ignore everything else." Technically, the law would consider me a sorcerer—if it admitted I existed, which it doesn't. Which is ridiculous. My abilities and disabilities are innate, not learned. "There was a time when all forms of magic were illegal," Erin said dryly. "As certain of my relatives could have testified, had they survived the flames. It's hard to argue against outlawing sorcery, though." "All of it?" Michael was startled. "You mean that all forms of sorcery are illegal here?" "Sorcery is black magic," Pete said firmly. "The blackest." Michael looked confused. Apparently the bits of knowledge he could remember about our world didn't include much in the way of history. "Most people associate sorcery strictly with death magic," I explained. "Which, of course, some sorcerers have practiced, especially since the Codex Arcanum was lost during the Purge, preventing them from—" "Lost?" He sat bolt upright. "The Codex?" Pete's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Schoolchildren learn about the Purge in the third grade."

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Michael didn't answer. His face was blank, his attention turned inward like one who has been dealt a great shock. "He isn't from here," I told our FBI agent, and went on to explain, sorting out what needed to be shared, what kept close, as I went. For example, I didn't mention my nature. That was none of his business—and I doubt he would have believed me, not without proof. According to the best authorities, I'm not possible. Nor did I tell him about the snippets Erin had unearthed before she passed out. Which left Pete with the story of a man who appeared out of nowhere, naked, amnesiac, and wounded. A man not from our world. He didn't buy it. He saw the wounds, so he accepted that part. He also accepted that Michael wasn't lying, because Erin had tested him. But he considered most of our account a mixture of conjecture, confusion, and delusion. Michael was less offended by this than I. "Delusion is a reasonable explanation, from your point of view. You are interested in facts, not subjective analyses of the situation." "But there's more than opinion involved," I objected. "Therewas a burst of nodal energy when you arrived. The Unit must have noticed that and—" "Wait a minute," Pete said sharply. "I didn't say anything about a unit." He'd just confirmed my suspicions. That vague "report of sorcerous activities" had come from the tiny branch of the FBI charged with investigating magical crimes. "I forgot," I said apologetically. "The Unit is supposed to be hush-hush, isn't it? I shouldn't have said anything." "You shouldn'tknow anything." "I meet a lot of people." I waved a hand vaguely. "I don't know about a unit," Michael said. "I'm not sure what the FBI is, either, but I've made some guesses. It seems to be a bureaucratic entity which investigates sorcery, espionage, terrorism, and the Mob. But why is the Mob identified by a definite article? Is there one mob that is distinct from all others?" Pete undertook that explanation. I went after more coffee, thinking hard. I'd been too forthcoming. While Pete might discount most of our story, he'd report it—and that report would find its way to the Unit. I didn't know much about that small, secretive group, certainly not enough to wager Michael's life on their good intentions. Besides, even good intentions can misfire. Well, I could seduce Pete. Men are extraordinarily suggestible when I turn up the power. But that would embarrass my friends and cause problems for Pete later, when the effect wore off. Maybe I should crank up the disbelief factor. A few comments about flying saucers, for example, or the entity I'd been channeling… "What?" I said, my head swiveling back towards the others. "What did you say about the Azá?" "You've heard of them?" Pete was surprised. "Who are they?" Erin asked.

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He shrugged. "A cult. Bit fanatical. They're new here, though they've been around in England and Ireland for awhile. They've been known to source their rituals on death magic—animal, of course, but a nasty habit and quite illegal, so we keep an eye on them. Like most cults, they claim to possess ancient wisdom. Theirs is a mishmash, supposedly Egyptian in origin, but they dress up in black pajamas like a bunch of ninjas. They worship some goddess no one's ever heard of, name of—" "Never mind that," I said quickly. "Why did you mention them?" He really was a nice man. He smiled, and it was meant to be soothing, not condescending. "No need to be alarmed. I just need to be informed if any of them show up. Someone in their organization is sensitive to node activity, you see. They believe their goddess speaks to them that way. So whenever there's a disturbance, they hustle out, try to set up their rites on the spot. Which, as I said, sometimes include illegal practices, so we want to know if they turn up." My choices had narrowed drastically, so I did what I had to. "Pete," I said, letting my voice turn softer, slightly breathy. "I think they're already here." I gazed into his eyes. Such a rich, pretty brown they were behind the lenses of his glasses. I'd seen them alight with laughter and I remembered that, and how attractive he'd been then. "Are they dangerous?" He moved towards me. "It's all right." His voice had gone husky, but I doubt he noticed. "You're not in any danger, Molly." Erin's voice came sharply. "Stop that." "Let her be." Michael's voice surprised me. It was firm, the kind of voice one automatically obeys. "She knows what she's doing." Pete started to turn, frowning. I turned up the power, but carefully—I wanted him protective, not ravenous—and laid a hand on his arm. "I'm frightened." He put his hand over mine. "You're safe, Molly. I won't let… ah, tell me why you think they're here." I described two odd-looking fellows in black pajamas who, I said, had been lurking around the Village earlier this morning. I was frightened, but willing to be reassured. He was captivated. A little too captivated. He scarcely knew the others were present—Erin with her disapproving frown, Michael with an expression of extreme interest. "You'll want to let your superiors know right away," I suggested, looking up into Pete's eyes. "Yes…" He was holding my hand, and started to stroke it. "Molly—" "About the Azá," I said firmly, and pulled my hand away. "You need to make your report aboutthem ." I stressed the last, hoping he'd forget to report about everything else—at least for a little while. He blinked. "Yes. Yes, of course. Molly, I… this is sudden, but I'd like to call you." I smiled sadly. "Of course, Pete. You have my number." I got him to the door. "Don't worry about the Azá," he said gently, worried that I might be worried. "We've checked them out thoroughly. Their rites are harmless—except to the animals, of course. The

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energy they gather that way is all directed towards their goddess, who doesn't exist." I had to try. "They aren't harmless, Pete. Be careful. Please be careful. And don't say Her name." "Her?" "Their goddess." He didn't believe me, of course. "We'll be watching them," he assured me. "Don't worry." As soon as I shut the door on him, Erin demanded, "What the bloody blazes did you do that for?" "I had to," I said wearily. "The effect will wear off in a day or so." Michael spoke. "What about these Azá you saw? They are trouble?" "They are very much trouble, but I didn't see any of them." I headed for the galley, poured out the last of the coffee, and rinsed the pot. My eyes fell on the little yellow pot that held my thyme. I picked it up and saw a face… a little girl with pigtails, glasses, and a smile wide as the Mississippi. I've never had children and never will, but three times I've taken one to raise. The first time it was war that killed my borrowed son, and grief nearly destroyed me. I did things then I'd rather not think about. My second child was broken by age, crippled in body and mind while I was still young and strong. I'd vowed never to raise another child. Ginny had made me break my vow. Her parents had been killed in the Great Storm, the hurricane that leveled Galveston in 1900, killing over six thousand people. They had been my neighbors and my friends, and I'd been unable to save them. But I'd saved Ginny. I'd taken her to raise as my own, against all better sense. And had never regretted it. She was gone now—grown up, grown old, and buried. But I still had the pot she'd made me when she was ten. The pot and the memories. And, I thought with a smile, a dear friend in her great-granddaughter. Who was appalled with me. "Tell me you didn't just lie to the FBI," Erin demanded. "Can't do that without telling another lie." If I'd known the Azá had crossed the ocean… well, I know now. I rinsed the coffeepot. "Erin, I'm sorry. I have to leave." Erin's face is so expressive. I saw anger fade to irritation, puzzlement, distress. "You don't mean that you need to run to the store." I shook my head. "I have to leave Galveston. Could you pick up some clothes for Michael? Jeans, a couple t-shirts, shoes, underwear." I cast an experienced eye over him. "Thirty-thirty-one for the jeans, I think." "I'm going with you?" Michael rose from the couch and stood there in all his glory.

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"Yes," I said. "Oh, yes. They'll be after you." He scowled. "You are leaving because of me?" "I've been planning to leave for some time. This just moves up the timetable." Erin grabbed my arm. "Why? We don't know if anyone's even looking for Michael. This isn't the way to handle things. It's not like you to rush off half-cocked, Molly. I know you've talked about moving on soon, but not like this. Not this fast." I looked at her dear face and let the hurt rip through me. Partings have never gotten easy. "I have to," I told her gently. "The goddess Pete almost named? She's quite real. I've met her, though it's been awhile… about three hundred years. She's the one who cursed me." Chapter 6 MICHAEL and I left the island shortly after seven o'clock that evening. The causeway stretching betweenGalveston and the mainland is man-made. Like a long umbilical cord, it holds fast to its feckless offspring—a mother refusing to release her child to a separate fate. The bay was a ruffled blue mosaic on either side as we crossed from child to parent, and the sun rode low in the sky on our left. Traffic was light. "Do you realize," Michael said, awed, "that this was all done without magic? All of it—the bridge, the roads and buildings… everything." "Ah—yes. I knew that." I didn't look at him. Michael wasn't quite as distracting clothed, but his thighs gave the crisp new jeans a lovely form, and the t-shirt Erin had bought him was the color of his eyes—a paler blue than the ocean, but just as unfathomable. Best to pay attention to driving my rig. It handled beautifully, but I'd driven it very little since purchasing it last year to replace my old one. Not that I'd bought it in my own name. I'd been planning to leave for some time, but I'd kept putting it off… "I should have realized that," he muttered, his attention fixed on the Powerbook in his lap. Michael liked my laptop even better than television. "Sorcery is illegal here, you said." He shook his head. "Strange. Very strange." "I guess magic is pretty easily come by in your realm." "Mmm," he said, lost once more to cyberspace. Michael had so much to learn about this world. AfterErin left to buy clothes for him, he'd done another healing on himself. He'd come out of that popping with questions. More questions than I had time to answer—or the patience, frankly—and many I couldn't answer. So I'd handed him my laptop and shown him how to Google. He'd picked up the basics quickly, though he had to hunt-and-peck on the keyboard. I'd warned him not to believe everything he read, and he'd vanished into cyberspace while I packed up my life. He was connected through my cell phone now. Yesterday I would have worried about the charges he was piling up; Molly Brown didn't have much money. But I wasn't Molly Brown anymore.

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My fingers drummed once on the steering wheel. "For heaven's sake, shut that thing off and look at the ocean before it's a blue smear in the rearview mirror. Who knows how long it will be before you see it again?" Suddenly those eyes were focused entirely on me. He closed the laptop. "Will it be a long time before you see it again, Molly?" "Probably." A very long time. I'd returned toGalveston once, and doubted I would ever go back again. It hurt too much. Places changed. People changed even more… except for me. "Your friend was upset by your leaving." "I told her." Already we'd left the causeway. BayouVista , a subdivision with all the houses on stilts, was on our left. Ahead lay wetlands. "I told Erin a long time ago that one day I'd have to leave. People grow suspicious if you don't age." "You'd be in danger if people suspected your nature. I understand that. Yet you told Erin about yourself. And me," he added thoughtfully. "You needed to know, and you have to hide your nature, too. You aren't likely to give me away. Erin…" Already the memory hurt. Time would soften that, I knew. Eventually. "I didn't tell her. She figured it out." "How? You're careful. You must be, or you wouldn't have survived. I've read some history now," he said, giving the laptop a pat. "This world has been hard on anyone able to use magic, but especially on those of the Blood." I snorted. "True, but I'm not of the Blood." "Of course you are. You may not have started out that way, but you are now." "But those of the Blooddo start out that way. They're born to it." He was amazed. "You don't know, do you? I didn't find anything on the Internet about it, but I thought surely… some things are such common knowledge that no one bothers to write them down." "What are you talking about?" "Molly, originally you were completely of your world. The curse changed that. Now you're of more than one realm. That's really all it means to be 'of the Blood'—that you're inherently of more than one realm." "You are not making any sense." He shook his head, as baffled by me as I was by him. "What do you think magicis ?" "I… the Church teaches that it's evil, a contravention of God's laws. Most people don't believe that these days, but… I guess I don't know," I admitted. "It's like sunlight. It just is." "Yet people in your world study sunlight and try to discern its nature. They're called physicists."

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"You've absorbed an awful lot from the Internet in one day." "I am an excellent researcher." "Modest, too." "Pardon?" "Never mind. I suppose there are people who study the nature of magic?" "Yes. They're called sorcerers. Not the most trustworthy beings," he admitted. "Though there are exceptions, sorcerers are known more for obsession than altruism. They can cause great havoc. But so, too, have your physicists caused havoc with their splitting of the atom." "True. So what is magic?" "One theory holds that it is the stuff between the realms, the current they swim in. Others believe it's the energy created by the realms' interaction. That magic is the friction caused by their, ah, rubbing against each other." "But they're pulling away from each other, not rubbing up together!" He made a disgusted noise. "I should expect that sort of thinking from a place that outlawed all sorcery. The realms shift, yes. Constantly. There are theories about this movement, but no one truly knows how or why they move. For some reason, your realm seems to connect to very few others. I believe it must be in… call it a backwater. A stagnant place." "I think you just called my world a swamp." He flashed me a grin. "I wouldn't dream of it." That grin startled me. Aroused me, too, but everything about him aroused me. Grins are different than smiles. Smile can mean all sorts of things, but a grin is an offer of friendship. A male friend… oh, there was temptation more treacherous than any sexual pull. I jerked my mind back to the subject. "Wicca is based on the magic ofthis world. It doesn't tap into other realms, or the space between the realms, or whatever." "Magic continually seeps into all the realms, is absorbed, and can be used. Systems like Wicca use this kind of magic, which is part of the natural processes of each world. It's much weaker than using nodes directly, but safer." I nodded. It fit what I knew. "And nodes are places where this world used to connect to others?" "More or less. You might think of them as spots where the fabric between realms is weaker, making connection more likely." "You mean that connection can happen elsewhere? It's possible to travel between realms without a node?" "Theoretically, yes—ley lines carry node energy, after all. But it would be rather like crossing the Alps

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on foot instead of in one of these automated vehicles of yours." He patted the dash and added, with something of the air of one complimenting a backwards child, "Quite ingenious, really, the way your people have overcome this realm's condition." "Wait till you see Houston." Light was fading even as traffic thickened, with all the little road tributaries emptying their currents of cars onto I-45. We'd left Texas City behind, and were passing an undeveloped stretch. I put on my headlights. Two things occurred to me. Michael had distracted me quite nicely from my grief at leaving my home and my friend… and he knew an awful lot about magic. Things he must have remembered. I planned my next question carefully, hoping to stir more of his memories. "When I was young—and that was a very long time ago—" "How long?" he asked, interested. "You mentioned something about three hundred years." "I was born in Ireland in 1701." He nodded, apparently finding nothing odd about that. "And you were cursed when you were…" He cast an appraising eye over me. "Not quite fifty?" A laugh sputtered out. "Michael, never guess a woman's age so accurately. It isn't diplomatic. But no, I was twenty." "You are a very attractive fifty," he assured me. "But you shouldn't be. Fifty, that is. Your body should have been fixed at twenty." "We're getting off the subject." "But if something is wrong, if you are aging when you shouldn't be—" "I did it on purpose, all right?" He considered that a moment. "You can change your physical appearance?" "Not exactly. I can grow older, if I choose. It isn't easy." A gross understatement, that. I prefer to avoid thinking about how I'd acquired the crow's feet by my eyes. There's only one way to age a body like mine. Starvation. "Why did you want to look older?" "You ask more questions than a two-year-old!" "I want to know about you, Molly." Heaven help me, but he softened me in a way I couldn't seem to fight. I sighed. "For one thing, I could stay in one place longer if I looked older. People notice if you stay twenty. They don't notice so much if you always look middle-aged." "And the other thing?"

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I grimaced. He was both perceptive and persistent—useful traits, even appealing at times. But annoying at the moment. "I wanted… friends. Women friends. I missed that rather badly." I glanced at him, wondering if he could understand. "When I looked twenty and oozed sex, men wanted me and women disliked me. Now… well, I use a touch more power to get what I need from men, but not much. Half of seduction is simply wanting the person you're with. So most women don't see me as a threat, especially the younger ones. They don't think of a woman of my apparent age as sexual." He chuckled. "The young always think the world was born when they were." "Oh, listen to the graybeard. You're what—twenty-six? Twenty-seven?" I held my breath. "Hardly," he said dryly. "You ought to know better than…" His voice drifted into silence. I stole a glance at him. He was staring straight ahead, stricken. "It was there," he whispered. "For a moment it was all there, but it melted away." Impulsively I reached for his hand and squeezed it. His fingers closed around mine tightly. "But that's good," I said gently. "That means your memories aren't gone. They're just hiding for some reason." He drew a ragged breath. "Yes. Yes, of course. And I have been remembering some things. Nothing about myself," he said with a lack of emotion that, by its very dearth, revealed much. "But facts, concepts, theories—they float up when I'm not watching." "Then you'll have to spend most of your time not watching, won't you?" I gave his hand another squeeze and, reluctantly, let go. I needed both hands to drive. "That makes sense, but it's easier to decide than to do." "Like being told not to think of the number ten," I agreed. "I've got a couple of ideas, if you want to hear them." I paused long enough for him to object. He didn't. "First, I wondered if I was wrong about you being a sorcerer. You know so much—" "I am not a sorcerer." My eyebrows climbed. "You're very sure about that." "I can't be a sorcerer. It… isn't allowed. And I don't know why I just said that, so don't ask. But it feels true." Interesting. "Well, what about a scholar?" I felt more than saw his head turn towards me. "A scholar?" "You said you were a good researcher, and I think you must be. You've picked up an amazing amount in such a short time. You read very, very fast. You know languages and theories of magic and odd facts, and just have that manner—as if you've always loved facts for their own sake, not for what you can do with them." "Truth. Not just facts—truth." I smiled.

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"A scholar…" His voice was musing, but with a lift to it. He liked the idea. And that was all he said, but I was content to let him follow his thoughts. I had a few of my own demanding attention. Neither of us spoke again until the sun was well down. We'd reached Houston's greedy, spreading fingers—not the city proper, but Friendswood, one of the many small towns that lay in its path. People sometimes compare big cities to anthills, but I think they're more like mold. Anthills will only grow so large, but mold keeps right on spreading. I'd slowed to accommodate the heavy traffic when, out of the blue, he asked, "How did Erin figure it out?" "What?" "You said you didn't tell Erin what you are, that she figured it out." "Good grief. You have quite a memory." I winced. "I mean—" "I know what you meant. And yes, I think I normally have an excellent memory." "Do you remember everything?" "No, but what I do recall is accurate." He paused, as if considering something new. "It seems that either emotion or intent can fix things in my memory." "Hmm. Works that way for most of us. I wonder if emotion or intent could also make you forget." He shifted in his seat, looked out the window, then back at me. "What an uncomfortable thought. Why would I do such a thing to myself?" I didn't know, either. "So, what was the first thing I said to you?" "You hoped that I spoke English. Molly," he said, and amusement ran through his voice, a silvery ripple in a dark current. "You might distract me, but I'll remember what I asked, and ask again. In that way I am rather like that two-year-old you mentioned. They persist, too. Do you not want to tell me how Erin figured out about you?" "Not really." The habit of secrecy was strong… as was a sneaky little wish that he would think well of me. Foolishness. Both the wish, and the desire to base it on misdirection. I was what I was. So why not tell him? "All right," I said, signaling that I meant to take the next exit. I wasn't hungry—well, not for food. But he must be. It was nearly eight. "I… used to know Erin's great-grandmother. So when I moved back to Galveston—" "You'd lived there before?" "I was there for the Great Storm. Anyway, I knew about Erin and I was curious, so I sort of kept an eye on her. She liked to walk on the beach at night." "So do you."

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"Yes, but I'm hard to hurt." "She came into danger?" "There were two of them that night," I said, remembering. "Two pond-scum bastards who followed her, just as I was. One had a knife. He grabbed her, held the blade to her throat. The other ripped open her shirt." His breath sucked in. "Did you kill them?" "You're more bloodthirsty than I realized." "Perhaps you preferred to let the law kill them." He was certainly clear on how rapists should be treated. I couldn't say I disagreed. "They had heart attacks. One lived, one didn't." "How? What did you do?" "Just a minute," I said, easing the big Winnebago onto the access road. "I want to pull in at that gas station and top off the tank. The sign says they have diesel." "Are you avoiding my question again?" "It's easier to show than to tell, that's all." "I'd rather not have a heart attack." "You keep asking questions, you can't complain if some of the answers aren't comfortable." Chapter 7 IT took some maneuvering, but I got my rig tucked up next to the pumps. I shut off the motor, unfastened my seat belt, and turned to Michael. "Do you want something to eat?" "I want you to show me what you did toErin 's attackers." All right. No more delay tactics. I took a deep breath, got my focus, and reached out. I was wearing a t-shirt—a prettyCaribbean blue, one of my favorite colors—so my arm was clearly visible. But as I stretched it towards him, my hand went fuzzy. Translucent. I kept reaching—and slowly, carefully, put my hand inside his chest. He stared down at his chest, eyes wide. "A most peculiar sensation." That was it? That was his total reaction? I gave a shaky laugh, pulled my hand back, and let it go solid again. "It was more than peculiar forErin 's attackers. I went a little more solid and tickled their hearts." "You showed great restraint. You could have ripped them out." "I've done that, too. But not…" My breath hitched. For a moment I could smell the smoke of the guns,

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hear the screams of men and horses, feel the shudder of the ground as the canons fired, and my own desperation as I hunted for the one soldier who'd mattered… but he'd already been dead when I started looking, my beautiful, bright-eyed Charlie, my son, lying butchered in the blood-soaked earth while I searched and searched. Too late. Quietly I said, "Not for a long time." "You don't like killing." "No one should like killing. There's nothing brave or glorious about it." "No. Yet sometimes it's the only way to stop a great evil." "You're sounding more like a warrior than a scholar." "Is it not possible to be both?" "Maybe." My heart was beating hard. I didn't know why. His eyes were luminous, intent on me… I wanted so much to touch him. I pulled my gaze away. "You've seen what I can do. Most succubi—those who started out that way—are naturally insubstantial, and take on form only with effort. It's the other way around for me, but…" I shrugged. "Other succubi are from Dis. Hell, in other words. I'm originally of Earth, even if I do partake of hell now, too." "Molly, you aren't of hell." My eyes flew to him. "But—you said that I was. That the curse made me of both realms." He shook his head. "Your memory is faulty. I said you were inherently of two realms. I can't tell which other realm claims you," he said apologetically. "I can't read that deeply. But it isn't hell." "But succubi are from hell. You saw what I did, going fuzzy that way. That's what demons do." "There are other realms where matter and energy aren't as sharply divided as they are here. I… I think I come from such a place." He smiled slowly, sweetly. "So do demons, yes, though that's not my realm, or yours. And so do angels." Without my willing it, my hand reached for him, to touch his face—and a car honked right behind us. I jumped. "I-I'd better get filled up." In more ways than one, but there wasn't time to hunt now. Soon, I promised myself, and opened my door and climbed down. "Want to learn how to pump gas?" "Yes." He didn't move, though. "One more question." I waited. "Where are we going?" "I wondered when you'd ask that. We're going to see an acquaintance of mine. You need help I can't give you." I closed the door and moved to the pump, selecting the "credit" option. My wallet was in my pocket. It's too easy to be separated from cash and other important items if you carry a purse. The credit card I used, like my rig, belonged to NMN Corporation. That was my little joke. NMN stands for Not My Name.

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Michael got out and came around the front of the rig, frowning. "You said acquaintance, not friend." "I call very few people friend. Cullen is…" I shrugged and took out the nozzle. "Among other things he's one of those who study the nature of magic. The two of you should have a lot to discuss." "He's a sorcerer." "Yes." "No. No sorcerers." "Go buy yourself a Coke," I said, handing him a five. "When you come back, we'll talk about it."

MlCHAEL loved Coke. He bought a six-pack and drank three. He did not love the idea of seeking help from a sorcerer. He had the idea that he wasn't supposed to do that—but of course couldn't say why. It's hard to argue with someone who has no reasons, only feelings. I did my best. We debated it off and on all the way around the loop—when he wasn't asking about engineering, building codes, the water supply, and all sorts of other things I couldn't answer. He was desperately curious about the city, and looked wistful once it had receded behind us. "Maybe you can go back later," I said. We were on I-10, headed west. Headlights chained the highway on either side, orderly fireflies lighting the dark at seventy miles an hour. "There are a lot of other cities to see on our route, though. Big ones, little ones, all sorts." San Antonio, El Paso, Las Cruces, Tucson… "This sorcerer of yours lives where?" "In California." "That's on the west coast." "Yes." "A long drive for little purpose, since I can't go to a sorcerer." "You can't go home until you know where home is." "I'm not sure I want to go back." He slid a long, level glance my way. "I like it here. Besides, we know someone there wants to capture me. We don't need a sorcerer, Molly. We can wait for my memory to come back on its own." "And if the Azá find you first?" I shook my head. "Someone here wants to find you, too, and I can't protect you from them." "I don't need your protection," he snapped. "Your help, yes. I don't know this world. But I can protect myself." "Now you sound like a typical male."

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"I am male." I'd noticed. Oh, I had noticed... "The FBI thinks the Azá's goddess doesn't exist, and that they only use animals for their death magic. I know better." "They won't kill me. I am… valuable." "I think so, too, but will they?" "I don't know what I am," he said, his voice low and tense. "I don't know my name, or where I come from. But I know this much: they will not want me damaged." "What if they don't know what you are, either?" He was silent for several minutes. "An unsettling idea," he finally said. "One that should have occurred to me. It would depend on this goddess of theirs, wouldn't it? On what she knows and where she is." "She's certainly not from these parts," I said dryly. "Nor does she have a strong connection here, thank God. Her followers have been trying for three centuries to find an avatar for her. I'm happy to say they haven't had much luck." "For three centuries, Molly?" I glanced at him, nodded. "They had me picked for the honor, yes. I didn't know it, though I'd, ah… dabbled a bit with their rites. I was a wild child for awhile, or thought I was. I'd been raised in the Church, but God and I had a falling out after my parents died of smallpox. I thought He should have handled things differently. Well." I shrugged. "I was young." "What happened?" "They were trolling for converts, and they had a good spiel. The idea of worshiping a goddess appealed to me—seemed like men had had things all their way too long." I'd been in London by then, a little lost… make that a lot lost, but sufficiently insulated by the arrogance of youth to pretend otherwise. "They put on a good show, too. Magic was a major crime back then, so it didn't take much to dazzle, make it seem like they knew what they were talking about. And what adolescent doesn't like a secret society? Wisdom hidden from the masses, with a select few admitted to the mysteries." I snorted. "I was easy for them. Easy." "But you got away." "At pretty much the last minute, and not through any planning on my part. They'd tested me, though I didn't know it, and I fit Her. That's why avatars are hard to locate, I found out later—body and mind have to be matched up in some arcane fashion to Her. I, ah, got myself unmatched." He nodded. "Just as with crossing between realms, so must an avatar be congruent with the entity wishing to posses it. How did you unmatch youself ?" "Well…" I smiled. "Accidentally. Mostly I was just doing what came naturally. The night before the big ceremony—which I thought was to initiate me into their mysteries—a sweet boy named Johnny McLeod performed another sort of initiation. Her avatar must be a virgin, you see."

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He laughed. "She was royally pissed about Johnny, though." A little shiver travelled through me. They'd brought me to Her when they realized what I'd done—brought me weeping, cursing, fighting. They hadn't been gentle in their disappointment, and I'd learned what they'd planned. Then I saw Her… or, rather, what was left of her old avatar. Centuries old, it was, kept more or less alive by Her power. It—I've never been able to think of that husk as female—had looked like a mummy. Dead everywhere but the eyes… "She crumbled," I said. "After She cursed me. That little temper fit cost Her." "I'm sorry." He reached for my hand and held it. "I've called up bad memories." The contact was good. Steadying. For a few minutes, I let myself enjoy holding hands. But as memories faded, that simple pleasure was lost in the rise of hunger. With a sigh, I pulled my hand back. He was silent a moment longer, then said, "You were right to warn me. These Azá may not know why their goddess wants me. She won't be able to tell them much." "Why not? Sheis a goddess—or one of the Old Ones who calls herself goddess, which amounts to the same thing. Can't she tell them whatever she wants?" "Communication across the realms is chancy." He sounded distracted. "And yours is so distant from most… I doubt she can convey actual words. Images, perhaps." "Visions." "Yes, and it's devilishly hard to get precise information across in a vision." He sounded as if he knew from personal experience. A sudden thought chilled me. "Michael, there isn't any chance that… I mean, you aren't…" "Aren't what?" I bit my lip. "One of the Old Ones?" Startled silence, then a sharp bark of laughter. "Gone senile, maybe? Considering my memory problem? That's good. I'll have to tell—" He stopped short. "Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit." "You remembered something." "Someone. For an instant I had a face, a name. A friend. I knew he would enjoy the joke, and…" He shook his head. "He's gone now." A tightness beneath my breastbone told me I was already too involved with this strange, uprooted man. Still I reached for his hand. "You have a friend here, too."

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His fingers closed around mine. Then, slowly, he lifted my hand to his lips. I tried to pull it back—and couldn't, for he wouldn't release me. He pressed a kiss to my fingertips, and his breath was warm. His mouth was warmer. Then, thank God, he dropped my hand. I gave a little laugh that sounded far too nervous. "You've picked up some odd things on the Internet." "I didn't read about that." He was pleased with himself. "Perhaps it was instinct. I like the way you taste." "Yes, well, you taste in a different way than I do. I'm trying not to jump your bones here, Michael. You are not helping." "Jump my… oh. But I would like very much if you jumped my bones, Molly." Now the hard thud of my heart made sense. So did the way my pulse throbbed in tender places, and the hunger rising, rising… "I can kill that way, too. If I take too much." "But you wouldn't." "That doesn't make it safe." For either of us. "You couldn't drain me." I snorted. "Oh, the sublime confidence of youth." "The nodes," he said patiently. "I draw what I need from the nearest node, either directly or through a ley line. You can't drain them." The nodes? Was that what I'd felt—that sparkling, delicious energy that had flowed when he was healing? Oh, gods, but I wanted to taste that. Andhim . I wanted Michael. If I could—"Shit." "What is it?" "A cop, the state version. He's on my tail, flashing his lights." "What does that mean?" "He wants me to pull over. I'm not speeding," I said grimly. "I haven't broken any traffic laws. So he has something else in mind, and it probably isn't good news." I had no choice, though. I sure couldn't outrun him. There was plenty of shoulder, but I don't put my rig on the shoulder when I can help it. I flashed my lights to let him know I'd seen him, then waited for an exit to come along. While I waited, I briefed Michael on the various other law enforcement agencies, and suggested he let me do the talking. "You think he is stopping us because the FBI told him to?" "It seems likely. Unless there's some other player we don't know about in this game." There was an exit for a rest stop coming up, which was perfect. I signaled. The fuzz didn't bother with a turn signal, just stayed on my bumper as I slowed.

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"There may be many players we don't know about. There were… I'm almost sure there were two." I stole a glance at him. Sweat gleamed on his forehead. He was staring straight ahead, his gaze fixed on nothing his eyes could see. "Two?" I said softly. "Who came for me. She—the one who wounded me—and another. At least one other." "Do you thinkshe might be the Azá's goddess?" There was no traffic on the access road. I pulled up into the curve of the rest stop and eased to a stop. He shrugged. "How can I tell? I don't remember her clearly, and I know nothing about the Azá's goddess." "I'll fill you in on her." I glanced at the side mirror. My tailgating cop was getting out of his car. "Later. Michael, I've made some assumptions for you. Maybe I shouldn't have. The FBI might be able to keep you safe from the Azá. You might not mind it if they found you." "No. You are right. I can't let myself be taken by any government. I'm… too much temptation." True, but I suspected he didn't mean it the way I did. "Open the glove box, will you? Oh—it's this." I showed him. We had the registration and insurance papers out by the time the cop turned his flashlight on us through the window. I hit the button to roll it down. "Yes, officer? Would you mind—" I held a hand up. "The light. I can't see you at all." He lowered the flashlight enough for me to see that the face beneath the Smokey Bear hat was young, but he had his cop face down pat. He looked as friendly as stone. "Are there just the two of you in there, ma'am?" "Yes, me and my nephew." I held out the papers that proved me to be a law-abiding citizen. He ignored them. "I need you both to step out of the vehicle, please." This was not good. Officers never ask middle-aged ladies to step out of our vehicles for a traffic violation. "What's wrong?" I made my voice breathy, as if I were frightened. It wasn't difficult. "If you'll just step outside the vehicle, ma'am." I glanced at Michael—who had the most peculiar expression on his face. His upper lip was pulled back as if he were about to sneeze, and his eyes were fixed on the officer demanding our exit. "All right," he said in a thin voice. "I've got him." "Got—" I swung my head back. "Oh, my." The stone-faced cop was truly stony now. Frozen. "What should we do with him?" Michael asked. "I can't hold him very long." Chapter 8 I took a slow breath.Steady , I told myself.You've seen stranger things … but at the moment I couldn't think of any. "What did you do to him?"

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"I froze him. You can ask him things," Michael said helpfully. "He won't remember later, if I tell him not to. But hurry." "Ah…" I looked at the poor, frozen young man and asked, "Why did you stop me?" "There's an APB out," he said. It was bizarre. His mouth moved, but nothing else. His eyes stayed fixed on a spot near my left shoulder. "For your plate number." Great. "Why is there an APB out on my license plate?" "You're wanted by the FBI." Pete, the rat, had not been sufficiently charmed. He must have made a full report, and now someone in the government wanted to get their hands on Michael. The Unit? Some other corner of the bureaucracy? "This is not good news. Michael, can you make him do more than forget this conversation? Could you make him think he misread the license plate and that I'm someone else altogether?" "I believe so. He has no shields." Michael sounded professionally disapproving, like a dentist whose patient hasn't been flossing. A couple of long minutes later the trooper spoke again, his gaze still fixed over my left shoulder. "Sorry to bother you, ma'am." Then, suddenly, he came unstuck. He gave me a brisk nod and headed back to his car. I slumped back in my seat. "That was weird. That was so weird." I watched in the rearview mirror as the trooper's car pulled away. "If I'd known you could do that, I would have gotten you to take care of Pete." "I… didn't know I could, either, at that point." His voice sounded funny. I straightened and looked at him. His head was tilted back against the headrest, and he was almost as pale as he'd been when I first found him. "Are you okay?" "It always gives me a headache to do that," he said absently. "A real mother—" "Whoa. That's considered a very rude phrase." "Oh. Is the word fuck offensive?" "Yes, unless you're actually doing it, or about to do it." "Odd. There are several words with a primary or secondary meaning involving copulation that do not offend. At least I don't think they do. Screw, lay, sleep with, mate, ball—" "It's all in the context. Michael? You said 'always.'" "I remembered… a little more." He turned his head to look at me. In the muted light from the dash, his eyes had an odd sheen, almost reflective. Like cat's eyes. "I performed the same spell on myself just

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before I came here. I didn't know if my transit would be successful, and I couldn't let them… learn from me. So I told myself to forget. But I was rushed. Something went wrong." "You forgot too much?" "I forgot how to get it all back." The twitch of his lips might have been meant for a smile. "There are seventeen versions of this saying in the various realms: whatever can go wrong, will." "We call it Murphy's Law. You look wrecked." I unbuckled my seat belt and stood. "I'm going to get you some ibuprofen." "This is a remedy for pain?" "Yes." "Good. The nearest ley line is thin, hard to draw from with my head pounding. And the Houston node is too distant to reach directly." "Houston has a node?" "Of course. So many people could not live so closely without one. They would become insane. Though that node is well below the land surface, and the energy is badly scattered. I suspect electricity… ah." His eyes lit up. "You brought me the Coke to drink." He had the oddest gaps in his knowledge. I had to show him how to use "the Coke" to swallow pills. Then, abruptly, I shut off the engine and told him I was going outside to think.

THERE'S so little real night left in the Western world. Here, halfway betweenHouston andSan Antonio , the sky was hazy, the stars thin. But the moon was fat and profligate with its borrowed light. I started walking along the curve of road that denned the rest area. There were trees. I could hear a dog barking somewhere, far in the distance. And all those noisy fireflies on the interstate swishing by, making good time on their way to wherever. The grass was soft beneath my feet and the breeze held a pleasant, green scent, but I missed the smell of the sea. I ached. Lord knows I should have been thinking about the fix we were in. I tried, but my intentions kept scattering, then re-forming, lined up behind one thought like iron filings obedient to the pull of the magnet. I could have him. I could have Michael. He was willing, and I hadn't seduced him into it. I didn't have to worry about hurting him. Not physically, that is. I moved slowly, watching the restless branches of an oak nibble the moon into lace. But that had never been my real worry, had it? I'd long ago learned control. Whatever vital force I consume—and it's not the soul; that's a ridiculous superstition—a healthy body can easily replace it as long as I don't drink too deeply. Rather like a dairy farmer, I like to think, I dine on what other bodies make naturally, without having to kill for my dinner.

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But the worst hurts—the ones that don't heal—aren't physical. I stopped and looked up at the hazy sky. I've had plenty of time to puzzle out the moral limits of my condition, and ended up with something similar to the Wiccan code. I try to do no harm. This means I leave married men alone. Also those who show signs of real emotional involvement, those too young to make responsible choices, and men too old or infirm to afford the loss of what I would drain from them. Michael wasn't depleted by his wounds anymore. He was young, but not so young he had to be protected from his own choices. I stared up at a moon a few bumps past full, tucked my hair behind my ear, and admitted the truth. I wasn't worried about the consequences for Michael. I probably should be, but mostly I was afraid for myself. I was so tired of leaving. That didn't mean I'd like to be the one left behind… and this wasn't his world. Dammit. Dairy farmers don't fall in love with their cows. The light in the rig came on behind me. I turned and watched Michael step down, close the door behind him, and restore the semblance of darkness. He walked towards me and my mouth went dry. "Is your headache better?" "Almost gone." He spoke low, as if someone might overhear. "Have you finished your thinking?" "I haven't accomplished much." I hugged my arms to myself, though the breeze wasn't cold. "I guess we could steal a license plate, if we get a chance before the next cop spots us." He moved closer. "It's the numbers on the license plate that give us away? I can fix that." That jolted me. "You can do that? Change the plates?" Transformative magic was supposed to be impossible for anyone short of an adept—and there hadn't been any adepts since the Codex Arcanus was lost, long before even I was born. But Michael wasn't from here, was he? "It would be easier to throw an illusion over them. I can cast one that will fool almost anyone here." He put his hands on my arms. "You are chilly?" "No. Yes."Step back , I told myself. And didn't move. "You're remembering more." "Pieces." He stroked his hands up and down my arms slowly, looking intently at my face. "Are you warming?" Oh, yes. "Could you cast a bigger illusion? Make the design on the Winnebago beige, for example, instead of blue?" "Yes. And then we could continue on our way. But I don't want to." His hands slid up to my shoulders. He moved even closer. Those iron filings were all lined up, pointing right at him. I suspected my nipples were, too. My body longed for him. I was firm with it—firm enough, at least, not to reach for the sweet, serious face so close to mine. "You don't understand the dangers. We—we need to—Michael? What are you doing?" "I like looking at your hair. I've been wanting to touch it." And he was, drawing his hands slowly along

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the length of it, then tucking his fingers in so that he cradled my head in his hands. "So cool and soft… you have smiling hair, Molly." It was getting hard to remember to breathe. "Smiling?" "Every little hair smiles itself into curls." Yet he abandoned my hair for my face, tracing it with the tips of his fingers, leaving tingles in his wake like the phosphorescence that trails a ship. "Your skin is soft, too. But much warmer." "Michael." I tried to sound indignant. It came out husky. "Are you seducing me?" "God, I hope so." And he bent his head. His mouth was a little sweet, a little salty, and wholly inexperienced. With a sigh, I abandoned all my shoulds and shouldn'ts. Reason floated away with them, carried off on a warm, gentle tide. I tilted my head, slid my arms around him, and showed him how well we could fit. As always, Michael was a fast study. And he adored kissing. He had no inhibitions, no cultural context for a right way and a wrong way to touch. So he touched me everywhere. My back, my breasts, my shoulders—every part of my body fascinated him. He nuzzled my hair and licked the tip of my nose, making me giggle. Then he kissed me as if he had no thought of doing anything else, ever again. If there's anything more seductive than a man who knows how to kiss, it's a man who puts his whole heart and soul into learning. Finally I pulled my mouth away. "There's a bed." I whispered that, hoping to hide the way my voice shook. "Back in the rig." "Mmm." He was sniffing along my neck, pausing now and then to lick or nibble. "I don't require a bed. Oh." He raised his head. "Perhaps you do?" My laugh was breathless. "I'm not sure I could make it there. Here is fine." I tugged on his hand, urging him to the earth with me. "Here is wonderful." I have all the arts, every skill a woman can use on a man. I was as giddy and awkward as a girl being tumbled in the meadow by the young man she's been walking out with. Together we rediscovered the mysteries of zippers and shoes, removed socks and t-shirts, and made a nest in the long grass on the side of the road. Then we were skin-to-skin, and hunger turned from a sweet tide to a roaring torrent. His body was a dream and a delight, but I had no patience left to savor it. Energy rose from his flesh like mist around a waterfall, swirling, tempting, teasing without filling me. My own skin was hot and desperately sensitive. When he licked my nipple I arched up, then pulled him fully over me. His weight pinned me, anchored me. His cock was thick and blunt, uncircumcised. It twitched against my stomach. "Now," I said. "I need you. I need you inside me, Michael." "You have me. Take what you need. All that you need." He propped himself up on his elbows, staring down at me, his face tight with his own need. "Tell me what to do." "Like this." I opened my legs, using my hands to urge his hips forward. His body knew, even if his mind didn't. The swirling energy sucked at me, setting up answering tremors in my body, as my blood, bones,

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and flesh answered the call of an unseen tide. "Come in. Come inside." He thrust. Came into me. And the currents entered with him, and swallowed me. Sex is God's way of reminding us not to take ourselves so seriously. There are a thousand ways to arrange two sweaty, straining bodies. Each has its own pleasures, and each is as absurd as it is delightful. Passion—real passion—is different, and rare. It grabs you by the throat and shakes you like a terrier with a rat. Then it flings you off, across the abyss. If you're lucky, you don't break when you land. If you're very lucky, you don't land alone. I landed sobbing… held safe in Michael's arms. He was stroking my hair, my side, my hand as I came back to myself. It took a moment for his quiet murmurs to settle into words. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please don't… what is wrong, Molly? Tell me, querida, mío tesoro, a chuisle mo chroj . Let me make it better." I turned my head, which rested on his shoulder. "It's nothing. I'm all right." "I have heard of happy tears, but this…" His thumb rubbed some of the dampness from my cheek. "… is not happiness." It wasn't so hard, after all, to smile. I shifted, propping up on one forearm so I could see his face. "Have you ever been around an overstimulated two-year-old?" He shook his head. "I don't know." "They burst into tears for no reason." I traced his lip gently. "Now you've seen an overstimulated three hundred-year-old do the same thing." He considered that. "This is a compliment, I think." "Oh, yes. And you were wrong. Part of the overload is happiness." I spoke true. I've lived too long to spurn the good God's gifts—and moments like this were just that, gifts of grace that fall like sunshine, unsought and unearned. He smiled slowly. "Good." And he urged my head back onto his shoulder, and stroked my hair. How strange, I thought. Here I was, lying on my side with a stick digging into my hip and my lover's heart beating beneath my ear. I was sated and sticky, my muscles lax and warm, my skin cooling. None of the physical sensations were new to me, yet everything was new, fresh-minted. How long had it been since I took a lover? Not a sex partner. A lover. I ran my hand over his ribs, marveling. There would be grief later. I didn't care. Loving was gift enough. After awhile I asked, "What do you think of the name Sarah?" "It means soul in one of the Indian languages, princess in Hebrew. Why?" I shrugged my free shoulder. "I need a new name."

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"I like the one you have." "So do I. But I can't be Molly Brown anymore. I'm having trouble settling on a new name, though." "Names are important. I will give it some thought. Do you want…" His voice drifted into silence even as his body tensed. I've hunted, and I've been hunted. I didn't cloud the silence with questions but, like a hare in the bush, went still myself, straining to sort the night sounds. Cars continued to whoosh past on the highway. The breeze ruffled the leaves in the trees. Grass rustled… Michael sprang to his feet, yanking me up with him. "Run!" They came at us out of the darkness. Four, five—I don't know how many there were. They seemed splinters of darkness themselves, clothed as they were in black, their faces smeared with black. We were in full flight when we saw them, our hands clasped, bare feet slapping on the asphalt. They raced out of the trees—from in front of us. Between us and the RV. Moonlight gleamed on metal. A gun barrel, raised—the shot cracked out even as Michael jerked me to the left. The highway—yes, they might not want to shoot us where so many witnesses streamed by. There were trees between us and the interstate, too. Cover. There were also two more of them, rising from the brush like shadows. One with a rifle, one with something large and ominous held to his shoulder and pointed, oddly, off to the right. But the rifle was pointed at me. I felt the power jump into Michael. He bellowed something. A word. It slid through my brain like melted butter—hot, ungraspable. And the one with the rifle burst into flame. And so, with an explosion that rocked the earth, did my Winnebago. Michael jerked. Stumbled. Threw his arms around me, hugging so hard that all the air whooshed out of me. And the universe tilted in an impossible, sideways slide, and burst into bits—into motion—then stillness. I was lying on my back on something hard and rough. It was hard to draw breath. Something heavy and warm pinned me, covered me, all but smothered me. Heavy and warm and… "Michael," I breathed, and ran my hands over him. He was unconscious, but alive. My questing hands found a dart in his back. Anesthetic? I blinked, gathering thoughts with care and piecing them together much more slowly than the universe had re-formed itself around me. As gently as I could—he was very heavy—I eased Michael off me, sat up, and looked around. And began to laugh. I couldn't help it. We were back in the Village, plopped down naked on top of the node where Michael had first appeared. Chapter 9 "IT'S certainly different,"Erin said, dabbing at the graze on my cheek. "Not that you don't look great. You do. But it will take some getting used to."

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"Mmm." I was sitting on the closed toilet in the downstairs bathroom of Erin's house, a cozy two-story inGalveston 's historical section. I knew the house well, though it has been through a lot of changes. A little over a hundred years ago, the debris from the storm surge had mounded two stories high only a block from here. I glanced at the mirror over the sink… which had showed me a face I hadn't seen for some time. A face ten or fifteen years younger than the one I'd seen the last time I looked in a mirror. A face surrounded by red hair, not white. Sex with Michael hadn't just mademe feel young again. All that power… apparently a glut could undo what starvation had wrought. "Ouch! Be careful. I might need some of that skin." "Hold still." "I don't know why you're doing this. I'm perfectly capable of cleaning up a couple scratches." "Maybe I need to." That silenced me. She slid my robe—well, it was hers, but I was wearing it—off my shoulder so she could clean the scrape there. I don't know where the abrasions had come from. Maybe I'd skidded a bit when Michael brought us back to the one spot he knew well enough to aim for, even as the drug took him under. I'd used Theresa Farnhope's phone to callErin , which would have amazed Theresa, had she known. But she takes out her hearing aids to sleep, which was why I'd chosen her trailer for my entering-without-breaking. I'd gone fuzzy, of course; walls aren't a problem when I'm like that. Erin's husband Pete had arrived with her and helped us load a bleary Michael into herToyota , where he'd passed out again. He was awake now, though still dopey. I'd left him in the kitchen drinking coffee. Pete, bless him, had made a pot, walked Michael around until he wasn't staggering so much, then left to try to find us some clothes. "Your husband is a miracle," I toldErin . "True. Are you sure this lawyer of yours can be trusted?" "For this, yes." I'd called NMN's only employee, an attorney with interesting connections. He was sending cash and another credit card by courier. I expected them in a couple hours. He'd get us identification, too, but that would take a little longer. I'd sent him digital photos of both Michael and me after borrowing Pete's camera and computer. It takes a good deal of money to acquire such things after midnight, as well as those connections I mentioned. But NMN has a good deal of money. Around twenty-six million, last time I checked. Almost anyone can get rich if they live long enough. "Getting fake ID for a client isn't part of most attorneys' job descriptions,"Erin said, capping the peroxide. "So either this guy is a sleaze, or he works for sleaze. So how can you trust him?"

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"The sleazes he works for—aside from me, that is—don't encourage questions. And they value loyalty. I imagine he'll tell them, but he won't tell the FBI or the Azá." I shrugged. "I don't plan to use the IDs he sends for long." "Good grief. You're talking about the Mob." "I didn't say that." I stood and studied myself in the mirror. I could pass for thirty-five, which was unsettling, but useful. They'd be looking for the fifty-year-old me, not this one. I touched my cheek. "I liked your old face," Michael said from the doorway. "But this one is pretty, too." I turned. His face hadn't changed. It was still beautiful enough to break hearts. He wore a pair of Pete's jeans, rolled up at the ankles. They were too big at the waist, too. "How wobbly are you?" "I can walk," he said grimly. "I had better not try to run or work magic. They knew what they were doing. Sedating me was the best way to render me useless." "They went to a lot of trouble not to damage you. Just as you suspected they would." Either the Azá knew who and what he was, or they had pretty clear instructions from their goddess. "Instead they destroyed your home." I wanted to tell him it didn't matter, but my throat closed up. My pot, my little yellow pot, the one thing I still had from Ginny… "It's my fault," he said bitterly, pushing away from the door. "My fault that you lost everything." "Not everything." Just the things that mattered. I still had heaps of money. Erin was worried, but trying to be matter-of-fact. "You couldn't have known what would happen. Probably couldn't have stopped Molly, either, even if you had known." "Perhaps not. But I should have realized… they traced me through the nodes and ley lines. Through my use of them. They must have." I thought with dismay of my own use of node energy—through Michael. "Is that possible?" "Theoretically, maybe." Erin was frowning. "Michael's energy is so distinctive, even I could pick it up when I studied the node. But I don't see how anyone could trace his location that way." "It's possible," Michael said grimly. "Probably not humanly possible, but it can be done." "The goddess, you mean." Dismay ripened to fear. "But she isn't here. She can't cross. I don't know why, but she can't. But if she's found an avatar here—" "I don't think so," he said, a frown creasing his brow. "No, if she had an avatar she would have taken me herself. If only I could remember more!" He ran a hand over his face as if he could rub away the weariness. "I think, if she could reach a world heavily congruent to yours, or plant an avatar in one… Dis or Faerie are the closest." Much too close, I thought.

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"Dis, probably," Michael went on. "Faerie doesn't care for outsiders, and they have strong defenses. Dis is more chaotic. She might have made a deal with someone there." Erin's eyes widened. "My children. God, Michael, my children are asleep upstairs—" "They're safe," he said quickly. "I haven't used magic since I brought us here. I have a low-level connection to whichever node is nearest, yes. I can't sever it. It—it isn't possible. But even an Old One would have trouble finding me this quickly when I'm not drawing power." I felt cold. "But she could find you? Even if you don't use magic?" "I don't know. I think… eventually. If I stay in motion…" He shrugged, helpless to offer certainties when so much was unclear. "It would take tremendous power to locate me when I'm not using a node. A goddess has great power, but if she is in Dis, either personally or through an avatar, she must reserve some of that for defense. They are not friendly in Dis." The sheer understatement of that made me strangle on a laugh. Erin didn't see anything funny in the situation. She was looking at Michael with something close to fear. "Who are you, that a goddess would go to such lengths to capture you?" "It's not who I am, but what I know. Or am supposed to know." He grimaced. I sighed. "I need coffee. And then, I think, Michael and I had better leave. Just to be sure." There were no lines around Michael's eyes, but when they met mine just then they looked old. Old and terribly sad. "No, Molly," he said gently. "I must leave. Not you."

WE adjourned to the kitchen. It's possible to break a heart in the bathroom, but a good argument demands a better setting. "You're limping," I told him severely as we headed down the short hall. "It's nothing. An ache where she wounded me." Apparently even Michael couldn't mend perfectly what a goddess had ripped up. "If you think that hurt," I muttered, "wait till you see what I can do." "Molly." He stepped a pace into the kitchen and put his hands on my shoulders. "I do not want to part. You know that, don't you? But my presence has already cost you too much. Your home, your belongings—" "Things. Just things," I said fiercely. "And they're gone now, so it's too late to worry about them. Some of them did matter, yes. Sometimes I hold too tightly to things. That's because I can't hold on to people." They died, they left, and now Michael wanted to leave. It was too soon. I wasn't ready. "I understand your fear," he said quietly. "But I am more of a coward. I don't think I could stand it if I cost you your life." I closed my eyes for a second. "Michael. You're forgetting something." I looked at him again and held

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out my hand… and made it go fuzzy. He stared. "I didn't… God. I didn't have to do it, did I? I forgot. All I could think was that he was going to kill you." Abruptly he pulled away. Erin tapped me on the shoulder. "Here. Want to tell me what you're talking about?" She held out a mug of coffee. I took it and watched Michael pace. "They herded us," I said. "Kept us away from the RV. I think they used a bazooka on that, but heaven knows I'm no expert. Maybe it was one of those one-man rocket launchers." "They blew it up so you couldn't escape,"Erin said impatiently. "You told me that. What did Michael do that has him upset?" "Saved my life." "How?" "I'll fill you in later," I said, though I wouldn't. Not about everything. Words of power are a myth, a legend, like the alchemist's stone—a tantalizing shortcut people have dreamed over for centuries. They don't exist. All the experts agree on that. I wasn't about to try to change anyone's mind. I was beginning to think Michael was something of a walking myth, himself—but a confused, unhappy myth-man at present. I gave Erin back the coffee mug and went to him. He stood with his back to me. "It's forbidden, what I did," he said very low. "Except in the last extremity of self-defense. I wasn't in danger, but you… I didn't think. Perhaps the one I burned had knockout darts, too. Even if you hadn't dematerialized, he might not have killed you." "And the others?" I put my hands on his shoulders, which were tight and tense. "Do you think they would have left me alive to tell the authorities what they'd done?" "They couldn't have hurt you if you'd stayed immaterial." "Their goddess could. She cursed me. She could remove the curse, or just ignore it. I don't know how much knowledge and power she's invested in her followers, but I wouldn't want to bet my life on the chance that they couldn't touch me." "They came for us with guns, not magic." "Because you could have stood off any magic they were likely to possess. You were their target, so they used what would work against you. If we'd hung around, we would have found out what they could do to me." After a moment his breath sighed out. He turned his head to look at me. "All the more reason you shouldn't come with me. They may be the only ones who could truly harm you." "Define 'harm.' " My hands wanted to tighten on him, to clutch at him and hold him. My voice wanted to plead. I wouldn't. Not for the sake of my pride—a costly indulgence, pride. Sometimes worth the price,

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but not this time. But tears and pleading have a price, too. One Michael would have to pay, along with me. "I've granted you the dignity of making your own decisions," I said levelly. "Even when I disagreed, or didn't think you knew what you were getting into. What gives you the right to take this choice from me?" He said nothing, just looked at me. I tried to stay with my breath the way the Buddhists say, but my chest was squeezed so tight with waiting that every breath hurt. If he understood, even a little, what mattered, what had kept me sane all these years— All at once his mouth quirked up. "Do you ever lose an argument?" I laughed—or meant to; it came out more like a sob. Then my eyes were shut tight against the tears and his arms were tight around me. He rubbed his cheek against my hair. "We'll go to your sorcerer, Molly. And pray he knows how to fix things, because I don't." Chapter 10 AS soon as our clothes, cash, and Visa arrived, we left. I called my attorney collect and changed the location for the courier to deliver the ID; I'd meet him at a nearby McDonald's in about five hours. Then we walked. For hours, we held hands and walked aroundGalveston , sometimes talking, sometimes in silence. As it grew light we attracted some glances, but mostly smiling ones. I didn't look that much older than him now. We'd decided against a hotel, though we were both tired. We didn't want to be separated, but passion was too new between us. It made us unsteady, and Michael couldn't draw from a node. Easier to live with exhaustion than temptation. At ten-thirty that morning, we were on a plane headed west. I'd called Cullen and told him enough to whet his curiosity. I slept most of the way. Michael slept some, too, but he was wide awake and back to his usual self by the time we landed. Full of questions. "Are all airports ugly?" he asked, pausing to frown at the boarding gate we disembarked into. "This could be decorated." "Parts of them are. The people behind us don't want to stop and study the walls, Michael." "Oh. Of course." He started moving again. "I would like to have a closer look at the way they connected this tube to the airplane. Most ingenious. Not now, I know," he said, favoring me with a smile sweetened by amusement. "Maybe later?" I couldn't help smiling back. "Maybe." We made it to the concourse with only a few questions along the way. "I think I didn't travel much, before," he said as we headed to baggage claim, where Cullen would meet us. "But I wanted to. So now I want to absorb everything, all at once. Were you and this sorcerer lovers, Molly?" I stumbled over nothing. His hand was instantly there, steadying me. His eyes were oddly gentle. "Am I not supposed to ask?"

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"You startled me, that's all." I shook my head. "Unlike you, I don't always tell the truth. But I'll try to, with you. Cullen and I have had sex, yes. But we were never lovers." He studied my face a moment, then nodded as if he understood the distinction. "I would like it if you did not kiss him. Sexually, that is. I realize that kisses are not always sexual. Would that be difficult for you? I feel… uncomfortable when I think of you kissing others the way you kiss me." "Michael." I cupped his cheek in my palm. "While I'm with you, I won't want to dine on other men." Though I might have to, if we couldn't find a way for Michael to safely use node energy… but I wasn't going to think about that, not now. "I certainly won't kiss them." A smile broke over his face. "Thank you, Molly." He reclaimed my hand and started walking. A little boy on the plane had taught him how to whistle—somewhat disturbing my sleep, I might add—and he did that now, whistling happily and without any discernible tune. My heart was thumping as if we'd just negotiated some dreadful precipice. I cleared my throat. "You need to remember to call me Sandra." "That isn't your name." "It's the name on my ID." "I will think on it," he told me.

CULLEN Seabourne is the most physically perfect man I've ever known. He's blond, slimmer, and taller than Michael, with a pleasant but unremarkable tenor voice. But people don't listen to Cullen. They stare at him, startled out of courtesy by such sheer, masculine beauty. He's well aware of his effect on others and capable of using it to get what he wants, but looks don't really matter to him. Magic does. I didn't trust him, not completely. But I liked him, and, oh, but he was a pleasure to watch. Heads turned in baggage claim as he approached us. Among other things, Cullen is a dancer, and he moves like music made solid. "Hullo, darling," Cullen said as he sauntered up. "Still in one piece, I see, in spite of ninjas and bazookas and such. But you have a new look. Nice," he said, reaching out with lazy grace to stroke one finger down my cheek. "But surprising." He leaned toward me. "No kissing," I told him firmly. "No?" He pulled back, quirking one eyebrow. Sometimes I think everyone in the world can do that except me. "How interesting. I have a few questions." "I'm sure," I said dryly. "But not here, I think. You brought your car?" "You don't think I'd trust my delicate skin to a taxi driver, do you? And you indicated a need for privacy." Deliberately he turned to face Michael. "This would be the mystery man." "Yes. This is Michael."

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Who was staring. "You," he said, "are most unusual." Cullen's eyes narrowed. After a moment of study he said, "So are you. Though I'm damned if I can say what you are. Not quite human, I think?" "No. But then, neither are you. I've always wanted to meet one of your kind." Michael turned to me with a smile. "Did you know this is the only realm with Lupi?" Oh, yes. That's another thing that Cullen is. A werewolf.

CULLEN was currently living in a dilapidated little shack in the mountains outside San Diego. At least, that's where he took us. I'm not sure he actually lived there. It looked ready to fall down, but it sat almost on top of a node. "Quite small," he told us as he pulled his dusty Jeep to a stop in front of it. "No more than a trickle, really. But enough for my purposes, since I'm the only one using it. I'm trusting you rather a lot," he added, sliding me a glance as he climbed out. "I never bring people here." "I'm paying you rather a lot. Besides, you're eaten up with curiosity." "True." He flashed me a grin, then turned to Michael, who was studying the land around the cabin. "See anything interesting?" "Just your wards. Nice work," Michael said politely. "That low one—it's to keep out vermin? Insects and such?" Cullen went very still. "Oh, yes, I am definitely curious. Shall we go inside?" The inside didn't look any more solid than the outside, but it was slightly cleaner. There was only one room. "Sit," Cullen said, rooting around in a cupboard. "I originally trained in Wicca, if that means anything to you." He took out an athame, two vials, and a small silver bowl. "Yes," Michael said, seating himself at the small wooden table. It looked sturdier than the walls of the shack. "It means you're grounded in the basic energies of your realm, which is the best way to begin. With sorcery, though, I assume you're self-taught?" "Mostly. Now and then I run across a tantalizing scrap, or cut a deal with one of my reclusive compatriots. We don't trust each other, of course, but we're equally desperate for knowledge. There's a man in Africa doing good work, a woman in Singapore… I've a contact or two in Faerie, as well, though they're a closemouthed lot." He gestured with the hand holding the bowl. "Sit down, Molly. I'm going to try a little creation of my own in a minute, a combination of truth and seek spells. First I have questions." I sat. All of a sudden I wasn't at all sure I'd made the right decision, coming to Cullen. But what choice did we have? "I've told you how I found Michael." "Questions for him, love, not you." He sat in the third chair, put his tools on the table, and looked at Michael. "You say you don't remember who and what you are, where you came from."

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"I remember pieces. Not the whole." "Yet you saw what I was right away. You saw my wards—and knew what they were, too." "I gather that most people in this realm do not see thesorcéri ." He gave the word an odd pronunciation I hadn't heard before. "No. No, they don't. You really aren't from this world, are you?" "That much I'm sure of." Cullen drew a deep breath, let it out slowly. "I have a feeling you know a helluva lot more than I do about magic. Why come to me?" "My knowledge isn't always accessible. I want to see if you can hide or disguise my use of the nodes. They—the Azá—track me that way. Molly hopes you can restore my memory." "You sound doubtful." "I am. I can tell you the spell I used to forget, but I don't know if you will be able to devise a counterspell. I cannot, but being self-trained, you are accustomed to creating your own spells." "That will help." Cullen's eyes glittered with excitement. Michael gave him an assessing look. "You'll get nothing from me without my cooperation. Even with it, there is some danger." Cullen gave a bark of laughter and leaned back in his chair. "Danger? For what you could teach me, I'd risk hurricanes, lightning bolts, and an IRS audit." I was feeling worse about this all the time. Cullen glanced at me. "Don't worry, love. If my conscience—an elastic creation, admittedly—snaps under the strain, you can still count on my sense of self-preservation. I know very well you'd make a bad enemy." "So would I," Michael said mildly. "But we won't be enemies, will we?" "I hope not." Cullen's grin was little short of feral. "Oh, I do hope not."

TRUTH spells were not safe to use on Michael. This time, the backlash lifted Cullen off the ground and slammed him against the west wall. Boards cracked, broke. He landed half-out, half-in, sprawled in the debris of the wrecked wall. My ears were ringing, though I hadn't heard a thing except for the wall breaking. I jumped to my feet. "Cullen!" Michael's hand snatched at me. "Wait. The roof…" I looked up. Things were leaning alarmingly. "Hold it," I told him, and hurried to Cullen. He was pale,

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motionless, and slightly bloody—but blinking thoughtfully at the sky now overhead instead of rafters. "Your boyfriend packs a punch, love." I exhaled in relief. "At least you don't have amnesia." "No, I remember well enough what happened." He pushed up on one elbow, winced. "At least one rib. It's a good thing I'm Lupus." There were scraping noises behind me, and a grunt. "I think that will hold." Michael sounded dubious. "The blow was unintentional, Cullen. I am sorry." "You have amazing reflexes, then." He took the hand Michael held out, grunting as Michael pulled him to his feet, and rubbed his side. "Or maybe… not reflexes. Defenses. Put there by someone else." Michael was very still. "You're talented. Given the tools you have to work with, extremely talented." "You're a construct, aren't you? Made, not born." "Yes." That one word dropped into the well of silence it created even as it was spoken.So many words have power , I thought dimly,not just the magical ones . My voice, when at last I broke the silence, was small. "Michael?" "I am sorry." His voice was remote. He didn't look at me. "And you've remembered more than you're admitting." Excitement radiated from Cullen like heat from a stove as he moved closer to Michael. "I only caught a glimpse—but there's so much inside you! Knowledge—vast amounts of knowledge. Power—" "Knowledge is power," Michael said sadly. Cullen stopped in front of Michael. "What are you?" "I cannot tell you." At last Michael turned to me. There was grief in his eyes, old grief and fresh, the raw mixed with scars from other earlier woundings. "Notwill not, Molly. Cannot. The way I am made, some things are not possible for me." "You could have told me more than you have." I made it a statement, not a question. I was already sure. "When we met the state cop, much came back to me. Not everything—I am still in pieces, and they don't all fit together. But that I was made, not born… yes. I could have told you that." "You didn't trust me?" I whispered. He lifted one hand as if he would touch me, then let it drop. "The place where I've lived is a good place. Not a world as you are used to worlds, but there is much beauty, much to learn. But it is remote. Few are able to cross, and the others who live there are further from human than I am. I was… lonely." I swallowed hard. "Did you think I wouldn't understand loneliness?"

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"I wanted you to see me as a man. Not a thing." My breath huffed out. "Good grief, is that all? Youare a man." "This is not the body I wore before I came here. Things there are much more fluid. I… borrowed the pattern for this body from a friend." I shook my head. "Great Mother of Heaven! You think I'm fooled by that delicious body of yours? I was pretty sure that wasn't your original form. Good grief—you scarcely knew how to walk when you first arrived." Hope woke in his ocean eyes. "You were supposed to assume it was my wounds hindering my movement." "I did, at first. But this is my area of expertise, Michael. If anyone in this realm or any other knows about men, I do. Made or born, you are definitely a man." "Then—you do not mind what I am?" "I started out human, then became something else, too. You started out something else, then got some human mixed in." I shrugged. "What's to mind? You're Michael." He whooped, grabbed me, and whirled us both around, kissing whatever part presented itself—my hair, forehead, shoulder. Quick, peppery kisses that stung life into me. Laughing, I seized his face in my hands, and kissed him back. Until hard hands thrust the two of us apart. "Good lord," Cullen gasped, one hand still on my shoulder, one on Michael's. "It's not that I wasn't enjoying the show. I can't remember when I've gotten this hard watching others kiss, being more interested in participating than spectating. But you were drawing down hard from the node, Michael—and Molly, I thought you couldn'ttake without intercourse?" I gaped at Michael, appalled. "I'm sorry. I didn't—I don't know how I did that." He shook off Cullen's hand, and ran his own hand through his hair. "It's my fault. I'm supposed to control when I draw. Ifshe was watching…" "Well." Cullen shrugged. "It's a small node. Wouldn't be easy to spot, even drawing like you were, and I stopped you fast enough. I'd say it's unlikely anyone could have located you, but we don't have guarantees, do we? You'd better not do it again. However…" His eyes gleamed. "We do have an idea. At least, I do." He stopped there, dragging it out. "Well?" I snapped. "I think I know how to hide Michael's, ah, signature, when he draws. But I want to renegotiate our terms." "You want more money?" "Money?" He made a disgusted noise. "What use is that? I was going to use what you paid me, Molly

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my love, to try to acquire more scraps. I don't have to settle for scraps now." "What do you want?" Michael's voice was ominously low. "As much as I can get, obviously." Suddenly Cullen laughed. "If you could see your faces! I haven't turned into an evil wizard before your eyes, scheming to steal your souls and take over the world. I don't want them, for one thing. For another," he said wryly, "Michael could squash me like a bug if I tried anything. No, I want to learn. I want Michael's time for, say, a month. I want to ask questions, learn from him." "I'm not allowed. No," Michael said to Cullen, holding up a hand. "This isn't negotiable. I thought at first that your realm had just drifted apart from the others, but it's more. You're under interdict. I don't know why, or who established the ban. Those pieces are missing. But I am not allowed to give you the knowledge you want." Cullen's face tightened. "A week, just a week, then. I could spend a lifetime studying my scraps and not learn as much as I can from you in one week. Do you know what that's like? All right—one day, man!" He was fierce in his need. "Just give me one day." "One spell." Michael's face was granite. "One spell, of your choice—within reason. No transformations." Cullen spoke flatly. "Not enough." "We don't have to deal with you," I said mildly. "If the idea is any good, chances are one of us will think of it, sooner or later. More likely Michael than me, I'll admit." Cullen wore an odd little smile. "I doubt this particular notion would occur to him. Even if it does, he'll need help. Because he isn't much at creating spells. Are you?" he said directly to Michael. "You've got more facts lodged in your head than NASA's mainframe, but you don't know much about building from scratch." "I wasn't made to create, but I can do it." "Well enough to trust Molly's life to a homemade spell?" His eyebrows pulled down. His gaze darted to me, then back to Cullen. "Explain." "Not until you agree to my terms." "Then I suppose we must leave. And then, sooner or later, the Azá will find me. They will either kill Molly, or not. And I will either kill more of them, or not—but eventually they will have me, and turn me over to their goddess. Then she will have access to all that you covet." Cullen flung up one hand—a fencer's gesture, acknowledging an opponent's coup. "And civilization as we know it will come to an end? All right, all right. One spell. You'll give me a little time to think of what I want, since I'm to get just the one?" Michael nodded. "And your idea?" "Is simplicity itself, in principle. Probably not in execution." He threw me a roguish glance. "It's right up your alley, sweetheart. All you have to do is make love."

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Chapter 11 IT wasn't simple, of course. Michael and Cullen spent the rest of the afternoon discussing the details, arguing, now and then pausing to draw a glowing symbol in the air. But the premise was fairly basic. Not that I understood it. Michael and I would change places, as far as the nodes were concerned. Instead of me drinking from him, he'd draw power through me. Only I'd still be tapping the magic through him, which is what I didn't understand. Somehow, though, the nodes would "read" my pull, not his. And I was mostly human, natural to this realm, so no one would be able to get a fix on me. "Your energies are already muddled up together, love," Cullen had told me when I expressed bafflement. "Not that I have a clue how you did that, but that's what I saw when you went into a liplock. It's why you were able to begin feeding short of, ah, the usual ritual. We're just going to muddle things a bit more thoroughly." There was a catch, of course. Isn't there always? Once we were joined this way, I would have to feed through Michael. And only him. It was a long afternoon. The sun was low by the time they agreed on the basics and finished their preparations. Michael took me aside. "I'm not sure I should do this," he said, smoothing my hair back. I couldn't read his expression, but his body was tense. "I know you agreed, but you don't—you can't—understand exactly what you're agreeing to." I smiled tenderly. "You didn't know what you were getting into last night, did you?" Then laughed at my accidental pun. "Well, maybe you knew, technically. Me. I'll trust your experience in sorcery, just as you trusted mine last night." A smile eased, but didn't erase, the tension around his eyes. "Then we are ready." "Good," Cullen said from behind me. "I'll start walking, then, and give the two of you a little privacy. I hope you won't linger in the afterglow too long, though. I'm eager." They'd agreed that Michael would give Cullen his spell—one involving illusion—after our ritual was completed, when Michael could safely draw from the node. "You are considerate," Michael said, turning to face him. "But that won't be necessary." "Won't be…" Cullen's face worked. The blood drained from it. "Damn you!" he whispered—and his eyes rolled back. Michael caught him before he hit the floor, and lowered him carefully. "I am sorry," he said to the unconscious man. My heart was hammering in my throat. "What did you do to him?" "He will sleep for many hours. When he wakes, he'll remember very little… that you brought a fellow sorcerer to visit him. That he and I exchanged spells, discussed some things, then you and I left. It won't be perfect," he said, straightening Cullen's legs so he could rest comfortably. "I can't build a memory as vivid as the real thing. But I've also planted an aversion in him. He won't want to examine his memories of this day."

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"But why?" "The spell he requested was the smallest part of what he learned today." Michael shook his head, looking with rueful admiration at the man he'd felled. "We had to collaborate, and in the process he learned more than anyone in your world has known in several hundred years. Which he was counting on, of course. Did you not think he gave in too easily?" I sighed. I'd been too relieved to be suspicious. "I will give him what we agreed upon," Michael said, "but must take away the rest." He settled, cross-legged, beside Cullen's body, and touched his forehead. I didn't interfere. Should I have? I've never been sure. It didn't take long. After a few moments Michael shook himself like a dog come in from the rain, and stood. "It's done." Regret rang through his voice like a low, sad bell. "I left him a gift." "What kind?" "Shields. No one will be able to do to him again what I have done this day." I sighed. "He wants to learn so much." "And I understand his need, better than he knows. But he is too hungry." Michael looked at me. "I've dealt with seekers like him for a very long time. Their hunger can't be sated, like yours can. Better if he forgets. It would be unkind to let him remember only a little, knowing that so much more was somewhere in his world." "Not kind, no," I said quietly. "And maybe not safe for us, either. Michael?" "Yes?" "Just how old are you?" His eyes crinkled as amusement banished the shadows. "You have been determined to see me as very young, haven't you? Though you claimed not to be fooled by my body. My delicious body?" He quirked an eyebrow at me. I laughed and held out my hand. "Male vanity crosses all realms. You didn't answer my question." "Soon," he said, taking my hand, "you will know that, and more. But we had best hurry. Cullen was counting on my unwillingness to use magic and draw the goddess's attention." I swallowed. "She has to work through human agents, and we're pretty remote. Even if she spotted you, it will take them awhile to get here." "Yes. But I am unsure how long we will be… occupied." I tried for a cocky smile. "Doesn't usually takethat long." "This will not be as usual, Molly."

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THE node lay just east of the shack, its perimeter less than ten feet from the wall Cullen had gone sailing through. In another land it would have been called a fairy circle. TheSan Diego hills—I refuse to call them mountains, they lack the stature for that—are arid, though, so the grass was scruffy, bleached, and brownish. But though sparse, it grew in the distinctive spiral pattern common to nodes. The two men had set wards earlier, using four black pillar candles, one at each of the cardinal points. Michael used a gesture rather than an athame to open the circle so we could enter. A quilt awaited us. We were to enter sky-clad—nude, in other words. This was both ritually necessary and convenient, considering why we were there. I stripped, stepped into the circle, and knelt on the quilt. Michael left his clothes in a neat pile and joined me. With another gesture, he set flames on the candles' wicks. He knelt in front of me, taking my hands. "You're nervous. You know what to do?" I nodded. They'd briefed me on my part—which was, basically, to control my appetite, not letting myself dine until Michael told me to. And to set the sexual pace. Most of the time, simultaneous orgasm is overrated. This once, though, it was essential. "One of these days we'll have to try this in a bed," I said, trying to lighten the mood. Mine, mostly. "I count on that. Molly? Time is short." I nodded again, leaned forward, and brushed my lips across Michael's—and sprang to my feet. "I'm sorry." I squeezed my eyes shut. "I can't do this. I'm sorry." Silence. Except for the wind and a distant locust, I heard nothing at all. I opened my eyes. Michael just sat there, his face nearly as frozen as the state cop's had been. "It's wrong," I said, miserable. "You were worried I didn't know what I was letting myself in for. Well, I knew. I was thrilled, if you want the truth. You couldn't leave me once it was done, could you?" Everyone left—over and over, they grew old and died… "I wanted to keep you. Because you won't die." The wind lifted my hair, pushing it in my face. I shoved it back. He tilted his head back so he could look at me. His voice was dead level. "And is that the only reason you want to keep me? Because I won't age and die on you?" "Well, I love you, of course. But—" "Holy fuck." I blinked at him. "You said the word was not offensive when one is about to do it." He rose to his feet and gripped my shoulders. "Didn't you wonder? Of all the nodes in the world, didn't you wonder how I happened to land on yours?" "I—I supposed it was the closest, or something like that." "I've been watching you. What you call the Great Storm was the physical expression of a realms-wide

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disturbance. It opened a small… call it a viewing spot. I saw you saveErin 's great-great-grandmother. I bent several rules to watch you raising her. Then you leftGalveston , for years and years. I was so happy when you came back." His fingers tightened. "So happy." "Watching me?" I couldn't take it in. "You've been watching me since 1900?" "Only when you were inGalveston . I couldn't follow when you left. You were so beautiful. I watched, and I fell in love." My mouth was hanging open like a fish's. I closed it, then said, stupidly, "But I've been fifty years old all that time." "Molly." His smile was tender. "You shine. I wish you could see your own colors." Something tight and small inside me was unfurling. "You love me. It isn't just the sex. You loved me before that." He nodded, solemn again. "I didn't think you could love me. Not this fast, maybe not at all. But I could feed you, I knew that. Only, of course, I forgot. Forgot everything—you, me, why I'd fled." He shook his head. "I really am bad at creating spells. In my defense, I can only say that I was in a hurry. They'd broken into my place." "They?" "They shouldn't have been able to. Even Old Ones have limits. But two of them cooperated with—with—it's gone." The familiar frustration roughened his voice. "Something has changed in the realms, but I don't know what. Not anymore." "Never mind," I said, and the unfurling reached my face, bringing a smile. "This isn't the time for talk, is it?" I put my arms around his neck. "Make love with me, Michael." In the end it was simple, after all. We sank to the quilt together, kissing and touching as if we had all the time in the world. This time I could be patient, thrill myself with his body, because the other hunger wasn't so great. This time, I could share a little of what I'd learned in the last three hundred years. I explored him. His toes. The backs of his knees. His scrotum—oh, he was sensitive there, no surprise, but his response nearly tipped me over. I sat back on my heels, breathing heavily. "Give me a moment." "No," he said, and pulled me over him like a blanket. "I think you've forgotten who's in charge," I said as he licked my nipple. He smiled and blew on it. I shivered. Passion was no less strong, but it built more slowly. Maybe because he and I both had to keep track of other things—he was watching the energies I couldn't see, manipulating them in ways I couldn't guess. But I could feel them, oh, yes, feel the power rising, swirling between us, yet I had to keep us paced to each other. Finally I rose over him, guided myself down and sighed with pleasure at the fullness. I ran my fingernails

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over his chest. "I amvery happy with the body you chose," I said, leaning forward and all but purring. "If you see your friend again, give him my compliments." Michael laughed. He gripped my hips and thrust up. And undid all my care. The fall towards climax hit so fast I couldn't stop it. "Michael!" He thrust again and the swirls seemed to reach for me. "Wait!" "No, Molly, it's now. Now! Reach for me, go deep—" I reached. Gripped him tight with my inner muscles even as I bore down, drank-deep—convulsed. And screamed. It wasn't pain, though something ripped me open. It wasn't pleasure, though I spun on the wheel of a climax, caught in a vortex that was intensely physical, and not physical at all. It wasn't dark or light, warm or cold, or anything I have names for. And then, for a timeless period, it wasn't me anymore. Not just me. Then I was myself again, the only one in my body. Which ached all over, and not just in the usual places. Michael was a warm, lumpy mattress beneath me. His breath was warm and moist against my cheek. It was dark. The candles had burned down. One was flickering, nearly out. "Well, sailor," I whispered, "you do know how to show a girl a good time." "Ahh," he said. "I don't think I have the breath to laugh." He paused. "I can't feel my left hand." I realized I was lying on it. I moved. "It's asleep. Be prepared for some fierce pins and needles." "Pins and… ow!" He held it up, glaring at it. "Bizarre." "Returning circulation." I managed to roll off him. "Whew." I turned my head to smile at him. "About eight hundred, if I've figured it right." His brow creased. "What?" "You. You're something over eight hundred years old. Though you weren't entirelythere for the first three or four centuries, were you?" I hadn't experienced all of Michael, nor had he, I think, blended with all of me. Partly because, as he'd said, he was still in pieces, with large gaps in his memories. Partly because some of what he'd lived I had no context for, so it hadn't stuck. I had enough. "Poor Cullen. If he'd known he was entertaining the—" "Shh." He laid a hand over my lips. "Not even in teasing, Molly. Not even here. It isn't safe." I nodded, understanding. Understanding so much more than I'd expected to. My lover, my mystery man really was a myth of sorts. Michael was the missing Codex Arcanum. The Book of All Magic.

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His creator… I had only shadowy images of the one who'd conceived him. An adept? One of the Old Ones? I didn't know, nor did I understand why he'd done it. Perhaps the same desire that led humans to build libraries, the need to keep knowledge from being scattered or destroyed. For centuries, whatever the sorcerers and magicians of many realms had written in their spell books—which weren't always books, nor was the recording always writing—had also been "written" into Michael. He'd been created here, though. Here on Earth, that is. Not on this continent, but somewhere in my world. Shortly after being made, he'd been sent to another realm, a place where magic ran wild. Later, he'd developed a sort of homesickness for this world. At the time, though, he hadn't cared. He wasn't alive then. Had his creator planned for him to come to consciousness? Michael himself didn't know, and I wasn't about to guess. But the place where he'd been stashed was much smaller than our universe, with magic spilling all over itself. Anything that held on to a stable form there for long achieved life. Anything living and sufficiently complex become sentient. Michael had been built to last. And he certainly wasn't simple. He shifted beside me, propping himself up to look down on my face. He traced my lip with a finger. "You are well, Molly? You are all right?" "I'm well." I kissed his finger. "Unbelievably tired, but well. Um… shouldn't we be getting out of here?" I glanced around. "No sign of ninjas yet, but—" "We can leave in a hurry if we need to. Of course, I only know one place to go." He smiled. "Back to Galveston." "In that case, I want my clothes. I'm not arriving there naked again." The two of us creaked to our feet. I was giddy with exhaustion… and happiness. "What about Cullen?" "They won't bother him if we are gone. Why should they?" Michael lifted his hand to clear the wards, but paused. "One more thing before we go. I have been giving your name some thought." I leaned against him, smothering a yawn. "I'm not sure I can give your suggestions the proper attention right now." "I was hoping you would let me name you, as you did me." I straightened, looked him in the eye. After a moment I said softly, "All right." "Then I would like you to remain Molly. And I will give you a new last name." I nodded solemnly. "That's traditional. What did you have in mind?" He kissed the tip of my nose. "You are my gift of grace. I name you Molly Grace." I closed my eyes, checking the fit. And smiled, and opened my eyes. "All right… Michael Grace."

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His eyes lit. "You gift me with a last name, too." "Itis the twenty-first century." Another yawn overtook me. "Michael? Can we go home now?" Because that's whatGalveston was, I realized. I might leave it again, maybe many times. But I'd go back. And I wouldn't go alone. Michael lifted the wards, banished the guttering flames on the candles, then swung me up into his arms to carry me out of the circle. I found that very funny, especially when he stumbled and nearly dropped me. "Is this not tradition? The carrying over the threshold?" he asked. "Close enough." I handed him his jeans and stepped into my panties. "I love you." "Good." He said that with great satisfaction, then fumbled his way into his clothes while I pulled mine on. I finished first, and told him I wanted to check on Cullen. "Just to be sure." His brows twitched down, but he nodded. "I will wait for you." It was a leave-taking I needed, I realized as I tossed a blanket over Cullen's sleeping body. Something new had begun, but other things had ended. I folded up a jacket and placed it under his head for a pillow, then knelt beside him and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Good-bye," I said softly. It wasn't really Cullen I was bidding farewell to, of course. Michael was waiting by the node, as he'd said he would be. I walked into his arms. "You are happy?" He whispered it, as if the question was too large to say out loud. "You do not regret giving up all the beautiful young men like Cullen?" Oh, he did know me. That was going to take some getting used to, but… "I'm happy," I told him, and grinned. "Besides, sometimes all a woman my age really wants is to curl up in bed with a good book." Michael grinned, too. And took us home.

4 - Mortal Danger (2005)

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Prologue THE audience hall was vast, hot, and noisy, an echoing oven of a space hollowed out of the remains of an ancient volcano. Gan scurried across the stony floor as fast as its stubby legs would carry it, watching out for shadows. Sometimes the crevices shifted. What looked like a shadow one day might, on the next, send you plummeting. Or make you look foolish, which was almost as bad. There was no roof. The walls climbed jaggedly up and up to the exposed sky at the rim of the caldera, black and empty. Gan’s skin crawled at all that overhead emptiness, though it knew Xitil’s pets wouldn’t bother it. Not this time. Courtiers of every ilk fought or chatted among the carved columns thrusting up from the floor—here a fourteen-foot granite phallus, there a set of gaping onyx jaws big enough to swallow an ox. Not that half these idiots knew what an ox was, Gan thought with a sniff as it rounded a set of rosy labia formed from quartz. Gan did, though. It might be young, it might be small, but it knew more about the human realm than any of them. Which was why it had been summoned. A shiver of mingled dread and anticipation fled down Gan’s spine. Drawing the notice of the Most Feared was not safe. But oh, it was apt to be interesting. Gan was so busy mentally chortling over the possibilities that it trotted around a grasping stone talon a little too quickly—and dropped flat to the ground, its hearts hammering in terror. A long snake of a tail, spiked and deadly, whizzed over its head.

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Idiot! Gan screamed at itself silently. Acting like a two-year imp instead of a full demon—daydreaming in the hall! It had almost bumped into one of Xitil’s Claws. You didnot want to startle a Claw. Their reflexes were as swift as their wits were slow. At least Gan had stopped short of real insult. It hadn’t actually touched the Claw. “What’s this?” The high-pitched voice came from several feet above Gan’s head. This Claw was female, or mostly, Gan decided. “A bug?” Gan’s field of view consisted of the dusty rock floor, but out of the corner of its eye it saw a scaly foot as long as one of its arms. The claws protruding from the four thick toes were thick and yellow and sharp. Don’t breathe yet, it told itself. The immediate danger was over, but Xitil’s Claws were as touchy as they were stupid. “Maybe.” The second voice was raspier, possibly male, and came from the left of the first one. By cutting its eyes as far to the right as possible, Gan could just glimpse another pair of clawed feet. “Or some kind of parasite. Better step on it.” “Great One,” Gan squeaked, “a thousand pardons. This one deserves to be squashed, yes, squashed flat for intruding upon you, but I beg you to withhold your foot. I am summoned.” “Summoned?” A clawed foot curled around Gan’s ribs. Idly the Claw rolled Gan over on its back, and Gan stared up into the golden glow of the Claw’s forward pair of eyes. “You think it’s stupid enough to try to lie about that, Hrrol?” “Looks stupid enough for almost anything. Better step on it.” “Oh, Great One, I am stupid indeed for having offended, yet not brainless enough to lie about the Most Feared. If I do not speak truth, punish me twice, thrice over—punish me endlessly—but for now, allow me to answer my summons.”You great, dumb doff! If I were stupid, I couldn’t lie, could I? Not even just with words. And if Xitil’s unhappy with me for being late, she’ll be unhappy with you for having delayed me . “Won’t be much left of it to punish if it’s lying,” the Claw on the left observed. “Better smash it now. Or at least remove that puny excuse for a tail.” Gan bristled. It was quite proud of its new tail— which maybe wasn’t as long and prehensile as the Claw’s, but was wonderfully strong and had lovely spikes along it. “No,” the first one said regretfully. “If Xitil has some use for this bug, she might wish it to keep its pathetic little lump of a tail. Later,” she decided. “I will punish it later. What’s your callname, bug?” “I am called Gan, Great One.”May worms eat you . “You are a lucky bug, Gan, for I must bow to the whim of the Most Feared, who may prefer you whole. I release you.” “Thank you, Great One.” Gan scrambled to its feet, bowing as it retreated. “May your claws grow ever

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longer and sharper, the better to rend your prey.”And may your prey not hurt itself laughing at your stupidity . Once out of range of the Claws, Gan paid better attention to its surroundings as it hurried to the hottest end of the hall. Here the rocks glowed dull red in their artful tumble around the entrance to the tunnel that led to Xitil’s private chambers. No courtiers lingered at this end of the huge hall. If Xitil wished to see her subjects, she joined them. If she didn’t, who would go to her uninvited? Gan was invited. With dread and a chest-puffing sense of its own importance—not to mention very hot feet— Gan crossed the threshold. It immediately felt more comfortable. The ceiling of the rocky tunnel was irregular, but nowhere was it higher than twenty feet. There was only one sharp defensive twist in the tunnel, a mark of Xitil’s confidence. No one had tried to depose her for a long, long time. The tunnel narrowed at the end; few of her courtiers and none of her nobles could pass into her chambers upright. Gan could, though. It trotted toward the pinkish-purple light at the end of the tunnel, its brow wrinkled. Pink usually meant she was cheerful, or maybe horny. Purple, though… Gan stepped from the hot, dry tunnel into steamy pink mist, as if the air itself were sweating in the heat Xitil craved and created. The floor here was polished obsidian, slippery and wet. And there facing it, lounging on the mounded pillows on her couch, was Xitil the Most Feared—rockshaper and tyrant, weathermaster and prince of hell. A paroxysm of awe and lust froze Gan in its tracks. “Gan.” Her voice rumbled through the mist, an audible caress. “Come here.” Shivering in fear and arousal, it obeyed. Her immense, undulate form glistened in the directionless light, the flesh as rosy and damp as an aroused vulva. And dense, oh so deliciously dense to Gan’süther sense, each roll and fold of her packed with lives. Her foremost arms were bent to prop her up, the jewel-tipped claws partially retracted. Xitil favored breasts lately. She’d grown six of them, and the upper pair were bare. The nipples were hard little nuggets framed by aureoles as red as her eyes—which crinkled with amusement. “Gan,” she whispered, “you haven’t greeted my guest. Do so.” It jolted to a stop, eyes widening. Would it be punished? She’d told it to come to her, but…obey, idiot , Gan told itself. It tore its gaze away from Xitil, and its eyes widened as it at last noticed who—or what—stood to the left of Xitil’s couch. A. human. How odd. They did show up from time to time—many of the courts had private deals with one or more of the species—but why would Xitil want Gan to meet one? No, it realized a second later. That was no human, whatever form she might be wearing. She’d done something to cloak her energies so Gan read little… but what it read made it shiver again. The rumors were right. Xitil was entertaining a very strange ally. Or potential meal? Surely even she wouldn’t dare… but Gan had been told to greet the Most Feared’s guest, not to speculate. It cleared its throat and bowed deeply. “Revered One, forgive me if, in the

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depths of my ignorance, I address you incorrectly.” The girl—for that was what she looked like, a brown-haired, brown-eyed human girl of perhaps fifteen years— smiled kindly at it. “Many from this cycle do not know Me. You are forgiven.” She glanced at Xitil. “You are sure? This one looks rather…” “Unprepossessing?” Xitil chuckled, a low rumble that made her breasts quiver. “It’s young and weak and too curious for its own good, but you do not require a warrior. Gan has the skills you do need. It can cross unsummoned, and I can use it to pass instructions and information to your tool.” “Ah. And the other tool I requested?” the girl asked. Xitil ran a claw idly along the great mound of her hip, parting the veils so the lush curls of her pubes peeked out. “That was predicated upon our original plan. You did not open the Gate. Nor have you been willing to honor my one personal request.” Threat—challenge—powerrippled through the air, power so vast Gan had no reference for it. In one quick, nauseous plunge, it fell into vertigo as gravity tugged, released, and clenched again around it. Its hearts stopped beating altogether. As quickly as the storm had hit, it passed. The girl laughed, a light, carefree sound. “Oh, look— we have frightened poor Gan. It would be a shame if we harmed it with our little testings, wouldn’t it? But really, Xitil, it is too bad of you to taunt me sexually. You know my feelings about that sort of thing.” Oh. Oh! Sothat’s who She was… Xitil shrugged and didn’t reply. The girl who wasn’t a girl at all turned to study Gan. “I suppose such tools are not plentiful, and yet it’s so small. The size of a human child. No matter how its form is altered, it won’t present the appearance I need.” “You think not?” Xitil’s eyes glowed, “Gan.” Gan’s attention fixed entirely on its prince, for beneath the syllable of its callname reverberated a tug on its true-name. “Grow.” Gan scrunched its face unhappily and obeyed—a trifle slowly, perhaps, but she hadn’t said to hurry. It was twelve feet tall and very uncomfortable when Xitil spoke again. “Stop.” Gan obeyed that command gladly and then concentrated on holding itself steady while the nongirl studied it. “Amazing,” she said at last. Her voice sounded distant;

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Gan’s ears were too attenuated to catch sounds properly. “I had no idea you could disperse yourselves that way.” She cocked her head. “I can see through its hands.” Xitil chuckled. “Poor Gan. It lacks the substance to expand greatly, but it will do for your purposes. Resume your usual size, Gan.” Gan dropped back into its normal density with a sigh of relief. “I have a job for you,” she told it. “How would you like to drink a little blood?” “I would like that,” it answered honestly. “Whose?” “A human’s. She will be brought here.” Broughthere? Gan’s eyes grew large. This, it realized, was why Xitil had allied with the one who looked like a brown-eyed girl. Part of the reason, anyway. Xitil’s games were never simple. Xitil’s guest would bring a human here for Gan to… to… Gan whispered, “You wish me to possess this human, Most Feared?” Xitil smoothed her hair over one breast with a ruby-tipped claw. “There. I knew you couldn’t be entirely ignorant. You did eat old Mevroax, after all.” “And—and the human will go back to its realm?” Gan’s senses were whirling. To be able to experience the human realm as a human—it would eat and drink and fuck as humans do, and see so much! So much more than it had ever been able to see or do before— “She’d be of little use to me here. Of course she will be returned. But you will not be able to possess her immediately, Gan. She is a sensitive.” Gan’s mouth opened. Just in time, it closed it again. The Most Feared must know some way to get behind a sensitive’s barriers, or she would not have brought Gan here. And it was never a good idea to question her. “Very wise, Gan.” Fortunately, Xitil was amused rather than annoyed by Gan’s near gaffe. Whatever she planned to do with the human, it had put her in a high good humor. “Your unvoiced thoughts are quite correct, though. Normally breaching a sensitive would present a problem, but my guest will deal with that.” Gan’s gaze swung back to the brown-eyed girl. It swallowed. Xitil had earned her title of Most Feared, yes. But this one… The girl smiled at it sweetly. “Don’t fret, Gan. What I will use to open the human to your possession won’t harm you. Demons are not subject to guilt.” Gan felt a wave of relief. That made sense. Humans, with their pesky, mysterious souls, were always vulnerable to guilt. Even sensitives could be reached that way. Not by demons, of course, but the gods specialized in souls and guilt and worship and such, didn’t they? “You will be directed by another tool of mine,” the girl told it. “Xitil, with your permission…?” Xitil didn’t reply, but the rocks near the girl groaned and parted, revealing another tunnel. A few minutes

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later, a human male stepped out. His face held the usual assortment of features—unremarkable, Gan thought, even for a human. He wore one of those suits that betokened status in the western nations of Earth and carried a black staff that matched him in height. Gan sniffed. It was to take orders from this man? Why, he was no more prepossessing than Gan was. His energy was thin, not at all powerful. The staff he held, however… Gan squinted at the length of wood, reading it more carefully. Huh. That was odd. The staff had power, but it read as empty rather than dense. “Most High,” the man whispered, his attention fixed on the girlish avatar. His eyes glowed with what Gan supposed was worship. “How may I please you?” She smiled at him. “This little one is called Gan. It will do your bidding when you return. Gan.” She turned to it, still smiling. “This is the Most Reverend Patrick Harlowe. When the time comes, he will assist you.” Gan dared a question of the brown-haired girl, borrowing the mode of address the human had used. One could never be too courteous in dealing with such as She. “May this puny one ask who I will be drinking from, Most High?” “Her name is Lily. Lily Yu.” ONE THE Odyssey was large, crowded, and noisy. Built in the seventies, the circular restaurant with its glinting window-walls perched on a promontory by the ocean like a giant disco ball gone flat over the years. Wedding guests filled two rooms and spilled out onto the patio, which provided a fine view of the sun going down over the western waves. In the main banquet room, music competed with the hum of conversation as couples young and old took to the dance floor. In the adjoining dining room, buffet tables were piled artfully with crackers and crudites, shrimp and smoked salmon, fruit and cheese, and bite-sized cookies. The remains of a towering wedding cake occupied a place of honor at a separate table. Lily Yu wasn’t watching the sunset or nibbling wedding cake. She was too busy trying to keep her second cousin, Freddie Chang, from stepping on her feet and wondering when she could leave. Not for at least an hour, she decided. Not without paying a terrible price. Her mother would know if she snuck out early. Freddie interrupted his monologue on the iniquities of the self-employment tax to say, “You could at least try to look like you’re enjoying yourself.” “Why?” “Everyone is watching. Your mother. My mother. Everyone.” “Does that mean you aren’t going to try to grope me this time?”

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His chin jutted in the mulish, self-righteous way that had made her spill lemonade in his lap when he was twelve. “You don’t have to be crude. Just because a guy tries to be friendly—” “Ow!” She stopped moving. “I didn’t step on your foot.” “No, you bumped my arm. The one in the sling,” she added pointedly. He looked stricken. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I forgot. You shouldn’t be dancing.” He took her good elbow. “You need to sit down.” Freddie’s habit of telling her what she needed was one of many reasons she avoided him whenever possible. It brought out the worst in her. She managed to clamp her lips together until they were off the dance floor. ‘Thanks for being understanding. I think I’ll go graze off the buffet.“ “All right. I’ll fix you a plate.” “I can feed myself these days, you know.” “You’ve only got one good arm.” He kept hold of it, too, steering her toward the dining room where the buffet was laid out. Lily sighed. She didn’t want food. She wanted to get away from Freddie. From everyone, really, but that wasn’t possible, so she might as well suck it up and try to be pleasant. “Mother tells me you’ve finally quit that job of yours,” he said as they reached the buffet table. “I’m relieved. So is Mother. I’m sorry it took being wounded for you to see that—” “Wait a minute.” She jerked her arm out of his grip. “I didn’t quit the force because I got shot.” “Whatever the reason, I’m glad you’ve come to your senses. Police work is dangerous and exposes you to, ah, the wrong sort of people.” Like criminals, she supposed. Or maybe he meant other police officers. “I guess your mother didn’t have all the news. I’m still a cop. A fed, maybe, but still a cop.” “A fed?” He looked deeply suspicious. “FBI. You have heard of them?” She reached for a plate. Freddie never noticed sarcasm. His frown was thoughtful, not offended, as he piled food she didn’t want on her plate. “I guess that’s an improvement. You’ll be dealing more with white-collar crime, not murderers and thugs.” Lily’s lips twitched at the idea that FBI agents arrested a better class of criminal. She could have told him that she’d taken her only line-of-duty bullet after being recruited by the FBI, not before. She didn’t. He’d tell his mother, who’d tell Lily’s mother, who had jumped to the same conclusion—that Lily was in a safer job now. No point in rocking that particular boat. She looked at the plate in her hand, which he’d piled with

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enough food for three people. “I hope this is for you. I’m allergic to shellfish.” “Oh.” He glanced at the plate. “Forgot. Well, I can take it and get you another one.” “Never mind.” He didn’t listen, of course. He just started filling another plate. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.” “Don’t go there.” He paused to frown at her. “I guess you think of yourself as taken right now. By, uh, that Turner fellow. The, uh…” Pig eyes, she thought. Freddie had greedy little pig eyes. “Lupus. It’s okay to come out and say it, you know. It isn’t a bad word.” “I was trying to be tactful. Tell me, is it true that they—” “Yes. Absolutely.” She glanced around. Who could she use as an excuse to escape? “You didn’t let me finish!” “Didn’t I?” All, Beth was talking to one of Susan’s doctor friends. Lily managed to catch her little sister’s eye, but Beth just grinned, crossed her eyes, and then turned her back. The rotten little rat fink. Beth always had been spoiled. “I want you to know that I won’t hold your liaison with Turner against you,” Freddie announced. “I’m a fair man. What’s sauce for the goose and all that. And, uh, I’m aware that his kind… well, they exert a certain sexual compulsion. Though I was surprised to hear that you… but it’s not your fault.” Her gaze jerked back to him. “What the hell are you talking about?” “Your affair with Turner. Really, Lily, I shouldn’t have to repeat myself. It’s only polite to listen.” “Oh, I’m listening. I just didn’t think I’d heard right, since my personal life is none of your business.” “We’re cousins. And one day, when you’ve finished your youthful experimentation—” “I’m twenty-eight, not eighteen.” She shook her head, exasperated. Once Freddie got an idea into his head, it took a sharp scalpel to get it out. “Read my lips. We are not going to get married. Not ever.” His smile was patient. Tolerant. “Your mother wants it. So does mine.” “My mother wants me to get married, period. You’re the right gender; you’re Chinese; you have a good business. That works for her, but she’s already married. Give it up, Freddie. You don’t want to marry me. You don’t even like me.” “Of course I do. I’m very fond of you. You’re my cousin.”

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He meant it, too. Or believed it, which was almost the same. She sighed. “I agree with your mother—youdo need to get married. Soon. Just not to me.” She handed him her plate, patted his arm, and made her getaway while his hands were full. Relatives could be the very devil sometimes. She’d dance some more, she decided, heading for the other room. That wouldn’t eliminate the possibility of nosy questions, not when so many people here felt entitled— obliged, even—to ask about her shoulder, her new lover, or her career change. But it limited their opportunities. The DJ was playing “I Want You to Want Me,” and the room was crowded. Lily stood at the edge of the dance floor tapping her foot, more in irritation than to keep time. Freddie was not exactly the soul of insight, which made it all the more irritating that he’d put his finger on the truth. She was taken, all right. Taken over, it sometimes seemed. Her gaze drifted across the crowded room, past cousins and strangers, acquaintances, family friends, and those newly related by marriage. It snagged on Aunt Mequi, who was dancing with Lily’s father. Mequi Leung was her mother’s sister. They ran tall on that side of Lily’s family, and Mequi was thin all over— thin body, thin face, and a thin smile that looked like a bandage slapped over something painful. Lily’s own lips twitched. Aunt Mequi hated to look ridiculous, and Edward Yu’s head barely topped his sister-in-law’s shoulder. He wouldn’t be troubled by that, she knew. Her father possessed a marvelous capacity for ignoring things he considered unimportant. He was probably talking about option strike, vertical spread, and other esoterica of the broker’s world. Probably… but Lily couldn’t know for sure. They were fifteen feet away. She couldn’t hear them over the babble of other voices. Three weeks ago, she would have been able to. Relief mixed with a wisp of disappointment. For a while, the mate bond had made her hearing as acute as Rule’s, but the effect had faded. She didn’t know why it had happened in the first place, or why it had gone away. Inhumanly good hearing might have come in handy at times, but so much had changed in her life in such a short time. On the whole, she was glad one thing had reverted to normal. Of course, it might come back. Lily touched the small charm dangling from a gold chain around her throat. Thetoltoi was the outward emblem of all those changes, the token she’d been given when she formally accepted membership in Rule’s clan. Her foot began tapping faster, losing the beat of the music altogether. Rule thought the bond had responded to danger by blurring the lines between their separate abilities. Maybe he was right. At the time, he’d been able to draw on some of her own immunity to magic, and they had definitely been in danger. A nutty telepath had been trying to sacrifice them to her goddess. But Rule’s theory made the mate bond seem almost sentient, like some sort of psychic snake—now tightening its coils around the two of them, now loosening them. Most of all, it irritated Lily that she didn’t know . There were entirely too many mysteries about this bond.

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Maybe she’d find out soon. She had an appointment in three days to talk to the NokolaiRhej —Rhej being a position or title. Rule said the woman was sort of a combination of priestess, historian, and bard. Now that Lily was clan, she was supposed to get filled in on some of the history. She hoped this Rhej person had some answers. She had a lot of questions. As if the shifting sea of couples hid some arcane lode-stone, her gaze was drawn to one spot, near the curving wall of windows. Rule was there. She couldn’t see him. Lily had inherited her father’s lack of inches, and there were too many people between them. But she didn’t have to see him to know precisely where he was. She always did, if he was close enough… within one hundred twenty-nine feet, to be exact. The effect became imprecise after that. Last week she’d made him test it. That’s how it was now, anyway. Three weeks ago she’d been unable to be that far away—literally unable. She’d nearly passed out when she put too much distance between them. Rule claimed that was normal for a newly mated pair. He had some weird ideas of normal. But the bond had relaxed, just as he’d said it would. She wasn’t sure how far their tether would stretch now, but she meant to find out. Soon. The music ended, and some of the couples started to leave the floor. In the gap that opened up, Lily saw the man who’d recently moved into the center of her life. Or, according to Rule, had been shoved there by his Lady. He’d been dancing with someone Lily didn’t know. A member of the groom’s family, probably, as the woman looked Chinese. She was about Lily’s age, with very short hair and a sleek blue dress that set off her figure admirably. Nota puke-green bridesmaid’s dress. Lily grimaced. The mate bond made it impossible for Rule to stray, but his thoughts could still wander, couldn’t they? The woman’s hand rested on Rule’s arm. She was smiling in a way that was becoming all too familiar. Lily wondered if she looked like that, too, when Rule’s head bent toward her the way he inclined it now, listening to his dance partner. It was an elegant head. Its dark hair was too long for fashion, but it suited him. His face was narrow, the skin taut over cheeks that might have been sculpted by the wind. The angle of those cheekbones was mirrored by the dark slashes of his eyebrows. He wore black, of course. He always wore black. The expensive suit covered a body that never failed to fascinate her. It seemed somehow more focused than other bodies. Watching him now, she had the fanciful thought that he attended to the world with all of him—listening with thighs and biceps as well as ears, observing with scalp and eyes and nape, with the soles of his feet and the backs of his knees. The backs of his knees… she knew how his skin tasted there. His head turned, and their eyes met.

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Oh. She put a hand on her stomach. That didn’t usually happen, not since the first time. But every once in a while she got this little jolt when their eyes met. Like being stroked by a feather, she thought. Startling because she felt it in a place she had no name for. A place she hadn’t known could be touched. Why did it hit sometimes and not others? She grimaced. Mate bond mystery number three hundred seventy-six. As if he’d read her mind, the corner of his mouth kicked up. Those rakish eyebrows lifted, asking a question. She made herself smile back and shook her head:No, I don’t need you right now. I’m fine . “Not like that, dummy,” a voice said at her elbow. “Like this.” Lily turned. Beth was making kissy faces at Rule. Rule grinned and blew Lily’s little sister a kiss. “See?” Beth turned to her. “You have a hunk like that hanging around, you don’t scowl him away.” “That was a smile, not a scowl.This is a scowl.” Beth studied her. “By golly, you’re right. The difference isn’t as obvious as it ought to be, though. What’s wrong?” “It’s such a pleasure to be asked that by someone I can tell to mind her own business.” “The rellies been giving you a hard time? Rhetorical question,” she added, hooking an arm through Lily’s. “Of course they are. You’ve confounded everyone’s expectations again. C’mon. Let’s see if there’s anywhere to hide on the patio.” It was either go with Beth or be tugged wholly off balance. Lily went. “Grandmother’s holding court out there.” “Right. The buffet, then,” she said, shifting course. “I’m pretty sure I could cram in more chocolate.” “You think it’s a good idea for the two of us to stand next to the food? Some people have weak stomachs.” Beth glanced down at her bridesmaid’s dress, a match for Lily’s. “And to think I always believed Susan liked me. It’s not as if she needed help to outshine me. She’s done that all my life.” “Maybe she’s turned color-blind.” Lily’s shoulder had progressed from stiff to aching. She could use it as an excuse to leave, she supposed, but her mother and the aunts might start bringing her food again. And stay to tell her all the things she should be doing differently… again. “That doesn’t explain Mother,” Beth said darkly. “There is no explanation for Mother. I thought you knew that.” Lily reminded herself that she didn’t really need to have her arm free. She wouldn’t need to draw on anyone at her big sister’s wedding. Odds were slim for even a fist fight.

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But it was a relief when they reached the buffet and Beth let go to zero in on the sweets. “No chocolate cookies left,” she said sadly and reached for a cookie shaped like a pair of wedding bells. “How long did it take Freddie to pop the question this time?” “He’s stopped proposing. He just talks about our marriage as if I’ve already agreed. You could have rescued me.” “I hate to interrupt a tender moment. Speaking of which, why are you avoiding Rule?” “You can be intensely annoying, you know that?” Beth nodded and downed the other half of the cookie. “You don’t want to talk about your relationship with Tall, Dark, and Occasionally Furry. I get that. And I understand why you haven’t said much about him to Mother. Who would? But you’ve clammed up with me, too.” Lily heard the hurt beneath the banter and gave up. “We had an argument, all right? Nothing major. I’m just not all that pleased with him at the moment.” Beth gave her a worried glance. “Not about other women,” Lily said impatiently. “If that was the problem, I wouldn’t call it a minor argument, would I? And I wouldn’t be making smiley faces at him.” “Right.” Beth was relieved. “Of course you wouldn’t. Though I don’t understand why you—all right, all right, don’t get huffy. Hey, there’s some chocolate sauce left! Pass me one of those strawberries.” Lily knew what Beth was thinking, and why. And maybe she ought to give her sister a better explanation than she had so far… but not now. “So, you going to tell me what you two argued about?” “No. Are you still dating the octopus?” “If you mean Bill, he’sso last week. At least tell me if Rule is as incredible in bed as he looks like he would be.” A grin stole out. “Better.” Beth dipped her strawberry in chocolate while she thought that over, then shook her head. “Not possible, but trying to imagine it is exciting. Did you get those dark circles beneath your eyes because you keep skipping sleep in favor of hot monkey sex, then? Or is your shoulder keeping you awake? Or is something else going on?” Lily jerked her good shoulder in a shrug. “Bad dreams. They’ll pass. Are you going to eat that or make love to it?” Beth licked more of the chocolate off the strawberry. “The two are not mutually exclusive. Considering what happened to you, bad dreams aren’t surprising.Not that I know exactly what happened. I don’t suppose you want to talk about it?” “I’m not much for talky-talky.”

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“No kidding.” At last Beth popped the strawberry in her mouth. With Beth’s mouth temporarily occupied, Lily’s attention slipped back to the argument she and Rule had tripped over last night. He wanted her to move in with him. He’d been patient, by his lights, but she wasn’t . ready. She needed time to adjust to all the changes in her life. And she needed to spend some of that time alone. He didn’t get that. Nettie had told her that individual lupi, like individual humans, fell in different places along the introvert-extrovert scale. But on the whole, they needed more touch, more contact, more sheer time spent with others than the average human. The wolf was a pack animal, after all. Strawberry disposed of, Beth asked, “Since you won’t do the talky-talky thing, have you been digging?” “Waging war on weeds. I can’t use a shovel with one arm.” Rule had offered to dig a bed for her at Clanhome, but that would have changed everything. She did her gardening at Grandmother’s because she didn’t have any land of her own, but that didn’t mean… “Hey!” Beth’s hand passed in front of Lily’s face. “Where’d you go? You’re pale as a ghost.” “That’s appropriate,” Lily muttered. “What?‘ She shook her head. “Never mind. I saw… I thought I saw someone I used to know.” Someone who couldn’t be here. The woman Lily knew only as Helen didn’t know Lily’s family, for one thing. For another, she was dead. “I’m guessing it wasn’t someone you liked.” “No.” Lily stared in the direction the woman had gone, vanished now behind a cluster of chattering teens. She’d looked exactly like Helen: tiny build, long blond hair, baby face, eyes as cold and empty as a doll’s. There she was again, heading for the exit that led to the restrooms. Lily’s heart began throwing itself against the wall of her chest as if desperately seeking escape. It was crazy to think that she’d seen Helen. Crazy. And yet… “I’m going to freshen up,” she told her sister, moving to follow a woman who couldn’t exist. Three weeks ago, Lily had killed her.

NANCY Chen obviously enjoyed dancing, and she was good at it. She was tall enough that her steps matched Rule’s well, too. She smelled of tobacco, which he didn’t care for, and baby powder, which he liked. She had a lively sense of humor.

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All in all, Rule would have been enjoying their dance if only she’d stop trying to grope him. “Uh-uh.” he said, moving her hand back to his waist. Again. She grinned. “Can’t blame me for trying. It’s not as if that pretty thing you’re dating would object.” “I think you don’t know Lily.” “She can’t be such a fool she doesn’t know about your kind. More power to her, I say, for having the guts to take you on anyway. I hear you can give a lady quite a ride.” She slid him a coquettish glance… and slid her hand down again. Torn between exasperation and amusement, he reclaimed the wandering hand. This time he kept a grip on it. “I suspect you’ve given quite a ride in your day, too,” he said dryly. Nancy Chen was eighty-two years old, the great-aunt of the groom. She laughed. “My day isn’t over. It just doesn’t come as often as it used to. Get it? Doesn’tcome .” She laughed again, enjoying herself. Rule enjoyed her, too, for the remainder of the dance, because he kept her hands pinned. Nancy didn’t expect him to take her propositions seriously—though he suspected that, given an ounce of encouragement, she’d have happily hunted up a closet for them to duck into. Mostly, though, she was getting a kick out of being outrageous. Some women reacted that way. They went a little giddy over the chance to step outside the normal bonds of society with someone who lived outside them. He was used to that, as he was used to the whiff of fear-scent most people gave off when they met him. But both could be wearying. He wanted Lily. And she was avoiding him. Rule made his way around the edges of the banquet room, exerting all his tact to avoid dancing with yet another woman who wasn’t Lily. The air was ripe with scent—food, flowers, candles, humanity, and a faint note of ocean. But he didn’t pick up Lily’s scent, or the tug that would tell him where she was. The directional aspect of the mate bond wasn’t as obvious for him as it was for her—another of the mysteries that so plagued her. When they’d discovered this during her little test last week, he’d suggested that she was simply more attuned to the immaterial than he was because of her Gift. Lily had shaken her head in disgust. “That’s not an explanation. That’s substituting one question mark for another.” A smile twitched at Rule’s mouth as he headed for the other room. Hisnadia did not approve of the inexplicable. He wove through the crowd, looking for a small, slender woman with hair the color of night, skin like cream poured over apricots… and a dress the color of mold. His smile widened. Truer love hath no sister than to wear such a gown. Still no Lily. Rule paused. She wasn’t happy with him right now. Tough. He wasn’t too happy with her, either. She had no business being back on full duty. She wasn’t healed yet, dammit, and why her superiors couldn’t see that, he couldn’t fathom. But she wouldn’t have—

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“Rule.” The smooth, feminine voice was newly familiar. He turned to see Lily’s mother beckoning him. Julia Yu was a tall, elegant woman with beautiful hands, very little chin, and Lily’s eyes set beneath eyebrows plucked to crispness. She stood with two women about her age—one Anglo, one Chinese, both intensely curious about him and trying not to show it. Rule repressed a sigh. He’d been glad of the chance this wedding offered to become acquainted with Lily’s people. They were part of her, after all, and he was endlessly curious about her. Last night he’d met her parents at the rehearsal dinner, with mixed results. They’d both been very polite, but neither of them approved of him. Her father was reserving judgment, he thought. Her mother liked him, didn’t want to, and wished he would go away. It was Lily he wanted now, though. He was tired of the curiosity, the fear, the speculation. He might be used to being on exhibit, but it was different this time. Personal.Look, everyone, see what followed Lily home. It walks and talks just like a real person . But after the briefest of introductions, Julia Yu excused herself to the others and took Rule aside. She’d tucked a frown between those crisp eyebrows. “Have you seen Lily?” His own brows lifted in surprise. “I was just looking for her.” “Teh! I’m being silly.” She shook her head. “It’s Beth’s fault, putting ideas in my head, and I’ve been so busy… you have no idea what it is to put on a wedding like this.” Worry bit down low in his stomach. He replied with automatic courtesy. “You’ve done a magnificent job. The wedding was beautiful, as is the reception. But what ideas did Beth put in your head?” “Such a silly story! Of course she was imagining things. Beth is very imaginative.” It was impossible to tell if she meant that as a compliment or criticism of her youngest daughter. The frown hadn’t budged. “I paid it no heed at all.” “What kind of story?” “She said she saw Lily go into the ladies’ room and followed her. They haven’t had much opportunity to talk lately, you know, so I suppose… but Lily wasn’t there.” Julia’s lips pursed. “Beth swears Lily could not have left without her seeing, but that’s nonsense.” It had to be. Didn’t it? Rule stood stock still for a moment. Lily wasn’t far. Heknew that. But he hadn’t been able to find her, and the world wasn’t as sane and orderly as it appeared. The realms were shifting. And three weeks ago, Lily had pissed off a goddess. “I’ll find her.” He turned away, moving quickly, propelled by an urgency he knew was foolish. The last place she’d been seen was the ladies’ room, so that’s where he headed. The restrooms lay off the hall that connected the private dining rooms to the public part of the restaurant. A knot of unhappy women had collected outside the ladies’ room. He picked up snatches of conversation.

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“… anyone sent for the manager?” “Is there another one?” “Plenty of stalls, no need to lock the door.” “… some kind of sadist, if you ask me!” Someone had locked the door to the ladies’ room. Rule’s mouth went dry. He eased his way through the women, using his size, his smile, and, after a moment, their recognition to part them. “Excuse me, ladies. Pardon me. No, I’m not the manager, but if you’ll step aside…” “Shannon,” one of them whispered to another, “You dummy! That’s the Nokolai prince!” That silenced them for a moment. “I think I can fix this if you’ll… thank you,” he said as the last one moved away. An odd, faint odor hung in the air near the door. He bent closer to sniff, but he couldn’t identify it. Lily was on the other side. He felt her nearness as a slow stir beneath his breastbone. Heart hammering, he rapped on the door. Hollow core. “That won’t work!” one of the women snapped. “You think we haven’t tried knocking?” The knob turned, but the door didn’t budge. Bolted on the other side, he judged. “We tried opening it, too,” the woman said sarcastically. Rule put his fist through the door. Wood splintered. Someone shrieked. He reached through the hole he’d made and found the bolt. His blood made it slippery, but he gripped it hard and yanked. He shoved the door open. Lily lay on her back by the sinks. She wasn’t moving. TWO “AND why,” Rule asked with strained patience, “Did you send the EMTs away?” Lily sat in the middle of the restroom floor in a puddle of muddy green chiffon, petting the white tiles. In the hall by the door, a uniformed officer kept out the curious and the concerned while his partner took statements. Rule sat on the floor, too—over against the wall, well away from Lily so he wouldn’t mess up the traces left by her attacker. She frowned at the floor as if someone had written an unwelcome message there in invisible ink. “They wanted to take me to the hospital.” He stared at the heart of his heart, the one woman in the world for him… the pigheaded, my-way-or-the-highway idiot who’d refused medical treatment. “Imagine that. What were they thinking?”

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Her lips twitched. At last she looked away from the fascinating floor. “I’ll go later. My sore head is evidence of a sort, but I really am okay. Unlike you, I didn’t lose any blood—” “You opened your wound.” “But it barely bled, and I’m already stuffed full of antibiotics. My sister checked me out.” “Yes, and said you probably had a concussion—” “Aslight concussion.” “—and should go to the emergency room and let them run tests.” “Which would confirm that my head hurts, after which they’d tell me to rest. I’m resting.” “You’re conducting a bloody be-damned investigation!” “I don’t have much time before the S.O.C. crew gets here.” “You’re speaking acronym again.” She rolled her eyes. “Scene-of-crime crew. I wanted to check things out before they show up. Or Karonski.” She frowned at the floor one last time, and then held out her hand. “I’ve learned all I can. Help me up?” He rose swiftly, crossed to her, and took her hand. With one gentle tug she was on her feet and in his arms. He nuzzled her hair. Her scent reached inside him, easing him away from anger. Which left the fear standing alone. He drew a shaky breath. “Dammit, Lily. Your face is the color of sweaty gym socks.” “I’m so glad you told me that.” But she leaned into him, letting him have the warmth and weight of her—the prickle of arousal and the comfort of connection. He knew she drew strength from the contact, too. She’d come that far in accepting the mate bond. She no longer denied them this out of fear her needs would swallow her. But she wouldn’t live with him. That, Rule promised himself, would change. After this attack, even Lily couldn’t continue to insist on warping both of their lives to conform to some notion of autonomy. “The uniform is staring at us,” she muttered. “Mmm.” The uniform, as she put it, was not happy about having a lupus on the scene. The man’s first impulse had been to arrest Rule on general principles. Dissuaded from that, he’d wanted to remove Rule from the crime scene. Reasonable enough, from a cop’s point of view, Rule supposed. But he wasn’t leaving Lily. Eventually the officer had accepted that, though it was a toss-up whether it was Lily’s newly minted federal badge, her past status as a homicide cop, or Rule’s simple refusal to leave that had prevailed. He rubbed his cheek against her hair, trying to breathe her in. And paused. “You smell funny.”

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“Hey.” She leaned away. “No more cracks about sweaty socks.” “Not that kind of funny.” Rule bent, sniffing down her shoulder and along the sling that held her left arm, where the scent was strongest. “Could you try to be a little less weird?” “Picture me wagging my tail, and this will seem more natural.” He inhaled deeply, trying to sort the odd scent from all the others. “I can’t place it,” he said, straightening. “Not in this form.” “Maybe you’re smelling whatever left the traces I felt on the floor.” Lily was a touch sensitive, perhaps the rarest of the Gifts, and an unusually strong one. She couldn’t be affected by magic, but she could feel it, even the slight traces left by the passage of supernatural beings. His eyebrows lifted. “What did you feel?” “It was odd. Sort of… orange.” “Which tells me little.” “Doesn’t tell me much, either.” She shook her head. “Magic feels like a texture, not a color, yet this… I can’t explain it. I’ve never felt anything like it before.” She looked troubled, but Rule felt relief. “It didn’t feel like that damned staff, then.” Before she could respond, they were interrupted. “Sorry, ma’am, you can’t go in there.” That was the officer by the door. A familiar feminine voice replied with a stream of Chinese, followed by another familiar voice—Julia Yu. “I told you they wouldn’t let you in. If they won’t let her own mother in, they won’t make an exception for her grandmother.” Lily sighed and pulled away. “Grandmother, don’t curse the man for doing his duty.” “I curse who I curse. You will come out now.” The old woman standing on the other side of the burly officer was less than five feet tall. Her dress was red, ankle-length, and Oriental style. Black hair striped with silver was drawn up in a knot secured with twin enameled picks, and the ring on one finger held a cabochon ruby. Despite her years, she had a spine like a sapling, supple and erect, and the hauteur of a queen. Rule couldn’t look at Madame Li Lei Yu without thinking of a cat. She knew she was in charge, whatever the idiots around her might think. Right now, she was a cat who wanted a door opened. Immediately. Lily gave Rule a wry glance and left the restroom. He followed. At the west end of the hall another officer was talking with one of the women who’d complained about the locked restroom door. Food smells drifted in from the nearby kitchen, and the sounds of diners in the

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public part of the restaurant competed with the hum from the rooms occupied by the wedding party. Here, under the suspicious eyes of the patrol cop, three women made a triangle, with the oldest and smallest of them at its apex. Julia Yu—the one in the middle— touched her daughter’s shoulder, looking anxious. Lily gave her a reassuring smile and turned to her grandmother. “I’m here, as instructed.” “Ha! You do not fool me. You come because you are ready to come.” Two pairs of black eyes met—one wrapped in wrin“-kles, one surrounded by smooth young skin. The two women were almost of equal height. Alike in other ways, too, some of them visible. ”You don’t want me to neglect my duty,“ Lily said. “Pert,” her grandmother announced. “Always you are pert.” She cupped Lily’s cheek. The skin on the back of her hand was as fine and soft as tissue laid over the strict architecture of bone and tendon. Her nails were red and beautifully tended. “You are well, child?” Lily smiled into that cupped hand. “Aside from the little guy hammering on my skull from the inside, yes.” “Then reassure your mother. She worries.” Julia Yu was indignant. “You were the one who insisted on coming to see for yourself that she was all right. You wouldn’t take my word for it. Or Susan’s, and she’s a doctor.” Madame Yu ignored that, dropping her hand and turning to Rule. “You do not greet me.” “I but await my opportunity.” He bent and kissed one whisper-soft cheek. Her eyebrows shot up. “You flirt with your lover’s grandmother?” “I flirt withyou , Madame. It is irresistible.” “Good. I like flattery when it is done well. Tell your peculiar friend I wish to see him.” “Ah… which peculiar friend would that be?” She chuckled. “You have so many, eh? The beautiful one.” “She means Cullen,” Lily said dryly. Of course she did. Rule eyed the old woman, wondering if he wanted to know why she wished to see Cullen. Probably not, he decided. “I’ll give you his phone number, but he doesn’t always answer it.” “I dislike telephones. You tell him come see me when I return.” “Return?” Julia Yu frowned. “What are you talking about? You aren’t going anywhere. You don’t like to travel.” “Tomorrow I get on an airplane. I fly toChina .” In the sudden silence, Rule looked at the faces of the three women. Julia Yu was shocked. Madame Yu was obviously enjoying her daughter-in-law’s reaction. And Lily… her distress was plain, at least to him.

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It showed in her stillness, her lack of expression, the change in her scent. He moved closer to her. “This wasn’t a sudden decision,” he told the old woman grimly. “You can’t get a visa forChina overnight.” “Can I not?” Her expression suggested he’d fallen from grace. She shrugged and spoke to her granddaughter. “For years, I have thought of such a trip. I am many years now inAmerica . There are people and places inChina I would see again before I die. Or they do.” “You’ve talked about a trip,” Lily said, “but you never made plans. Why now?” “I am an old woman. I am reminded of this recently.” The unexpected wryness in Grandmother’s voice made Rule think she referred to the battle two weeks ago—one involving a number of armed Azá, himself, Cullen, Lily, a handful of FBI agents, several wolves… and one very large tiger. Madame Li Lei Yu hadn’t seemed like an old woman to him at the time. Lily had herself back under control. “Li Quin will go with you?” “She, too, has people and places to see. My gardens—” She broke off, turning as Rule did toward the east end of the hall. Rule knew who was coming by the sound of the footsteps. A moment later the man appeared around the bend in the hall: Abel Karonski, sometime friend, full-time FBI agent, part of a special unit of the Magical Crimes Division. And witch. The satchel he carried wouldn’t hold file folders or a change of clothes. But the person with Abel wasn’t his partner, Martin Croft. Instead the agent was accompanied by a long, lanky woman with a butch-crop of silvery blond hair, half a dozen earrings in each ear, a badly fitted gray suit, and deep-set eyes the color of old whiskey. Most people wouldn’t notice the eyes. Not at first. All they’d see were the tattoos. “Cynna!” Rule exclaimed. Her mouth tilted up between the indigo whorls looping from cheeks to chin. “Hey, Rule. Fancy meeting me here, huh?”

“YOU’VE added a few,” Rule said, pulling out a chair. After a brief confusion, Lily, Rule, Karonski, and the unexpected addition to their task force had adjourned to the restaurant’s smallest private dining room. It held one table, six chairs, and a coffee pot. “More than a few, but some of ‘em don’t show in polite company.” The woman’s grin rearranged the designs on her cheeks. “Damn, you look good. Haven’t changed a bit. Maybe you’d like to check out some of my new tattoos later.”

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Lily sat in the chair Rule was holding. She supposed she’d better get used to women propositioning Rule. It was going to happen. Karonski put down his satchel, pulled out one of the chairs, and sat. “Dammit, Cynna, I told you—” “And I told you that was bullshit. Rule’s a lupus.” “Ah, Cynna.” Rule’s smile held a definite tinge of regret. “As delightful as such a study would be, I must decline. I’m not available.” The woman’s eyebrows went up. She looked at Lily, her expression hard to read behind all the tattoos. But she didn’t look friendly. Lily decided her head hurt too much to figure out how to handle this blast from Rule’s past. She knew how she felt about it, though. Pissed. But who was she supposed to be angry with? Karonski, maybe, for springing Cynna Weaver on her like this. She’d wondered if Weaver was here to execute an AG warrant—in effect, an order of execution signed by theU.S. attorney general. The FBI’s temporary director was pushing for one, though so far the attorney general wasn’t buying. No surprise there. The political fallout could be huge, since AG warrants had traditionally only been issued against nonhumans. Like lupi. But Karonski had assured her Weaver was part of the unit. She was here to help find Harlowe, not to kill him. Lily turned to him. “What exactly did you tell her about Rule and me?” “That she’s to behave. Rule’s taken.” He looked around. “Didn’t someone say something about coffee?” Lily would have smiled if her head hadn’t hurt so much. Karonski was an overfed white male with a severe wardrobe impairment, the stubbornness to outlast a jackass, and a firm belief in the power of caffeine. He was also her boss. “Sure. It’s right there. Get me a cup, too.” He heaved a sigh and went after his version of life support. Their little haven had originally been intended for the use of business types. With cops everywhere, the suits hadn’t thought this was a good time to discuss a merger or acquisition or whatever, so Karonski had commandeered the room and the coffee. While the four of them conferred, the S.O.C. team was going through their routine—they’d arrived on Karonski’s heels—and other local cops took the names and addresses of everyone in the restaurant. This included the entire wedding party, much to her mother’s distress. Susan and her new husband had been allowed to leave—the only ones, so far, to receive permission. Lily’s parents were trying to soothe their guests, and Grandmother had summoned Li Quin to take her home. The local cops would try to stop her, of course, but Lily was putting her money on Grandmother. It was weird, sitting on this side of the local-federal fence. “So Croft’s inVirginia already?” Lily referred to Karonski’s partner. “On his way. It’s a major outbreak, the biggest in decades.”

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“Any fatalities?” “Two confirmed. The nasty little shits caused a major pileup on the interstate by riding a trucker’s windshield.” He brought two full mugs back to the table with him. Today’s suit was brown, wrinkled, and missing a button. His tie suggested he’d had something with ketchup for lunch. “Here.” “Thanks.” Lily wrapped her hands around the steaming mug and took a sip. Caffeine had analgesic properties, right? It was bound to help. “What about you?” Rule asked the agent. “You’re leaving, too?” “I’ll be heading there as soon as I’ve got things lined out here.” “I don’t know much about imps. They’ve always been rare on this coast. Were they summoned?” “No one summons imps on purpose. They can’t be controlled. But a poorly executed spell can call them up instead of a demon, and most summoning spells suck. That’s one thing lost during the Purge that I hope we never rediscover.” Karonski took a sip of coffee, sighed with pleasure, and added, “More often, though, imps bleed through some weak place between the realms. We don’t know why. Not usually in such numbers, though.” “Hell’s restless lately,” Cynna commented. Lily looked at her. “You would know about that?” “Not directly. I’m righteous these days. But I hear things.” Lily knew that the section of the FBI’s Magical Crimes Division called the Unit was more flexible than the rest of the Bureau about any less-than-respectable skills its agents possessed. They had to be open-minded. The Unit couldn’t function without the Gifted—witness her own hasty recruitment. And over the years, the Gifted had found different paths for their talents, paths often cloaked in secrecy. The Purge had put an end to making such explorations openly. But a Dizzy who worked for the FBI? “All right,” Karonski said, “I’ve got a plane to catch, and Lily here has to go get her head examined—yes, that is an order,” he said directly to her. “So let’s make it quick. What happened?” “I saw Helen.” Karonski spilled his coffee. “You’re worrying me.” “It wasn’t really Helen. I know that. But I’m not talking about a resemblance, either. This woman looked exactly like her—body, face, hair, everything was exactly the same.” Karonski frowned. “A twin?” “That was one possibility. Or she was an illusion. Or I was going nuts. I didn’t think I was crazy, but I couldn’t see any way to prove or disprove that right away. The other two possibilities meant she’d been planted to get my attention or Rule’s. Since I knew it wasn’t an illusion—”

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“Wait a minute,” Cynna said. “How could you know that?” Lily raised her eyebrows at Karonski. “Cynna just flew in. I hit the high points on the way here, but she doesn’t know much more than she read in the papers after the big raid.” Okay, so Lily had to explain herself—something she wasn’t used to doing. Until last month, she could have counted on the fingers of one hand the number of people who knew about her Gift. “I can be fooled, but not by magic. I’m a sensitive.” Cynna’s lips pursed as if she’d bitten into something sour. “A sensitive.” “I never outed people.” It was a refrain Lily had used a lot lately. Too often, sensitives had been used by witch hunters both official and otherwise to sniff out the Gifted or those of the Blood. Most of that was in the past… but not very far in the past. “It came in handy sometimes in my work, but I was with homicide, not the X-Squad. You going to have a problem working with me?” “I can handle it. Think you can handle working with me?” “Let’s see.” Lily held out her hand. To her credit, Weaver didn’t hesitate to offer a quick, businesslike shake. Then she cocked her head to one side. “So what did you pick up about me?” “Not about you. I’m no empath. I read magic, not people.” She took a moment to gather her impressions from the brief contact. “You’ve a strong Gift,” she said at last. “And complex, like lots of fingerprints on top of each other. I haven’t run across your brand of magic before.” Weaver showed her teeth in a smile. “There aren’t many like me around.” Rule shifted in his chair. “Let’s get back to this woman who looked like Helen. It wouldn’t be hard for an uninvited guest to crash the party.” “No. But how did she know there was a party to crash?” “That’s rather my point. You suspected she’d been planted to get your attention. That meant they’d learned enough about you to get her here, at your sister’s wedding. So naturally you followed her.” His fingers drummed once. “Did it occur to you she might be bait?” “Of course she was bait. That didn’t mean I could ignore her. Harlowe’s still missing. So’s that damned staff. This Helen look-alike had to be connected to him, it, or both, and someone knew enough to send her to my sister’s wedding. What was I supposed to do—let that link walk away?” “You could have come to me for backup.” “If I’d hunted you up, I could have lost her.” “You lost her anyway.”

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Because that was patently true, she didn’t argue. “Maybe I miscalled it, but I’m the only one who can’t be affected by that staff, and I didn’t want to take the chance. If it had been there…” She started to shake her head, winced, and turned to Karonski. “She went to the ladies’ room, I followed, and that’s the last I know. Something clobbered me as soon as I stepped inside.” “And locked you in there,” Rule said. “Then vanished.” Karonski’s forehead knitted. “What do you mean?” “The restrooms are in the middle of the building. No windows. No way in or out except through that one door—and it was bolted on the inside.” “Get real,” Cynna said. “A locked room mystery?” Lily was tired, hurting, and—if she was honest with herself—scared. They’d struck at her in the midst of her family. How had they known where and when to find her? “Are those tattoos for show, or do you actually know something about magic?” “I know enough to not buy into vanishing villains. Invisibility was impossible before the Purge. It sure hasn’t become possible now.” “The bolt,” Lily snapped. “Whoever knocked me out didn’t have to disappear. She just had to spell the bolt into moving from the other side of the door.” Cynna’s mouth opened—and closed. She grimaced. “My stupid. Sorry.” Anger was not good for concussions. Even minor ones. The throbbing increased, bringing on a wave of nausea. Lily rode out the wave, then said, “We need to—hey!” Rule had pulled her chair back from the table. “You’ve played macho cop long enough. We’ll be going now. Abel, good to see you again. Cynna, you, too.” “Wait just one minute.” But when that gentle, inexorable hand propelled Lily to her feet, the room hit the spin cycle. She closed her eyes and waited for it to firm up again. “Okay, okay. I’ll even let you drive.” “The ambulance crew is still here. I told them to wait.” Her eyes snapped open so she could glare at him. He smiled and slid an arm around her waist. “You’re going to the ER, Yu,” Karonski said. “Don’t be a baby about it.” “I said I’d go.” Pride wouldn’t let her lean against Rule, but it was tempting. As much as she hated to admit it, determination had about run its limit in keeping her upright. “But this is not an emergency. I don’t need to tie up an ambulance.” “They’re here. Might as well make use of them. Be sure your phone’s turned on, and I’ll let you know what Cynna and I find out before I leave.” “You’re flying toVirginia tonight?” Lily tried to hide her distress. She was a very new FBI agent. She might know how to conduct an investigation, but she didn’t know FBI procedures and resources.

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He grunted an affirmative. “I don’t know how long we’ll be gone. Imps aren’t hard to deal with, but there’s a lot of them and we have to figure out how they got loose. If there’s a leak, I’ll have to close it.” “You can do that?” Rule asked. “Piece of cake.” He grinned. “Pretty fancy cake, maybe. I might even need a little help. In the meantime, Lily and Cynna will be handling the hunt for Harlow and that staff. Lily, you’ve got authority to call on the local office as needed. Cynna, you have seniority—” She snorted. “As if I cared about that shit.” “No, you’re a damned loose cannon. Like I was about to say, you’ve got seniority, but you’re not in charge. This is Yu’s investigation. You’re to assist.” She was leaning, dammit. Lily forced herself to straighten. “You call it my investigation, but you brought someone in without telling me.” “Blame Ruben. He had one of his notions yesterday. Says he thinks you’ll need her soon.” Ruben Brooks was the head of the Unit. He was also an amazingly accurate precog. When he got hit by a notion, it paid to listen. Lily turned her head to look at Ruben’s latest notion— the woman whose body had been covered, inch by painful inch, with impossibly intricate patterns of power. Or that was the idea, anyway. The Dizzies had been a big deal on the street about a decade ago, a quasi-religious group based on poorly understood African shamanistic practices. Most of them had been black, connected to gangs, and without enough of a Gift to cause much trouble—or to keep the movement going. It had pretty much died out when it became obvious the leaders couldn’t deliver on their promises of power. Beneath the inky tattoos, Cynna Weaver’s skin was white. Lily assumed she was an exception in more than pigmentation. The Unit wouldn’t have signed her up if she were as ineffective as other Dizzies. “So how are you going to assist the investigation?” “I’m a Finder.” She bared her teeth in a hunter’s grin. “You get me something to work with, and I’ll find that Harlowe bastard for you.” Shit. “That may be a problem. His house burned down two days ago.” THREE CYNNA watched Rule hustle his pretty little cop out the door. He was so careful about her, and it was so unnecessary. That one was tougher than she looked. She remembered when Rule had been all careful like that with another female who’d insisted she didn’t need any man looking out for her. Her mouth twisted wryly. Such a prickly little shit she’d been! Twenty going on twelve, street smart and cocky and scared of all the wrong things. But no matter how much she’d insisted she didn’t want to be coddled, Rule had known better. And she’d eaten it up, hadn’t she? Hoarded the memory of him, too, all

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these years. Rule’s caring had fed the hungry child she’d been back then. Well, she wasn’t that hungry brat anymore. So maybe she was disappointed that he was taken. She’d get over it. She turned to Karonski. “So what the hell am I doing here? I can’t find Harlowe without sorting his pattern, and I can’t sort without something of his to sort from.” He shrugged. “Blame Ruben. He thinks it’s a good idea for you to be around.” “And doesn’t know why, I suppose.” “Does he ever?” She shook her head. “Pretty big coincidence, Harlowe’s house burning down right before I arrived. How’d it happen?” “Someone doused the bushes with gasoline.” “Huh. Think the bad guys have a precog, too?” “Maybe. Or else they were just being careful, and the timing really is coincidence.” Karonski pushed back his chair and grabbed his mug. “Come on. Let’s go hassle the locals. I’d like to run a diagnostic on that bolt and find out for sure if it was shifted magically.” She stood, too. “Nothing I like better than hassling a few cops.” “Youare a cop.” “Weird, isn’t it?” Their little dining room opened onto the main dining room. The Odyssey’s patrons were still being interviewed by the local cops; from snippets Cynna overheard as they made their way to the back, some were excited about their proximity to a crime, some worried, some angry. The poor waitresses and waiters were still trying to deliver food, but no one was much interested in the meal they’d come here for. The place must do a lot of private party business, Cynna thought as they made their way through the crowded dining room. The public dining area occupied only about half of the donut. The rest was all private rooms. The restrooms were in the center of the donut, off the hall that circled the kitchens at the center. A uniformed cop stopped them just inside that hall. Karonski’s badge persuaded him they could be allowed to advance to the next sentry, a tired-looking woman in front of the ladies’ room. The sound of a hand-vac inside announced that the crime scene techs were still busy, and a quick exchange brought an estimate of fifteen minutes before they’d let the feds have the scene. She and Abel moved down the hall a short distance to wait. Cynna leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. “That’s a lot of hullabaloo for a simple knock on the head.” “Assault on a federal officer in connection with her investigation is a big deal. Try to remember that you’re important now.” Cynna just shook her head. She didn’t feel like a federal officer, for all that she’d been with the unit five

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years now. Most of her fellow agents would say she didn’t act like one, either. “So who is this Helen Yu thought she saw?” Karonski took a healthy swallow of his coffee. “Shewas a telepath. She’s dead now.” Cynna’s eyebrows shot up. ‘The one who wanted to open a gate to hell?“ “That’s her.” Cynna considered what little she knew. The dead woman and Patrick Harlowe had belonged to the Church of the Redeemed, also known as the Azá. Some of those involved in the hell-raising scheme had been true believers; others had been magically bound to the cause with the help of a mysterious staff Helen had wielded. With it, she’d been able to control minds. Which, of course, was impossible. Or so everyone had always said. Three weeks ago the Azá, led by Helen and Harlowe, had taken Rule and Lily Yu captive. Somehow they’d managed to turn the tables on their captors, but Harlowe had gotten away. And the staff had vanished. “Seems like the staff should be our primary target.” “We know a fair amount about Harlowe, next to nothing about the staff. Hard to track a piece of wood.” He sipped his coffee, watching the activity inside the rest-room. “Seabourne tried, right after the staff went missing. Couldn’t do it.” “That’s the one you told me about. The sorcerer.” Karonski chuckled. “Your skepticism’s showing.” “Well, Jesus, Abel, there haven’t been any sorcerers since the Purge! Not real ones, anyway. A few wannabes who know just enough to get in trouble.” “Seabourne’s for real, though what he can do is limited.” She tipped her head to one side. “Sorcery’s still illegal, last I heard.” He snorted. “And I know how that troubles your conscience.” “It’s important to be flexible. Is this guy working for us?” “Hey, sorcery’s illegal. He can’t work for us.” Karon-ski grinned. “Call him a friend of a friend. Turner and Yu wouldn’t have stopped Helen without him.” “It was theChina doll who offed her, though, right?” “Yep. And if you call her that to her face, I want to be there.” Karonski set his empty mug on the floor, pulled a mint from his pocket, unwrapped it, and popped it in his mouth. “So where do you know Turner from?” “Oh, me and Rule go way back. All the way back to before you arrested me.” She grinned. “I was just a big bite of mean back then, all attitude and no sense.”

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“And you’re different now in what way?” “Smart-ass.” She shook her head. “Lord, but seeing him does bring back memories. I used to hang out at a place called Mole’s in Chicago. Wonder if it’s still around?” “You met Turner there?” She nodded. “We hooked up for a while.” Now, there was a nice, low-key way to refer to someone who changed your life. “What’s this deal about him being unavailable, anyway?” “None of your business.” “Yeah, but it doesn’t make sense. Lupi don’t do the faithful bit.” “Rule is. Leave it alone.” He hadn’t been when she knew him. He’d made that clear up front, and she’d accepted it. In that respect he hadn’t seemed much different from the other men she knew, just more honest… but she hadn’t exactly hung with a stellar crowd back then. That was thirteen years ago. Jesus. Hard to believe in some ways… and in others, it seemed like a couple lifetimes ago. He would have changed since she’d known him, but this one was a real one-eighty. Sexually open relationships were a moral must for lupi. Something to do with their religion, she thought. How had the China doll gotten him to change his mind about something that really mattered to him? Not by playing the fragile femme. She might look the part to someone who wasn’t paying attention, but Rule paid attention. That was one of— “Looks like they’re about finished,” Karonski said, picking up his satchel. “It’ll take me a while to get set up. You want to check it out your way while I set my wards?” “Sure.” She straightened and followed him. Karonski was Wiccan, and Wiccan spells were considered the gold standard. In certain carefully circumscribed situations, what he learned was admissible as evidence in court. But his methods did take a while. According to the authorities, Cynna’s spells were unreliable because the accuracy depended on the skill of the caster. But she was one hell of a Finder. One hell of a lot faster than Karonski’s methods, too. Cynna had her head cleared and her energy focused on the serpent maze on her left arm by the time they reached the door to the rest-room. While Karonski got rid of the local representatives of officialdom, she started the spell moving through the maze. Finding was her Gift. She didn’t need spells for that. But to be any good as a Finder, she had to able to sort, to find the patterns of things and people. That’s what most of the spells inscribed on her body were for—sorting the energy she detected so she could Find its source. When Karonski gave her a nod, she stepped inside the restroom, turned, and held her hand over the bolt. Energy zipped from her hand to the bolt and bounced back, altered, to slither along the paths of her skin and burn a new design on her upper right thigh.

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She dropped her hand, staring at the bolt. “Holy shit.”

LILY sat on the examination table with her head pounding and her eyes closed. Her “room” was a curtained alcove that offered all the sketchy privacy of a hospital gown—an indignity she’d been spared so far, though it might have been more flattering than her bridesmaid’s dress. Nearby a baby was crying the thin, monotonous wail of exhaustion. The air stank of disinfectant and less obvious odors. Down the hall a woman was cursing some man. On the other side of the curtain a monitor beeped relentlessly. Lily turned her head. “What does it smell like in here to you?” “Pain-Rule sat on the table with her. She’d temporarily abandoned her ”don’t lean“ policy and was glad of the support of his arm and body. Funny. The way she was snuggled up against him left her good arm pretty much useless, but that didn’t make her uneasy. Was mat the effect of the mate bond, making her feel safe whether she was or not? Or was she just too tired and sore to care? “And yet you insisted on bringing me here.” She felt his smile in the way his cheek moved against her hair. “Pushed you around while you were temporarily weakened.” “Damn right, you did.” There were a few good things about his height, she decided. It put his shoulder at just the right level for her to rest her aching head. Lily felt guilty over how much she appreciated her parents’ absence. Her mother’s hovering and need to take charge would have driven her crazy. She’d persuaded them that the trip to the ER was a formality, necessary for insurance purposes. Grandmother, as expected, had left by the time Rule hustled Lily off to the ER, but she wouldn’t have been a problem anyway. Grandmother didn’t do hospitals. “Watch it,” Lily said. “We aren’t exactly private here.” Rule’s hand had slid up her rib cage, and his thumb was stroking slowly along the underside of her breast. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “I told you once before: you don’t do innocent well.” But there was no heat in her voice. Pleasure rose in drowsy waves, stirred by the movement of his thumb, by his simple nearness. Her eyelids drooped. “How can I feel like this when my head hurts?” He bent and ran his tongue slowly around the curve of her ear. “I don’t know. How are you feeling?” “Distracted.” “Good.” The woman down the hall was yelling about a suitcase now. Someone had stolen it, and they’d better give it back right now. Lily sighed and straightened. “I hope Nettie gets here soon.” Nettie was Dr. Two Horses, a trained shaman as well as a Harvard-educated physician. She was

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connected to Rule’s clan in some way. Nettie wasn’t a lupus herself, of course, because lupi were always male. But their children came in both sexes. “You’re worrying me,” Rule said. “What do you mean?” “You haven’t once complained about my calling her. After all the grief you gave me over my interfering ways with the ambulance crew, I’d expected at least a minor hissy fit.” “I don’t like hospitals. I do like Nettie. I guess there are some perks to being involved with a prince. Nettie would be one.” Rule grimaced. He wasn’t fond of the press’s habit of calling him “the Nokolai prince.” He was heir or Lu Nuncio for his clan, but the position didn’t really equate with the human version of royalty. “Nettie isn’t treating you because of me. She’d have come for any clan member.” “Oh. Right.” Lily sometimes forgot that she was clan now. So far, that particular change hadn’t had much effect on her life, though the adoption ceremony had been moving. “You know what’s weird?” “All sorts of things lately. From your point of view, that would include me, the mate bond—” She nudged him with her good shoulder. “Not you. I’m talking about the fact that I’m still alive.” His arm tightened around her. “Weirdisn’t the word I’d use.” “I’m not complaining, but think about it. Someone went to a lot of trouble to get me alone. So what did they do when their plan worked? Bonked me on the head and left, locking the door behind them. Doesn’t make sense.” “They must have been interrupted.” “There was a bolt on the door, remember? And that’s another thing. Why was there a bolt on the door? I’ve seen bolts on restrooms in convenience stores or gas stations, but in a restaurant?” “You think your Helen look-alike brought it with her?” “Maybe.” She frowned. “I wish O’Brien had been running the S.O.C. team. I know he’d catch it if the bolt had been… what is it?” He’d turned to the right, head up, but his body stayed loose. Whatever he’d sensed, it wasn’t a threat. “Nettie’s here.” Had he heard Nettie or smelled her? Must be hearing, she decided. Rule wouldn’t be able to pick out a single scent in the soup of the ER, not in this form… would he? “Good. She can tell you I’m okay, and we can go home.” A tall woman pushed back the curtain. Her skin was smooth and coppery; her hair was gray, frizzy, and abundant. The knot she’d made of it at her nape looked ready to unravel at any moment, and her wide mouth looked ready to smile. “You’ll have to indulge me first. Professional pride insists that I poke at my patients before I agree with them.”

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Some of the tension eased from Lily’s shoulders. “Hey, you’re wearing a lab coat.” “It goes with the stethoscope. For some reason everyone wants to see my credentials if I show up in shorts and an athletic bra.” Nettie, like most of the residents of Clan-home, generally wore as little as possible. She came up to the table. “How are you feeling?” “Tired. Sore. Ready to leave.” “Mmm.” Nettie asked a number of questions as she went through the usual medical rituals, checking Lily’s chart and shining a light in her eyes. But not all of her examination methods were taught at Harvard. “I sometimes wonder how anyone gets better in a hospital.” She lit a smudging stick, let it burn a moment, and then waved out the flame. A wisp of smoke trailed up from the bundle of herbs. “The energy’s always muddy as hell. Can you stand up for a minute?” “Sure.” Lily slipped off the table. Nettie chanted softly as she circled Lily, an eerie sound that did not go with her lab coat at all, using a large feather to waft the smoke toward Lily. The smoldering sage gave off a crisp, clean scent. By the time she’d made three circuits, Lily could have sworn her head didn’t hurt as much. “Did you actually do something, or do I feel better because I think you did something?” Nettie chuckled. “Does it matter? You can sit down again. I want to take a look at that shoulder. You said the wound opened?” “Probably when I fell.” Rule helped her unstick the tabs that held the sling together and slip her arm out. “Didn’t bleed much. I’m sure it’s okay.” True to her word, Nettie wasn’t about to agree with her patient without doing her own poking and prodding. Lily was developing goose bumps, sitting there in her strapless bra with the bodice of her dress in her lap, when her cell phone rang. Nettie grabbed Lily’s good arm when she started to move. “Uh-uh. I’m not finished.” “I’ll get it,” Rule said. He retrieved her purse from the floor. “Yes?” He paused. “She’s being examined right now… Dr. Two Horses. Why?” Lily twitched. She wanted that phone. “Is that Karon-ski?” Rule nodded, listening intently. “Fight crime later,” Nettie said. “Right now I’ve another mystery for you. There’s something odd about your wound.” “What do you mean?” “I’m picking up some kind of…dissonance is the best word I can think of. Something that doesn’t belong. You’re the sensitive. Touch it and see if you can tell me what I’m talking about.” Lily shrugged her good shoulder. “All right, but magic doesn’t stick to me, so I don’t see what…” Her voice trailed off when she touched the skin next to her wound.

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“You do feel something.” “Yes.” Troubled, Lily skimmed her fingertips over the neat, round scab where a bullet had entered her body three weeks ago. She shouldn’t be able to feel anything, but she did. “Orange. It feels orange.” “Sonofabitch.” Rule’s low-voiced curse had Lily’s head swiveling, but he seemed to be responding to Karonski, not her. “What?” she demanded. “Did Karonski learn something?” He shook his head, still listening. “All right,” he said reluctantly. “Though you’re wrong.” And he handed the phone to Nettie, not Lily. “If that idiot thinks he has to get a doctor’s permission just to tell me what he found—” “No.” Rule’s voice was hoarse. He looked at Nettie, at Lily, and then away. “That isn’t it.” Nettie’s gaze flicked to Lily. She listened a moment, her expression professionally blank, and then said, “I can, yes. The ritual itself doesn’t take long, but the prep will take about an hour.” Lily’s head throbbed in time with her suddenly accelerated heartbeat. “If someone doesn’t tell me what’s going on, I may explode.” This time Rule looked at her and didn’t look away. “Cynna identified your assailant. Karonski confirmed it. You were attacked by a demon. He wants to be sure it isn’t still here… inside you.” FOUR THIS being a weekend, there was a live band at the Cactus Corral. Music ripped through the air and beat against the eardrums, a crashing wail of steel guitar and relentless rhythm. This was music as a battering ram, designed to smash into restraints, making customers eager for the slide into booze, the bump and jostle of bodies on the dance floor. In the pounding darkness, it was easy to dance with a stranger. Easy to forget a lost job or a lost wife, unpaid bills and unfinished dreams. The only empty spot was at the bar next to a middle-aged man with a mustache the color of weak tea and excellent teeth. He was trim but not athletic, looking rather like an accountant who was as tidy with his body as with his clients’ money. Though he was a little older than most of the others, he didn’t really stand out. Yet the space on his left remained empty despite the number of customers vying for the bartender’s attention. And no one seemed to notice. They didn’t notice the squeaky voice that came from that open spot, either. “Did you see the breasts on that blonde?” Patrick Harlowe heard the voice. He ignored it. “Cantaloupes,” that voice said dreamily. “Big and firm. Maybe you could get it up with her.” Damned little monster. Why didn’t the music drown it out? He leaned across the scarred bar and shouted his drink order at the bartender. “You had a little trouble with the last one, but this blonde could make a dead man rise. Get it? Make his

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cock rise.” That was followed by a girlish giggle. Patrick had barely heard his own voice over that miserable excuse for a band, but he heard every word from the creature at his side. “Shut up.” “Ha! You shut up. You’d better, or they’ll think you’re nuts, talking to yourself.” Patrick looked down. He saw a short, squatsomething with slick orange skin—lots of skin, because it was both hairless and naked. It stood on two legs shaped more like a beast’s haunches than human limbs. The tail and the forward tilt it imparted made the creature vaguely resemble a stubby kangaroo. The arms were human enough, though, with five-fingered hands; the head was round with no visible ears and a wide slit of a mouth. “Stinking hermaphrodite,” Patrick muttered. “Why are you looking at breasts, anyway? Play with your own.” “I do. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like playing with hers.” The little demon winked at the blond woman who was chatting with her friend a few feet away, oblivious. Forget it, Patrick told himself. He might have to put up with the ugly little bugger for now, but it was temporary. So was hanging out in dives like this. Purely temporary. That didn’t mean he’d forgotten the chink bitch who’d caused all his problems. She’d get what she had coming. His lips curved up. Oh, yes, she’d pay, and he was the one who would deliver the bill. He’d been angry at first because he wasn’t allowed to kill her, but this would be better. This way she’d be paying for a long time. “Maybe you’d better stick to blondes. The brown-haired ones remind you of Her, huh?” Patrick’s mind went white. His heart kicked in his chest so quick and hard that his heartbeat swallowed everything else—thoughts, memories… He wouldn’t think about it. He didn’t remember it very well, anyway. Didn’t have to.She was in hell, and he was here. He was fine. “Stupid little shit. You don’t know what you’re talking about. She’s Chinese—black hair, not brown.” “I’m not talking about that one. I meant—hey, watch it!” Patrick had brushed that slick orange skin with the staff, sending just a trickle of power through it. He smiled. It was satisfying to see the little shit jump. “Whoops.” “You’d better watch it with that thing! You fry me, you’re gonna be in big trouble!” “I’ll be more careful,” Patrick assured it solemnly, letting the demon see how little he meant that. Time to remind the creature who was in charge. “You’ll be careful, too, won’t you?” It rubbed its shoulder—which was smoking slightly— and grumbled under its breath. Patrick turned away, feeling better, and noticed the way the man closest to him was looking at him. As if he was crazy.

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Better fix that. He smiled and stroked his index finger along the staff. The man—a cowboy type whose mustard yellow shirt strained over a beer gut—relaxed and smiled back. He said something, but Patrick couldn’t hear it over the pounding music. Patrick shook his head, still smiling, and gestured at his ears. Before Beer Belly could become a problem, the bartender slid Patrick’s drink to him. Patrick turned to him, his left hand grasping on the staff, his expression pleasant and friendly. “Thanks, asshole.” The man blinked. He hadn’t heard the words, of course, in all this din. Just the tone, the melodious crawl of Patrick’s voice… augmented by the staff he couldn’t see. None of these fools saw anything that mattered. Not the demon, not the staff, and only what Patrick allowed them to see of himself. Like right now. As the music crashed to a stop, the dazed bartender stammered, “On the house. Your drink’s on the house, man.” “You recognized me.” Patrick gave that just a touch of chagrin. “I hope you won’t tell anyone I’m here. Sometimes I need to get away, you know? Relax withreal people.” “Hell, no, of course I won’t say anything. Wouldn’t blow your cover for the world, man.” “Thanks.” Patrick turned his back on the man, wondering idly who he thought Patrick was. Someone powerful, of course. Someone the man privately revered, but who would a turd like that look up to? Didn’t matter. It was easier to let them make up their own version of who he was. All he had to do was persuade them he was important, someone to admire and serve. He’d always been good at that. Now, with the staff backing him up, he was invincible. “Invincible,” he murmured into his glass before taking a sip. He liked the sound of the word, the sheer truth of it. The bitch wouldn’t win, and he would be the one to take her down. Personally. His hand slid lovingly along the staff. The band swung into another song—something about boot-stomping, with a heavy, driving rhythm. Patrick’s mouth tightened. He hated country music. Bunch of losers whining about their lousy lives, that’s all they were. “So are you gonna fuck the blonde or just do her?” This time Patrick was able to ignore the mouthy little twit. He continued to look over the crowd, searching for the right one. The staff wasn’t picky. It would take whatever he fed it—and it needed feeding often.She had done something to it, changed it, while he was in… that place. With Her. But that was part of the plan. All part of the plan, and it wasn’t so bad, after all, though he’d been upset when he realized how often… but a good workman takes care of his tools. That’s what his father always said, and what was the staff but a tool?His tool. There. The girl in the red T-shirt and short black skirt. She was looking for some action tonight, wasn’t she? Look how she smiled at that cowboy she was dancing with… he’d separate them easily enough. Patrick started for the edge of the dance floor so he could be in place when the current dance ended. Maybe he’d outlaw country music once he was in charge.Death to all who worship Kenny Chesney , he thought, and chuckled.

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The girl tossed her head and her hair flew out, a shimmering light brown halo alive with youth, motion, and light. And that, too, was temporary. Quite temporary. FIVE FORTY-FIVE minutes after learning she might be possessed, Lily was wearing underwear, a hospital gown, and thetoltoi on its gold chain. She sat in a hospital bed with the head cranked up, the TV turned off, and a roomful of people. For a while, it had looked like she’d be thrown out instead of admitted. She hadn’t been sure which outcome to root for. The hospital authorities were prepared to tolerate a certain degree of deviation from scientific methods. Native healers were in vogue—a number ofHollywood types had been singing the praises of shamanistic healing—and Nettie had a quietly powerful reputation among the medical community. But the prospect of a mini-exorcism held within their respectable walls had pushed them past their comfort level. And that’s what it would amount to. Nettie had explained that the best way to find out if Lily had a demon in her was to perform the preliminary steps of an exorcism. That way they’d be ready to take things to the next level if the answer was yes. So Nettie had requested a private room for “a more elaborate procedure, which requires privacy,” without specifying the nature of the procedure. No point in ruffling feathers if they didn’t have to. Unfortunately, a nurse had overheard them discussing the situation. She’d tattled to the head of the ER, who’d called in the hospital’s senior vice president. Lily wasn’t sure if the man was afraid that she might really be possessed and wreak havoc in his fiefdom, or that the press would find out about a purported exorcism and the hospital would look foolish. She suspected the latter. A lot of people considered exorcism about as relevant as those old maps with sea monsters in the corners. Sure, demons existed, and every now and then some nutcase managed to summon one, but the gates to hell had been closed for centuries. Possession? Get real. Between Lily’s badge, Nettie’s professionalism, and Rule’s name dropping—his clan retained a prestigious law firm—they’d prevailed over the bureaucracy. Just before Lily was moved to a regular room on the third floor, Karonski and Cynna Weaver had shown up. And Nettie had gone to the chapel to pray. Prayer was a key component of the ritual, apparently. Lily wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She frowned at the sheet in her lap. It wasn’t as if she had anything against religion. But it was slippery stuff, wasn’t it? One person believed this-and-such, another believed that-and-such, and before you knew it they were having a nice little war over their differences. She didn’t like depending on something so hard to pin down. “Is your shoulder hurting?” Rule asked. He sat in a chair beside the bed, holding her left hand. Lily quickly dropped her other hand. She’d been rubbing her shoulder again, the way you’ll pick at a scab or run your tongue over the place a tooth used to be. Not because it helps, but because something isn’t right. “Not really.”

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“You aren’t possessed.” He said it so calmly, as if he were completely certain. She grimaced. “I don’t think I am, either. Magic can’t get inside me, so how could a demon?” And yet she’d felt something around the wound. Something that shouldn’t have been there. “Probably it couldn’t,” Karonski said comfortably from where he sprawled in a chair by the window, digging into a bag of Fritos. The blinds were pulled up, letting the tattered darkness of a city night peer in. “We’ll find out for sure soon.” Karonski was in shirtsleeves, having draped his jacket over the back of his chair. Maybe he’d been too warm. Or maybe he’d wanted to have quick access to the .357 in his shoulder holster in case Lily suddenly turned green and started ripping off people’s arms. Cynna paced. They could have snagged another chair for her, but she didn’t want one. A restless sort, Lily supposed. Not comfortable with waiting. She could relate. “I see why you can’t take my word for my condition. But I’d know, right? If I were possessed, I’d be able to tell.” “Maybe.” Karonski dug into the bottom of the bag, frowned, and came up with crumbs. “I’d know,” Rule said. His hand tightened on hers. “Maybe,” Karonski said again, and popped another chip in his mouth. “I got the demon’s scent from the door. If it was in Lily, I’d smell it on her.” “Yeah?” Cynna paused. “What does it smell like?” “Cloves and car exhaust. Sort of.” Karonski shook his head. “If your sniff test was reliable, Dr. Two Horses would have said so.” Lily didn’t think Rule had been talking just about scent, but they couldn’t discuss the mate bond in front of Cynna. Would it alert Rule to an alien presence inside Lily? She didn’t know. She didn’t think he did, either. She looked at Cynna. “No opinion?” “Plenty of them, but not about possession.” She reached the closed door, turned, and kept moving. “I don’t know much about that.” “I thought Dizzies were into demonology.” “Some are.” She paused by the window, frowning out at the darkness as if she disapproved of it. “But most of demonology is a matter of finding enough names for a demon to summon it and then control it if it shows up. Exorcism’s a whole ‘nother bag. That’s a job for religion.” Religion. The subject kept popping up lately. Most noticeably with the Church of the Redeemed, aka the

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Azá, and their former leader, the Most Reverend Patrick Harlowe. He’d tried to sacrifice Lily and Rule to the Azá‘s goddess. But there was Rule’s mysterious Lady, too—the one he believed had Gifted the two of them with the mate bond. The one who, his legends said, had created the lupi a few millennia ago to defeat the Azá’s goddess. It was enough to make Lily’s head pound. “I thought the Dizzies were a sort of religion. Ah—is it okay to call you that?” Belatedly she’d remembered that “Dizzies” was a mangling of the original Swahili. Cynna shrugged. “That’s what everyone called us. I’ll admit I dabbled a bit in demonology in my young and stupid days. That’s how I could recognize the traces left by your demon.” “Notmy demon.” “Whatever. The point is, it’s gone.” She scowled at Karonski in his chair by the window. “This whole rigmarole is so not necessary. I picked up two of the demon’s names.” Karonski crumpled up his chip bag and tossed it in the general direction of the trash. He missed. “Not enough to Find it, you said.” “No, but I could sure enough tell if it was in the room with me!” “I believe you, already. But there are procedures for this sort of thing.” That was news to Lily. But she hadn’t made her way halfway through the pile of reading she’d been given on FBI and MCD resources, regulations, and procedures. “And yet you delayed your flight.” He looked at her, his eyes gentler than usual. “If I’d left, there wouldn’t be a senior agent to oversee the procedure. Can’t very well leave you in charge of a major investigation until you’ve been documented as clean.” Okay, that made sense. Lily drew a steadying breath. She wished Nettie would hurry up so they could get this over with. “At least,” Rule said, “we can make a guess about what they were up to.” She nodded. Her head was feeling better. At first she’d thought that was Nettie’s doing, but that was foolish. Magic—even the good stuff, like healing magic—couldn’t affect her, so it must be getting better on its own. ‘They sent a demon to possess me. That required privacy, so someone supplied a bolt for the door and the demon zapped it into place.“ The S.O.C. officers had confirmed that the bolt had been freshly installed. “Makes sense,” Cynna said. “The woman you followed was the demon, form-changed to look like Helen. It knocked you out and did… whatever.” Lily looked out the window. From fifty yards away two windows stared back, one lit, one dark. Like two great eyes frozen in mid-blink. What had the demon done while she was unconscious? She didn’t feel different. There was no sense of an alien presence in her body or her mind, none of the struggle she’d seen in Karonski when he’d fought against the mental tampering inflicted by Helen and her staff.

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And yet she’d felt something when she touched her shoulder. Something that shouldn’t have been possible. Lily’s fingers twitched in Rule’s grip as she thought of the odd, slick feel of her wound. Orangey. She looked at Karonski. “You know what’s required for a demon to take possession?” He was brushing crumbs off his shirt. “There are plenty of theories, most of ‘em contradictory. But because of an incident seven years ago, MCD regs for dealing with demons limit involvement to persons of faith. Doesn’t seem to matter what faith, so long as the agent has one.” Seven years ago… it took a moment for Lily to place the reference, but the story had been sensational enough to stick. “You mean the shoot-out down in New Orleans? That FBI agent shot by his own team—he really was possessed?” Someone had leaked that to the press, but very few had bought it. Too outlandish. “Oh, yeah. The powers-that-be didn’t want to alarm the public with the facts.” “And this guy who was possessed wasn’t… um, a believer?” “Catholic, but lapsed.” Karonski stretched out his legs and laced his fingers over his middle. “Way lapsed. My personal take is that he was more vulnerable than most because he’d lost his faith, but that’s just a guess.” He shrugged. “MCD policy is just a guess, too.” “Whatdo you know?” she asked, exasperated. The door swung open. “Proximity is a factor,” Nettie said crisply. “The demon must be in close physical proximity to its victim. Possession doesn’t happen at a distance.” “How did you do that?” Lily demanded. “Rule can hear me from two rooms away. You can’t.” Rule smiled. “You were a little loud.” And a little more rattled than she wanted to admit, dammit. Lily took a slow breath, reaching for calm. There was something different about Nettie. She was wearing the same lab coat and jeans. Her hair was braided instead of hanging down in a fuzzy cloud, but Lily had seen it that way before. So what… “Another thing,” Karonski said. “Demons can get into animals, especially birds. I’ve been on a couple cases involving possessed birds.” He shrugged. “Don’t know why. Maybe birds are easy for them.” “If you’ve dealt with possession before, why is Nettie doing this?” Lily glanced at Nettie. “No offense.” Nettie just smiled. Karonski shook his head. “I didn’t say I’ve performed an exorcism. I haven’t. When an animal’s involved, the procedure is different. Demons can’t hide themselves as well in animals as they do in humans, so we can confirm possession pretty easily. Then we kill the animal. That forces the demon out so we can kill or banish it.” Oh. That was different, all right. “Another thing,” Rule said. “They can’t possess cats. Or lupi.”

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“Cats?” Lily couldn’t see behind the surfaces of his eyes. They were dark and glossy in the glare of the fluorescents, reflecting the overhead light and hiding everything else. But he looked tired. “You’ve been talking to Max.” Nettie snorted. “I take Max’s pronouncements with a whole lick of salt, but the part about lupi is right.” “Who’s Max?” Cynna asked. “A friend,” Rule said. “He owns Club Hell.” It was Nettie’s face, Lily decided. Or maybe just the eyes. They seemed to hold… more. Which was a silly thing to think. What did she mean, more? More what? Nettie nodded at Cynna. “I need you to stand over by Abel, please.” Karonski’s eyebrows shot up. “Lupi can’t be possessed?” “No. The Lady made them that way.” Nettie approached Lily’s bed. “It’s time for the rest of you to be quiet.” “This is a religious belief, then? One of your legends‘?” Rule answered. “It’s fact, though I don’t expect you to believe that.” “Talk later,” Nettie said, “or you’ll have to leave. Rule—” “I’m not leaving.” “Stand on the other side of the bed, then. Don’t touch her until we’re finished.” She took Rule’s place by Lily’s bed. “How are you doing?” It seemed a genuine question, not mere courtesy. And her eyes, those huge, dark eyes… darker than Rule’s, they were, that deep, bottomless brown people sometimes call black. “I’m okay. I don’t know what to expect. Have you done this before?” “I have, yes. Twice. Possession is as rare as true amnesia, so my experience is unusual. The first time was with a chicken.” Lily grinned. “A possessed chicken. That’s… I don’t know. Like Bunnicula, who drains the juice from carrots. Just not scary.” “The chicken had killed two dogs and attacked a child. The other time was an adult man. He—or rather, the demon in him—tried to kill me.” That cut off any mirth. “He couldn’t. It wasn’t allowed. I tell you this so you won’t worry. You and I will be protected.” How? Or maybe she meant, by whom?

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Nettie smiled as if she’d heard the unspoken question and found it amusing. She sat on the bed by Lily’s hip. Her eyes were so dark. Knowing. “This won’t be like a Catholic exorcism. My people don’t wrestle with a demon spiritually. We connect with our gods through the earth. Demons aren’t of our world, so we call on the powers of this realm to expel the intruder.” Okay, that made sense. Sort of. “I don’t worship your gods.” “You are of the earth, so you are theirs whether you acknowledge them or not. They do require your permission, however. You must willingly surrender to the ritual.” Lily considered that. “I’m not much at surrender, but I want this to happen. Does intention count?” “It does. I have your permission to continue?” “Yes.” “Very well, then. Be calm.” Nettie certainly was. Her eyes were so serene, yet vast. Vast enough to hold answers to questions Lily had always wondered about, and maybe some she’d never dreamed of asking. “We’re entirely safe. You can relax. Rest.” “I’m not…”Not nervous , she was going to say, but it seemed rude to finish the sentence. Nettie had started chanting—low, quiet, a soothing repetition of words Lily didn’t know. The sound made her sleepy. She fought it. She wanted to look for those answers, the ones hinted at in Nettie’s eyes…the same kind of answers the stars are always trying to give us , she thought,when we look up and up at them . So high above, speaking in gradual whispers about time, about their own flaming hearts and the endless cold that lies between… “Wake up,” someone said softly. “Time to wake up, Lily.” Everything had changed between one blink and the next. Nettie stood instead of sitting on the bed. Karonski was on his feet, too, shrugging into his jacket. Cynna wasn’t even in the room. Rule was where he had been, though. Beside her. Lily scowled at Nettie. “I was asleep. You put me to sleep!” Nettie smiled. “I put youin sleep, yes. With you out of the picture, I could find out if anyone else was home.” “You’re finished?” “All done, and you’re not possessed.” Rule laid a hand on her arm. She turned to see him grinning at her. “The ritual proved to be a major anticlimax. Nettie chanted, you dozed off, she asked some questions, and no one answered.” Lily was disgruntled. It didn’t seem right. After all that tension and buildup, she hadn’t even been around for… well, for whatever had happened. Or hadn’t happened, and that was what mattered. Lily caught herself before she could start rubbing her

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shoulder again. She reached for Rule’s hand instead. “All right, then. Everyone clear out. I want to go home.” SIX ONE and a quarter million people worked, ate, slept, loved, and fought inSan Diego ’s four-hundred-square-mile sprawl. It was never quiet, never fully dark in the city. Tonight, overcast had turned the sky into a dirty brown bowl that sealed in the city lights and shut out the night. Rule couldn’t see the moon. He still felt her, of course. The moon’s deep, slow chimes sounded in his blood and bones, growing louder when she waxed toward full, as she was now. But he missed seeing her changing face. He missed the stars and the spangled depths of night. And he missed being four-footed. There’d been little opportunity to run the hills in his other form. If he couldn’t run on all four feet, he might as well find other ways to enjoy speed. The city’s streets might not be empty, but at midnight they weren’t congested. Rule considered that permission to ignore the speed limit. He expected to be rebuked by his law-abiding passenger. But when he pulled onto 1-5 and brought the Mercedes up to a comfortable ninety miles an hour, Lily remained still and silent, her weapon in her lap. She’d retrieved it from his trunk as soon as they reached his car. That hadn’t surprised him. She’d be feeling the need for it tonight. And she’d be right. But she wasn’t asking questions. Questions were Lily’s way of sorting the world into shapes she could deal with, and she’d been tossed some pretty odd curves in the past few hours. Women were complicated creatures, he reminded himself. Any man who thought he had one figured out simply wasn’t paying attention, and hisnadia was more complex than most. The mate bond didn’t deliver understanding along with the physical tie. That was up to the two of them. He’d be foolish to fret over her silence when he had so many more concrete dangers to worry about. She was tired, after all. He wasn’t, but he was still too churned up for sleep to sound remotely possible. Lily was probably craving it by now, though. An injured body needed sleep. He thought of seeing her sprawled on the floor, unconscious, and anger burned through his blood, hot and vivid. He wanted to howl—and then tear out someone’s throat. “You trying to dig a new grip into that steering wheel?” “Hmm? Oh.” He flexed his hands on the wheel, forcing them to relax. “How’s your head?” “Better.” She gave it a little shake. “A lot better. More than makes sense.” “You may notice some improvement in your shoulder, too. Nettie left you in sleep for a while after the ritual was over.” Now her head swiveled sharply. “What do you mean?” “You know what ‘in sleep’ means.”

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“More or less. It’s a healing trance, magically induced. I know she said something about that, but I thought she was just using a term I was familiar with to describe something similar.” “No, she meant just what she said. You were in sleep.” “But I couldn’t be! That’s magic, and magic doesn’t affect me.” So that’s what was bothering her. “Normally she wouldn’t be able to put you in sleep, but for this she was backed by spiritual energies, not magic. Which may have given your healing an extra boost, by the way.” “But that doesn’t make sense! It’s… I canfeel Nettie’s Gift when I touch her, so what she does is magic.” “What does Nettie’s Gift feel like?” he asked, curious. She made a vague gesture, palm up. “Sort of like crumbly dirt or fern leaves—basic, earthy, intricate. The point is, she uses magic. Even if she gets it through prayer, it’s still the same stuff.” “Apparently not, since she was able to put you in sleep.” She frowned at the glittering worm of taillights ahead. “At first I was thinking… wondering… what if my being a sensitive messed things up? She thought I was clean because no one answered, but maybe my Gift kept her ritual from working. But that doesn’t make sense, either, because shedid put me in sleep. Only I don’t see how she could.” He made a soft, wordless exclamation and reached for her hand. “You’re still worried about it. Lily, there’s no trace of the demonic in you.” “I know. I know that, and yet I feel something. When I touch my shoulder, there’s still a trace of that orangey texture. The demon did something to me, and I don’t see how it could. 1 need to know that, and I need to know what it did.” What could he say? He knew she wasn’t tainted, but his certainty was intuitive. She wanted rational. He tried anyway. “Even if a demon could somehow get behind your shields, or whatever it is that makes you a sensitive—” “One did.” “Maybe. You don’t know what that orange feeling means. But even if being a sensitive didn’t protect you, the mate bond would. You’re touched by the Lady.” At first she didn’t say anything. A quick glance told him she was frowning hard, as if he’d presented her with a delicate knot to unravel. “I realize you believe that,” she said at last. “But Karonski said people of faith were protected. I’m not of your faith, so your Lady’s protection wouldn’t extend to me.” She was being so careful to sound respectful of his beliefs. It annoyed him. “The Lady is real, Lily. As real as her adversary—and I know you believe in Her existence.”

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“The one we can’t name. Right. She’s real enough.” Lily’s fingers drummed an impatient tattoo on the crumpled chiffon covering her thigh. “Stipulating that your Lady is real doesn’t mean that what you believe about Her is fact.” “We don’t claim to know everything about the Lady, but she’s spoken to the clans many times down through the centuries. We can be fairly confident we’ve got the basics right.” “Hmm.” She didn’t even ask. She assumed he was talking about some fuzzy business of prophets and faith where logic need not apply, and she didn’t bother to ask what he meant. “Don’t be so bloody dismissive of anything you didn’t read about in school.” “There’s a difference between myth and documented history.” “Our oral history isn’t myth. Whether you believe it or not, when the clans are in danger, the Lady speaks to us or gives us aid in other ways.” Maliciously he added, “She uses one of theChosen .” She swiveled to stare at him, horrified. “You are not saying what I think you’re saying.” He smiled. It was not a nice smile. At thegens amplexi two weeks ago, when Lily had been made officially Nokolai, she’d received a fervent welcome. So many of the clan had been eager to talk to the newChosen . To touch her. She’d been baffled by the attention, and he hadn’t explained. He’d been pretty sure she’d be appalled. He’d been right. She swallowed. “You mean they thought… they think… good God.” “They’re hoping the Lady will help us through you.” “You told them different, didn’t you?” It was more demand than question. “What could I tell them? I don’t know the Lady’s purpose.” “Well, you can’t possibly think I’m some kind of mouthpiece for your goddess, some prophet or… what’s it called? Avatar.” “The Lady doesn’t use avatars.” He could almost hear her teeth grinding. “Pick another word for it, then. Good God. I don’t even have the language to discuss this. It’s obvious I—hey! You missed the turnoff.” “No, I didn’t.” For several long heartbeats she didn’t respond. When she did, her voice was tight. “I’m not going to your apartment.” “They knew enough about you to get to you at your sister’s wedding. They for damned sure know where you live.”

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“Rule—” “For God’s sake, Lily, be reasonable! You’ve got a decent lock on your door, but that won’t stop someone from breaking that nice, big window in the living room and stepping inside. I can protect you from most things, but if that demon—” “I haven’t asked you to protect me. If you—” “They tried and failed to possess you. Who’s to say what they’ll try next? If the Azá‘s goddess is behind this—and we’d better assume She is—She is not one to give up on revenge. Killing you would be the easiest of their options. Benedict sent a couple of his men to my place for extra security tonight, and that’s where we’re going.” “Fine. Great. But if you think I’m going to trail bodyguards around while conducting an investigation, you need a reality check. And I can’t stay at your place tonight. If you’d just—” “Dammit, Lily, this is not the time to argue about where we live! Or whether we’re living together at all, or just getting together every night. Do you have any idea how strong demons are?” he demanded, swerving around a slow-moving van. “You’re protected from a magical assault, but that doesn’t help much if the demon decides to rip off your head.” “Would you slow down? Your reflexes may be super-sized, but the drivers you’re passing have to get by with plain old human response times. You could scare one of them off the road or into another car.” He glanced at the speedometer. His lips tightened as he forced himself to ease off on the accelerator. He’d passed a hundred without noticing. “You also need to turn around. And listen. I’ve been trying to tell you—” “What? What kind of lame-ass reason could you possibly have to refuse to make yourself as safe as possible?” “Dirty Harry.” Rule swallowed what he’d been about to say and used his breath for cursing her cat—her blasted, be-damned, antisocial, wolf-hating beast of a cat they’d left outside because the infernal creature had been off doing stupid cat things when they left for the wedding. But Lily had accepted responsibility for the animal, and you didn’t abandon a dependent when there was danger. Rule understood that, however little he liked it at the moment. The neighbor Lily occasionally asked to feed her cat was out of town. No one else had a key, and it was after midnight. He ran out of ways to describe the beast shortly after they left the interstate. “Feel better?” she asked dryly. “No.” He began winding his way back toward her apartment. “Dogs make sense. They understand hierarchy and the need to cooperate. They come when you call them. A cat though—a cat will take your number and get back to you. Maybe. If he’s in a good mood.” Not that he’d ever seen Harry in a good mood. “Why couldn’t you have gotten a dog?”

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“At what point do you think I had a choice? Now that I think about it, being claimed by a cat isn’t that different from the mate bond.” “There’s no similarity at all.” She just looked at him. He took a deep breath, trying to get his temper under control. “We’ll feed Harry and take him back to my apartment.” “You keep forgetting the asking thing.” “So?” He was being unreasonable. That was all right. He didn’tfeel reasonable. She surprised him. He hadn’t expected her to pout— Lily wasn’t a pouter—but he did think he’d get an argument, maybe an explosion. Instead she sighed, unclicked her safety belt, and levered herself onto the console separating the seats. Automatically he stretched an arm behind her, steadying her. “What in the—” “Shut up, Rule.” She leaned against him. It couldn’t be comfortable for her, perching on the console that way. It wasn’t as high as some, but if she’d been bigger than a bite she wouldn’t have fit. Her head was level with his. Normally that only happened when they were in bed. He could smell her hair— she’d recently switched to an apple-scented shampoo he liked—and the musky, indescribable scent that was Lily. His arm relaxed around her. Her upper arm pressed against his, and the calf of her left leg rested along his right leg. She was warm. So warm. What the hell. He’d give her suggestion a try and shut up. For several blocks he drove one-handed, in silence and more slowly. His arm was no substitute for a seat belt. Gradually his thoughts began to slow, too. He found a measure of silence, the inside sort. Like listening to the wind or letting the slow pulse of the earth seep up through his feet, this was a quiet that soothed even as it made him pay attention to things he’d wanted to ignore. She was so warm and welcome against him, and he could lose her. Nearby, a dog barked. A couple blocks away someone honked. He passed dark houses, closed businesses, an old Chevy with the bass blasting. There was the purr of the engine, the shush of tires on concrete, and the quiet susurration of her breathing. Could she hear his breaths? He was never sure how much humans heard. In his other form, he’d have been able to pick out the beating of her heart, but his hearing wasn’t that acute while two-legged.

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Of course, in his other form, the sound and scent and feel of her wouldn’t have affected him the way it was now. He was aware of his own pulse now, the sound of it in his ears, the heat and heaviness in his groin. Need brushed him with heavy wings that fluttered between desire and panic. He could lose her. When he turned onto the street that dead-ended at her apartment complex, she spoke quietly. “I’m scared for you, too.” His hand tightened at her waist. “If you’d go to Clan-home—” “I can’t hunt down Harlowe if I’m locked up somewhere.” “I know. I know, but that doesn’t make this any easier.” “What do you want me to tell you?” That she’d quit her job, stay at Clanhome, let him make sure she was safe. That she’d… be someone other than who and what she was: the one for him. The only one, now and for the rest of his life. And a cop. His instinct was to protect. So was hers. This was going to make their life together interesting. “Nothing,” he said. “There’s nothing you need to say. I’ll deal with it.” He tried not to think about his brother. There was no point in going there, no point in remembering what Benedict’s Chosen had put him through. Lily was nothing like Claire, thank God. But she was human. So easily damaged. He couldn’t help remembering Benedict’s wild grief, the way it had ripped sanity from his brother like skin ripped from the body, leaving the insides exposed, bloody and dripping. Gods, the sound of Benedict’s howl… He hadn’t understood. He’d been very young, of course, when Claire died. But even as an adult he hadn’t grasped how deep his brother’s grief had cut, though he’d seen the effects of that wounding. Now he’d had a glimpse. For an instant, one tiny slice of a second, when he’d seen Lily’s body on that bathroom floor… “Don’tdo that!” “What?” “Your eyes have gone all weird. Like you’re about to change or something.” His breath hitched as he caught himself. Gods, yes, he’d been slipping, sliding toward the beast without noticing. Like some crazed adolescent, losing control through sheer, bloody inattention. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I can’t believe I… don’t worry. I’m not going to lose control.” “Just don’t turn furry while you’re behind the wheel.” She brought her leg back over the console and slid back into her seat. He missed her immediately. How absurd.

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They’d reached her apartment complex—though that was too grand a name for the U-shaped, stucco huddle. It had begun life in the thirties as a cut-rate motel and hadn’t been improved by the Pepto Bismol paint job inflicted on it by some deranged manager. The exterior was well lit, at least—good from a security standpoint, if not aesthetically. “How is it that you can always find a parking space?” she asked as he pulled into a spot directly in front of the exterior stairs that led to her unit. “It’s not hard at this hour.” He climbed out. The one advantage to Lily’s living quarters was the location—only two blocks from the ocean. The air was heavy with the sea’s complex perfume. Rule filled his lungs with it. As usual, she got out without waiting for him to get her door, her unholstered automatic in her good hand. “That’s not it. You always… what?” she said crossly as his lips twitched. “What’s so funny?” “Your weapon makes an interesting fashion accessory.” She glanced at the gun in her hand, at her wreck of a dress, shrugged, and started for the stairs. Then stopped. “All right, all right,” she told the huge gray beast twining around her ankles as he voiced his opinion of the late hour. “The food’s upstairs, Harry. If you want to eat, you have to let me move.” “He was worried about you.” “He was worried about his dinner. Hey!” Rule had passed her, moving at an easy lope that was roughly as fast as a human could run. He had no intention of allowing her to go in first, but she was likely to argue about that, given a chance. “You’re rearguard tonight.” Her voice followed him up the stairs. “Just get out of the way if there’s something in there that needs shooting.” “I’ll bear that in mind.” There was no sign of forced entry. And Harry, whose nose was keener than Rule’s at the moment, was impatient to go in, his tail twitching, obviously unalarmed. Rule put his key in the top lock, then the next one, and swung the door open. A smell that didn’t belong had him dropping into a fighting crouch—then straightening as his brain caught up and identified it. “Bloody hell. What are you doing here?” SEVEN LILY’S heartbeat jumped when she saw Rule tense. She rushed up the last few stairs, weapon ready. Then he relaxed and asked someone what they were doing here. “Good question,” she said, slowing to a walk. Dammit, she was too tired for yet another adrenaline cocktail. Her heart was still pounding, but she’d hit shaky soon enough. She just hoped she didn’t fall flat on her face. “There’s also who, how, and why, but I’m tempted to skip them in favor of ‘good night.’” “I’ll do my best to get to ‘good night’ quickly.” Rule stepped inside, and Lily had one of her questions

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answered. There was only one chair in her small, spare living room. Her unexpected visitor wasn’t using it. Instead, he sat on the floor pillow by the coffee table, playing with the air between his fingers. He wore a dark blue shirt, collarless and only half buttoned. His feet were bare, and his cinnamon-colored hair had gone too long without a trim. With his head bent, it concealed a face she knew to be heartbreakingly gorgeous. Cullen looked up. “Hello, luv. That is one ugly dress. The blood yours?” Lily sighed. “I know I locked the door, yet here you are. In my living room. Uninvited.” “Ah, well, I thought you wouldn’t want me to wait out on the cold concrete, and I was sure I didn’t want me to. I’ve been here for…” His fingers paused. “Good Lord, it must be after midnight.” He looked her up and down with brilliant blue eyes she wasn’t entirely used to. Three weeks ago, his eye sockets had been scabbed-over hollows. “Looks like you’ve had quite an evening. Rough sex?” She growled low in her throat and started for the kitchen. “Come on, Harry.” And almost humiliated herself when Rule scooped her up in his arms, swallowing a startled shriek at the last second. “Don’t do that when I’m armed.” “She’s got a point,” Cullen said. Rule deposited her in the oversize armchair. “You can disarm now. I’ll take care of Harry and then get rid of Cullen. And before you blow up at me,” he added, dropping to crouch in front of her, “remember that I’m used to being yelled at for my high-handed behavior.” Cullen chuckled. “He means theRho . The old man’s healing, but it takes longer at his age. Makes him great fun to be around. He ripped Rule a new one last week for following Nettie’s instructions about the Council meeting.” Rule had told her he had clan business to attend to last Thursday. He hadn’t said it was a Council meeting. He didn’t have to tell her everything, but she was clan now, wasn’t she? Shouldn’t he have told her? She looked at the eyes holding steady on her own— dark eyes, not bright blue like his friend’s, set in a face that was striking but imperfect. The nose was too narrow, a little too long. The lips were too thin, and the ears… Rule’s left ear was set higher than his right. Funny. She hadn’t noticed that before. She leaned over to place her weapon carefully on the floor beside the chair, then straightened so she could trace one imperfectly placed ear. Feelings tumbled through her like an acrobatic troupe—bouncing, rolling, piling up on top of each other in precarious balance. And she realized she was smiling. “I’d have to come up with something pretty impressive to compete with one of your father’s rants. I don’t think I’m up to it.” “You’re impressive.” He leaned in to give her a light kiss. “At all times.” “Very sweet,” Cullen said. “And generally I’d enjoy watching your foreplay, but I did come here for a reason. I’d appreciate it if you could leave off the billing and cooing for a bit.”

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“I’m too tired to kill him,” Lily said. “You do it.” “After I feed Harry,” Rule said, straightening. “Who isn’t much of a watch cat, apparently.” Cullen shook his head without looking up from the empty space between his hands. “Don’t worry about Harry. I already fed him.” Sure enough, instead of glaring at them from the kitchen doorway, Harry sat by the coffee table, staring at Cullen. “What did you feed him?” Lily asked. Harry was supposed to be on a diet, though the cat disagreed with his vet about the necessity. “Ham. You had some in the fridge that he seemed to like. He ate enough of it, anyway, before going back out. I had a sandwich, too.” He paused to frown at the cat. “Stop that.” Rule shook his head, bent, and scooped Lily up again so he could settle in the chair with her. It was a chair and a half, so there was room for both of them… as long as she sat with her legs draped across his lap. That was the way he arranged her, at least. “We need to have a talk about this new habit you’ve acquired of moving me around to suit yourself.” “I promise to let you move me around later.” Her mind immediately offered an image of one possible arrangement of Rule’s long, beautiful body, and suddenly her body was a welcome place to be in spite of its aches. He knew, of course. If nothing else, her scent would tell him. His lips turned up, but his eyes remained dark and serious as he tucked her hair behind her ear. “When you’ve rested,nadia ,” he said softly. She lifted her eyebrows. “We’ll see.” Then she looked at Cullen and sighed. “Get to the point. You claimed you had one.” “Half a moment. Bloody interfering beast,” Cullen muttered, wiggling his little ringer as if he was tugging on something. “I used to have a cat as a familiar,” he added, as if that explained things. “They can’t resist putting in their two cents… there.” “Cullen,” she said, exasperated, “what are youdoing ?” He looked up. His quick grin took him from annoying nutcase to heartthrob. “I’ve been messing with some loose sorcéri while I waited for you. You’ve rather a lot drifting around, you know, considering there’s no node nearby. Perhaps the ocean… but you don’t want a theoretical discussion right now. Want to see?” Without waiting for an answer, he tilted his hands outward, muttered something—and he was holding what looked for all the world like a tennis ball made of wiggly, glowing worms. A second later it flickered and passed back to invisibility. Lily was impressed in spite of herself. “Those are sorcéri? I didn’t know you could make that stuff show up for us nonsorcerous types.”

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“New trick.” He looked pleased with himself. “I haven’t figured out how to make it stable, so the usefulness is limited. Makes a pretty show, though, doesn’t it?” Rule didn’t sound nearly as pleased. “I thought it was dangerous to deal with them directly instead of through a spell.” “These are pretty weak. And I am pretty good.Ciao ,” he said, and clapped his hands, apparently doing away with the energies he’d gathered. The cat turned his head as if watching something invisible drift into the corner by the coat closet. “Cats see them, too?” Lily asked. Cullen shrugged. “Some do. That’s why so many witches take cats for familiars.” She chewed on that a moment. “And what you did just now—you changed something about the sorcéri, right? You did it to them, not to us.” Cullen’s eyebrows went up. “You don’t usually ask stupid questions. Aside from how annoyed Rule would be with me if I did something to him magically without his consent, directly changing people is damned tricky. I confess I’m not up to it. Neither is anyone else in this realm, of course, unless we’re entertaining a faerie lord unaware. And you’re immune anyway, which brings us back to the stupid question part. What’s going on?” “Lily was attacked by a demon,” Rule said flatly. “It may have left some sort of residue behind.” Cullen went very still. Only his eyes moved, cutting to her. “I’m not possessed,” she said, irritated. “Nettie checked me out. But it left something on me. It shouldn’t have been able to, but it did.” “You’re all right?” “Aside from being pestered in my own home when I just want to go to bed, yes.” A smile spread over his face. “This is marvelous. Bloody marvelous.” Lily let her head drop back on Rule’s shoulder. “How do I make him go away?” “Sorry.” Cullen flowed to his feet, looking not at all sorry, and began to pace. Cullen was a dancer. An exotic dancer, actually, otherwise known as a male stripper, but however annoying he could be, he was a pleasure to watch in motion, the most innately graceful person Lily had ever seen. “You know what a selfish sod I am. It’s just that now you won’t be able to turn me down.” “For what?” Rule answered before Cullen could. “He wants to be part of the official hunt for Harlowe.” She lifted her head and met Rule’s eyes. She’d guessed that Cullen might be doing some searching of his own. She’d wondered if Rule knew… and hadn’t asked. Apparently he had known and hadn’t told her. Their relationship posed some tricky questions of loyalty for both of them. She looked at Cullen.

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“Why?” “The staff, of course. I have to find and destroy it.” A pang of pity held her silent. Cullen had suffered terribly after being taken prisoner by the mad Helen. Because he had some sort of sorcerous mental shield, Helen had been unable to use the staff to take over his mind— which she’d mightily resented. His eyes had been put out. He’d been locked in a glass cage, taken out occasionally in shackles to be questioned. He’d been beaten and threatened repeatedly with death. Lily didn’t blame Cullen for hating, but his hatred made him unreliable. Even if sorcery weren’t illegal, she couldn’t have used him. “I can’t do that. I’m sorry.” “I’m not talking about anything official. Make me a consultant, like Rule. You need me.” He moved closer. “I can help you Find it.” “I’ve a Finder on the team now.” His eyebrows went up. “Assuming she’s any good—” “Wait a minute. Why did you say ‘she’?” “Playing the odds. Almost all Finders are female.” While she was still absorbing that, he went on persuasively, “Finders need something concrete to fix on, and you don’t have a piece of that abomination of a staff for her to handle, do you? So she’ll have to try for Harlowe, and he’s protected.” “What do you mean?” she asked sharply. “I’ve scried for him. He’s shielded in some way, most likely by the staff itself.” If he was right, Cynna wasn’t going to be the case-breaker Lily had been hoping for. “If a Finder can’t locate him, how could you?” His smile reminded her of Harry. Smug. “He isn’t shielded one hundred percent of the time, and unlike Finding, scrying isn’t tied to the moment.” “You’ve lost me.” “With scrying, the images come from elementals. Water’s past, earth’s present, air is future, and fire scrambles them all up. I scry with fire, which means fire elementals, which means I may get images from past, present, or future.” He paused. “Two days ago, I saw Harlowe in the flames.Without the staff.” “Two days ago.” Anger hit with a punch of renewed energy. She swung her feet to the floor and sat up straight. “It took you long enough to mention it.” “You’re pissed,” he observed. “But why am I obliged to keep you filled in, yet you don’t have to tell me anything? And don’t wave your badge at me. You can’t compel me to divulge information the law doesn’t recognize as valid.” “I can,” Rule said evenly. “And will, if necessary. Lily was attacked tonight.”

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For a long moment the two men looked at each other without speaking. Some kind of complex message seemed to pass between them. Finally Cullen smiled. “Happily, you won’t have to. Like I said, that’s why I’m here. It took me two days because I needed to do a spot of research to be sure of my conclusions. Turns out my initial impression was correct. I saw Harlowe in hell.” Lily blinked. “I thought… when you said flames, I thought you meant your scrying flame. If he’s in hell, he’s beyond our reach.” “Purge your mind of theological cartoons.” Cullen headed toward the door, where Harry waited, tail twitching. “I did mean my scrying flame, not the brimstone sort. Hell isn’t a travel destination for dead sinners. At least, this one isn’t.” He reached for the door. “I make no claims about the other sort.” This hell? The other sort? How many hells were there? Lily rubbed her temple. “Harry isn’t supposed to go out this late.” “No?” Cullen quirked an eyebrow at the cat. “Sorry. Her door, her rules. At any rate, hell—or call it Dis, if you prefer,” he said, coming back to sit on the coffee table beside her laptop. “That’s what the natives call the place, according to a couple of my sources. I wonder whether they borrowed the name from Dante or inspired him? Anyway, Dis is the demon realm.” “And you say Harlowe is there?” “Is, was, or will be, give or take a week or so. It ties in nicely with the demon attack, doesn’t it?” “It sure as hell…” Lily winced. That phrase was altogether too apt. “How could you tell where he was?” “Demons, luv. I saw a couple of demons with him.” “We thoughtShe might be there,” Rule said. “It’s the closest realm to ours, and we know She tried to open a gate to hell. Maybe She brought Harlowe to Her when that attempt failed.” Cullen’s grin flashed. “Due to our brilliant heroics. I didn’t get the idea Harlowe was Her devoted follower, though. More of an opportunist. It seems unlikely She’d exert herself much on his behalf. Could be he got his hands on the staff, and it reverted to Her when you”—he nodded at Lily—“killed Helen. He got taken along for the ride.” When you killed Helen… her hands gripping that blond head, pounding it against the cave’s stony floor… The cold fingers of guilt or superstition crawled along Lily’s insides, leaving a slimy trail in their wake. She shook her head. Dammit, she wasn’t going to blame herself for doing what she’d had to do. “So you think Harlowe could have ended up in hell accidentally.” “Could be.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Which doesn’t tell us much, and we’re getting off track.” “And you’re a single-track kind of guy.” “I won’t argue.” He leaned forward. A shiny stone on a leather cord around his neck slipped out of his shirt.

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“Is that a diamond?” Lily asked, surprised. Cullen wasn’t exactly rolling in money. Rule said he spent almost everything on scraps of old spellbooks and such. “Synthetic. Pretty thing, isn’t it?” Cullen tucked it back inside his shirt, then stood and stretched, looking more like a cat than the part-time wolf he was. “I won’t press you right now. It’s late, you’re tired, a bit battered— probably not sympathetic to my cause. But I leave you with this thought: How will you destroy the staff without me?” “Ah.” That was Rule. “So that’s what you’re thinking.” He recited softly, “Suits scipio scindidi—Id uri, uri, uri! Inniger ignis incendi—Aduri vulnus ex mundus.” “Exactly. And I must say I’m pleased that you’re familiar with theIndomitus —so many aren’t in these degenerate days.” “You used to quote it at me when you were drunk.” “I’ve always had a good memory,” Cullen said complacently. “What in the world are the two of you talking about? Briefly, please.” Lily rubbed her temple and wondered when she’d be able to go to bed. “It sounded like some sort of poetry.” “Bingo,” Cullen said. “TheIndomitus is an epic poem, written in Latin—very old Latin, from before the clans finished mangling it into its current form. Not that we use it much today,” he added with evident disapproval. “English is taking its place as our common tongue, just as it is with humans.” Rule spoke dryly. “I think Lily would prefer a translation to a linguistic debate. The events in the poem are part of the Great War,” he told her. “The part I quoted refers to the staff of Gelsuid, who was an avatar of the goddess we don’t name.” “Something tells me you aren’t talking about World War I. Don’t explain,” she added hastily. “Clan legends later. Just tell me why you think that bit of old poetry has something to do with the staff we’re hunting now.” Cullen shrugged. “It’s the same staff, of course.” “Come on. You have no reason to think—” “When we were in Helen’s tender hands, you saw her holding a long, black piece of wood. That wasn’t what I saw.” He hadn’t had eyes at the time, but Lily knew he’d still “seen” the sorcéri. Apparently the staff had shown up on his sorcerous radar screen, too. “I’ll bite. What did you see?” “A wound, a rent, a tear in the fabric of the world. The wooden staff you saw may be a new construct, but the underlying truth of the staff is a very, very old rip in reality. That’s why you need me—to close that hole. ‘Cauterize the wound,’ as the poem says.” He was quite cheerful about it. “I’m good with fire.” “You are,” Rule acknowledged. “But theIndomitus says to burn the staff with ‘black fire.’ I’ve never seen you use that. I’m not sure what it is.” “Mage fire. It’s a bit dangerous. I’d no call to mess with it before, but I’m learning.”

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Considering that Cullen found it amusing to play with stray sorcéri in her living room, she didn’t want to know what he considered “a bit dangerous.” “I hope you’re learning well away from populated areas.” He gave her a reproachful look. “But of course. It doesn’t pay to alarm the neighbors with the occasional fire.” She opened her mouth to mention a few other hazards associated with fire—and yawned instead. “Sorry. You’d think a threat to the fabric of reality would keep me awake.” ‘To put it another way,“ Rule said, ”good night, Cullen.“ Cullen chuckled. “I can take a hint. I don’t always, but I can.” He came close enough to bend and drop a kiss on her cheek. “Get some sleep, luv. You can pester me with questions while I bedevil you with demands later.” “Leave your phone turned on for once, and I will.” “For you, I’ll keep it turned on.” He started for the door. “Cullen…” “Yes?” His eyebrows went up. “You’ve changed your mind? You’ll accede to my every wish?” “What do you know about possession?” “Not much. The religious honchos are bloody close-mouthed about it, always have been. Jealous of their turf, I imagine. Still, my knowledge, patchy though it may be, would be difficult to cover before Rule grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and tossed me out. Is there a more specific question you’d like to ask?” Lily squirmed mentally, but got it said. “Why would faith be a protection?” “Damned if I know.” He grinned. “Little joke there. I don’t know that faithis a protection.” “Nettie believes it is. So does the FBI.” His eyebrows shot up. “Is that so? Interesting… maybeThe Exorcist got one thing right.” He turned his grin on Rule. “Remember when that came out? People thought it was for real. Bunch of idiots came crawling out of the woodwork, claiming to be experts. Lord, I remember this one ass onPhil Donahue —said he’d performed dozens of exorcisms. Dozens.” He chuckled. Lily snorted. “You’re undercutting your credibility, Cullen.The Exorcist came out before I was born. You and Rule might have been out of diapers, but not by much.” Cullen slid Rule an enigmatic glance. “Ah, you caught me. I do love to make myself sound important, but that was a bit obvious, wasn’t it?” But he hadn’t been trying to sound important. He’d been chatting easily, conversationally, about

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something he expected Rule to remember—but that was absurd. Lily told herself she was being ridiculous, but the question came out anyway. “Just how old are you?‘ “Persuaded you I’m a well-preserved centenarian, have I?” Cullen’s smile was teasing. “Or maybe just sixty or seventy. I ought to be in the record books. I doubt there’s another stripper my age still performing.” Rule’s flat voice cut him off. “Don’t.” Lily’s stomach did the elevator thing—as if she’d plunged down so suddenly that gravity hadn’t kept up. Cullen sighed. “Didn’t mean to put my foot in your mouth.” “I know. I’ve put off telling her, hoping for the right time… which this certainly isn’t, but I won’t lie to her about it. Or ask you to.” Lily found her voice. “Lie about what?” He touched her hair. “I’m sorry,nadia . I should have told you.” Told her what? Not what he seemed to be saying. That was preposterous. She shoved to her feet. “You are not a hundred years old.” A smile touched his lips—young, firm lips. “No. Nothing so extreme. But I am older than I look. Older than I’ve allowed you to believe.” Her heart was pounding. “How old?” “Fifty-four. Cullen is a bit older.” “Fifty-nine next June.” Cullen’s grimace was frankly apologetic. “I hope you noticed that I didn’t lie to you. Quite.” She looked at the tall, beautiful young man claiming to be older than her mother and shook her head. “No, that isn’t possible.” Neither of them answered. Cullen looked apologetic. Rule was wearing his inscrutable face, the one she couldn’t read worth shit. They meant it. She began to pace. “How could I never have heard about this? How could you have fooled everyone all this time?” How could he have fooledher ? Rule rose. He moved so smoothly. He couldn’t be fifty-four. “We’ve gone to some extremes to keep it secret. Until three years ago, it was still legal to shoot us on sight in five states. How much worse would it have been if humans knew we live twice as long as they do?” Twice as long? Lily’s heart was pounding too hard, too fast. Her head felt stuffed with cotton. She’d known Rule was older than he looked—which was about her age. Twenty-eight. His assurance suggested a man beyond the mixed insecurity and infallibility of youth.Mid-thirties , she thought. That’s what she’d guessed him to

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be the first time she saw him. “Your driver’s license says you’re thirty-five.” “Well.” Cullen stood and headed for the door. “Never let it be said I’m not a sensitive guy, and I’m sensing that I’m not wanted right now.” He reached for the knob. “Wait,” Rule said. “Can you set some kind of wards here? Otherwise we’ll have to crate up Harry and head to my apartment.” “Sure, I could do something. Not true wards—they’d take too long—but a bit of ‘don’t see me’ might do the trick. Tidy little spell. Doesn’t use much power. Fuzzes the mind so people can’t quite locate the spot I tie it to. I don’t know if it works on demons, though.” “I’d prefer to keep demons out.” “I don’t know of anything that will do that,” Cullen said frankly. “Some believe holy symbols work, but I’m skeptical. In the old days… but we can’t work with what was, can we? In any event, you’ve got an alarm system in place. Cats hate demons. Harry’ll set up a howl if one comes near.” Lily looked for her cat, but Harry had apparently tired of watching the corner. He was nowhere in sight. “Your call,” Rule said quietly to her. Her hands had made fists. She didn’t notice until the stinging in her palms grew too sharp. She forced herself to open them. “Here. They found me at my sister’s wedding. They must know where your apartment is.” “Cullen?” Rule said. “Will do. Do you have rosemary?” “Will the dried stuff work?” They didn’t need her. Lily picked up her weapon. “I’m going to take a shower.” Cullen’s eyebrows went up. “Armed?” “Your spells may not work on demons, but I’m betting my bullets will.” EIGHT IN the bathroom Lily turned on the tap, stripped off her bridesmaid’s dress, wadded it up, and stuffed it in the trash. In spite of what she’d said to Cullen, her gun was on the bedside table, not in here with her. Her bathroom was too tiny for armed combat. Panties and bra went on the floor as the tiny room filled with steam. She peeled off the gauze pad covering her wound. Most of the damage didn’t show. The doctors thought she’d been hit by a ricochet—there’d been no scorching around the entry, and the bullet had lodged instead of ripping a second hole in her back on its way out. But it had tumbled inside her flesh, tearing up muscle and chipping bone.

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All she saw was a depressed, puckered circle, still an angry red. A crescent-shaped scab at one edge marked where it had torn open when she fell. They told her the scar would fade in time. She hoped so. She’d known since she was ten that she could be damaged, permanently and irreversibly—and that scars didn’t have to stop her. But she was vain enough to dislike the way this one looked. Rule thought the in-sleep thing might have speeded up healing on her shoulder as well as her head. Gingerly, Lily touched the small, puckered circle. Orange. There were drugs that crosswired the brain so you tasted a color or smelled a sound. Synesthesia, that’s what it was called. LSD, peyote, mescaline… even marijuana had been known to blur the lines between the senses. But she wasn’t on drugs, and her regular senses weren’t crossing things up. Just the extra sense that let her touch magic. Maybe this was normal. Her Gift was rare. She’d never met another touch sensitive, and there was precious little about them in folklore. She didn’t have much to go on except her own experience, and she’d never run across a demon before. Maybe she experienced the magic from other realms differently. But why had it stuck to her? Frowning, she adjusted the water temperature, stepped into the tub, and pulled the shower curtain closed. God, but that felt good. For a moment the sheer animal pleasure of hot water blanked her mind. She wanted to sleep right here, standing up, with hot water pouring over her… and not have to face Rule. That was just lame. Disgusted with herself, Lily squirted shampoo into her hand. She could use her left hand enough to do that, but she couldn’t raise that arm over her head. Washing her hair one-handed was awkward, but she’d be damned if she’d go to bed with dried blood sticking the strands together. Rule had been washing her hair for her since she got hurt. Guilt twinged. So he was older than she’d thought. Lots of women dated older men. What was the big deal? She closed her eyes and let the water stream over her. He was fifty-four, she was twenty-eight, so he was twenty-six years older than her. Twenty-six years was pretty much a lifetime to her. Not to him. That was the problem. She got out of the shower, dried off, and told the mother-voice in her head nattering on about taking care of her skin to shut up. Then reached for the lotion anyway. Did he still argue with the mother-voice in his head? Or maybe it was a father-voice, because he was a guy… but surely at fifty-four he’d have found his own voice to listen to. Lily pulled on a T-shirt and panties, tugged a wide-toothed comb through her hair, and gave serious thought to going to bed without drying it. The prospect of a wet pillow dissuaded her, though. She got out the blow drier and plugged it in. Had they had blow driers when he was growing up? He would have been born about 1950. Blow driers

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came along a lot later than that, didn’t they? He looked maybe thirty. It hurt to find out he wasn’t. That he had let her believe an untruth. She’d thought they stood on roughly the same cultural ground, and they didn’t. When she was a kid, she’d listened to disco. He’d listened to… what? The Beatles? Elvis? She’d grown up watchingCagney and Lacey, Cheers, Happy Days . Rule had grown up inHappy Days . She clicked off the blow drier, wound the cord around it, and shoved it in a drawer. She started to get out a fresh gauze pad and the tape, frowned, and decided she didn’t need a bandage. Nettie’s religious version of magic seemed to have worked on her—which was disconcerting, but she’d work out the ramifications of that later. Then she took a deep breath and opened the door. Rule was in bed, propped up against a couple pillows on the right side—she always slept on the left—with the sheet pulled up over his legs and hips. Beneath the sheet he was naked. He thought pajamas were one of the silliest things ever invented. He was watching her closely. His eyes made her think of water at night—full of mysteries and hints, revealing little. She’d had it with mystery. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “Before you became clan, I couldn’t. After that… fear, I suppose. Ignoble, but accurate.” “You were afraid I’d be upset?” “Aren’t you?” Upsetwasn’t the right word.Confused, disoriented, achingly aware of all the differences between them … “It isn’t as if you haven’t kept secrets, too. I’ve respected that.” “What are you talking about?” “Grandmother.” She blinked. “But you know about her. I didn’t tell you, but you saw her in action. Benedict even saw her Change.” His mouth turned down at one corner, a crooked not-smile. “I also know there aren’t any, ah, were-beasts. Yet that’s what she is. I haven’t pressed you for an explanation.” “Bully for you. I don’t have one.” “I wasn’t asking you to explain.” She gritted her teeth. “You aren’t listening. I didn’t say I wouldn’t explain. I can’t, because I don’t know. If there’s anyone more secretive than your father, it’s my grandmother.”

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He didn’t say anything for a moment and then grimaced and rubbed his chest. “That does make my silence harder to explain.” “You’re my mother’s age. My father is only two years older than you are.” A thought struck her. “You do age, don’t you?” His eyebrows lifted. “You’ve met my father, among others. Yes, we age. Just more slowly. Perhaps we heal the free radical damage scientists have begun touting as one cause of aging.” Lupi healed everything from colds to STDs to bullets. Why wouldn’t they be able to heal most of the damage that caused aging? “Copies,” she muttered. “What?” “I’ve read about it. By the time we’re seven or so, every cell in our bodies is a copy. By the time we’re seventy, our DNA is running copies of copies of copies, and things start to wear out. Maybe the same thing about you that messes up lab tests keeps your copies clearer than mine.” “You do like things logical.” “Why not? Magic is a system, right? Figure out the rules and you know where you stand.” “You have more in common with Cullen than you’d like to think.” No, she didn’t. “Is there anything else you haven’t gotten around to telling me? Anything important?” Two slow beats of silence were enough of an answer. Her stomach hurt. “We haven’t been together long. I know that, but—” “That isn’t it. I… hell.” He ran a hand over his hair. “I’m not supposed to tell you. It’s… it falls within the Rhej’s province.” The priestess or historian she was supposed to talk to in a couple days. “So this a clan secret. A lupus secret. It isn’t just about you.” He didn’t say anything. She turned away, padding over to her side of the bed. She could understand. She would probably have to keep secrets from him, too, sometimes. FBI secrets. But they wouldn’t be abouther . Dammit. Maybe it was childish, but she wanted Rule to tell her, not this woman she’d never met. She yanked back the covers. “Lily.” She scowled at him. “I’m probably sterile.” Her mouth opened. Closed. She swallowed. “You have a son.” “A blessing. A miracle, perhaps. But I’m fifty-four years old, and Toby is my only child. Perhaps ‘all but

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sterile’ is more accurate.” His face was closed up, not letting her see what it had cost him to tell her. “But… you can’t be sure. Unless you’ve been tested—” “You aren’t thinking. Laboratory tests don’t yield useful results for one of the Blood.” Of course. Of course she knew that. “Still, you’ve been with a lot of women, and not always hung around long enough to know if… you can’t be sure.” “It’s given to us to know the moment our seed quickens.” They knew? Lupi always knew if a woman got pregnant? Rule would know if she… Lily rubbed her chest. There didn’t seem to be enough air in her lungs. She used birth control, of course. She’d started taking the pill as soon as she got her period, years before her first lover. Her mother had understood. Without, for once, the need for explanations or long discussion, her mother had known why Lily needed that protection. She’d been eight when it happened, not yet fertile. She’d been abducted. Stuffed in a trunk and stolen… she and her best friend, Sarah. They’d played hookie and gone to the beach, where a nice, grandfatherly man grabbed them. Lily hadn’t been raped because the police found her in time. In time for her. Not for Sarah. So Lily knew in her blood, bones, and sinew that a woman’s choices could be stolen, and she’d always made sure that choice—the decision to bear a child—rested with her. Only now it didn’t. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “No.” She took a deep breath, shoving confusion aside for now. “Don’t apologize for what you can’t help. I can see…” She could see him again with his son, swinging Toby in the air, filled with a clear, unfettered joy. Little though she would have believed it a month ago, Rule was a man made for fatherhood. “I’m sorry for your loss.” The words she’d spoken to the families of victims seemed to fit. “I’ve had time to grow accustomed. This is a blow for you. I don’t know how you feel about having children.” She didn’t, either. “There wasn’t anyone on the horizon, so…” She gave a one-shoulder shrug. “I’ve put off thinking about it.” Now she didn’t know what to feel. “You can still have children, if you choose.” Her mouth tightened. “By someone else, you mean.” “I understand that your upbringing tells you that would be wrong. My upbringing tells me it would be wrong to deprive you of such a fundamental joy as children out of a disinclination to share.” “It’s more than upbringing.” She didn’t know how to explain to him why fidelity mattered, not when he saw it so differently. And… oh, God. She stiffened.

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It falls within the Rhej’s province. That’s what he’d said about his secret. But what he’d told her wasn’t a lupi secret… not unless what was true of him was true of other lupi, too. They weren’t completely sterile. That was obvious. But maybe the magic that healed them so very well messed with their fertility. Maybe that’s why lupi had raised sex and seduction to a fine art, why they considered jealousy immoral. They’d die out if they didn’t take every chance they could to try to make a baby. Rule’s face didn’t tell her anything. And for once she wasn’t going to ask. He’d broken some kind of law or custom by telling her as much as he had. She could wait to hear the rest. Somehow. It helped that she was falling-down tired. She sat down on her side. “I guess Cullen did his little spell.” “Yes. The effect should wear off in about ten hours, or when the front door is opened.” “Weird.” He handed her a pillow and didn’t comment on the fact that she wasn’t sleeping naked as she usually did. That decision wasn’t about him. Maybe the bad guys wouldn’t be ready for a second assault this quickly. Maybe Cullen’s spell would work like a dream, and maybe the demon had gone back to hell or Dis or whatever she was supposed to call the place. And maybe not. If she had to fight bad guys, human or otherwise, she didn’t want to do it naked. She turned off the light and lay down… and heard his sigh as his arms came around her. A sigh of relief. He hadn’t been sure she’d want to sleep with him, even if sleeping was all she could manage tonight. It hadn’t occurred to her to do otherwise. And what that meant she had no idea and was too tied to care. Gravity pressed down, squeezing out thoughts and worries, leaving her blessedly limp. She yawned hugely. Rule tugged the covers up as he settled on his side, curling around her. Automatically she snuggled closer… and it felt good, it felt right, in spite of everything she’d learned tonight. And all she hadn’t learned. So many questions… A heavy weight landed at the foot of the bed, then curled up against one of her feet. She could feel Harry purring, an inaudible rasp as soothing in its way as the male arm draped over her waist. Her eyes drifted closed as another yawn hit. All unplanned, a question slipped out. “What kind of music did you listen to as a kid?” “Hmm?” He sounded sleepy. “When you were a kid, what music did you listen to?” “Oh. Bach, Beethoven, Tchaikovsky. Anything with strings. Jazz.” Lord. He couldn’t be normal or predictable about anything, could he? Lily gave up and let sleep have

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her. NINE EVERY now and then the crowd roared, a many-throated beast always muttering, muttering, when it wasn’t screaming at itself. Far below, the ballplayers stood out vivid and tiny in their white uniforms against the light-flooded green. It all looked so tidy down there. Safe. But she was up here, in the midst of the crowd-beast. And she wasn’t safe. Lily’s heart pounded and pounded. She darted between the tall adult figures, looking for the way back. She’d gotten lost from her mother and sisters when she went looking for Grandmother. Mother was going to be so angry. Lily’s stomach clenched unhappily.Don’t wander off , she always said.Don’t talk to strangers, don’t whine, sit still and be a good girl, and don’t wander off . Being a good girl was very, very boring. But maybe better than being lost. The crowd beast roared again, many of its parts leaping to their feet. Popcorn spewed, fists waved, and loudspeakers pumped music into the tinny air. Lily gulped and tried to get around a really fat man who smelled bad, like bourbon. Lily hated the smell of bourbon. It made her think of when Uncle Chen got mean and started yelling. Mostly he yelled at his sons, not her, but she still didn’t like it. Mother hadn’t even noticed that Grandmother was missing. Lily had tried to tell her, but she hadn’t listened. She never listened. So it was up to Lily to find Grandmother, wasn’t it? She had to be here somewhere. That’s why they came to the stupid ball games—because Grandmother liked them. So she was here. Lily just had to find her and then everything would be okay. Maybe the crowd-beast had swallowed her. Grandmother wasn’t very big. Not as little as Lily, but not big like the other grown-ups, either. No, Lily told herself. No, that was stupid. Nothing could eat Grandmother. If the crowd-beast tried, she’d just tell it to back off. And it would. Grandmother was little, but only in her body. She was very big otherwise. So was her secret. They weren’t supposed to talk about it, not ever, not even to each other. It wasn’t the same as Lily’s secret, except sort of, because they were both about magic. People didn’t like magic, so good girls didn’t do it. And if they couldn’thelp doing it, like Lily couldn’t help knowing when she touched something that had magic on it, then they weren’t supposed to tell anyone. Lily sniffed. Grown-ups were always making stupid rules. Especially her mother. Her mother was stuffed with rules, and most of them were dumb. Right now Lily wished she had a great big magic, one that would make everyone else go away so she could find Grandmother. Unease stirred inside her. Something wasn’t right. This whole setup wasn’t right. Why was she thinking about adults as grown-ups? She was… Suddenly the crowd-beast swelled up tight around her, like she was a splinter it meant to squeeze out. It was hard to breathe. Lily shoved with arms and body against all those legs and big, suffocating bodies.

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She managed to pop out, a tender little grape squeezed from its skin, into a small, clear space. She stood there panting, looking for Grandmother. Or Mother. Looking for someone, anyone, who could— “Do you need help, little girl?” The hand, coming from behind to rest on Lily’s shoulder, made her jump. The voice, for all its friendly words, terrified her. It was high and sweet and cold, so cold… “Are you lost?” The hand tightened, hurting-hard. Lily yelped and tried to wrench away, but another hand gripped her and slowly turned her around. Lily fought it. She didn’t want to see, didn’t want— That face—that smiling, pretty woman’s face framed by soft blond hair, and those eyes, empty like a doll’s— Lily knew that face. Those eyes. “No!” she screamed. “No, you’re dead, I know you are. I made you dead!” “I’m going to eat you,” the smiling woman said. “Then you’ll be dead, too. We’ll be together.” “No!” “Together forever…” She was bending down, bending close. “No, no, no! Be dead. I want you dead all the way— dead, dead, dead!” As the woman’s hands dug in harder and her face came closer, Lily shut her eyes, wishing for the biggest magic ever, one that would kill the smiling woman forever. And all of a sudden she was sitting on top of the other woman, who was on her back. She wasn’t little anymore. And she was pounding the woman’s head against the cold, stony floor, pounding it and pounding it. Blood and gray stuff leaked from the shattered skull she cupped in her two hands, and glistening white bone shards penetrated the hair. And that was wrong. That hadn’t happened before. But it was happening now, and the woman wasn’t smiling anymore, and her hair—it wasn’t blond like it was supposed to be. It was… it was… Lily stopped, horror welling up in her. The woman’s eyes blinked once. And it was her mother looking up at her, her mother’s skull in her hands, her mother’s black hair shiny with blood and sticky with brains. “You killed me,” she said. Lily woke trying to scream. “Shh… there, Lily, there, honey. It’s okay. You’re okay.” Rule. It was Rule looking down at her, and Rule’s hand, warm and not hurting, on her right shoulder, while her bad shoulder throbbed as if Helen really had dug her fingers into it. She was an adult, not a child, and Helen was dead. Truly and forever dead. Lily’s breath shuddered in her chest. “That was a bad one,” she whispered. His voice was quiet, deep, the sheer masculinity of it soothing to her. “Maybe you should talk about it.”

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She shook her head, unable to put words to the horror. What good would talk do? She just wanted the smothering guilt to go away. It never troubled her in the daylight hours. When she was awake, she knew she’d done what she had to do. So why the nightmares? Go away, she told the lingering taint from the dream. And burrowed into Rule. “Careful—your shoulder—” “It doesn’t matter.” And it didn’t, although it was throbbing like a bad tooth. But that meant nothing compared to the hard, physical reality of him. He closed himself around her, and his body was warm, warm enough to melt away fear and horror. She breathed in his scent and felt clean. He was naked. She wasn’t, but her legs were bare and tangled with his. His thighs were firm, slightly rough with hair… a roughness she needed. Craved. She rubbed her thigh up along his and found that his body was responding to their closeness, too. A delicate heat sent tendrils winding out along her veins, down her thighs to her toes, tingling, making her hum from the inside out. She went still, cherishing the sensation. Then she drew her hand along his side, cherishing him. He didn’t ask her to put her desire into words. He didn’t ask if she was sure, or remind her of her shoulder, or say anything at all. For that she blessed the years of experience she’d earlier resented. Instead, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. Slowly. With a carnality as obvious and delicate as the heat stirring in her belly. Yes, she thought.Yes . This was what she needed… the quiet turning to the other in the middle of the night, the wordless meeting of lips, skin, breath. The trust, unfurling one pale petal at a time, that he would be there. He rolled her onto her back and came over her, touching softly, kissing her shoulder, pushing her T-shirt aside to nibble along her ribs, tickling her belly button with his tongue. He tugged her panties down her legs and off. She ran her hands over him, marveling, trying to say with touch all that she knew of him and treasured. And all that she still wondered over. There were no crashing cymbals this time, no rising delirium of lust. Her shoulder ached, and she was riding a wave of exhaustion as surely as she rode the swell of desire. Yet when he slipped inside her, her breath broke. As he stroked, smooth and easy, she found a quiet joy in meeting him one slow thrust at a time. And as she surrendered to the physical tide that carried her gently through pleasure to its peak, she surrendered her compulsion to name these feelings, to tag them as lust or love or mate bond. There was only the mystery, wordless, full, breaking over her in a soundless rush. She fell back to Earth without ever having left it and was there to hold him when his breath broke, nearly soundless, as he reached the crest of his own wave. And after, he lay on top of her still, both of them smiling into the dark. She was asleep before ever he rolled off.

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RULE stood in Lily’s tub beneath the shower jets, yawning. Her apartment had its shortcomings, but did offer two boons: a windowless bedroom, easy to defend, and abundant hot water. This morning, hot water rated almost as high as defensible sleeping quarters. After a night of sentry sleep, he’d woken early and completely. It had seemed best to leave the warmth of Lily’s bed before he gave in to his body’s urgings and woke her for another loving. She needed sleep. And she’d needed to sleep here, in her own space. He understood that. She’d had too many shocks yesterday. Including those about him. Rule grimaced and grabbed the soap. She’d turned to him, though. In the middle of the night, haunted by a nightmare she wouldn’t discuss, she’d turned to him. Tension he hadn’t noticed eased from his shoulders at the thought. The soapy scent mixed with steam, with the water’s liquid massage, to pull him more fully into his senses. He closed his eyes and closed out thoughts, floating along the skin of the moment. Another yawn took him. He shook his head. There had been a time when a single night of sentry sleep wouldn’t have left him this drowsy. He was older now. Out of practice. Out of training, Benedict would say. Rule grinned as he worked up a lather, thinking of the older brother who’d trained him, along with so many other youngsters. Benedict wasn’t easy on those he trained, but he never asked more of his cubs than they could give, and he had a knack for understanding each youngster’s limits. Unlike some of the physically gifted, he didn’t expect others to live up to his own standards. Of course, that would have been unrealistic. Two-footed or four, Benedict was in a class of his own. Those summers were years in the past, but Benedict’s training stuck. His methods wouldn’t suit human notions, but they weren’t designed for humans, were they? Being woken out of a deep sleep by having a chunk ripped out of your shoulder by an enemy’s teeth inspired a youngster to stay alert. Grief pinched out his grin. He closed his eyes as memory arrived, sharp-clawed. Mick. For a moment he simply stood there, absorbing the pain, new and unblunted and tangled with so many other feelings. It had been Rule’s other brother, Mick, whose teeth had ripped a chunk from his shoulder all those years ago. Mick was—hadbeen—nearly Rule’s age-mate, a rarity among his people. They’d met for the first time the summer Rule began formally training with Benedict. There’d been rivalry between them, Rule thought, tilting his head back as the water washed away the soap. Of course there had been. But it had been friendly, not serious, back then. Hadn’t it? Did the lens of the present distort the past, or reveal it more clearly? Let it be, Rule told himself, shutting off the water with an sharp twist of the faucet. Mick was dead. He’d died saving Rule’s life—a hero’s death. If he’d first endangered it, that was the mad Helen’s doing, not Mick’s. With the power from that accursed staff, she’d tipped Rule’s brother into a sort of madness.

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But she couldn’t have gotten to Mick if the seed hadn’t been there, the seed of jealousy of a particularly nasty sort. The clans had a word for it:fratriodi . Brother-hate. Lily’s cell phone rang while Rule was brushing his teeth. He heard her curse, fumble for the phone, and then answer. And he heard her snap fully awake, a change as distinct as the flipping of a light switch. So he finished quickly, shut off the water, and opened the door. It was just after six a.m. The moon had set and the sun hadn’t yet made an appearance, so she’d switched on the bedside lamp. She sat on the bed in a pool of that yellowish light scribbling on the pad she kept close, wearing pale yellow panties and a short black T-shirt that left a strip of her back and belly bare. He’d removed those panties when she woke from a nightmare. She must have scrambled into them when the phone rang. She glanced at him, exchanged some more police jargon with the person at the other end and disconnected. “I’ve got to go.” “I know. I missed the first part, though. Who was it?” She shoved her hair out of her face, frowning at him. “I wish you’d quit listening to both sides of my phone conversations.” He shrugged. Even if he could stop his ears from hearing so much, he wouldn’t. “You don’t work homicide anymore. Why were you called about a murder in Temecula?” “Possible homicide,” she corrected. Maybe her frown hadn’t been directed at him. It lingered as she stared into some mental space, totting up facts he lacked. “The call was from the FBI district office,” she said, pushing to her feet. “They were contacted by local authorities in Temecula about a suspicious death.” “Why call you?” he repeated. “There’s a connection to Harlowe. A witness. The body was discovered two hours ago,” she added abruptly and headed for the bathroom. He stepped aside to let her pass, thinking. This was hardly the first sighting of someone who might be Patrick Harlowe. Ten days ago, Ruben Brooks had succeeded in getting him put on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list, his photo and description sent to law enforcement agencies all over the nation. But the man was relentlessly average—Anglo, five-ten, brown hair and eyes, one hundred sixty pounds. No scars, no distinctive features other than an unusually mellow voice. The kind of man, Lily had said in disgust, you could meet at a party and forget two minutes later. Rule didn’t know how many reports of possible sightings had come in; Lily had only mentioned those few that seemed promising. It was the first one connected to a possible homicide, though. She’d want to get to the scene quickly. He needed to get dressed. He glanced at the closed bathroom door. First things first. If he didn’t make coffee, she’d probably stop

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for the convenience store version along the way. Rule returned from the kitchen just as Lily was emerging from the bathroom. “Why is it only a possible homicide?” he asked. She pulled off her T-shirt as she padded up to the tall chest facing the bed. Her shoulder was much improved, he thought. Until now he’d had to help her with things that went over her head. “Cause of death hasn’t been determined,” she told him and opened the top drawer, made a disgusted noise, and closed it again. He’d seen her do that several times. She’d automatically open that drawer, forgetting she’d emptied it to make room for some of his things. She opened the second drawer and plucked out a scrap of black silk. “This is definitely not mine. Why would anyone wear a thong?” She tossed it to him. “It’s got to feel like a permanent wedgie.” He pulled on his underwear and watched her step into hers—carnation pink this morning. He loved watching her get dressed. It was fun to see her cover what he would uncover later, yes, but there was a quiet intimacy involved that he treasured even more. She always put on her panties first, then her bra. She preferred to shower at night and seldom wore pantyhose. She bought toothpaste in tubes, pickles in bulk, and panties in every color. Her wound interfered with the run on the beach she was used to, but she adhered religiously to her therapy program. When it was time to leave, she’d slip on her shoulder harness before her shoes. Small details, perhaps, but he was learning her. “Why do you wear a bra?” She looked down at her chest and shook her head. “God only knows.” He chuckled and moved closer. “I meant that a thong offers me some support. Keeps my dangly bits from bouncing around.” Her glance skimmed his body, eyebrows lifting. No doubt she noticed that there was more looking up than dangling at the moment. He placed his hand beneath one of her pretty breasts, covered now in stretchy white lace, and dragged his thumb across the tip. “I like everything about these, you know—the size, shape, texture… and the taste. Especially that.” Her nipple ripened, and her eyes went smoky. That didn’t keep her from batting his hand away. “I have to go.” “Wehave to go, you mean.” Resigned, he went to the closet—which was organized by color, season, and type of garment. She’d managed to find a few inches of hanging space for him, but his selection was limited. He took out a pair of black slacks. “You’re not wearing a bandage.” “The in-sleep thing seems to have helped. My shoulder isn’t back to normal, but it’s better.” She joined him at the closet and took out one of the black T-shirts. “No need for you to get out this early.” “Try again,” he said dryly, fastening his slacks. “Even if I were okay with you going without me when we know you’re a target—”

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“You’re coming awfully close to theallow word.” “Yet skirting it deftly, I believe. Temecula is an hour away, if the traffic is kind.” “About sixty miles,” she agreed. “The mate bond might stretch that far, but this isn’t a good time to test it.” “Oh. Right.” She tossed her shirt on the bed, following it with a pair of tan slacks and a red jacket. “Why don’t you make us some coffee? You’ll bitch if you have to drink convenience store stuff.” “I already did.” Surely even a human nose could smell it brewing. He looked at her in sudden, sharp suspicion. “Why don’t you want me to go with you? What aren’t you telling me?” She sighed. “I was hoping to keep you from going all alpha and protective on me, but I guess it’s a lost cause.” “Good guess. Keep talking.” ‘The witness was out with the deceased last night. He identified Harlowe as the one she’d left the club with.“ “He knows Harlowe?” “He made the ID from a photo they showed him.” “Then they already had some reason to think Harlowe was involved.” “Oh, yeah.” Her eyes were as flat as her voice. “He wrote a little note on the victim’s stomach with a felt-tip pen and signed it.” “What did it say?” ‘“This one’s for Yu.”’ TEN LILY was tired of being driven everywhere. It was hard to argue that she should get behind the wheel, though, even with the improvement in her shoulder. Rule was completely unimpaired. So she only grumbled a little about letting him drive. No question he had a better ride than she did—a Mercedes convertible with buttery soft seats and a top-of-the-line sound system. She set her purse and laptop on the floorboard and put a mug of steaming coffee in the beverage holder. “Swing by the Holiday Inn on Harbor,” she said, pulling her door closed. “The district office was going to call Weaver. We’ll be picking her up.” He made a noncommittal sound and backed out of the parking space. She glanced at him. “I don’t have a problem with her, you know.” “That’s good to hear.”

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“If I let myself get bent out of shape every time I run across one of your old lovers, I’d spend most of my time pretzeled.” “My reputation far exceeds the reality, you know. I haven’t been with nearly as many women as the tabloids like to claim.” “I don’t suppose that would be physically possible.” Lily’s finger tapped on her thigh. “I’m wondering if we should tell her about the mate bond.” “What?” He gave her a quick frown. “No.” “I know it’s supposed to be a big secret, but we’re asking her to operate without full information. That doesn’t feel right.” “If it were up to me, I’d trust Cynna with that knowledge. But not even theRho can decide to reveal some of the lore about our connection to the Lady. TheChosen are part of that lore.” “You mean no one can tell, ever?” “Not exactly.” He was silent a moment, frowning. “There’s too much you don’t know. You need to talk with the Rhej.” “I’m supposed to in a few days, but we need to clear this up ASAP.” “I’ll have to go to Clanhome. She doesn’t leave it, and she doesn’t care for telephones.” “Sounds like Grandmother.” Lily shifted uncomfortably. Was she expected to worship the Lady now that she was clan? Not likely to happen, but she didn’t want to get into that right now. “Tell me something. Weaver said you hadn’t changed. People say that sort of thing all the time, but I guess it’s pretty much true for you. How long ago did you know her?” “Ten years. No, more like twelve.” “So maybe Weaver’s more of a problem for you than for me. If she starts thinking about how little you’ve changed—” “It’s going to come out.” He accelerated smoothly ontoHarbor Drive . “Sooner or later, it will come out. Once enough of us stopped passing for human, it became inevitable that our longevity would be noticed. That’s one reason some lupi objected to going public.” “How did it get settled that you would go public? Not by voting, I’m guessing.” He gave her one of those hard-to-read glances. “No, we didn’t vote. The Rhos discussed, argued, formed alliances, and sometimes fought, but there was no consensus. Eventually my father decided to force the issue.” She considered what she knew of Isen Turner. “He had a hand in theBorden decision?”

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“That, too, but I was referring toCarr v.Texas !‘ Lily’s eyebrows rose. Since its founding, theU.S. government had mostly ignored “the lupi problem,” leaving things up to the states to handle however they thought best. Until recently, the states had thought in terms of imprisonment, execution both formal and informal, even castration. Carrv.the State ofTexas had changed all that. The Supreme Court ruling had made lupi citizens when while in human form. Congress had promptly declared lycanthropy a public health hazard, ushering in more than a decade of forced registration and treatment. Now that, too, had been declared unconstitutional. Lupi’s four-footed status remained murky, but there was a bill pending about that. “Was Carr Nokolai?” “You underestimate Isen.” His smile was tight. “William Carr was Etorri, one of our oldest and most revered clans. They have virtually no power. They’re too tiny. But they have greatdu . Honor,” he added, glancing at her. “Reputation, face, magic, history—duencompasses all that. Every lupus on the planet owes them, and will until the end of days.” That sounded like quite a story, but it would have to wait. “And… ?” “Carr wasn’t just Etorri. He was Rho. At that time, virtually any other lupus who did what he did would have been killed by those opposed to mainstreaming. Not the Etorri Rho.” “And this was somehow Isen’s doing?” “Yes.” That was all he offered, a flat “yes,” no explanation. Lily’s finger tapped faster. “The Carr decision took place, what—twelve years ago? More like fifteen,” she corrected herself. “A few years before you and Weaver were cozy. You would have been thirty-six or so.” “Thirty-eight.” “Were you already your father’s heir?” “What are you getting at?” “I’m trying to get things fixed in my mind, that’s all.” His fingers flexed once on the steering wheel. “I was an adult fifteen years ago. You weren’t. That continues to bother you.” “And that pisses you off.” “I am not pissed.” He turned sharply into the drive that circled in front of the Holiday Inn. She rolled her eyes. “Right. Do you see Weaver? She’s supposed to wait down front for us.” “You’re always telling me what I am. I’m pissed, I’m promiscuous—” “I never said that!”

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“It lies behind your comments like the seven-eighths of an iceberg that’s submerged.” “I haven’t called you promiscuous,” she insisted. “You don’t have to call a black man a nigger to treat him like one.” “Oh, now I’m a racist.” “I didn’t say that. Just as you didn’t call me promiscuous.” “What are we arguing about? Can you tell me that much? Just what is it we’re having this argument about?” He stopped abruptly enough for her to lurch against her seatbelt. “I don’t know. Nothing. There’s Cynna.” “Great. Good.” Lily stopped herself before she could blurt out something stupid like, “1 guessshe never called you promiscuous.” For one thing, it was probably true. For another, it would have sounded entirely too petty and jealous. Which she wasn’t. Not exactly. But Rule had been promiscuous. Maybe not by his standards, whatever those might be, but by hers, he’d been quite the little honeybee, flitting from flower to flower… and he’d been flitting a lot longer than she’d realized. About twenty years longer. His honeybee days were over, though. That’s what counted. Maybe that’s what had him on edge, too. Maybe trading every woman for one woman didn’t seem like such a great deal this morning. He hadn’t been given a choice, after all. The mate bond locked them both in this relationship, and however right it felt on the deepest level, there were all sorts of other levels that could play hell with happy-ever-after. “Morning,” Cynna Weaver said, opening the back door on the driver’s side. She tossed in a scruffy black tote, slid inside, and glanced from one to the other of them. Her eyebrows lifted, rearranging the whorls on her forehead. “Whoa. You two arguing, or did someone die?” Lily lifted her own eyebrows. “Kimberly Ann Curtis. Caucasian, brown and brown, five-seven, one-thirty. She turned twenty-two last March. Went by Kim.” “Okay, don’t tell me. None of my business, I guess.” Cynna settled back against the seat. “I’ll admit the ‘someone died’ comment was stupid when we’re headed to a murder scene—” “Possible homicide,” Lily corrected automatically. “Whatever. It’s godawful early yet. Don’t expect clever from me for another couple hours.” “I can wait,” Lily said dryly as Rule pulled away. “Fasten your seatbelt, please.” The other woman muttered something about “seatbelt enforcer” but complied, so Lily ignored the comment. Chances were that Weaver had never responded to vehicular crashes. She wouldn’t know what a face looked like after impacting with a windshield. Or traveling through one. “So what do we know about this possible homicide?”

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“She was found about three-thirty this morning by Mike Sanderson, a coworker who says they dated sometimes but were not exclusive. Nonetheless, he was sufficiently bothered by it when she left the Cactus Corral last night with someone else that he went to her dwelling around three. He found her dead and called the police. No obvious signs of violence. No cause of death determined.” “Huh.” Weaver unzipped her tote. “This Sanderson the one who ID’ed Harlowe? It was him she left with, right?” “Right.” Lily frowned at the tote. “I thought you didn’t need any ingredients, that your spells were in your tattoos.” “You thought right.” She took out a thermos. “Hot chocolate. Want some?” “No, thanks. I’ve got coffee.” Which was probably cold now. Lily picked up her mug, taking a sip to check. Yep. Cold. “Don’t know how anyone drinks that stuff.” Cynna took a slug of her chocolate, which did smell good. “I’m wondering why Rule’s driving. No offense, Rule—you’re great eye candy, but you’re a civilian. What are you along for?” “Emergency sex,” he said blandly. She exploded into laughter. “Yu, you’re getting some bennies I didn’t think the bureau offered. I’m jealous.” Lily felt her cheeks heat and thanked God for thick skin. Blushing didn’t show. “He’s a civilian consultant.” Cynna snorted. “Never heard it called that before. I thought maybe he was bodyguarding you, what with Harlowe leaving you love notes now.” “That, too,” Rule said. “You know about the note?” “Yeah, I heard. Yu—” She grimaced. “If there’s a way to say your last name so that it doesn’t sound like a pronoun, it’s beyond me.” There were three ways to say her last name in Chinese, two of which were beyond Lily, much to Grandmother’s disgust. “I’m used to people having trouble with my surname.” “Let’s use first names, then.” She delved into her tote again, this time coming up with a foam takeout container. “Okay.” Though it wasn’t, not really, but that just made Lily determined to get over it. “You should know that we acquired some new information last night.” “After you left the ER?” “Yes. Seabourne paid me a visit.” “I have got to meet that dude. A sorcerer.” She shook her head and opened the container, which turned out to hold a bagel. “Hard to believe, but reality’s often a stretch. Some people find me hard to believe.”

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“He thinks you’ll have trouble finding Harlowe, that the staff is shielding him.” “Won’t know until I try, but I’m pretty good.” She took a big bite. Lily tried not to stare longingly at Cynna’s bagel. She could have brought some food along… if she ever went to the store and bought stuff. “He also says he scried for Harlowe and found him in—ah, in hell.” That sent Cynna’s eyebrows up. “No shit?” “I don’t think Seabourne was making it up. But he doesn’t know if Harlowe is there now, was there recently, or will be there soon.” “Fire scrying, huh? Well, that is interesting.” She licked a crumb off her thumb. “Ties right in with the demon who conked you on the head.” “So it seems. I have a question for you.” “Shoot.” She took another bite. “In order to Find something, you have to establish a connection with it, right?” “That’s how it works.” “I want you to hunt for Harlowe, then, not the staff. I’ve got some concerns about you connecting with it. It’s… tainted.” Lily was getting better at reading the expression beneath the tattoos. Cynna obviously didn’t think much of Lily’s caution. “Have you ever encountered death magic?” Cynna frowned. “No. Nasty stuff.” Rule spoke. “The staff reeks of it.” “Yeah? What does it smell like?” “Putrefaction.” Cynna made a face at her bagel. “You’re killing my appetite.” Rule smiled. “You’ve grown more delicate. I can remember a time when it would take actual decay, not the mere mention of it, to have an effect.” Cynna grinned at the back of his head. “I’ve always had healthy appetites. Remember that night on the roof?” “Weaver,” Lily said, forgetting the first-name bit. “Yeah?” “Are you trying to annoy me, or is annoyance the usual by-product of your personality?” The woman laughed. “Usual by-product, I guess. You two really do have an exclusive thing going?”

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“We really do.” “Hmm.” She looked at what was left of her bagel. For a moment there was no expression at all on that odd, striking face. “So what’s this Seabourne like?” “He’s annoying, too. Also incredibly gorgeous.” “I really do need to meet him.” She popped the last bite into her mouth, chewed, and then said, “You don’t have to worry about me getting ‘tainted’ if I do sort something connected to the staff. I’ve got all sorts of protection written in. When I sort, I take the patterns I want to Find on my skin. The energy doesn’t go any deeper.“ That sounded a little like what Lily experienced when she touched magic. She felt its texture, but the magic itself slid off her as if she were greased. Still, unlike her, Cynna didn’t remain entirely unaffected. “Your skin’s part of you. I don’t want you trying to find the staff.” She shrugged. “Harlowe’s a better target, anyway.” Was she agreeing or evading? Lily gave one last warning. “Karonski has good protection, too. Helen went right through it. She couldn’t get past Seabourne’s shields to his mind, but she was still able to use the staff against him. It caused excruciating pain.” “You’re going somewhere with this.” “She was also able to kill with it. She tried to use it on me that way. It had no effect.” “Because you’re a sensitive. I get that.” “I hope you also get that standard arrest procedures won’t work with Harlowe. I’m the only one the staff can’t affect, so when we do find him, I go in alone.” Cynna snorted. “You may be immune to the staff, but there are plenty of other ways to get killed.” “She’ll have backup,” Rule said grimly. “Thirty feet away and out of sight.” “That’s too far. Cullen said Helen had to be within fifteen feet to affect him.” “Cullen’s a sorcerer. What’s safe for him may not be safe for others. Not that I’m convinced he knows the meaning of safety,” she added, thinking of what he’d said about experimenting with mage fire. “Why are you so bloody careful about everyone’s safety but yours?” “It’s my safety at stake, too! I need to know that the people backing me up aren’t being controlled by—” “We’ve been over this. Harlowe can’t read minds, so he can’t take over minds.”

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“We don’t know what all he can do. If you weren’t so stubbornly sure—” ‘Time out!“ Cynna sang. ”If the two of you can’t play nice, you’ll have to go to your rooms.“ After a moment Rule said dryly, “Without our supper?” “Only if you don’t tell me what you’re arguing about.” Lily took a deep breath. “Right.” At least this time she knew what the argument was about. “The problem is that we’ve got more guesses than facts about what the staff can do.” “From what you’ve said, it can kill, hurt like hell, or take over your mind.” Rule spoke. “The first two, yes. Mind control— probably not, if it’s in Harlowe’s hands. Lily and I disagree about that,” he added. “I believe the staff augments the user’s natural Gift, if there is one. Helen was a telepath. Harlowe isn’t.” “I’m not disputing that,” Lily said impatiently. “But Helen didn’t have a Gift that let her slice people up from a distance. That came purely from the staff. What else can it do that we don’t know about?” “Maybe it has no limits and the president and most of Congress are already under Harlowe’s control. Lily, we can’t guard against every ‘maybe’ you can conjure up.” “We’ll take what precautions seem reasonable. Thirty feet is reasonable.” “To you.” “I’m in charge.” “We don’t get to vote? And here I thought you were so enamored of democracy.” Lily tightened her lips on the hot response she wanted to make. They’d entertained Cynna enough with their squabbling. How had they gotten so crosswise of each other so quickly after last night? Those damned layers, she supposed. She yanked out a CD at random and jammed it into the player. Then immediately turned down the volume. She didn’t have time to brood over the tangled layers of her love life. She turned to Cynna Weaver and asked to be filled in on how the woman’s Gift worked. And did a pretty good job of not thinking about age differences, nightmares, or what had drawn Rule to the woman all those years ago. ELEVEN CYNNA hadn’t expected to like Lily Yu. That was envy, of course, with a healthy dose of its kissing cousin, jealousy. But what could be more natural? She didn’t fault herself for it. But somewhere along the line, a little worm of liking had surprised her by wiggling past all the other stuff. Aside from that, though, she wasn’t sure what to make of the woman. Lily seemed to know her

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business, but why had she brought Rule along? No doubt he could guard the hell out of her, but she wasn’t exactly a fragile flower. Cynna couldn’t see what he could contribute otherwise. The lupi weren’t connected to the hunt for Harlowe… unless there was something she hadn’t been told? It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been left out of the loop. All too often, people thought of her as a handy sort of freak, like the spinner in a board game—toss her down, spin her around, see which way she pointed. The way they saw it, she didn’t need a brain to find stuff. So they assumed she didn’t have one. Rule knew better, but he was just naturally secretive as hell. Still, she didn’t think he’d out-and-out lie to her. She’d watch for a chance to catch him alone, she decided, and ask him why he was really along. Temecula lay about halfway betweenSan Diego andL.A. on 1-15. By the time they reached its fast-food and gas-station fringes, the sun had popped up over the horizon and Lily switched off the longhair music. She warned Cynna to be especially respectful of local authority. Temecula, she said, used to be a small, sleepy town, but it had put on a real growth spurt in the past ten years. Like a gangly adolescent prone to tripping, it was jealous of its dignity. There was some rivalry between the newcomers and the oldtimers at the local cop shop. The ones who’d been around forever were outnumbered, but they had seniority and rank, and they didn’t need outsiders telling them how to do things. Kim had been doing okay for herself, Cynna thought as they pulled up near their goal. Up until someone killed her, that is. She’d lived in half of a little stucco duplex roofed with those red tiles Californians were crazy about. The yard was tiny but green. She counted four cops tramping around in it. As soon as they parked and got out, one of those cops came over to tell them to move on. Lily showed him her badge. He wasn’t impressed—said they’d have to wait until Detective Leung cleared them. He did manage to look apologetic when, in response to Lily’s question, he told them the body had already been removed. Lily looked furious. So they waited. It felt good to be out of the car. Not that Cynna got carsick anymore—she had a dandy little anti-nausea spell—but she hated riding in the backseat. She always felt cramped and left out. The air had that slick, cool feel she associated more with spring than fall. But this part of the country didn’t really do fall, much less winter. She’d come here straight from another job inKansas City with no time to pick up more clothes. She wasn’t dressed right for the climate. Actually, she just plain wasn’t dressed right, but that was nothing new. She’d never gotten the hang of dressing like a fibbie. Cynna sighed as she looked at theChina doll. Cynna was wearing tan slacks, too, but they didn’t look like Lily’s, and her jacket was not nearly as fashionable as the other woman’s trim little red thing. Lily didn’t carry an old black gym bag around, either. No, she had a big, flat leather envelope of a purse slung over her shoulder. She and Rule were talking nearby, too low for Cynna to make out the words. They weren’t arguing, but they weren’t happy, either. That cheered Cynna up some. Call her petty, but she liked knowing the woman wasn’t perfect.

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Finally someone came out of the victim’s front door. He was Asian and not in uniform, so Cynna allowed herself to jump to the conclusion that he was the guy they were waiting for. Detective Leung was a small man, not much taller than Lily, and dressed just as pretty—pressed white shirt, navy suit, and narrow tie. He didn’t have much in the way of lines to give away his age, but his hair was more salt than pepper. By the time he reached them, it was obvious he didn’t plan to roll out the welcome mat. He said his name and rank and then he got a good look at Rule. He went from chilly to frigid. “What is he doing here? And her?” “Her” meant Cynna. She gave him an eat-shit-and-die smile. Lily was crisp. “He’s consulting, she’s MCD, same as me… if it’s any of your business. Who ordered the body removed?” “I did. The techs were finished with it.” “I asked that the body not be moved.” “We don’t always get what we want, do we? Guess I didn’t get the message.” His smile was tight—like his underwear, Cynna suspected. Just as she suspected he’d gotten the message and ignored it. Lily’s finger started tapping on her thigh. “I’d like to see your shield, Detective.” His eyes narrowed, but he took it out, flashed it, and then started to put it back in his inside jacket pocket. Lily just stood there with her hand out. He paused, trying to look like he wasn’t pissed. Finally she handed it over. She dug into one of the pockets in that oversize envelope and pulled out a snazzy little leather folder with a notepad inside. There she jotted down his shield number before giving it back to him. “We’ll look at the scene first. Where will I find the body?” “The hospital morgue. We aren’t a big city with a separate crime morgue. But, ah…” And here he started to feel a bit better. “I’m afraid I can’t let you onto the scene.” Lily’s eyebrows went up. “I’m at a loss to understand why you think you have a choice.” “Oh, I’ll cooperate. If your district office wants to send someone else, I’d be glad to cooperate. But I can’t very well letyou onto the scene.” He was enjoying himself now. “Not when you’re implicated.” For a long moment, Lily didn’t say a word. Cynna glanced at Rule, expecting him to say or do something. But he was just watching, wearing this little smile as if he expected to enjoy what came next. “I’m sure it can be cleared up,” Leung said, riding a good smug now. “But that note links you to the crime. I can’t take any chance of the scene being… contaminated.” He made it sound like the three of them contaminated the air by breathing it. “If you object, you can always go downtown and talk to the chief.”

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“You misunderstand,” she said evenly. “Title 28, United States Code, Section 533 authorizes the attorney general to appoint officials to investigate crimes against theUnited States .” “What the hell does that—” “Title 18, Chapter 51, Section 1111 makes it a federal crime to use magical means to commit murder. Chapter makes it a federal crime to conspire to commit an act of violence, including violence by magical means. I am the duly constituted official investigating a conspiracy to attempt the murder of multiple persons, including law enforcement personnel, by magical means. My authority comes from the attorney general and supercedes that of your chief of police. My chief suspect was seen with your victim. He left me a goddamned signed note about it on the body. Title 18, Chapter 55—” “I’m not disputing jurisdiction,” he put in quickly. “I’m saying that you—” “And I’m saying that you lack the authority to bar me from this scene. If you have concerns about my fitness or possible culpability in this crime, you may relate them to my superiors. Don’t bother the district office—they lack the authority to interfere, too. You’d better go right to the head of MCD. Ruben Brooks. He’s at FBI headquarters inWashington . Call him.” She produced a cell phone from another of her bag’s pockets and tossed it to him. It spoke well for Leung’s reflexes that he caught it in spite of his deer-in-the-headlights look. Lily just kept rolling. “The number for his direct line is on speed dial. Hit seven.” “Wait a minute,” he said. “I don’t want—” “If you’re not prepared to challenge my fitness, then I request and require your cooperation.” She turned and started for the duplex. The two closest uniformed cops were trying to look like they weren’t enjoying the exchange. Maybe Leung wasn’t popular with the rank-and-file. Rule had caught his cue immediately and kept pace with her. Cynna dropped in behind. “What was the victim wearing?” Lily asked without looking back. “Nothing.” Leung hurried to catch up and grabbed Lily’s arm just as she reached the porch. “I’m not letting thatwere in. He’s no federal agent.” He hadn’t, Cynna noticed, tried grabbing Rule. Good call. “You,” Lily said, her voice as cold as her eyes were hot, “had better let go of me right now. Unless you are planning to make an arrest?” He dropped his hand, looking like he wanted to hit her with it. She looked back at him, her gaze steady as the bead of a sniper. Finally he looked away. She stepped onto the porch. “Turner won’t be going inside right away. But that’s my call, not yours.” She opened her purse and pulled out a wad of plastic, which she separated into gloves and booties. Cynna glanced at Leung’s feet. He hadn’t bothered with the booties. Now that she thought of it, he hadn’t been wearing gloves when he came out of the house, either.

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“Where was the body found?” Lily asked, bending to pull the plastic over one shoe. “Bedroom at the back. In bed, arranged neatly—her hands were folded over her heart.” He grudged it. but Cynna figured he was telling himself he’d won one battle, with the exclusion of Rule from the scene. “Any signs of sexual assault?” He shook his head. “No resistance wounds, no visible tearing, and I didn’t see any traces of semen.” “The guy who found her—he’s a friend or a boyfriend?” “He claims they weren’t steady, just dated now and then. But it bugged him enough when she went home with someone else that he came by later. Says he wanted to be sure she was okay.” His expression announced how little he believed that. “Did he have a key, or was the door unlocked?” “Open, he says. Ajar, not wide open.” It was open now, too. Cynna could see an ordinary living room through the doorway—beige sofa and carpet, a television. No evidence techs in sight. Now that she thought of it, she didn’t hear their little vacuums, either. Surely they hadn’t done the whole place already? Lily gave Rule a nod. He must have known what that meant, because he stepped up to the door, crouched down, and put his face next to the knob. “What the hell—!” Leung exclaimed. She waved him to silence. Rule got a good sniff, then faced into the beige living room. He did this thing with his head, like a dog scenting the air. Then he looked at Lily over his shoulder. Cynna got his profile—gorgeous, but grim. “I don’t get anything distinctive from the door,” he said. “But in there…” He jerked his head toward the living room. “Death magic.” Lily turned to Leung. “This is my investigation now, and this place is sealed. No one goes in without my say-so.” “You can’t—” “I just did.”

LILY had to get her phone back from Leung. While he put in a call to his chief to complain about her, she punched seven—and prayed she hadn’t just seriously exceeded her authority. She glanced at her watch as the phone rang on the other end. Seven-thirty here meant eleven-thirty in D.C., so unless he was in a meeting… “Hello, Lily,” he said.

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Unless he was in a meeting, he answered this phone himself. Only members of the Unit had the number. “I’ve got a murder by magical means. Harlowe’s involved.” “Go on.” She filled him in, including her announcement about sealing the place. “So,” she finished, “am I in trouble for exceeding my authority? And if not, can I get someone here to confirm manner of death in a way the courts will accept? Karonski would be best, but if not him, another Wiccan. And I could use some evidence techs. Leung screwed up the scene, no telling how many big, dirty cop feet have already trampled through, but we still need to try. And who handles the door-to-door?“ There followed one painful second of silence, broken by Ruben’s chuckle. “You seem to be dealing well with the loss of Karonski—whom you can’t have back yet, I’m afraid, so we’ll have to call in civilian experts. There’s a coven inLos Angeles whose testimony has held up well. I’ll send them down. Call the district office—no, I’ll do it. They’ll take over working the scene, but you’ll need to solicit the cooperation of local authorities for the door-to-door.” “Yes, sir. Leung’s an idiot, however.” They would need a whole coven to do what Karonski normally did on his own? She had questions about that but filed them mentally for now. “He’s the type who’d screw up the investigation just to make me look bad. Ah, I’m afraid we got off on the wrong foot.” “So I gathered,” Ruben said dryly. “Cope. You’ll take Weaver in to check out the scene?” “Yes, sir. She’s getting her feet covered now.” “Good. I have this feeling… well, keep her involved, just in case. Oh, about the staff. I’ve been asked to instruct you to preserve it for study, if at all possible.” Lily opened her mouth to protest—and closed it again. He hadn’t actually told her not to destroy the staff, had he? Just that he’d been asked to tell her that. “Yes, sir,” she said carefully. “Call me this evening to update, unless events dictate otherwise.” She told him good-bye, disconnected, and put up her phone. Cynna had been listening in with an interested expression on her face. Rule stood a little ways away, closer to Leung—probably eavesdropping on that conversation instead of hers. Good. She knew what he’d think about any directive to preserve the staff instead of destroying it. She tended to agree with him, but needed to think it over. “Come on,” she said to Cynna. “Let’s see what we can learn.” Lily knew she was locking the barn door after the proverbial horse had scooted. Leung had already botched the scene. But she’d preserve what she could, which meant Rule stayed out for now. He hadn’t given her a hard time about that, proving he could be reasonable when he wanted. The living room was small, beige, and spotless. She stopped in the middle of it, looking around. Kim Curtis had been a tidy person. The carpet was recently vacuumed, the room itself as tidy as Lily’s

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apartment, if not as sparsely furnished. The matching armchairs looked new. The couch was slip-covered in ivory matelassé, with two pale green pillows that precisely matched the chairs. A couple of prints hung on the walls—nice frames, conventional landscapes. The entertainment unit held a large television, an old VCR, a new CD/DVD player, and five cloth-covered boxes. No glasses or plates in sight. If Curtis had offered Harlowe a drink, they hadn’t had it in here. Lily went to the entertainment unit and opened one of the boxes. “What are you looking for?” Cynna asked from behind her. “I don’t know.” The boxes all held CDs and movies— tapes and DVDs. “She liked old musicals. And chick flicks.” “She was doing okay for herself, wasn’t she? She was just twenty-two, but she had her own place, decent stuff.” “Yes.” She straightened. “Maybe some of this wasn’t paid for yet, but she was doing okay.” Until she ran into Harlowe. Lily’s jaw tightened. “Let’s check out the bedroom.” ‘’It was a real treat, watching you take that little pissant apart.“ Cynna said as she followed Lily down the hall. ”Quite a lesson for me in respecting local authority.“ Lily winced. “Is it too late for ‘do as I say, not as I do”?“ Cynna chuckled. “Did you make up all that legal stuff you quoted at him?” Lily stepped into the back bedroom and looked around. “I may have gotten some of the section numbers wrong. The gist was accurate.” “That’s just scary. You really know all that code?” “Bits and pieces. I’ve been trying to get up to speed.” Kim hadn’t done as much decorating in here. White walls, hand-me down furniture that didn’t match, but it wasn’t an interesting mismatch, either. “I don’t know if Karonski told you, but I haven’t been with the Unit long. I used to work homicide.” The unmade bed drooled white sheets and a faded pink-and-yellow comforter onto the floor. No blood, but the body had voided itself in death, so it didn’t smell great in here. “Gah.” Cynna’s nose wrinkled. “I’m glad I’m not Rule.” “He doesn’t react to smells the way we do,” Lily said absently. No pictures on the wails, but above the bed were three wooden crosses. Handmade, she thought. Pretty things, really. “Most of the time, scent is information to him. Like if we see a pile of dog shit on the ground, no big deal. We get the message to step around it. Smells are mostly like that for him.” “If you say so.” There was a Bible on the bedside table. Lily frowned at it, trying to fit the signs of religious devotion with someone who picked up a stranger in a bar. Some religious types strayed from the straight and narrow on a regular basis, yet that didn’t seem to fit this time. Why?

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Because the devotional items were in here, she realized. In Kim’s personal space, not out in her living area. Her faith hadn’t been for show, yet she’d picked up a stranger in a bar. She turned to Cynna. “From what you told me, you can’t look for traces of Harlowe yet because you don’t have his pattern, but you can look for bits that don’t match with the victim’s.” “I’ll need to sort some of her things first, pick up her pattern. Then…” She glanced at the bed. “Then I’ll see what 1 can pick out that isn’t hers.” “Have at it. I’ll check things in my own way.” Lily had only touched death magic once. It hadn’t been pleasant. She tugged off one glove, steeling herself. Cynna was removing her gloves, too. “I was thinking that we might be able to estimate the strength of the staff.” “How’s that?” “What’s your I.M.P.?” Lily paused. “My what?” “I.M.P. You know—Innate Magic Potential.” When Lily looked at her blankly, she asked incredulously, “Youhave been tested, haven’t you?” “Oh. Right.” She remembered Karonski saying something about it. “The test wouldn’t work on me because it uses a spell to gauge the strength of the subject’s Gift. The spell would slide right off.” “Shit. I guess that makes sense. Maybe there’s some other way to estimate the strength of your Gift. It was strong enough to keep the staff from affecting you, so—” “It doesn’t work that way. I don’t…” Lily’s voice drifted off as she placed her palm on the pillow, right where an impression remained from Kim Curtis’s head. “Hey, you okay?” “I’m fine.” That came out automatically. It was almost true. “I just hate the feel of this stuff.” “Death magic, huh? What does it feel like?” “Ground glass and rotting flesh.” Only worse. She didn’t have words to describe the corruption of it. She’d hoped she could tell if there was some difference, some change in the magic with someone else using the staff, but the sheer foulness overwhelmed everything else. Lily shook her hand to rid herself of the lingering sensation and pulled her glove back on. “As I was saying, being a sensitive isn’t like other Gifts. I never used to think of it as a Gift at all. actually.” “Why not?” Lily struggled for a way to explain. “You’ve got some kind of shields, right?”

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“Sure.” She looked around. “Um… I’m going to need to touch something of Kim’s.” “We’ll tag whatever you handle. Try not to leave fingerprints on anything else.” She moved to the dresser, which held a mirror, jewelry box, and several bottles of perfume on a little tray. “Anyone with a Gift can learn to do spells, right?” “Pretty much.” Cynna elbowed open the closet door. “Some are better at spellcraft than others. Most of us are only really good at a few types of spells, the ones related most closely to our Gift.” She sat on the floor and pulled out an athletic shoe, running her bare hand over it. “This will work.” she said with satisfaction. Apparently shoes absorbed more than sweat from their wearers. Lily opened the jewelry box. Kim Curtis had liked earrings and bracelets. No necklaces, though. “So shields would be stronger or weaker depending on how strong your Gift is and how good you are at that type of spell.” “Basically. There are ways to store power, but it helps to have a strong Gift.” “Well, I can’t use magic,” Lily said flatly, closing the jewelry box. “And I don’t have shields. Being a sensitive is more like… like not being porous. Some substances won’t soak up water, no matter how much you pour over them. Magic can’t soak into me, no matter how much I’m hit with. Except…” “Don’t stop now. If there’s an exception, I need to know about it.” “Last night Nettie was able to put me in sleep. I’m told she used some sort of religious energy, not magic. But it was still a spell. I don’t see why it worked on me.” Cynna shrugged. “Can’t help you much. I don’t know what the difference is, either.” She put down the shoe and rose. “I’ve got Kim’s pattern. I don’t know if I’ll be able to pick up enough of Harlowe’s to do any good, but I’ll give it a shot.” “Youcan limit your scan to Harlowe, right? So you won’t get anything from the staff.” “I don’t scan. I sort.” “I’m not following you.” “They’re two different operations. Scanning would be… oh, like looking for a red scarf you dropped on the floor. You’d see it from a distance. You wouldn’t have to touch it or pick it up. Sorting is more like looking for a silk scarf in a tangled pile of scarves. You’d have to touch the scarves to find the one you wanted and work it loose from the others.” “Then be careful what you pick up.” She flashed Lily a grin and moved up to the bed. Gradually all expression bled out of her face, leaving only focus. She held her left hand at her waist, palm out as if deflecting something, and extended her right arm, elbow locked and fingers together, pointing down at the bed. Slowly her arm swung to the left. Nothing else moved. She might have been a statue with a single moving

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part— the slowly swinging arm, moving now to the right. If she still breathed, it didn’t show. The arm hesitated and stopped. Gradually, her fingers spread out. Her eyes rolled back in her head. As if every muscle in her body had simultaneously melted, she collapsed. Lily leaped for her. She got there just before the woman’s head smacked into the bed frame, but not with any grace. Off balance, Lily ended up going down with Cynna sprawled half on top of her. She managed to sit up, shifting so Cynna’s head rested on her thigh. She was checking her pulse when those whiskey-colored eyes blinked open and Cynna said, “Shit.” “Are you okay? What happened?” “Turns out the sorcerer was right. That staff does not want to be found.” For a second Lily just stared at her. “You tried to find it. After everything I said—in defiance of a direct order—you tried to find the damned staff.” Now she looked sheepish. “I, uh, figured you didn’t know what you were talking about.” Lily stood. Cynna’s head hit the floor. “Hey!” “Karonski was right when he called you a loose canon. How am 1 supposed to work with you when I can’t trust you?” She wanted to punch something. “Did you bother looking for Harlowe’s pattern at all?” “Of course,” She had the nerve to sound indignant. “What I found—I assume it’s from Harlowe—was all tied up with the ugly stuff. Couldn’t sort it out.” “That’s no excuse.” “I wasn’t excusing myself. Just letting you know.” Gingerly Cynna got to her feet. “Whew. I feel as if I’m coming off a three-day drunk. Ah… I was wrong about one thing, so maybe you should, ah, check to see if… well, if something was done to me. It shouldn’t be possible,” she added hastily. “Not at a distance. But the impossible just keeps happening lately.” Lily was mad enough to let her stew a while. It was only after a severe struggle with her less professional side that she managed to say curtly, “I touched your skin when I checked your pulse. No trace of death magic, so I’d say the staff didn’t do anything but knock you down.” “I guess you couldn’t have missed it if there was just a teensy trace?” “If death magic had a smell, it would be like that stuff they put in natural gas to make it smell bad—even the tiniest whiff and you know it’s there. If I touch death magic, I know it.” “Good.” There was no mistaking the relief in Cynna’s voice. “Uh… there’s one more thing I need to tell you. It’s about Kim Curtis.” “Yes?”

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“She isn’t entirely gone.” TWELVE RULE felt sick. “You’re sure the residue you picked up isn’t a ghost?” They were waiting for the FBI’s crime scene specialists to arrive. He and Cynna stood in one corner of the yard. Lily was on the porch, talking to the uniformed officer who’d been first on the scene. The rest of the police were gone. Leung had dismissed them in a temper fit when his chief told him to let the FBI have the scene. At least the press hadn’t showed up. Yet. Cynna shook her head. “I don’t know what I picked up, but with ghosts there’s always a direction, you know? This time there wasn’t.” “What made you try to find a dead woman?” “I always check,” she admitted. “When I’m called in, a lot of times someone has died violently. That’s a good way to throw up a ghost. So I do a Find on the victim to make sure. If there is one, we call in a specialist.” He looked at her quizzically. “You’ve Found ghosts, then?” “Sure. They’re not that unusual. Most times they aren’t strong enough to manifest, so no one knows they’re around.” “And when there isn’t a ghost, you get… what?” “Nothing. When people die, there shouldn’t be anything for me to Find. This time there was… well, not all of her, but something of her. That’s what a ghost feels like. Only this remnant wasn’t tied to a place like a ghost would be. I don’t know what it means.” “It means,” Lily said grimly as she joined them, “that he didn’t just kill her. He took her life—and fed it to the staff.” Cynna shook her head stubbornly. “I couldn’t get a fix on the staff. How could I pick up on something inside it?” “You connected with it, though. It knocked you on your ass. So where is it?” “1 couldn’t tell, dammit! Something…” She stopped. Swallowed. “Something’s blocking me.” “The staff, yes.” Cynna looked ill. Rule didn’t feel too great himself. Was the remnant of Kim Curtis aware? Trapped, bodiless… He turned to Lily. “Did you learn anything useful?” “Maybe.” There was strain around her eyes, a tightness he instinctively wanted to ease. “I heard a lot

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more about Mike Sanderson, the one who found her. I’m trying to get a handle on why she brought Harlowe home with her.” “You want to know if she was compelled.” “I know you don’t think the staff can do that, but this isn’t adding up. She had these crosses on her bedroom wall and a Bible by her bed. And the boyfriend thinks she was a virgin.” Rule’s eyebrows went up. “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Of course, just because a guy thinks a woman’s pure as the driven snow doesn’t make it so, but according to Sanderson, she believed in chastity until marriage. That put him off—he isn’t religious himself—but he was hooked. He kept hanging around. That’s what he was doing last night. He knew she loved to dance, so he went to the Cactus Corral to see if she was there, and sure enough.” She shook her head. “He’s messed up now because he didn’t try to stop her when she left with Harlowe.” “He blames himself. That’s natural.” “He knew something was wrong. She danced with Harlowe one time and then she left with him.” Cynna shrugged. “Maybe Sanderson didn’t know her as well as he thought. Or maybe Harlowe gave her some roofies or K.” “Maybe. We’ll see if anyone noticed her acting sleepy or drunk. But I don’t think Harlowe slipped the reluctant boyfriend a date rape drug.” “What do you mean?” “When Sanderson saw her leaving with a man she didn’t know, he went up to them. He asked her what was going on. And Harlowe just smiled at him and told him she’d be fine with him. And Sanderson completely bought it. That’s what’s eating him now. He thought it was just fine if she left with a stranger.” Rafe knew where she was heading. “This isn’t the same as what Helen did to Abel. Harlowe didn’t erase Sanderson’s memories.” She hesitated, then said quietly, “It’s more like what she did to your brother. Changed the way he thought about something.” His breath sucked in, quick and sharp. Memory’s teeth only grew sharper when you turned your back on it. “Yes. She did do that.” “The effect seems to have worn off on Sanderson pretty quickly. A couple hours later he was here, checking up on Kim. He didn’t buy the ‘she’ll be fine’ bit for long.” Cynna looked skeptical. “You’re drawing a lot of conclusions from very little evidence. Telepathy isn’t the only explanation. For one thing, there are other Gifts.” Lily looked at her. “Such as?” “Well, charisma. It’s not as rare as telepathy, and if you put a good persuasion spell with a really strong

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Gift—” “Shit, shit, shit!” Lily smacked her hand against her thigh. “I forgot. Karonski said something like that. That maybe Harlowe had a minor Gift of charisma.” “It’s not in his report.” “It came up when we were talking. He was speculating, I think. I can’t place the conversation, though. Can’t get it in context.” That triggered Rule’s memory. “After he and Croft had been tampered with, when we met them in their hotel room. He was describing their meeting. He said Harlowe might have a touch of a charisma Gift.” “It would explain a lot. Like why a devout young woman picked him up—” “And why a man half in love with her didn’t object.” “Whoa!” Cynna held up a hand. “I know I mentioned charisma as a possibility, but it would take one hell of a strong Gift plus an outstanding persuasion spell to alter people’s normal behavior and morals that much. A touch of a Gift wouldn’t cut it.” “The staff,” Rule said grimly. “It changes the possibilities.” Cynna shook her head. “Did Sanderson say anything about Harlowe toting five feet of black wood? Did any of the witnesses? Doesn’t seem like the sort of thing they’d let him bring into the club.” “He could have charmed them into allowing it.” “Or,” Lily said quietly, “maybe he has a ‘don’t see me’ on it.” “A what?” Cynna demanded. “A spell that makes people not notice something.” Cynna thought about it and shook her head again. “Demons can do that, go unseen. But that’s innate, like Rule’s Change. Spells that duplicate the innate abilities of those of the Blood just don’t exist. Too complex by far. It’s like the difference between manipulating DNA and creating it.” “And yet Cullen cast a ‘don’t see me’ on my apartment last night.” “I’m impressed… if it worked. But your apartment’s stationary. A moving object would be a whole ‘nother story. A ’don’t see me‘ on a five-foot-length of wood carried around a crowded bar? Nuh-uh. I’m not buying it.” Rule and Lily exchanged glances. “I’ll call him,” she said, taking out her phone. “He said he’d answer if— damn.” A white, American-made sedan pulled up, with a white, American-made van right behind it. The two vehicles parked, bracketing Rule’s car. The men in the car wore gray suits. Either the FBI or the IRS had arrived, and Rule didn’t think the deceased was being audited. “Weaver—”

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Cynna grimaced. “Make it Cynna,.okay?” “Right. I forgot. Try to get hold of Karonski. Find out if he remembers why he thought Harlowe might have a charisma Gift. 1 need to brief our associates, see what kind of equipment they brought. Rule—” “I’ll call Cullen.” “Thanks. Use mine. He’ll be more likely to pick up, since because he wants something from me.” She handed him her phone and headed for the newcomers. Rule watched Lily as he punched in Cullen’s number. She’d told him once that a person her size either learned to move fast or got left behind. Not a bad metaphor for how she approached life in general, he thought. Her walk was brisk, efficient, utterly unself-conscious. And utterly female. Then there was the way her hair swayed with her movement. He loved her hair. It was as black as a secret wish, shining in the clear light of the young sun, newly risen from its bed beyond the horizon… “You’re really gone on her, aren’t you?” Cynna said. Rule glanced at her sharply. As the phone rang on the other end, he thought of all he hadn’t told Lily. All he couldn’t tell her. She suspected he’d kept some things from her about Cullen’s search for the staff, and she was right. But that wasn’t the worst of his omissions. He hadn’t lied to her last night. But when you slice truth too thin, you deceive. The mate bond held them together, an inescapable gravity. But they had other ties—of affection, loyalty, duty. And sometimes gravity caused avalanches, mudslides, even earthquakes as opposing plates shifted, placing intolerable pressures on ground that wasn’t as solid as it seemed… “Yes,” he said at last. “I am.” For once, Cynna’s natural extravagance was dimmed enough to make a mask of the web of patterns over her face. “I see. Well, I need to get my phone. It’s in your car, in my tote.” “Here.” He gave her the keys, frowning as she walked away. After so many years, it shouldn’t have mattered to Cynna that he wasn’t available for fun and games. Apparently it did. He wasn’t sure what to think about that, much less what to do. Finally the ringing was cut off by Cullen’s voice. “Changed your mind already, luv?” “No,” Rule said dryly. “I’m still of the same mind I was last night.” “Oh, it’s you. If you’re calling to pester me about the tracking spell—” “I’m not, but I wouldn’t mind knowing how it’s working.” There was a moment’s silence; then, grumpily: “It’s not. Not properly, at least. I told you it was basically an earth spell, didn’t I? Well, you wouldn’t believe how many blasted churches source in part from earth—which would amaze their parishioners, I’m sure. The earth energy gets all tangled up with spiritual energies, which creates a bloody blast of interference every time you come within a few hundred feet. I knew that would happen, so I tried tying it to air, too, but air is chancy, and with all the pollution—”

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“I get the idea.” Three people had gotten out of the van. Lily broke away to talk to them. Cynna was talking on her phone. “You lost us.” “Twice,” he admitted. “Picked you up again, but you were off the map for nearly a mile at one point.” “That’s not good.” Rule looked at his car, blocked now by two federal vehicles. He’d tucked the charm Cullen gave him last night under the driver’s seat, where Lily was unlikely to see or touch it. She was so bloody stubborn. Observant, too, unfortunately. Cullen’s charm was supposed to allow her bodyguards to trail her, undetected—an excellent idea, if it could be made to work. Rule slid his hand in the left pocket of his slacks and fingered the small gold button. It looked ordinary enough, though it was, in fact, truly gold—twenty karats, very soft and pure. “Perhaps we should test the panic button you gave me. If that doesn’t work—” “If you’re not trying to insult me, then roll your tongue back up into your mouth so you don’t keep stumbling over it. That thing issimple . Witches make them all the time. Now, if you didn’t call to pester me about the tracking spell, what the hell do you want?” “The answer to a question.” Lily and the crime scene techs started for the house. Cynna had put away her phone and was following. Briefly he explained about Harlowe’s victim and her reluctant boyfriend. “You’re right about one thing,” Cullen said. “Helen could make people forget they’d seen the staff. Harlowe wouldn’t be able to do that. At best, a charisma Gift might persuade them to lie about seeing him with it.” That could complicate things, Rule thought, when Lily talked to witnesses. “The boyfriend seems to have thrown off whatever effect Harlowe had on him pretty quickly.” “Charisma’s a chancy Gift. Some are more susceptible to it than others, and if there’s a lot of dissonance, the effects don’t last. If that’s all you needed to know, I need to get back—” “Not so fast. If Harlowe needed the staff to get the effects he did on his victim and the boyfriend, then he had it with him, but no one mentioned seeing it. A ‘don’t see me’ spell would explain that, but I’m told that’s impossible with a moving object.” Cullen snorted. “It would present more problems than I’m up to handling, that’s for damned sure. I can’t even get this blasted tracking spell to work right. I need to talk to that Finder of yours. She might have some spells I could use. Or bits of them, anyway, once I take them apart to see how they work.” “She’d like to meet you, too. But right now, I need to know if the staff could be made invisible.” “Not true invisibility, I wouldn’t think. That alters the physical properties of an object, which requires not only enormous power, but—” “Cullen.” “Right. No theory, no explanations, just an answer.” Rule could almost hear his friend shrug. “The staff is Hers. I wouldn’t want to guess what all She can do that I can’t.” “She’s limited in how she can operate in this realm.”

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“But we don’t know what those limits are. except in a very general way. We know she can’t operate directly in our realm—she has to use an agent. Nor can she spy on us—on lupi, I mean.” That was both lore and, according to Cullen, common sense. He claimed that the supposed omniscience of the gods—or Old Ones, as he preferred to call them—was basically one hell of a good farseeing spell. And farseeing spells didn’t work well on those of the Blood. “Or on Lily, as long as she wears the Lady’s emblem.” “According to the Rhej, yes, and I’m inclined to think she knows what she’s talking about. But otherwise… we know damn little about the staff. Don’t know that much about demons, either,” he added thoughtfully. “Except for the lower sort that idiots sometimes summon.She seems to have made some kind of alliance with one of the demon lords, though. Hard to say what that means.” “You’re not cheering me up.” “You’ll feel cheerier once I’ve destroyed that bloody staff.” Rule’s gut clenched. “I’m moving up the time for the next circle to tonight.” There was a heartbeat’s silence. “Something’s happened.” All sorts of things. “I’ll explain tonight.” “It will have to be late, or between shows. I’m dancing.” “Between shows, then. The same place—make sure Max saves it for us. Tell the others to arrive singly, as before.” “What am I, your bloody secretary?” “I can’t call,” Rule said quietly. “I could be overheard.” “Filius aper umbo. All right. I’ll play secretary this once.” Rule grinned in spite of himself. “You may be right, but I wouldn’t mention the possibility to theRho .” “We don’t chat often, so 1 doubt it will come up. Ciao.” Cullen disconnected. Rule took a deep breath and did what he had to do, punching in a number he knew well. Why this felt like even more of a betrayal, he couldn’t say. But it did. His father answered the way he always did. “Yes?” “I need Benedict.” “He won’t be happy. He just got back to his mountain.” “It can’t be helped. I’m calling another circle.” Rule explained as briefly as possible. His father would know about the attack from Nettie, so it didn’t take long to fill in the rest.

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“All right. What time, then, and where?” “Have him check with me. I”m not sure where we’ll…“ Rule’s voice drifted off. Something he’d heard, though hadn’t fully registered, had brought his senses on alert. Lily. Speaking to someone inside. From this distance he couldn’t make out the words, but the tone… He started for the duplex. “I’m needed.” “Go, then—t’eius ven. Call me after the circle.” TheRho disconnected. Rule reached the porch just as Lily came to stand in the doorway. Her quick glance his way told him little. “Baxter,” she called. One of the suits Cynna was talking to looked up. “Yeah?” “We’ve found something.” Baxter started toward her, with Cynna right behind. “What is it?” Rule asked. Lily looked at him and shook her head—and seeing her face clearly, he realized she wasn’t upset or shaken, as he’d thought. She was in a cold rage. “What have you got?” Baxter asked when he joined them. The agent from the district office was sixtyish and fit, with most of his remaining hair concentrated in a pair of gingery eyebrows. He wore rimless glasses and reeked of tobacco smoke. He glanced at Rule, giving off a faint whiff ofseru —just enough to tell Rule that, age and appearances to the contrary, Baxter considered himself the dominant male in most situations. After that single glance, he ignored Rule. “What have you got?” “Harlowe left us another little present in the DVD player.” The bushy eyebrows lifted. “A bragger, is he?” “You might say that.” She inhaled, visibly reaching for control. “He likes to take pictures, and Curtis wasn’t his first kill.”

GAN wasn’t happy. Earth hadn’t been as much fun as usual, not with it tied toHer tool. All Harlowe wanted to do was plan and kill, plan and kill. He wasn’t interested in fucking anymore, since he couldn’t do it. And… well, all the killing was bothering it. It had hoped to see oruth a soul at the instant of death—that’s when one ought show up, wasn’t it? But that hadn’t happened. To all its senses, humans died so very dead. Gan knew humans were different. Their rules were all tied up with them having souls, and what demon could make sense of that? They even got together in groups to agree on the rules sometimes—that was calleddemocracy —and they got really worked up about owning things. They had lots and lots of rules about ownership, even more than about sex. They fought wars over it, but ownership had nothing to do

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with who could eat who because they didn’t eat each other. No, they ate dead things instead, and said thou shalt not kill but killed anyway. But that was because they didn’t have to do what their rules said. As long as they didn’t get caught, they could break as many rules as they wanted, which was why Earth was usually such fun. Not this time. It sighed and thumbed the remote again. “Quit playing with that thing,” Harlowe said testily. “You’re distracting me.” It looked at the man in the other bed in what was called amotel room . Motel rooms were very boring, but Harlowe was being hunted, so he had to hide out. Gan could understand that—it had to sneak around, too, because the humans would hunt it if they knew it was here. But that could be fun, too. Not in a motel room. When they stayed at the other hiding place, with the Dozens, Gan had a pretty good time. It wasn’t allowed to show itself, but it could play tricks, watch the others talk and fight and fuck, that sort of thing. Sometimes it got to steal stuff. The gang thought very highly of stealing, though of course they didn’t know Gan was the one getting the money and guns. They thought Harlowe did everything. But in a motel room, all it could do was watch TV. It sighed and pushed the channel change button again. “Quit that,” Harlowe snapped. Harlowe sure wasn’t any fun. The human wasn’t killing right now, so he was planning. He had papers spread out all over the bed. “I can’t find the fucking channel,” it explained. “Which fucking channel? There’s a hundred of them!” Gan brightened. “A hundred? That’s a lot of fucking.” “Stupid little pervert. Not a hundred channels about fucking. A hundred fucking channels.” Gan’s forehead wrinkled. “That doesn’t make sense.” One of the difficult things about Earth was that you couldn’t hear meanings here, only words. But Harlowe had lost interest and was studying his papers once more, muttering to himself. “Needs to be half again as big…” Gan went back tochannel surfing —cute turn of phrase, that. Humans were very inventive with language because they got all their meaning from words. Still no fucking, but there was shooting. Was it a war? Gan’s ears perked up. It was very curious about how humans conducted their wars. “… circle the wagons,” the TV person cried. “Hurry! They’re almost here!” “… still, if I got rid of the desk,” Harlowe muttered, “the throne could go by the windows. What will I need with a desk, anyway?” Gan tried to figure out what was happening on TV. Two groups of humans were shooting at each other.

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One group rode horses; the other didn’t. The bunch on horses yelled a lot and seemed to be winning. Some of them had guns; some had bows and arrows. Then two more people on horses rode up, guns blazing. Many of the other horse people fell off, dead, and the rest scattered. Then the other group was happy. “Can’t do it all overnight.” Harlowe sounded crisp, satisfied. “The Oval Office will do for a throne room initially. Later, I can have the Capitol Building remodeled.” “Who was that masked man?” a TV woman asked one of the TV men. The shooting was over, so Gan changed the channel. Things would get better soon, it reminded itself. Just last night Xitil had used Gan’s hand to write some instructions for Harlowe—instructions that came fromHer . Gan had done its part. It had brought Lily Yu to Dis and drunk a little blood—and oh my, but that had been good! Fizzy and powerful… but not powerful enough to let it possess her. Not without help from Her, only She couldn’t act directly. That would break the pact. So She had to work through a tool. Once Harlowe did like he was supposed to do, Gan could get inside Lily Yu. Then it could have lots of fun. But it wondered, as it watched a TV man cooking— that’s what humans did to dead things before eating them—if Xitil knew that her new associate’s tool was stark, staring crazy. THIRTEEN “THERE are three pictures he didn’t send us. Three victims he didn’t want us to know about.” “We can’t be sure of that.” Lily cast an impatient glance over her shoulder. Baxter sat at his desk, a scuffed and scarred relic from the fifties that looked out of place in the modern building that housed the FBI’s field office inSan Diego . It held a jumble of file folders, a computer, five empty Dr. Pepper cans, and the one he’d just opened. The man had a serious soda habit. “He killed on the twenty-fifth, the twenty-seventh, the twenty-ninth. No picture of a victim dated the thirty-first, but we’ve got one for the second and fourth of this month, then nothing on the sixth and eighth. Another victim on the tenth, and now Curtis on the twelfth. What does that say to you?” “That we have a pattern. That doesn’t mean he killed on the missing dates. Something could have interfered with him on those days. Maybe he didn’t find the right type.” “He does have a type.” She stopped in front of the murder board. There were seven prints pinned to it. Seven photos of women, all of them with light brown hair, all young, all naked. Five lay in beds, like Kim Curtis. One was in an alley, while one stared blindly up into the branches of a tree. None bore any marks of violence. Seven tidy dead people, hands folded primly on their breasts. “Why leave us pictures?” she asked. “Why make it easier for us to track him?”

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“We haven’t found him yet,” Baxter pointed out. “But yeah, I know what you mean. He handed us a lot of information with those photos.” They’d beer, taken by a digital camera, which meant the images had data attached. He’d made the disk at Kinko’s, for God’s sake. “We know what camera he used and when he took each of the pictures. We’ve got names and places of death for three of them now—damn Leung’s eyes.” “I can’t blame him for not realizing the other vie in his territory was a homicide,” Baxter said. “You get a dead hooker, no signs of violence, you don’t say, ‘Hey, I’ll bet some dude with a magic staff sucked the life out of her.’” “Once Curtis turned up in the same shape, arranged the same way, he knew he’d been wrong about Cynthia Porter. He held back on us until his chief leaned on him.” “You’ll find that locals do that a lot.” She exchanged glances with the older man. Baxter knew she’d been one of the locals until very recently. “I didn’t,” she said evenly. He shrugged. She and Baxter hadn’t exactly butted heads. MCD’s jurisdiction was clear, and Baxter had put several people at her disposal without complaint. But he’d made it plain he thought her too young and inexperienced to have charge of an investigation of this size. Lily tended to agree. She wanted Karonski back. She’d told Ruben that when she reported on the increased scope of the investigation. But the imp outbreak was getting worse. There’s been a rash of fires, several accidents, and now a few fatalities. The governor ofVirginia was talking about closing businesses, and the outbreak was being touted as the largest in a century. Ruben couldn’t spare Karonski until they located and closed the leak. They had made some progress. They had IDs now on three of the victims—one inOceanside , another inEscondido , the third in Temecula, like Curtis. All three had been ruled death by natural causes and would have to be ritually examined. Lily felt a pang of sympathy for the coven fromL.A. who’d been given that chore. They seemed competent, though—it had taken them about thirty minutes to confirm that Curtis had been killed by death magic. Lily had spoken with the Temecula police chief and with three witnesses from the Cactus Corral, including the not-quite-boyfriend. She was waiting on another witness now—the bartender who’d apparently waited on Harlowe. It was his night off, and they hadn’t tracked him down yet. It was weird, hanging around waiting for others to turn up the witnesses and bring them to her. She was used to being out there hunting them herself, but someone had to coordinate the federal efforts with the local ones. Right now, that was her. She’d be glad when Croft got here. “If he did have victims on the missing days”—and she believed in her gut that he had—“then he held back those photos for a reason. Why? Were there other victims we don’t know about? The first one we have a picture of is from the twenty-fifth of last month.” “Eight days after you busted his operation with the Azá. Yeah, I’d like to know what he was doing for

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that week.” Maybe hiding out in hell. Lily hadn’t mentioned that possibility to Baxter. Not only was it outlandish enough to make him doubt everything else she said, but it came from a source she couldn’t reveal. “We’ll have another victim soon,” Baxter was saying, “if you’re right about the staff and him having to feed it. I hope to God you’re wrong, but I’m not counting on it.” She knew it. She knew it, and the certainty ate at her gut. “It keeps coming back to these pictures. Why take them? Why give them to us? Why did he want or need us to know so much?” “He might not have known how much he was giving us. Lots of people aren’t computer savvy. I’d never heard of that EXIT data before, myself.” “EXIF,” Lily corrected absently, frowning at the map pinned to one end of the long bulletin board. They only had three vies identified so far, not enough to establish a definite pattern. But those three seemed to lead them north, away fromSan Diego . “Even if you didn’t know the terminology, you’d have found out, wouldn’t you? Before sharing your trophy photos with the FBI, you’d have made sure the images didn’t give away more than you wanted them to.” Baxter smiled sourly. “Can’t count on Harlowe being as bright as me.” “He’s bright enough.” Lily had spent enough hours learning about the man, getting to know him through the eyes of others, to be sure of that. “The whizzes in profiling think he craves recognition. He was outwitting us, but that wasn’t enough. He had to be sure we knew how clever he was.” “Maybe.” Lily drummed her fingers once on the desk. “No, dammit, it doesn’t fit. It just doesn’t fit with the man he was before—ambitious, amoral, but not a serial killer, and damn good at taking care of his own hide. Something’s changed, or we’re reading this wrong.” The door opened. “Maybe he’s decided he’s invincible,” Rule said. He held a flat cardboard box that gave off wonderful aromas—pepperoni and pizza sauce. “That he can’t be caught or killed.” “What the hell,” Baxter said. “You listening at the door?” Lily frowned. Usually Rule took care not to make the humans around him uncomfortable. Maybe he was tired. “I have good hearing.” Rule walked up to the desk and put down the carton. “It’s nearly eight o’clock, and I’m hungry. I thought you might like a couple of slices. I’m hoping,” he said, glancing at Lily, “to share the rest with my lady.” My lady. Only Rule could say something like that and make it sound normal. “It would be handy if Harlowe cherished delusions of invincibility, but Cullen said that Helen was the one who took risks. Harlowe was more cautious.” “That was when Helen held the staff. Harlowe has it now.”

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“You think it changes the user’s personality?” “I think we’ve got lots of guesses and very little knowledge. I also think it’s suppertime. There’s a break room down the hall where we could take however much of this Baxter can spare us.” Baxter had already off-loaded three slices. “Go on, go on. The Bureau can survive without you for a few minutes.” The break room was only four doors away and deserted at this hour. “Where’s Cynna?” Rule asked. “There’s nothing for her to use to Find Harlowe, so she’s helping another team. Parental kidnapping. She was pretty sure she could Find the boy.” Lily ripped off a few paper towels to serve as both plates and napkins. “What was that ‘my lady’ bit about?” Rule was feeding coins into the vending machine. He smiled at her over his shoulder. “Aren’t you?” “It sounds…” Like the way he referred to his goddess, but Lily didn’t want to go there. “Medieval. As if you’re about to hop on your charger and go lance someone.” “I’ll skip the charger. Horses don’t tolerate us well.” He brought two cans of soda to the table—Diet Coke for her, the straight stuff for himself. “Baxter’s unusually comfortable with my presence.” “I explained that you’re a civilian consult.” “It’s more than that. Usually there’s some sort of threat response, either fear or aggression or both. It’s a visceral thing, not under conscious control. He mostly ignores me. That’s rare.” She could believe that. Rule was hard to overlook. “He’s got a touch of… well, otherness. It’s too faint for me to identify, but there’s something there. I’m guessing he’s got a witch, maybe even someone of the Blood, in his ancestry. That might make him more tolerant than most.” The smell was making her mouth water. She retrieved a slice and bit in. “Perhaps.” He sat and removed a slice, the warm cheese stretching in a long string. “Your sister had a civil ceremony, not a religious one.” She blinked. “Where did that come from?” “Weren’t you thinking that ‘my lady’ sounds a lot like the Lady?” “Have you picked up a telepathy Gift?” “No, you make me work for whatever insights I can come up with. Is it specifically my beliefs that bother you, or religion in general?” She resisted the urge to squirm in her chair. “I just think that sort of thing is private. It makes me uncomfortable when people wear their beliefs out in public.” “Like underwear, you mean.” She grinned. “Maybe.”

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“I’m wondering if that’s a personal opinion or one your family shares.” There were mushrooms on the pizza. Lily didn’t exactly hate mushrooms, but she didn’t exactly like them, either. She picked one off. “Family, I guess. The religious wars were mostly over by the time I was six, but we’re talking an armed truce with occasional skirmishes, not real peace.” “They are of different faiths?” “Mother’s a twice-a-year Christian—Easter and Christmas. My father was raised Buddhist, but I’m not sure how much it really matters to him. You’d think they could have compromised, since they aren’t especially devout, but…” She shrugged her good shoulder. Her pizza was getting cold, so she bit in. “You would have gotten used to avoiding the whole subject, then, to avoid conflict in your family.” He nodded. “Did you stop thinking about it, too?” Pretty much. Lily picked off more mushrooms, not looking up. “I went through the usual questioning period in my teens. You know—why are we here, what does it all mean, that sort of thing. It seemed like everyone had a different answer, and no way to back it up.” “You wanted evidence. Proof.” “What’s wrong with that? If we’re talking about stuff as important as the meaning of life, shouldn’t we want to something concrete to hang our theories on?” “Nothing wrong living in a fact-based reality. But science, as good as it is with how, isn’t equipped to deal with why.” As far as she could tell, no one was much good at dealing with the why, but that didn’t stop them from thinking they’d locked truth up all nice and tidy. Lily frowned and took another bite, hoping he’d take the hint and drop the subject. Rule laid his hand over hers. “I’m trying to understand you, not convert you.” Okay. She said that with a little nod because her mouth was full. He wanted to know where she stood, faith-wise, because that sort of thing mattered to him. It must matter to her, too, or it wouldn’t make her so uncomfortable. That thought was disconcerting enough that she finished her slice in silence. Rule seemed all right with that, not pushing for conversation while they ate. That was one of the great things about him, she thought. She wasn’t entertainment for him. He didn’t need her to make him laugh or bolster his ego or to figure him out so he wouldn’t have to. A lot of men who said they were looking for a relationship really wanted a combination sex buddy, therapist, and mirror. Maybe he’d looked for those things, too, when he was younger. A little bump of discomfort poked her, like being elbowed in the side when there was no one around. She didn’t like thinking about his age.Tough , she told herself. She might as well get over it. He wasn’t going to grow younger.

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One of the things bugging her, she realized, was that there was just plain more of him that she knew nothing about. About twenty years’ worth. Maybe she should ask Cynna what he’d been like twelve years ago, when they were an item. “What?” he said, wiping his hands on a paper towel. “I didn’t say anything.” “You were looking at me with big questions in your eyes.” She had a suspicion Rule wouldn’t like her and Cynna comparing notes. “It’s nice, being able to sit together without feeling that I need to jump your bones.” He grinned. “I’m crushed. But perhaps what you’re feeling mostly is exhaustion. You had a rough day yesterday, and not enough sleep.” “I’m okay.” For another couple of hours, anyway. “And you know what I mean. The mate bond has eased off, hasn’t it? We can be farther apart now. A lot farther.” There’d been a time when she couldn’t let as much as a block separate them. “It feels good to be near you, but it’s more of a half-a-beer buzz, not the whole six-pack.” “Did you chug six-packs in college? Somehow I can’t picture it.” “I got drunk once. I didn’t like it.” Why people courted that complete loss of control she couldn’t fathom. “What about you?” “It’s difficult for a lupus to get drunk. Our bodies regard alcohol as a toxin and clear it from our systems too quickly for us to become intoxicated.” “That could be handy… unless you really want to be drunk.” His grin flashed, quick and bright as a lightning stroke. “I did, yes, at that age. I wanted to see what it was like. I was as stupid as most boys, thinking ourselves adult once we pass a legal age marker.” She had a hard time picturing Rule in college. Had he gone out for sports? Been studious or wild? Had he had friends? Human friends, she supposed she meant. People not in the clans. “Does your father have pictures from when you were young? A kid or a teenager, I mean. I’d like to see them.” He tilted his head, surprised. “Henry has several albums. I’m sure he’d share them with you, if you asked.” Henry? Who… oh. “Your father’s houseman or cook or whatever. He keeps the family pictures?” “Henry has been part of my family for many years. He helped raised me.” Rule hadn’t sprung from his father’s seed alone, but she couldn’t remember him ever referring to a second parent. That gaping absence warned her to go lightly. “You never mention your mother.” “You might say that I’ve had many mothers. Our people make much of children.”

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Okay, he wanted that door shut. She’d go along for now. This wasn’t the best time for such personal stuff, anyway. “I guess Nettie was one of those motherly…” Her voice drifted off as realization struck. “Or not. She, uh, must be your age, or close to it. You probably played together.” “Ah… the gray hair is misleading. Nettie’s only forty-four.” He hesitated. “She’s my niece.” “Your… niece?” He nodded. “She was raised with her mother’s people but came to Clanhome to stay with Benedict most summers.” Nettie looked older than Rule. She looked older than her own father. What did it do to families when half of them—the female half—aged so much faster than the others? “How old is Benedict?” “Sixty-four.” God. He did look older than Rule, but she’d have guessed him at about forty. Yet he had another eighty or more years ahead of him, while his daughter… “Damn,” she said softly. “He’ll watch her get old. And she’ll never see him as an old man.” “It isn’t easy for one of us to have a daughter when he’s young.” A sudden thought struck her. “Is that why you don’t marry—why lupi don’t believe in marriage? You couldn’t keep your secret from a wife. She’d age and you wouldn’t, at least not as much. And she’d die. That would be hard.” Rule’s face was all mask, no expression. “That’s part of it.” “I’ll get old and die before you will.” There, she’d said it. Her heart beat unsteadily. “Possibly.” Her eyebrows lifted. “If you live to twice the human lifespan, that’s a hundred and fifty or more. I might get eighty-five or ninety years, if I stay healthy. So when I’m eighty and creaky, you’ll be a lively one-oh-six.” “Sometimes a Chosen ages more like one of us. Not always. We don’t know why.” He didn’t know if he’d lose her while he still had years and years left. Not knowing… that could be as hard to handle as despair. She touched his hand. He gripped hers suddenly, as if he knew her thoughts. As if he’d keep her young by force of will. After a moment his grip eased. He gave his head a little shake and released her hand. “I’ve enough to worry about in the present without tackling what-ifs that are years away. Most immediately, I’m afraid I’ve some clan business to take care of tonight.” “Okay. What’s up?” “TheRho has decided to call for an All-Clan.” He began brushing the crumbs from the pizza into his palm and then dumped them in the box. “I’m needed to make some of the contacts.”

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“What’s an All-Clan? Some kind of gathering of the clans?” “Yes. It’s held roughly every seven years. The last one was only two years ago, so we aren’t due for one yet. But there are mechanisms for calling an All-Clan in an emergency. TheRho believes we’re facing just that.” “Because of Her, you mean. The goddess. She has it in for lupi.” “That’s right. We’ve already passed the word about Her, of course, but it’s easy to disbelieve such a tale.” “So what does your father hope to accomplish? Does he think you’ll be able to convince more of your people there’s a real threat?” “I never try to guess what Isen intends,” Rule said dryly. “But one of his goals is certainly to persuade the doubters that the threat is real. That She is active in our realm again.” Lily frowned, tapping one finger against the table. Rule had said once that the lupi had been created to fight this goddess. Whether that was true or not, he believed it. So, apparently, did most lupi—even Cullen, who wasn’t one to take much on faith. “What will it mean if the other clans believe you? What will they do?” Rule hesitated, his dark eyes troubled. “Thranga,” he said at last. “Perhaps.” “Well, now I understand completely. If you…” Rule’s head turned, alerting her that he’d heard something. A second later she did, too—footsteps. Baxter appeared in the doorway. “Hastingstracked down the bartender at his girlfriend’s place and is bringing him up. I told him we’d use my office. Might put the man more at ease than one of the interrogation rooms.” He eyed the pizza box. “Any leftovers?” “Nope.” Lily pushed her chair back. “I’ll be right there.” Baxter nodded and headed back down the hall. Lily took the empty pizza box to the trash can. They were out of time—again. There never seemed to be enough time for the questions that mattered. Still, she could hit one of them. “What was your favorite TV show when you were a kid?” “You ask the oddest things.” “I watchedSesame Street . Was that on when you were little?” “No, I was a Mouseketeer.” “A Mouseketeer.” A grin spread across her face. “Really? Did you have the hat?” “I don’t remember. No, I don’t think I did.” He came to her and put his hand on her good shoulder. “You’ll be here awhile longer, I take it.” “Looks like. I tell you what. If it will make you feel better, I’ll call you when I’m ready to leave.” Lily

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was pleased with herself. Who said she couldn’t compromise? The twist to his mouth didn’t look happy. ‘“I expect my meeting to last awhile. I’m likely to be later than you will be.” “Okay. If you need to take your car, I’ll get a ride.” “I can’t leave unless you’ll accept another guard in my place.” “Rule.”Don’t overreact , she told herself. Naturally he worried, with the way she’d been targeted. “I’m not claiming to be invulnerable, but I am a good shot. I can get myself home just fine.” “A gun is little defense if you’re asleep when an attack comes.” She glanced at the hall. Was that the elevator? “You sleep, too.” “Sentry sleep is different.” “What’s that? No, wait, I don’t have time for explanations. I need to get back.” “Indulge me a moment first. I’ll keep this brief.” He took her face in his hands and bent to kiss her. That was another great thing about him, she thought after he stepped back and she could think again. When he kissed, he gave it his complete attention. Maybe she’d been wrong about that “half-a-beer” analogy. “Remind me to ask you about sentry sleep.” “All right. Benedict’s waiting in the parking lot to give you a ride when you’re ready.” “What?” “He thought it best to wait for you outside the building so he didn’t have to disarm. He agrees about the value of bullets where demons are concerned.” “That’s gratifying, but—” “You might call downstairs and let the guard know so he doesn’t think Benedict is lurking outside so he can bomb the building or something.” He turned to go. “Wait! Wait a minute! I didn”t say I’d let him play bodyguard.“ “Play?” Rule paused in the doorway, smiling. “You say that, yet you’ve met my brother.” She stared at him, unamused. He sighed. “Lily, theRho uses bodyguards. It doesn’t diminish him.” “TheRho agrees to use them. I didn’t agree to a damned thing.” “But you aren’t stupid, so you will. Besides, you’ll need a ride home. Why not use Benedict? He’s here.”

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“He’s here because you arranged it. You didn’t ask me.” She heard voices in the hall—the bartender, complaining about having his night off interrupted, and one of the agents soothing him. “You’ve been busy. I took the liberty of entering Benedict’s cell phone number on your phone’s speed dial—number twelve. If you’ll let him know when you’re ready to leave, he’ll be ready.” Which meant he’d planned this hours and hours ago, when she’d handed him her phone to call Cullen. Then sprung it on her at the last minute. “Dammit, I have to go. But we are going to talk about this.” He smiled. “Of course. Until later,nadia .” FOURTEEN AT eight o’clock on Saturday night, Club Hell was packed and noisy. Rule felt the vibration from the music in the soles of his feet, even back in the cubbyhole Cullen used for a dressing room. He had no idea how the human patrons of the place could hear each other out there. Of course, that was one of the reasons he’d chosen Club Hell for the circle. They needed to come together on neutral ground, and the club had supplied that many times over the years for less formal meetings than the one tonight. No one could eavesdrop on them physically. “Max said the others are already here.” “I saw a few of them.” Cullen wiped his face with a towel. He was sweaty and as naked as the law allowed, having just finished his performance. “Including Leidolf.” That name jolted Rule. Max hadn’t mentioned that, damn him. “Who did they send?” “Dear Randy.” Randall Frey, the other clan’s Lu Nuncio. Rule’s counterpart. That was good, a sign they were taking this seriously… but he wouldn’t turn his back on the man. “I don’t put much stock in Leidolf’s decision to participate,” Cullen said, tossing the towel on the shelf that served as his dressing table. “They want to know what you’re up to, that’s all.” Leidolf and Nokolai had a long, unhappy history. Most recently it included an attack on Rule’s father that had left him badly injured and one Nokolai dead… along with three members of Leidolf. “That’s true of others as well. We knew that once we convinced a certain number to come, others would decide they couldn’t afford to be left out. Leidolf did send the heir.” “Status.” Cullen grabbed his jeans. “Can’t let their representative be outranked by you.” “Perhaps.” Rule leaned against the wall, fighting an urge to fling open the door. Cullen was annoyingly impervious to the usual lupus distaste for small, enclosed spaces. “How many agreed to come tonight? Max was in a lather about something when he let me in the back door. He didn’t hang around long enough to give me a head count.”‘ Cullen grinned and stepped into his jeans. “1 can imagine. Poor Max. He likes to be in the middle of things almost as much as he likes to play it safe.” Rule’s eyebrows lifted. “You know something I don’t?”

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“Five more are attending this circle than came to the first one, in spite of the short notice—and they include a bumper crop of Lu Nuncios. Ought to make for a lively meeting. I can almost smell theseru now.” “What’s changed?” “Etorri is here.” Etorri… the most honored of them all. In the long centuries since the Great War, the clan had nearly winked out of existence more than once. The single Etorri who’d survived that conflict had been altered in ways that set him and his descendents apart; the magic was too wild in them, diminishing fertility. Somehow the clan had persisted, though. Equally amazing, perhaps, was their persistent integrity. They lived up to theirdu . Etorri. The clutch of pride-blinded, self-righteous fools who had expelled Cullen from their ranks for practicing sorcery, dooming him to life as an outcast… if he lived. The clanless usually committed suicide or went insane. For whatever reason, Cullen had done neither. Three weeks ago, his life as a lone wolf had ended when Nokolai claimed him with blood, earth, and fire. If Rule’s feelings about the Etorri were mixed, Cullen’s were volatile. “Who did they send?” he asked carefully. “Who else?” Cullen’s mouth twisted in what might have been meant for a smile. “My dear cousin. Oh, don’t look so wary. No need to tiptoe around my tender feelings.” Cullen yanked up his zipper and opened the door, not bothering with a shirt. Because he considered pants optional after a performance, that wasn’t surprising. “I’ll survive seeing Stephen again, and God knows he’s too pure to be harmed by contact with us lesser beings.” “I’m glad you’re not bitter.” Cullen gave a single bark of laughter. Rule was glad to leave the closet-sized dressing room. The hall they entered wasn’t a big improvement, though, being dim and narrow. One end opened onto the squalor Max called his office. They went the other way, into the scents and din of the club proper. The cavernous room occupied both the basement and first floor of the building, with its upper reaches vanishing in the overhead gloom. Max took great delight in the decor. He’d borrowed from every hellish cliche he could find, creating a three-dimensional cartoon of the underworld complete with stony walls, fake fires, and a scent he insisted was brimstone. Most of the club’s patrons were human, of course. That lupi frequented the place made it a draw for thrill seekers, and for seekers of another sort. Several women tried to claim Rule’s attention—some he knew, some he didn’t. Several more tried to stop Cullen. It must have been a good performance tonight. The two of them made their way between the tables, managing to get by with a smile, a word, a nod, looking for the ones who weren’t human. There, at the bar. Rule caught the man’s eye and gave a small nod. Across the room, another man saw them and gave the woman beside him a kiss and then stood. A pair of men at a table with several women

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created vast disappointment by taking their leave. All around the room, one and two at a time, men who resembled each other mainly by their unusual fitness began drifting toward the back of the room, where a spiral staircase wound up into a shadowed loft, invisible from below. Rule and Cullen reached the stairs first. Rule started up, with Cullen behind him. “Did you have any trouble getting away?” Cullen asked. “No.” He hadn’t even had to lie. Not that he’d told her the truth, but he hadn’t spoken a direct lie. “Even if the tracking spell doesn’t work—and I may have fixed it—Benedict’s got the panic button, right?” “Yes.” “My, but you’re in a monosyllabic mood all of a sudden. I suppose you’re feeling all squirmy with guilt. Bad habit, guilt.” “Shut up, Cullen.” “Right. You’re making too much of this, you know. Lily’s sensible. She’ll be upset, but once she thinks about it—” “Are we talking about the same woman?” Rule demanded. ‘The one who won’t have bodyguards, so you have to invent a whole new spell so I can be sure she’s protected? The one I had to trick into letting Benedict stay with her while I’m gone? She was attacked by a bloody demon last night, but oh, no, she doesn’t need protection. That’s sensible?“ They’d reached the loft, an open, unfurnished stretch that ran the length of the back wall. All the pillows had been chased to the edges of the carpeted floor to make room. There were no lights; the only illumination came from below. With a glance, Cullen changed that. Twelve black candles set in a wide circle suddenly sported flames. Then he looked at Rule. “Maybe she doesn’t like Benedict. I don’t, myself.” Rule snorted. Someone was coming up the stairs, making more noise than strictly necessary. That was courtesy. Rule took note and stuffed his regrets—and yes, dammit, his guilt—down where it wouldn’t intrude on tonight’s business. Cullen took a white candle, still unlit, from a small tote and started for the head of the stairs. He stopped beside Rule and put a hand on his arm—a rare gesture. Lupi usually touched easily and often, but Cullen had spent most of his life apart. He’d stopped reaching out decades ago. He spoke under the tongue now, so low that, even this close, Rule barely heard him. “There’s no point in punishing yourself, you know. Lily will do a fine job of that when the time comes.” A smile ghosted across Rule’s face. “The funny thing is, you mean that as a comfort.” Cullen’s answering smile was swift and fleeting. He turned just as the first of the others reached the top

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of the stairs—Ben Larson of Ansgar, the largest of the Scandinavian clans. Ben was a fine fighter, but he could be overly deliberate, seeking certainty when none existed. He frowned at the sight of Cullen. Perhaps he’d hoped Rule would have switched gatekeepers. Tough. They were all going to have to adjust to changes. The realms were shifting, andShe was active once again. “A moment,” Cullen said to Ben. This time he waved his hand over the candle he held and murmured a few words to dance a flame onto the wick. That was theater, and Rule’s idea. He wanted the others to get used to Cullen but saw no point in rubbing their noses in just how different his friend really was. Some of the Gifted could summon fire through ritual. Cullen called it by mind alone. He held the candle out to Rule first. “Accipisne alios in pace ? ” “Accipio in pace.” Rule held his palm over the flame without quite touching it for a slow count of three—long enough to seal the pledge, briefly enough that by the time he left the burn would be healed. Then he moved to the nearest black candle and sat tailor-fashion, the candle at his back. Cullen held the white candle out to Ben. “Accipiaris in pace.” “Advenio in pace.” Ben held his hand over the flame as Rule had done and then took his place within the circle of candles. One by one the rest entered, held one hand to the flame, and pledged peace. Con McGuire of Cynir. Stephen Andros, the Etorri Lu Nuncio, with the oddly pale eyes typical of his lineage and hair the color of dust. Ito Tsegaye of Mendoyo. Randall Frey of Leidolf—a smiling villain, that one. Ybirra’s Javiero Mendozo, almost as dark-skinned as Ito. Rikard Demeny of Szós. The Kerberos heir, Jon Sebastian, who looked like an accountant and fought like a madman. Kyffin’s Sean Masters. Altogether, fifteen of the twenty-two dominant clans were directly represented, eight by their Lu Nuncios. One of the heirs and two of thenonheris sons had crossed an ocean to attend the first circle. For this one, Stephen Andros had traveled almost as far—the Etorri lands were in northern Canada. Rule tried not to resent the fact that it had taken Etorri’s lead to persuade many of them to attend. They were here. That’s what mattered. Once everyone was seated, Cullen extinguished his candle and sat apart, near the wall. He was responsible for guarding the circle from intrusions both physical and magical.She couldn’t spy on them directly, but her agents might be able to. Rule was responsible for what happened within the circle. No easy task, that. He began with silence, allowing them all a few moments to gather the inner stillness necessary for control. Candles burned behind each man, leaving faces shadowed and laying their waxy scent heavily on the air. Music and voices washed up from below. And yes, beneath the heavy scent of the candles and the mingled personal scents of those present, Rule found more than a trace ofseru . Lu Nuncios were by definition dominant. Closing up so many together in apace circle and getting them to listen, to cooperate, would be tricky. Outright violence was forbidden, as were challenges to later combat. But each of them would instinctively seek to dominate the others.

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Including him, of course. Cullen was right. It should be a lively meeting. “In pace convenio,” he said formally. “Let us begin.” “You can start with an explanation,” Rikard said. “Why is that one—” he jerked his head toward Cullen— “acting as gatekeeper?” Rikard was the oldest of them, but age had never mellowed him. He remained fiery and prone to saying what others might leave unsaid out of caution or simple courtesy. “Because Nokolai’s Rhej doesn’t leave Clanhome. Because Cullen has the necessary skills. And because I chose him.” One of thenonheris muttered something Rule ignored. Rikard snorted. “Obviously you chose him. But—” Stephen Andros interrupted. “We waste time arguing about what we’ve already accepted by sitting in circle. Nokolai called the circle. Nokolai therefore has the right to choose the gatekeeper.” Rule didn’t thank him. That would be insult, implying that Stephen supported him—a subordinate position. But he met the Etorri heir’s eyes for a moment in acknowledgment. Stephen Andros was built like a fullback, but he had the otherworldly eyes of a monk, a sage… or a sorcerer. Rule had wondered if it was that taint of otherness in Cullen’s heritage that had made the impossible possible. There had never been a lupus sorcerer; their innate magic was said to crowd out any other type. He’d never asked. Cullen didn’t speak of his life as Etorri. “I would know more about why I am here.” That was Ito Tsegaye of Mendoyo—dark, thin, and very tall. His English was heavily accented, tuned to melodies distant and strange. The Mendoyo had lived apart from the other clans for centuries whileAfrica was cut off from the European world; more than their accents were strange to Rule. “You’re here to take information back to your clan— and, I hope, some of you are here to join the fight against Her. Something has changed, and the realms aren’t as distant as before. She’s able to reach into our world once more, and She intends to destroy us.” Randall of Leidolf smiled. “That She would destroy us if She could, I don’t doubt. But the rest of it… we’ve only your word about that.” Rule looked at him impassively. It took all his control to keep his ownseru from spiking at the insult. “Yes, you have my word. All of you have heard of what happened— how Her followers were defeated and Her staff disappeared. But some of you have heard it only second- or third-hand. Do you wish to hear it from me?” They did, though it took some discussion to reach agreement. Lily, Rule thought with a small smile, would have wanted him to take a vote. “You are amused?” Ito asked. “A private thought. My Chosen finds some of our ways strange, and for a moment I saw things through her eyes.” Reminding the others of Lily wouldn’t hurt. The Lady had never gifted a Lu Nuncio with a Chosen—not, at least, since the times of legend. “Your Chosen… some say she’s a sensitive.”

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Rule looked at the man who’d spoken. Con was a friend, but more, he was of the same mind as Rule. They had to organize now, while Her power in their realm was still limited. “Yes, she is.” That raised eyebrows. “Uncanny,” Rikard announced. “Not since Magya of Etorri—” “Coincidence. It doesn’t mean—” “A Lu Nuncio with a sensitiveChosen —coincidence?” Con snorted. “Sure, and the Lady’s just having a little joke on us.” Ben flushed angrily. “So you’re an expert on the Lady’s intentions now?” “I’m saying it isn’t coincidence. We don’t call our mates ‘Chosen’ because the Lady hands them out at random.” “Very true,” Randall said, “but we don’t want to jump to conclusions, either.” He turned to Rule, smiling his toothpaste ad smile. He was a handsome man, younger than Rule by a decade, with streaky blond hair, a pianist’s long fingers, and more wiggles than a snake. “You aren’t trying to make us think you’re starring in a rerun of Senn and Magya, are you?” “Randall.” Rule smiled back gently. “I respect your character too much to try to make you think anything at all.” That brought grins and a couple of chuckles. Rule took advantage of the moment to begin his tale. It wasn’t their way to shear a story of its personality, turning it into the kind of impersonal report Lily might submit, so this took a while. There were a few glances at Randall when Rule spoke of the attack on his father—and later, more glances at Cullen, who’d played a heroic part at the end. And when he finished, the questions hit. The first few were easy, but inevitably someone asked about Lily. “She’s still a cop, yes, but with the FBI now.” “One of your federal police, you mean?” Ito asked. “That’s right.” Rule took a deep breath. He couldn’t put this off any longer—it was, after all, why he’d called the circle. “She’s in charge of the hunt for the staff. That’s how I learned today that the government doesn’t intend to destroy it.” That brought outcries even from those who weren’t wholly convinced the staff existed. Rule gave them a moment before continuing. “Lily has been told to preserve it for study. I don’t know who wants the bloody thing, and it doesn’t matter. We can’t let them have it.” Even though “they” included Lily. FIFTEEN AT ten-fifty-seven, Lily took the elevator down with her eyes closed, leaning against the wall. She was

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beyond tired, into the lightheaded stage when giggles or tears are equally easily come by. Probably she should have left earlier. Okay, definitely she should have, but they had so little time—maybe a day. Then Harlowe would kill again. The good news was that Rule wasn’t around to nag. And the bad news… well, the bad news was that Rule wasn’t around. She’d grown used to curling up with him at night. She’d miss that, at least for the few seconds between getting horizontal and falling asleep. She got her eyes open and her back straight before the elevator door opened. The building had decent security, a mix of the old and the new—an electronically operated door plus a guard with a sign-in sheet. He teased her about having a “real patient date.” She looked out the heavy glass doors and saw Benedict waiting. It had been tempting to take a taxi home. Tempting, but stupid. If they made another try at her tonight, she’d lose precious seconds yawning. So she’d sucked it in and done the sensible thing, calling Benedict to let him know she was leaving. Just as she’d been told to do. Her lips tightened. Rule thought she was being stubborn about needing protection. There was a pinch of that, she admitted as the guard hit the button that unlocked the door. But it was his high-handedness that infuriated her. He’d made a decision for her this morning and then waited all day to spring it on her. She stepped out into air with barely enough snap to qualify as fall, air that smelled of concrete and car exhaust, yet it perked her up. It hadn’t been groomed and filtered and pimped into a consumable product. It was just air being air. Or maybe it was stepping from safety into possible danger that quickened her heartbeat. Whatever. She took a second to breathe in, feeling more awake than she had in hours. “We’re exposed here. It would be best to get to the car.” She glanced to her right at more than six solid feet of annoyed male. “Hello, Benedict. I’m pretty good, thanks. How are you?” The smile that touched his mouth looked like an uncommon visitor. “It’s good to see you again. Especially when you aren’t bleeding. Can we go to the car now?” She sighed. “Sure. Where… wait a minute. That’smy car.” “I drive a Jeep. No doors, no protection.” “I suppose Rule gave you the keys.” “You’re pissed.” “Good guess. Not at you, though.” She fell into step beside him, feeling dwarfed. Rule was tall.- His brother was just plain big—six-four and two-forty, at a guess, and every inch hard enough to bruise yourself on. They didn’t look alike. Benedict carried the human side of his ancestry on his skin—a coppery color that suggested native blood, as did his silver-shot black hair and dark eyes. He wore jeans with a black

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T-shirt and a denim jacket that hid his shoulder holster. And he was not, thank God, wearing the scabbard that sheathed the three feet of steel he favored at Clanhome. “What are you carrying?” “This and that. Main weapon’s a Sig Sauer.” “I use a Sig, too.” “Good choice. I wanted to bring my SAW, but there was a chance someone would check out the car. I wouldn’t be much use to you if I got locked up.” “SAW… Squad Automatic Weapon. You’re talking about a machine gun.” He nodded. “Good stopping power.” “I’ve more to be grateful for than I’d realized.” They reached herToyota . He claimed the driver’s side before she could, so Lily got in on the passenger side, frowning. “I could drive. My reflexes are almost as good as yours.” She took after Grandmother that way. “Almost as good a Rule’s, maybe.” He started the car. “Not mine.” She looked at him, wondering just how fast he was. Lily had seen him in action once, but he’d been a wolf at the time—one of several—and she’d been busy getting shot and shooting back. Aside from Rule, she hadn’t known which wolf was which. So she felt a certain professional curiosity about Benedict’s abilities. What would he be like in a fight in his human form? Not that she wanted to find out tonight. She fastened her seatbelt. “Rule told me once you should have been Lu Nuncio. Not just because you’re older than him, either. He thinks you’re a better fighter.” Benedict made a small, impatient sound. “I thought he’d outgrown that.” “What do you mean?” “I am a better fighter. That doesn’t make me a better Lu Nuncio.” “The Lu Nuncio defends the Rho and answers any formal challenges, right? Fighting’s a big part of the job description.” “He’s also the heir. The one who will eventually be Rho. Rule will lead our people far better than I could.” “So you don’t feel skipped over or slighted?” He was silent for so long she wondered if she’d offended him. But when she glanced at him, he seemed to be thinking, though his eyes remained watchful, keeping track of the cars ahead, beside, and behind them.Cop eyes , she thought. It was odd to find them in someone who’d been on the other side of the law most of his life, until the law changed. Finally, as he accelerated into the traffic on 1-15, he said, “You’re thinking about Mick. He wanted to be Rho. I never have. When our father named Rule heir, Mick was angry. I was relieved.”

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It was Lily’s turn to fall silent. The twinned ribbons of taillights seemed to draw them along, just one more bead on a string. Her eyes grew heavy. She leaned her head against the headrest… then jerked it up again. She’d been close to drifting off. I trust him, she thought, startled. Somewhere inside, she’d decided Benedict could be counted on to watch out for both of them. This wasn’t like her, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it. Unlike Rule—or most of the other people she knew, for that matter—Benedict didn’t have the radio on or a CD playing. Maybe he was listening for danger as well as watching. So they drove on through the crowded city night in silence, with only the glow of the dash lights to smudge the interior darkness, leaving more to be guessed at than revealed. Why had she asked about his feelings? No doubt he had the usual assortment, but he kept them so far out of sight she wasn’t sure he knew any more about them than she did. He wasn’t likely to open up to her. Yet instinct prompted her to believe him. There was something reassuring about Benedict, something oddly peaceful. He seemed so at rest within himself. Not her. Now that she’d stopped doing, stopped talking, the discomforts of a healing body spoke all too loudly. She shifted, trying to find the best way to rest her shoulder, and then shifted again. And her mind was anything but quiet. Finally, she broke the silence. “I’d like to ask you something, but it might be rude by your standards.” “Our standards aren’t that different from yours.” “Maybe it’s just plain rude, then. It’s… about your daughter.” He gave her a quick glance. “Rule told you.” “Just tonight, yeah. And last night I learned about the, ah… the age thing. I’m still trying to get it sorted out.” “Shook you up.” It was a simple observation, lacking either sympathy or judgment. “What did you want to know about Nettie?” “Was her mother yourChosen ?” “No.” The hitch between that flat answer and his next words was brief, a fraction of a breath. “I met Claire when Nettie was twelve. We didn’t have children together.” A dozen more questions pressed at Lily. She was pretty sure Benedict’sChosen had died, but she didn’t know how or how long ago. She wanted to know what happened when one partner in a mate bond died. How did it affect the one who remained? She wanted to know more personal things, too. Had he loved Claire? Had they been friends as well as lovers? What had been the limits of their bond? Had they ever had their abilities cross over the way she and Rule had?

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Lily was used to asking deeply personal questions, often at a time when feelings were raw. But this wasn’t an investigation, and Benedict’s reserve went deep. “Thank you for telling me,” she said at last. There was a hint of amusement in his voice. “That was all you wanted to know?” “No, but—” Her cell phone rang. She reached into her bag and thumbed it on. “Yes?” “Lily Yu?” said an unfamiliar male voice. She frowned. Very few people had this number. “Who is this?” He chuckled, a pleasantly masculine sound. “I suppose we haven’t spoken before. I’m Patrick Harlowe.” Exhaustion evaporated in a white-hot rush. She sat up straight. “Thoughtful of you to call. I’ve been looking for you.” “So I understand.” He had one of those rich voices that invested everything he said with significance and a hint of intimacy. Like a televangelist, she thought, or someone selling kitchen gadgets on a late-night infomercial. “Haven’t had much luck, have you?” “Not so far.”Keep him talking . She’d play whatever game he had in mind and keep him talking. People always gave up more than they realized if you could keep them talking. “How’d you get this number, anyway?” “The same way I’ve learned so many interesting things recently—from One who is almost omniscient. I imagine you’d find that handy, in your job,” he added. “Being able to watch or listen to anyone you wanted.” “That I would. But ‘almost’ means that She isn’t omniscient, doesn’t it? She can’t watch lupi. Or me. And She can’t talk to you directly.” Could She? God, if the staff really had made Harlowe telepathic, able to get instructions and information directly from Her— “Pretty sure of that, are you?” He might have been a favorite uncle indulging a pert niece. “But you’re correct in this case. She isn’t quite omniscient. As this call illustrates, however, we’ve found ways to work around those few limits She possesses. But the telephone is limiting, too, isn’t it? So much more pleasant to become acquainted in person.” “You’d like to do lunch?” Lily kept her voice dry. “Gee, let me check my calendar.” “Lunch won’t work for me.” There was laughter in his voice now. He was enjoying himself. “How about right now? It’s a bit late, but my schedule is so full these days.” Lily glanced at Benedict. His face was wiped clean of everything but focus. Of course. He was listening to Harlowe, too. “I’m free tonight. Where shall we meet?” “You’ll have to come to me, I’m afraid. And I must insist that you don’t tell anyone. No one at all, Lily—other than your driver, of course.”

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He knew someone was driving her? Lily looked at Benedict. She could still subvocalize, even if she couldn’t hear it anymore: “Are we being followed?” He shook his head. “That goes for your driver, too. No phone calls. If anyone finds out about our little rendezvous I’ll be hurt, and I’m afraid I don’t react well when my feelings are hurt. And Iwill know, Lily.” His voice dropped. “The One I serve may not be able to watch you directly, but She doesn’t have to. She can observe the others—any and all the others—you might be tempted to call. Like your associates at the FBI, or the police… or even your family.” Lily’s nape was suddenly clammy, as if someone had touched it with a cold, damp cloth. “So where do we meet?” “I’ll give you directions in a moment. First, there’s someone here who’d like to speak with you.” “Wait—” But he’d passed the phone to someone else. Someone whose voice struck Lily dumb and blind with fear. “Lily?” Beth Yu spoke in her usual quick, lighthearted way. “Patrick wanted me to reassure you that I’m all right. I’m not sure why. Really, I don’t even know why he wanted to come here—this isso not my kind of place. But it’s all right, you know. Patrick said so. He’ll take care of me.“

THE candles had burned halfway down. They’d discussed much and settled little, and it was almost time for Cullen to leave for his second performance. Not that he had to dance anymore. Not for money, at least, and Rule had expected him to quit when theRho put him on retainer for the clan—“like a damned lawyer,” Cullen had said. But he continued to do two shows a night, two days a week. He’d told Rule he was hanging on to the part-time gig because the extra money helped. Perhaps he believed that. Rule didn’t. Cullen had never been much interested in money, seeing it mostly as a means to acquire the scraps of paper that were real treasure to him—bits of old spellbooks and such. No, Rule had to believe that dance gave Cullen something he needed. At the moment, though, it was a confounded nuisance. “We’ll need to wind this up soon,” he said when he was able to get a word in. “Remember to be cautious about what you discuss after the circle is broken.” There would be a number of meetings after this one, he was sure—less formal, but maybe more meaningful. “I still don’t know what you want.” Ben was cranky. “What is it you want us to do? It’s all very well to talk about doing battle with Her, but She’s not here.” “Keep your eyes open,” Rule said promptly, “and your noses to the ground. See if what I’ve said about

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the realms shifting, bringing changes, matches with what your clan is experiencing. I told you about the banshee sighting inTexas , for example.” “Possible sighting,” Javiero corrected. “But I checked into it, and the stories of the witnesses hold up.” “What’s happening in your own territories?” Rule asked. “Send word back about anything you learn that’s unusual. Try to find out what others of the Blood might know or guess, too. You, Ben, might send word to the trolls, see if they’re aware of any changes.” Ben’s clan was based inScandinavia , which possessed the only remaining troll population of any size. “Trolls.” Ben snorted. “You ever tried talking to one? Might as well talk to a tree.” “Speaking of talking to trees,” someone said, “I’ll volunteer to check with the dryads.” That sally earned several grins and chuckles. Dryads were notoriously shy… and notoriously amorous, if you could overcome their timidity. Ito shook his head. “I don’t know dryads or trolls, but I know trees. With trees, you don’t talk. You listen.” There was a moment’s silence, all of them mildly embarrassed on Ito’s behalf. He was well liked, but not well understood. “We’re getting off-track,” Randall said. “Asking us to look for abnormalities is like telling us to pay attention to the letters . Once your attention is called to it, you see it everywhere. Of course people will find oddities if they’re looking for them.” “The letter 5 is common. Oddities are, by definition, uncommon. I’m not asking for news of, say, your sister’s new hairstyle… however odd it may be.” There were grins and a couple of chuckles. “But if you hear rumors of creatures or those of the Blood who shouldn’t be in our realm, the rest of us need to know.” “So who do we tell? You?” Randall’s upper lip lifted in scorn. “There’s a plan. You can use everything you hear to further ‘prove’ your case, increasing your chances of being named war-leader if the clans fall into line with your father’s megalomaniacal—” “Best stop there.” Rule held himself very still. “As 1 haven’t spoken about your father’s habit of killing from ambush, so you—” “You may all tell me, if you like,” Stephen said calmly. “I’m willing to act as clearinghouse for such reports. Unless any of you doubt Etorri’s ability to remain impartial?” Randall didn’t dare go that far, but he narrowed his eyes as his head swung toward Stephen. “You’re buying into this absurd theory about the realms shifting?” “Please,” Ito said to the man beside him, “what is ‘buying into’?” Randall answered without taking his eyes off Stephen. “Believe. Agree with. Think it’s more than cat box scrapings.”

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Stephen was unmoved. “Etorri was already considering the possibility that the realms were shifting when we received the invitation to a pax circle.” “Why?” Randall exploded. “For God’s sake, what proof do you have?” “First, it accords with the prophecy—” That set everyone off. “What prophecy?” “—Etorri loves all that mystical mumbo-jumbo—” “If you’ve been sitting on a prophecy and haven’t told anyone—” “And second,” Stephen said, “I have myself seen the Great Hunt in the northern forests.” Dead silence. Into that silence, Cullen’s voice. “Rule.” Rule’s head swung, his nostrils flared. “What?” “We have to break circlenow . Benedict’s pushed the panic button.” SIXTEEN RULE felt the hair lifting all over his body, as if he were a conduit for lightning. The edges of everything turned sharp. So did his mind. He didn’t have to think about what to do—the necessary actions flowed, one from another, in crystal clarity. “The circle is ended,” he said, flowing to his feet. “Lily is in danger, perhaps under attack. I’m leaving. Cullen—” He was on his feet, too. “The map’s in my dressing room. So’s your phone. Benedict may be trying to call.” Rule was already moving when one of thenonheris sons grabbed his arm. “Wait a minute.” Rule backhanded him and kept moving. There was a brief scuffle—the man he’d knocked down was angry, but Rikard and Con held him back. “Idiot,” Rikard growled. “The man’s mate is in danger. You’re lucky he didn’t break your neck.” Rule headed for the railing—the stairs would take too long—but Stephen was there. His lip lifted in a snarl. “I’m not trying to stop you,” Stephen said in that damned calm voice. “I’m coming with you.” “Come, then.” Rule gripped the railing, flung himself over, and dropped. The others followed. The patrons of Club Hell were treated to an unexpected show that night. One, two, three, four at a time, men dropped out of the darkness overhead, landing on tables or the floor—and moving unbelievably fast. Like a river hitting the rapids, they flowed around or over any obstacles. Those who landed on tables simply leaped over anyone who’d been sitting there and hit the ground running.

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THE Mercedes’s tires squealed slightly as Benedict swung into the turn. Lily’s tongue felt thick and clumsy, as if it were taking up too much space in her mouth. “We’re on Fifty-ninth now,” she told the man holding her sister hostage. “Proceed to Barbara… I think that’s what it says. Beth, dear, can you read those tiny letters? I don’t know why they make maps so… yes? Oh, Bandera, not Barbara. Turn right on Bandera. Do try to hurry. You’ve only fifteen minutes left.” “Continue to Bandera and turn right,” Lily repeated, looking at Benedict. Harlowe knew someone was driving Lily. He didn’t know who, or that Benedict could hear everything he said. Or that Benedict wore a headset attached to his own phone. Lily had dialed Rule’s number for him so he could focus on driving. Calling Rule was a calculated risk. Harlowe insisted on keeping her on the line, giving her a deadline, handing out directions one street at a time. They wouldn’t know they’d arrived until they got there, so Benedict wouldn’t know when to remove the headset. If Harlowe spotted it… But they needed backup. Harlowe had Beth, and he was calling the shots—the time and place of their meeting were in his control, and he might not be in this alone. Lily didn’t dare call for official backup, but Rule would be able to hear Benedict speak subvocally. And Harlowe wouldn’t. IfRule ever answered his damned phone. As if he were a magnet and she had a sliver of iron in her gut, she felt Rule’s direction—and, roughly, his distance from her. He wasn’t at Clanhome. Much closer. Somewhere in the city. She could have pointed toward him, but she couldn’t reach across that distance and make him pick up his phone. “This is a lousy neighborhood,” she said, doing the one thing she could do: keeping Harlowe talking. “Come down in the world a bit, haven’t you?” “Temporary quarters, purely temporary. You should see the plans I’ve drawn up. Perhaps I’ll show you before… Beth, don’t bother me now. Where was I? Oh, yes, my plans. You come first, dear Lily. If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t be here, would I? I can’t say I’m happy with you, not at all, but you’ll get what’s coming to you. And you’ll… notnow , Beth.” “So what are you planning?” she asked quickly, able to hear Beth’s upset voice in the background.Beth, please, play it cool. Don’t make him angry . “King of the world, maybe?” “No, no.” He was all good humor again. “They’ll elect me. They’ll all love me, you see.” Benedict tapped her arm. When she looked at him he tapped his headset and nodded. Thank God. He’d finally reached Rule. “Funny,” she said. “I’m not feeling much love for you right now.” “Yes, you’re different, aren’t you? That’s your bad luck. But don’t worry, dear—it’s temporary. Or perhaps I should sayyou are.” He chuckled over his little joke.

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“You hold on to that thought, if it makes you feel better.” Their biggest advantage was that Harlowe—or maybe his goddess—didn’t seem to want Lily dead. He wanted to feed her to the staff or the demon or something, which took a lot more arranging than just killing her. This gave her a little maneuvering room. Unless, of course, they were wrong about Harlowe’s intentions. “But you won’t be a problem much longer. I’ll take care of—now, now, didn’t I tell you to leave her alone?” The last was spoken to someone else. Lily heard a male voice, then Beth’s, high-pitched and frightened. “What’s going on?” Lily demanded. “If you hurt her—” “I do as I please. As long as I have her—” “Alive and unharmed, or you’ll make my job simple. I’ll just kill you.” “Oh, but you can’t. And even if you could, you wouldn’t. You have toarrest me.” He made it sound like the most amusing of impossibilities. “I didn’t arrest Helen.” That checked him briefly. “Well, well, you won’t have the opportunity to kill me. But let’s not be so grim. After all, your sister is alive and well. Not too happy at the moment, but that’s her fault. She takes offense so easily.” Male laughter in the background. Lily’s empty hand fisted, her nails digging in hard. “Maybe she finds you offensive.” “No, she’s terribly in love with me. Although I—Beth, haven’t I told you to be quiet?” Harlowe snapped. Lily had to distract him. “Is this about vengeance, Harlowe? Is that why you want me—because I screwed up all your big plans?” “I told Helen,” he muttered. “I told her she was moving too quickly, but would she listen? And you… you think you’re so clever, but it wasn’t really your doing. It was Helen’s stupidity that made things fall apart. Not that you’re off the hook, oh, no, I’ll—what?” The voice she heard in the background this time was squeaky, high-pitched. “Oh, all right.” Harlowe must have turned his head away. His voice was faint, the tone petulant. “Go ahead and tie her up, since she can’t behave.” Lily heard her sister say his name—Patrick—clear and disbelieving. And the sound of a slap. Then he was back, quite cheerful once more. “She’ll learn. Perhaps I’ll keep her. She is a pretty little thing, though not as loyal as she might be. She seems to think your safety is worth incurring my anger.” The staff might keep Beth hopelessly captivated, but it didn’t change her basic nature or intelligence. She wouldn’t understand what she was feeling… and had probably guessed by now that he’d used her to get to Lily.

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Lily took a deep breath to steady her voice. “We’re turning onto Bandera. Where next?”

RULE crouched down on the cool concrete of the parking lot beside Club Hell, his phone held to his ear. Cullen squatted beside him. They watched a moving dot of light on the map Cullen had unfolded as it crept along the line that represented Bandera Street. So did the twelve men standing still and silent around them. “All right,” Rule told Benedict. “We’ve got your location. There are eight Lu Nuncios and seven nonheris here, plus myself and Cullen. I’m going to brief them now.” A pause. “Yes. Call me back after you’ve reached them.” He disconnected and looked around at the silent men surrounding him. “Are you here from curiosity, or to help?” “Is the staff involved?” Javiero asked. “It is. Harlowe has taken mynadia’s sister and is using her to bring Lily to him. He has the staff.” “Then I’m in,” Javiero said flatly, followed by a chorus of agreements, some vocalized, some simply nods. “Understand this, then: We hunt, and I lead.” The single wordhunt set the terms: instant obedience. No discussion, no questions. Rule was incapable of operating any other way at this point, and they understood that. Even Randall nodded reluctantly. “Very well. Lily and Benedict are in her car. Benedict’s driving. He’d assigned her guards, but he doesn’t think they’ve been able to follow. He’s calling them now.” The guards had one of Cullen’s charmed maps, but they didn’t have Cullen to make it work when the signal got scrambled. “You can see from the map that Lily and Benedict are heading generally toward us at the moment. We don’t have their destination yet—Harlowe’s feeding her directions, keeping her on the phone. He claims he’s getting real-time information fromHer and will know if Lily contacts anyone.” That brought a few murmurs. Rikard scowled. “Is that possible?” Cullen answered. “Possible? Yes. Likely?” He shrugged. “The legends make it clear She’s able to observe our world, though She’s blind to us.” “But no one can communicate between realms. Not even Her. Unless She has another pet telepath… ?” “Unlikely.” Instinct and need flowed hot inside Rule, a gathering force as compelling as blood or tides. For the moment, though, urgency was balanced by a mind washed cool and clear, as if by moonlight. Thank you, Lady . “Harlowe knew when she left the FBI building. He knew someone was driving her, but not who. Either he has someone physically following her and reporting her movements through conventional means, orShe is somehow feeding him information.” He paused to make his point. “Benedict says no one is following them. He would be difficult to fool.”

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Some nodded, some frowned. No one disagreed. Stephen said thoughtfully, “Harlowe doesn’t know that Benedict has contacted you, I take it. That suggests that his source of information is indeed our enemy. A human follower might see Benedict using his phone, butShe wouldn’t know, as long as he spoke to one of us.” Rule nodded absently, his attention on the map. He could feel Lily now—faintly, faintly, but her direction rested on the edges of his heightened senses like a feather just touching his skin. He’d never sensed her from this far away before—a Gift from the Lady, perhaps. He considered logistics. “Why,” one of the younger ones asked, “are we still standing here?” Cullen nodded at the map. “We’ll lose time if we take off in the wrong direction. Once she passes Garner Street, here—” he pointed at a line just ahead of the dot of light—“we’ll know which direction we take.” Rule spoke. “We’ll have to take multiple vehicles. Most of you don’t know the city, so—” His phone rang. He had it at his ear before it finished. “Yes.” He heard his brother’s voice, speaking too quietly for human ears, and answered, “They’ll come. Hunt rules, my lead, Etorri as second.” After a few moments of listening, he rose smoothly. “Lily’s guards were unable to follow, so it’s up to us. She’s heard from Harlowe. They’ll be turning south on Garner. Toward us.” He gathered the others with his gaze. “We go.”

THE neighborhood sucked. It was late enough that many of the houses were dark, and some of the streetlights had been shot out. But there was no full dark in a city this size. The dirty purple sky reflected the city’s lights, providing a murky sort of illumination. Lily knew how the area looked by day, anyway—the huddle of small houses slumping into decay, some vacant. The peeling paint and yards mostly dirt, with the occasional rusty car as lawn ornament. All too often, walls had been sprayed with graffiti in gang colors. Cripps territory, back when she’d patrolled here for five memorable months. But the current graffiti told another story: the Dozens had taken over this turf. They were a relatively new gang—part import, part home-grown. Many of their leaders were casualties of the brutal Central American wars that had raged for so long, teens and young adults who, as children, had witnessed atrocities up close and personal. A brother hacked to death. A mother gang-raped. A baby sister casually spitted by a soldier with a machete. Children who had found their way to America, escaping with whichever relatives survived. Children who had grown up to commit atrocities. As soon as Benedict made that last turn, she’d known they were about to arrive at Harlowe’s hidey-hole. She’d motioned urgently for him to get rid of the headset. He had, thank God, ended the call and hidden the headset without argument or hesitation.

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“I’m guessing our escort just pulled out in front of us,” she told Harlowe now. “An old Chevy Impala, bright purple with orange flames on the sides. Lowrider. The driver and one passenger are Hispanic. The other one’s African American.” “My, aren’t you politically correct?” Harlowe was in high good humor now that she’d all but delivered herself into his hands. “You be sure to stay right behind Raul and his friends.” “I take it we’re almost there.” The front-seat passenger was talking on a cell phone, no doubt reporting that they’d picked up Lily and Benedict. “Perhaps.” “I’m kicking myself for not thinking of the gangs earlier.” Let him revel in how he’d outwitted her. Let him preen and strut and think himself invincible. “Where better for you to hide out? They’d respond well to a charismatic leader.” “The boys have been most helpful. They understand my message.” Benedict touched her shoulder. She glanced at him. “Why don’t you tell me about that?” “You want to hear my message?” “Sure.” Benedict made a pulling motion with one hand. She subvocalized: “Drag it out? Stall?” He nodded, and she returned it. It was good to know they were on the same page. Harlowe was making mistakes. He was relying too much on his not-quite-omniscient goddess. He wasn’t thinking straight, or he would have taken Her blind spot—the lupi—into account. Maybe he really did think he was invincible, as Rule had suggested earlier. That didn’t make him less than deadly. But it gave them a chance. Rule was on his way—with others, she hoped. How far he had to travel, she couldn’t say, but she felt him more clearly all the time. “That is,” she went on out loud, “I’d like to know if there’s more to it than ‘stick with me and you’ll have all the money and women you want.’” He chuckled. “Don’t underestimate the Dozens. They want guns and booze and drugs as well. What about you, Lily Yu? What do you want?” “I want my sister turned loose, alive and unhurt.” “So I assumed, or you wouldn’t be following Raul. But what about yourself? Aren’t you hoping to get out of this alive and unhurt, too?” “I’m planning on it.” “My own plans fell through recently,” he said, dreamy now. “I’ve made more, of course. Can’t keep a good man down. But you might express some regret for having interfered in my plans. In fact, I feel sure you will. I’m predicting that you will soon be very, very sorry you presumed so much.” The Chevy stopped abruptly. Lily jolted as Benedict hit the brakes to keep from climbing up the other car’s bumper. The passenger in the back seat of the purple car turned around, smiling at them. He rested

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the barrel of a sawed-off shotgun on the back of the seat, aimed straight at Lily. “Predicting the future’s an iffy business.” Maybe she’d been wrong about Harlowe’s goal. Maybe he’d brought her here because he wanted her killed where he could see it happen. “Even good precogs don’t get it right all the time.” “We’ll see. Pull over to the curb,” he told her, almost purring. “Pull over and get out of the car. The boys will take you where you need to go.” There was one empty spot at the curb directly in front of a rundown stucco house, pale and colorless in the dark. The windows were boarded up, but light snaked out through cracks. A late model pickup, modified beyond recognition, occupied most of the front yard. She glanced at Benedict. He looked bored. They might have been paying a visit to some tedious relatives. But he would know just how scared she was. He’d smell it on her. Dammit, dammit… Lily took a breath and rolled the dice, staking her life, Bern’s, and his on her best guess. “No.” “What? What did you say?” “Once I put myself in your hands, I’ve lost all bargaining power. Send my sister out. Then we’ll talk.” Benedict gave her a small nod. Harlowe’s laugh was less convincing than it had been. “You must be joking. Do as you’re told, or Beth will regret it, even if you don’t.” “My walking into that house won’t make her safe. If you’ve got both of us, I’ve nothing left to bargain with.” “What about your safety?” Harlowe’s voice lost its music as it rose. “Do you see the shotgun pointed at you? The others have guns, too. What makes you think you have a choice?” “Shoot us, then.” Her heart beat so hard and fast she thought she’d be sick. “Tell them to blast away. Unless, of course, you think that might piss off your goddess.” “She doesn’t control me. I’m in charge, you understand?” “Yeah? So how come you keep killing the same woman over and over, Patrick? Do those brown-haired girls remind you of anyone?” That tipped him over some edge. He cursed her—and Her. All women. While he ranted, Lily stole a glance at Benedict. “How long?” she whispered, meaning,How long before we have backup ? Looking sleepy, he spread both hands, closed them, and then spread the fingers of one hand again. Fifteen minutes. Surely she could keep Harlowe from acting for fifteen minutes—though he was getting so wound up, she was afraid he’d have them shot to prove a point. She broke into his tirade. “Okay, okay, you’re in charge. The big kahoona. I got that. But you still need to deal. You want me, you’re going to have to deal.”

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Silence, except for his breath hitting the mouthpiece in windy bursts. He was panting as if he’d been running. “I’m not sending your sister out,” he said at last. “That would be giving up my bargaining power, wouldn’t it? Perhaps you need to be convinced. Felix,” he said to someone else, “would you like to rape her for me? You can listen,” he told Lily. “You can hear her beg.” Her hands went cold and numb. She flexed her hands, swallowed bile, and said, “We’ll pull up to the curb, but I’m not getting out until I see Beth.” He giggled. “Tell you what—we’ll take off her clothes while you’re thinking things over.” Fourteen more minutes. She had to keep him talking for fourteen more minutes. “Don’t know much about this hostage business, do you? You’re not giving up enough to make me think I’ve got a chance. If I decide it’s hopeless, I’m going to call in forty or fifty federal agents just to be sure you pay.” “And what do you think will happen to your sister if you do that?” “I don’t know. Will it be as bad as what happens to you if you don’t deliver me to your goddess?” Another long moment of silence. “Perhaps we can deal.” SEVENTEEN BENEDICT ended the call with a single growled word:Hurry . Force rose in Rule like an imminent explosion, hollowing him until all that remained was purpose, tipping him away from the rationality of the human toward the power of the beast. He found a new balance. Thought remained, but altered; words no longer led, but existed as small chips of focus for the gathering storm. Cullen was in the Mercedes’s back seat with his map spread out. Con was driving; Rule hadn’t wanted to split his attention. They’d made good time while they had four lanes, but construction had sent them on a two-lane detour. They were practically crawling now due to some fender bender up ahead. They were close, though. Rule felt Lily clearly now, like a separate pulse. He felt the moon, too, with her different call. But that call now fed rather than cooled the tide surging within him. Soon, he told the rage in his blood.Very soon . “Stop the car,” he told Con. Con stopped the car. Rule hadn’t said to pull over first, so he didn’t. Three vehicles followed his, each riding the other’s tail much too close for safety, had the drivers been human. Because they weren’t, all three stopped immediately, as if they’d choreographed it. Rule got out. So did those in the other cars—no questions, no debate. Hunt rules. “We’re out of time,” he told them, pitching his voice to be heard over the blaring horns of drivers behind them, speaking quickly because he couldn’t hold off the Change much longer. “Lily has reached or is about to reach Harlowe. He’s recruited a gang, a vicious bunch. I don’t know how many are involved. They’ll have guns.” Rule stopped, his breathing ragged.

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Just a few more minutes. “Cullen,” he snapped, “stand back.” Map in hand, Cullen retreated several feet. “We’re very close,” Rule continued. “Cars will only slow us now, so half of us go ahead, four-footed, at full speed. We’ll approach from upwind—the humans won’t scent us, but Benedict will. The sight of us will surprise them.” That brought a few grins. Very few humans had ever seen a lupus pack in full hunt. Those who had generally hadn’t live to speak of it. “The other half stay with Cullen, led by Etorri. Stephen.” He faced the other man. “Stay two-footed so you can give orders. Your job is to get Cullen close enough to destroy the staff. He can’t Change or fight—he must retain all his power for the staff. Get him there quickly.” “Who goes with you?” Stephen asked quickly. “Those nearest me, I ima—” But words shut off as the Change seized Rule. Earth stretched itself up inside him as if it would claw its way to the moon that called and called, using him as ladder. As with birth or death, pain was part of the Change. Sometimes it was a minor note in the song, like the ache of lungs and body during a race. Sometimes—when the Change had been held off too long, or took place away from Earth or at the dark of the moon—pain was a huge gong, belling its brassy note through every cell. This time, the Change ripped him from human to wolf in a single, deafening blast. One after another, those nearest him Changed, just as he’d expected. The sudden Change of an alpha leader sends a blast rippling out through the pack, dragging others along. As if reality were no more than a bubble waiting to be popped by some giant, mischievous finger, in eight places that bubble burst. Clothing ripped. Horns ceased blaring as drivers stared, stunned. Somewhere a dog began to howl. Seconds later, eight pairs of empty shoes stood where men had been. And eight huge wolves raced off into the night.

LILY’S breath felt harsh in her chest as she opened the car door. Her mind was a tight ball of focus. Fourteen or fifteen young men—some in their teens, some in their early twenties—fanned out in a semi-circle in front of the concrete slab that served as a front porch. All were armed. She counted six rifles, two shotguns, and a wide array of handguns. Barely visible behind them stood three people: Harlowe, Beth, and the gang member holding her motionless with one thick arm. The darkness didn’t hide everything. Harlowe’s staff, for example. A dull black, it shouldn’t have been visible, yet her eyes found it as easily as they picked out the man who gripped it. The gang member holding Beth was easy to spot, being more than a head taller than everyone else and built like a bull. Other than his size, only the pale do-rag and white T-shirt stood out clearly, but a fugitive glint of light

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caught the barrel of the gun he rested against Beth’s head. And Beth… Beth was fully dressed. Lily swallowed. Her sister hadn’t been raped, and Harlowe had agreed to let her go. At least Lily could put down the damned phone now. With her door cracked but not fully open, she turned to Benedict. “Stay here. Harlowe wants me alive. He has no reason to spare you.” “Can’t do much from in here.” “Can’t do much out there, either. Not with twenty or thirty bullets in you.” He just smiled that barely there smile of his and reached for the handle of his door. She grabbed his arm. “I can’t stop you. You’re too damned big. But don’t make yourself into a liability. With that staff, Harlowe can make you like him, believe him, want to follow him. Don’t trust your reactions. Leave him to me.” He gave her a level look and a slow nod. “Understood. But his charisma won’t matter much if he doesn’t smell right.” “What does that mean?” “Are you coming?” Harlowe called. “Beth, maybe you’d better ask your sister to hurry.” Lily heard Beth’s cry of pain and flung open her door. “Okay, okay. Here I am. Now let Beth go.” That was the deal—she and Benedict would get out, expose themselves to his little army of gangbangers, and he’d turn Beth loose. She didn’t expect him to keep it.How much longer? Five minutes? More? Less ? Rule was close now. Close and coming their way. “I don’t think so.” Harlowe moved forward, the staff in his hand making him look like he belonged in a Christmas pageant playing one of the shepherds. But this staff didn’t have a crook at the top. It was simply a long length of wood the color of coal. From behind the wall of gangbangers Beth cried out, “Lily, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” “Not your fault,” she said, standing in front of her car with her hands held out slightly at her sides—see, I’m not drawing a weapon. No need to shoot anyone. “Harlowe’s staff has you hocus-pocused. You can’t help—” She stopped, staring. “What the hell isthat ?‘ Thatwas pale, about as tall as Harlowe’s hip, and looked like a cross between a kangaroo and a really weird nightmare. “Hey, she sees me!” It jiggled on those oversize haunches, excited, its voice squeaky-high. “She can see me!” “Of course she sees you, you cretin,” Harlowe muttered. “She’s a sensitive.”

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“I thought that was just for spells, but she can really see me, even though I’mdshatu .” “I can hear you, too,” Lily said. “Who or what are you talking to?” Benedict asked very low. She started. It’d moved up on her right side so silently she hadn’t known it was there. She answered softly. “The demon, I think. You can’t hear it?” It, he, she… those were definitely breasts high on the naked chest, but the genitals, though small, were the dangly sort. “No. Neither can anyone else, I think.” “Harlowe does.” She raised her voice. “Are you a demon? Did you knock me out?” “Yes, and I can hardly wait to—” Harlowe rapped the demon on the head with his staff. “Try to be a little less stupid. And now,” he said to Lily, “it’s time to let my boys have your weapons.” She wrenched her attention away from the bizarre creature standing next to Harlowe. “Uh-uh. It’s time for you to tell Mr. Muscles there to let Beth go.” Harlowe giggled. “Make me.” “All right,” Benedict said. She’d never seen anyone move so fast, not even Rule. She had the barest glimpse of something flashing out from his far hand—then a blow on her back knocked her to the ground. Caught by surprise, she fell hard even as shots rang out, a rolling thunder that seemed to come from everywhere. She rolled onto her side, spitting out dirt, scrambling to get her weapon. Screaming. More shots. The acrid bite of gunpowder in her nostrils and the feel of her gun in her hand. And howling. Huge, eerie, beautiful—howls bursting from the throats of enormous wolves. Two, three, half a dozen of them shot across the yard like streaks of moon-touched night in their mottled coats, straight at the gangbangers firing at them. Those of the gang who remained, that is. Several were missing—fled or fallen, Lily couldn’t tell in the darkness and confusion. And it was hard to see past the strong, furry body that had landed, legs spread, in a crouch over her. “Rule!” Dammit, he was playing shield. She shoved at his belly—that’s about all she could see—his belly, legs, and chest. “I can’t see to fire. I can’t see what happened to Beth.” Or Benedict—was he down? Harlowe yelled, “No, no! Stop it! Stop!” Rule didn’t budge. He faced out at the battle, growling.

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Giving up, Lily flattened herself—prone position, arms out, weapon gripped in her right hand with her left to steady it. The young giant was gone, but Beth wasn’t free. Harlowe had her. She was fighting him, but she was so much smaller, untrained in any kind of combat. He pinned her with one arm. With the other, he used the staff. Where he pointed, agony followed. He was indiscriminate. Wolves and men alike collapsed, screaming and writhing. Sometimes blood spattered. Sometimes it didn’t. Harlowe kept yelling, “No, no” over and over, striking almost at random. And he was advanc ing toward Lily with that damned kangaroo-demon hopping along at his side. She couldn’t get a clear shot. “Beth, hold still!” she yelled over the screaming and gunshots. “Grab her hand,” Harlowe yelled. “Get her, grab her!” “Get rid of the wolf! How’m I going to grab anything if he bites my hand off?” “How?” It was a shriek. “It isn’t working! He’s supposed to love me, follow me—” “You don’t smell like a wolf, dummy! Careful—no, no!” The creature grabbed Harlowe’s arm as he swung the staff toward Rule. “Don’t hurt her body! I need that body! Get closer, get closer!” The bizarre pair shifted, trying to come at her and Rule from the side. Rule shifted with them, his growl a steady thunder above Lily, and she squirmed around, trying desperately to get a bead on some critical part of Harlowe, terrified of hitting her sister. A head shot. She’d have to try for a head shot. That should have been easy at this distance, but he kept moving and her own motion was limited by a damned stubborn hero of a wolf. “Hurry!” the demon squealed. “The wolves are winning!” “Shut up! And split up—he can’t cover both of us!” She wiggled to the right, tracking Harlowe as the demon went in the other direction. She bumped against Rule’s leg, and there he was—yes, hold still, you bastard, stay just like that. She squeezed the trigger just as Harlowe darted aside again, damn him, damn him. Where—? Faster than she could react, Rule spun—but the staff flashed down just as he whirled to face it. It grazed his shoulder. His whole body spasmed and collapsed. The world blanked out. There was only a sudden, vertiginous drop into terror and guilt.My fault, it’s my fault—first Beth, now Rule, hurt because of me … Then rage flooded in, giving her the strength to shove him off her upper body so she could twist around, bring up her weapon—but a hot, dry hand clamped around her wrist, stopping her as surely as if it were made of iron. It felt orange.Orange , like her shoulder.

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“I’ve got her! Hurry, hurry!” Harlowe flung Beth away. She fell to the ground and didn’t move. Lily wrenched violently at her hand, but there was no budging the demon, so she tried to roll over, to get her weapon into her other hand, but her legs were still pinned by Rule’s heavy body. She couldn’t quite reach. His face a mask of maniacal glee, Harlowe smacked the staff across her belly. Foulness spurted over her like slime, breaking up into dozens of scrambling bits that hardened as they scuttled over her body, bits that clawed at her skin, ripping at her in ways indescribable while that hot orange hand held her and something pushed and pushed at her in a place nothing should have been able to reach— She screamed. A ball of black fire, eerie and terrible, erupted around Harlowe’s head like an obscene halo and fled down his arm to the staff. Pain struck, a sharp, clean knife sundering her world, sending her spinning, spinning… into nothing. EIGHTEEN WEARINESS. Pain. Sounds… “… except Rikard. Damned staff severed his neck. He was gone before he had a chance to heal.” “Hellfire. He went out in style, though. He’d be glad of that. He’s the only other one?” She knew the second voice, but memory was a slippery fish, freeing itself before she could claim it. She almost drifted away again, but the body’s pain insisted on dragging her back from that beckoning dimness. It felt as if a burning brand rested just below her belly button, throbbing along with her heartbeat. But there are worse pains than the physical. Floating between here and not-here, she was aware of loss so huge that her mind skittered away, refusing to close around the thought. “… got all the wounded away now, so I’ll be going. The cops will be here any minute. You’d better clear out, too.” “And let her wake up to this?” The familiar voice was bitter. “Her sister should wake up soon. She can…” Her sister. Beth. Yes. She’d come to… to… all at once memory plopped in her lap, writhing and ugly. And incomplete. She had to know. When she forced her eyes open it was still dark. Dark and fuzzy, as if she’d forgotten how to make her eyes focus. The air stank of gunpowder, blood, and charred meat. Her mind flashed back to fire—uncanny fire, black at the center, flickering into blue at the fringes. Black fire haloing Harlowe,

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speeding down his staff… which had rested on her belly. She’d been burned, then. Burned by mage fire. Maybe she would have fried along with Harlowe if not for her Gift… which wasn’t quite the complete protection she’d always believed. The dimly seen shapes resolved. Overhead, sky too smoggy for stars, glowing with the city’s reflected light. And kneeling next to her, though he was looking away… that was Cullen, she realized, naked from the waist up. He was listening to someone standing beside him. “If you aren’t leaving, you might as well make yourself useful,” the other man said. She had a vague impression of even features, pale skin, and light-colored hair, but darkness hid the details. “Her burn needs tending.” “I’m no healer.” “You never did pay attention to anything that couldn’t be done sorcerously. Cold water will cool it so the flesh doesn’t continue to cook.” “You have any?” Enough of that. She didn’t need to hear about herself. Lily licked her lips and found her voice. “Rule?” The other man slipped away into the darkness so quickly and silently she might have imagined him. Slowly Cullen looked down at her. His eyes were weary beyond words. “I’m sorry, Lily. He’s gone.”

WEARINESS. Pain. Sounds… Sounds without meaning, a babble of words she didn’t know. Awareness flickered. Nothing in that babble drew her… yet something did. Anger. Beneath the babble, powering it, lay anger. Someone was having a major hissy fit. It might have been a sense of danger that kept her from slipping back into unknowing. It might have been curiosity. Once she’d lingered beyond that first heartbeat, though, she knew something was wrong. She hurt, and that was part of it… as if a fiery brand lay across her stomach, she hurt from some wounding. But there was more to the wrongness than that. Worse. She had to know… Confusion, vast and powerful as pain, startled her eyes open. She saw sky—sky the color of tarnished brass, glowing like the embers of a dying fire. Glowing all over, with no sign of the sun. Beneath her the ground was stony. Pebbles dug into the skin of her back and butt… the bare skin of her back and butt. She was naked. That bothered her. She tried to think of what she should do about it, but her mind felt heavy, as if thoughts had weight and she lacked the strength to push and lift and arrange them. But she was lying naked on the ground beneath a brassy sky. That wasn’t right, but… where was she supposed to be?

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At least she wasn’t cold. Neither cold nor hot, actually, except for her legs. They were very warm. Something heavy lay across her legs, warming them. Oh… An impulse stronger than pain or weakness moved her to stretch out one hand. She touched fur… fur that lifted slowly with a breath. That was all right, then. Her breath sighed out, her eyes closing once more.

DIZZINESS seized Lily, as if the world had tipped into some new, impossible angle. She stared up at Cullen’s weary face, adrift. No, she realized. The world wasn’t askew. It was the gap that made it seem so—the gap between reality and what she’d been told. “No. He isn’t.” “Lily…” Cullen’s expression softened into something she’d never seen there before. Pity. That irked her. “Not if you’re using ‘gone’ as a euphemism for ‘dead.’ He isn’t even that far away. Less than a mile.” She’d tested the mate bond enough to be confident about the distance. “I can find him easily enough, though you might have to help me move.” He just shook his head, looking so wretched she didn’t know if she should shake him or pat his hand. Her lips thinned, but she went on to her next question. “My sister. Harlowe knocked her down. Is she—” “She’s okay,” he said quickly. “Knocked out, but Stephen said her breathing and heartbeat are fine, so she should come around soon. He moved her to the porch so she doesn’t wake up next to what’s left of Harlowe.” “Okay, that’s good. Was Stephen the one you were… never mind.” That could wait. They didn’t have much time. “We need to find Rule.” He winced. “Lily—” “Look, I don’t know where he is, but he was hurt, not killed. Give me a hand. I need to sit up.” Cullen shook his head, bafflement mixing with his weariness. “No, you don’t. You’ve been hurt.” “No kidding. But I lack authority when I’m flat on my back, and those sirens are getting close. You’re going to need all the official weight I can muster to keep from being arrested and executed for using sorcery to fry Harlowe.” And she had to find Rule. He sighed. “Wait a minute. Let me try something. I don’t have much juice left, but…” He pulled out the little diamond he’d taken to wearing around his neck.

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“What’s that for?” “Think of it as a storage battery. Mage fire takes a lot of power, so I’ve been gathering it for a while.” At her apartment… when he’d been playing with the sorcéri, had he really been tucking them away for later? “I thought the how-to for that sort of thing was lost during the Purge.” “I’m fucking brilliant, aren’t I?” His voice was as light as his face was bleak. He held the little diamond in one hand, held the other over her stomach, muttered something, and then pointed away. A small flame burst where he’d pointed and then died. And a wave of wonderful cold sucked much of the heat from her stomach. “I moved the heat around. Instant chill on your tummy. Better?” “Yes. Thanks. Now help me up.” She held out her hand. Instead of taking it, he bent, slid an arm beneath her shoulders, and then lifted. It hurt, but the world didn’t wink out. Once she caught her breath she did a quick scan of the area. They were alone except for the dead. There were a lot of them, dimly seen heaps crumpled here and there all over the small yard. And one mound near her feet—that would be Harlowe, or what was left of him. She wasn’t eager for the police spots to reveal the details. They’d be here soon. Sirens warbled their alarm from only blocks away. “Benedict?” “Damned hero.” He shook his head. “Timed things a little too close.” Something lurched in her chest. “He’s dead, then.” “Hell, no. Full of holes, but he didn’t even have the decency to pass out. Made us go get his knife back before he’d let himself be taken away. If he makes it through the night he’ll be fine—though even he will take a while to heal.” “The others…” Whoever they were, and she had plenty of questions about that. “They took him away in spite of his injuries?” “Can’t leave anyone behind. Your compatriots would arrest them. The dead, though…” He hesitated. “Traditionally, they serve a final time by taking the blame for any dead humans. There are a number of them tonight.” “Not Rule,” she said firmly. “You won’t be pinning anything on him. He’s not dead, and I can swear that he didn’t kill anyone. He was with me.” “Lily.” He looked haggard. “The staff exploded, then vanished. Rule went with it.” Two cop cars screeched around a corner, lights flashing, sirens howling. “Argue with me later,” she said quickly. “Here’s the deal. Don’t answer questions from anyone but me.

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Lawyer up if you have to. I’ll say I think Harlowe burned himself up trying to kill me. I didn’t see you, after all, so I can’t testify about what you did or didn’t do. And magic’s dangerous stuff, right? Using the staff on a sensitive could have made it backfire on him.” “It’s as good a story as any.” He sounded indifferent. He’s grieving, she realized.He doesn’t believe me about Rule, and grief is making him numb to his own fate . “Cullen,” she said, and reached out to rest her hand on his bare arm… and froze. Because it wasn’t there. The buzz, the hum, the indefinable texture of magic she should have felt the second she touched his skin… it was gone.

SHE came awake all at once, jolted by fear. In her mind there lingered the echo of an eerie howl. Something about that sound… She didn’t hear it now, though—just the same angry, high-pitched babble as before. The same brassy sky glared down. No clouds, no sun. The same terrible pain throbbed on her stomach. The weight on her legs was gone. Her breath sucked in. Need gave her the strength to raise up on one elbow. A huge wolf stood at her feet. He was beautiful—his coat black and silver, his proportions elegant. He was also angry, his lip lifted in a snarl that advertised the long, wicked teeth. He was growling at the source of the babbling—a creature like nothing she could have imagined. It was a bright, greasy orange. And naked. And at least halfway male. Aside from the small, soft genitals, the creature’s lower half resembled a kangaroo or a child’s toy dinosaur with its oversize haunches and spiked tail. Big feet. No belly button. The chest was muscular but decorated by a pair of very female breasts tipped by olive green nipples the size of half dollars. In contrast, the arms and shoulders looked almost human. No hair. Neither around the genitals nor on the round head. A wide slit of a mouth crowded with teeth every bit as pointy as the wolf’s, but not as long. The eyes were large and heavily lashed, absurdly pretty in that face. They were set too far apart above a pair of sphincters that she supposed were nostrils. It stood about three feet tall. The size of a child. “What are you?” she asked. It jumped, its eyes widening. Then it rolled those eyes in a disconcertingly human way. “Great. That’s just great. You didn’t understand a word I’ve said, did you?” “Were those words?” “You’re just lucky I know English,” it grumbled. The wolf glanced at her and stopped growling. He backed up, careful to keep the creature in sight, until

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he stood beside her. She didn’t like lying flat. She didn’t like being naked, either, but there didn’t seem to be an alternative at the moment. Sitting up hurt,“ but she managed it. She pushed her hair out of her face and her fingers brushed something at her neck… a chain with a pendent. The feel of the pendent comforted her, both the shape and the faint buzz of magic from it. She clasped it in one hand and leaned against the wolf. His fur wasn’t as soft as it looked, but it felt good against her skin. He seemed content to serve as her support, so she laid an arm on his back and rested more of her weight against him. The contact felt good. Right. He made a whining sound, almost like a question. The creature spoke. “I suppose you didn’t understand him, either.” “I suppose you did?” It raised both hands to its head as if it wanted to rip out the hair it didn’t have. “Could things be worse? Could it get any worse? I’m supposed to bein you, on Earth, but here I am, back in Dis—” The ground rumbled. Andmoved . Her fingers clenched in the wolf’s fur. Earthquake? Her heart pounded. For the first time she looked around. Rock. That’s all she saw—big rocks, little rocks, pebbles. Orange, rust, gray, and yellow rocks. No trees, no grass, no weeds or water. Off in the distance she saw a single mountain, dull black and topped by what looked like a caldera. A dead volcano? She hoped it was dead. But she couldn’t see far. They were in a small cul-de-sac, a low point bounded by the rock humped up around them. Rock that might be dislodged if the earth twitched again. She didn’t want to be here. She wasn’t sure where she needed to go, but this was the wrong place for her, wrong in every way. She needed to move, to get out of here… but just sitting up drained her. How could she travel? Where could she go? The creature groaned. “She isso pissed. We’ve got to get out of here. There’s a Zone real close. A Zone,” it repeated impatiently when she looked blank. “You know. Where the regions overlap.” The wolf curled his lip in what looked more like scorn than temper. “I know, I know. You don’t trust me, but you should. As far as Lily’s concerned, anyway—” Lily? “—because I can’t let anything happen to her. I’m tied to her, by Xitil’s great, glowing nipples! If she

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dies, I die! That stupid man was supposed to help me get into her, but I didn’t get all the way in because your stupid sorcerer messed up the staff and now I’m tied to a stupid sensitive who shouldn’tbe here and Xitil is fighting it out withHer and—” its voice rose to a squeaky crescendo—“we’ve got to get out of here!” The wolf turned his head to look directly at her with what she was sure was a question in his dark eyes. “Don’t ask me,” she said in a voice dry as dust—dry as all the aching, empty places inside her. “I don’t know what to believe, what to do. I don’t know who you are, why we’re here, where ‘here’ is, or…” She tried to swallow past the dryness, but her words came out raspy. “Or who I am.” The sky around the dull black cone of the volcano suddenly flared, shooting from dark brass to incandescent orange and gold—sunrise arriving with a bang. A second later, the ground shimmied beneath them, accompanied by a dull, distant rumble, like thunder below the ground. “Remind me,” the creature whispered, “not to ever, ever ask if things could get worse.” NINETEEN THOUGH the man was always with the wolf, just as the wolf remained with the man, the form did make a difference. Instinct was closer to Rule when he was four-footed, words more distant. Which might have been just as well. Being more deeply of the moment than the man, the beast felt little fear for the future. Not that there wasn’t plenty in the present for alarm. Plenty that made him want to lift his nose and howl… but he’d already done that. The demon, damn its greasy orange hide, was right. It had been a stupid thing to do, but he couldn’t have stopped that howl if his life had depended on it. Which, of course, it might. Worse—so might Lily’s. There was no saying who or what might have heard him. But in that first terrible second of discovery, wolf and man alike had lost control. He’d tried to Change. And couldn’t. Now the beast wanted to act. Food, water, shelter— those needs the beast understood. The man agreed, but where to find any of that in hell? Rule reined in his sense of urgency. There were no immediate threats. If the volcano was erupting, it was distant enough not to pose an urgent danger. What was it Benedict used to say? There’s a time to act, a time to plan the next action, and a time to gather facts so you can plan. A puff of sadness ghosted through him at the thought of his brother, who might well be dead. The wolf, more immediate than the man, paid it little heed. If he and Lily survived and managed to return home, then it would be time to worry about Benedict’s fate. Rule lifted his nose. The air was dry, windless. It carried little scent, and most of that was alien, useless to him. He looked at the other two. Lily was fingering the nearly healed wound on her shoulder, perhaps wondering where that earlier hurt had come from. Her brows were knit. Her eyes looked lost. How much was gone? Her personal memories were missing, obviously, but she hadn’t lost everything. She retained language and basic motor skills. Did she remember Earth, even if she’d forgotten her family?

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Did she know he had another form, even if she couldn’t remember his face? Some part of her knew him. He was convinced of that. Hadn’t she accepted his support earlier? But he couldn’t ask her. He couldn’t hold her or tend her wound. He couldn’t even speak her name. Rule wanted to lift his nose to that ugly sky and howl again, but that would be entirely stupid. She was so alone now, bereft even of memory. Unable to offer a man’s comfort, he went to her and touched her arm gently with his nose. And recoiled. Mixed with her own beloved scent was a whiff of cloves and exhaust. The scent of the demon. She turned to him, her expression abstract. “Something wrong?” Terribly wrong. But he couldn’t tell her. Tentatively he sniffed again. The demon scent was faint, but it came from her skin. Yet the demon was obviously separate from her, so she couldn’t be possessed. Could she? The demon had said something about being tied to her. That tie was what he smelled, he supposed… but he hadn’t realized it meant some part of the creature was actuallyin her. Part of her. She’d sensed his turmoil or felt the need to ease her own. She reached for him, running her fingers through the thick fur of his ruff, scratching lightly. Relief flowed through him. The comfort of the mate bond was unchanged by whatever tie she had with the demon. He turned his head to look at it. The demon was jiggling from foot to foot, looking all around anxiously… very much all around, because its head had the range of motion of an owl’s. When it saw that Rule was watching, it said, “You’ll have to take charge. We’ve got to get moving, and she’s missing too many marbles to know what to do.” Rule bared his teeth. “Speak English,” Lily said, “not babble.” He’d hardly noticed that the demon had reverted to that other language. Somehow he understood the creature whether it spoke English or not… and it had seemed to understand him earlier. Well, it was worth a try. He yipped at it. “Ask questions later,” the thing said, jiggling. “When we’re in Akhanetton.” Rule lowered his rump and sat, staring pointedly at the demon. Lily glanced from him to the demon. “I don’t think he’s going anywhere. What did he ask?” “All right, all right. He wants to know why I understand him.” The demon rolled its eyes. “You people don’t knowanything . Meanings are one of the Rules.” “Is that supposed to mean something to me?” “Not to you,” the demon said morosely and plopped down on the ground. It sat rather like an ape or a gargoyle, though its thick tail caused it to tilt forward. The way its legs were jointed, they naturally splayed to the sides, with the knees pointed straight up—a position that put its genitals on prominent

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display. “Then you’d better keep talking.” It heaved a sigh. “In the earth realm, you’ve got your laws of nature, gravity, and all that. Here we’ve got the Rules. One of them is that meanings are clear no matter where you are, so everyone always knows what you mean even if they don’t know what you said. Unless you’re really clever, that is—good at hiding one meaning behind another. I’m good,” it added with simple pride. “Sometimes I can almost lie.” “I just hear your words. I can’t tell what you mean. Or…” She looked at Rule, a small frown tucked between her eyebrows. “Or him.” The demon huffed out a breath. “It doesn’t work with a sensitive. All sorts of things won’t work right with a sensitive. And you’re wearing Ishtar’s token. Nobody told me about that. You’d think someone would have mentioned…” Its eyes widened. “Maybe Xitil didn’t know! MaybeShe didn’t tell her! Oh, oh, oh!” It bounced to its feet. “Xitil must beso pissed! We’ve got to get out of here!” “And go where?” Lily demanded. “Where’s better than here? And who is Xitil?” “Xitil’s the prince of this region. My prince. We need to cross to Akhanetton—that’s the closest region. It’s scary.” It shivered. “All that open sky… but there’s no telling what will happen here. Xitil’s fighting withHer .” “With who?” “I’m not going to say Her name. Any of her names. She’s a goddess. She might hear.” Rule growled a question. “Okay, so it’s Her avatar that’s here, not the goddess Herself. That won’t make much difference to us. Xitil won’t be minding the store with the fight taking all her attention. Up could become down, or it might rain ashes, or—oh, you don’t know anything, do you?” It looked hugely frustrated. “Dis is divided into regions. The regions, they aren’t just ruled by their princes—they’redetermined by their rulers. Hot or cold, what grows or doesn’t, all the little rules are set by the prince, who’spart of all of it because she’s eaten part of everyone. Do you see?” “She’seaten part of everyone?” Lily said, revolted. “She ate part of you?” “That’s how it works! You people with your souls are used to death, so you kill too easy, but we preserve life.” “By eating each other alive?” “Yes. Can we go now?” “Not yet. You said my name is Lily.” It nodded. “Lily Yu.” “And his name? The wolf’s?”

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“He’s called Rule Turner.” “Rule.” She said it thoughtfully, as if searching for recognition, some snippet of memory. And looked disappointed. “I know him, though.” “Sure. You have sex with him a lot. Well, when he’s not a wolf, you do. I don’t know if you have sex when he’s like this.” It tipped its head to one side, eyes brightening—and penis beginning to harden. “I’d like to see that if you do.” Rule growled. Lily ignored irrelevancies to focus on her questions. “What do you mean, ‘when he’s not a wolf?” “He’s lupus. You’re human. And I,” it said, penis and expression drooping once more, “am in so much trouble. Neither of you is supposed to—yipes!” Rule had heard it, too, and had spun to face the new threat before the demon stopped speaking. Feet. Lots and lots of running feet, headed their way. The demon bounded to a tall, nearly vertical rock face. “Get her over here!” it cried. “Get her flat against the rock, or they’ll trample her!” Some kind of stampede? Making up his mind quickly, Rule pushed at Lily with his nose. “You want me to do like the creature says? I don’t… what’s that?” Her ears must have picked it up now, too. Rule pushed at her urgently. Whatever was headed their way was coming fast. She grimaced, but, by using his back to steady herself, managed to get to her feet. He’d known she was hurt. Though he didn’t remember those last moments on Earth, he’d smelled it when he awoke. But now he saw her wound clearly, and it worried him. Just below her navel was a puffy blister shaped like a fat cigar, but bigger. The skin around it was bright red and weepy. Second-degree burn, he thought, alarmed. Were there bacteria in hell? Stupid question. She’d have brought some in on her skin, and he could only hope her system was able to fight them off. The pain would be fierce, the healing slow. She needed medical treatment, dammit. He couldn’t supply so much as a bandage. He had no shirt to tear into strips. Neither did she. That was odd, now that he thought of it. Why hadn’t her clothes arrived with her? The Lady’s token had made the crossing, but not Lily’s clothing. He had no answers, and damn little help to give. He could only pace anxiously alongside her as she stumbled toward the overhang, then place himself between her and the demon when she sank to the ground, her back against the rock. He heard the pounding of her heart—too fast—and her quick, short breaths.

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Seconds later, the wave hit. TWENTY THEY cascaded over the edges of the cul-de-sac so fast and in such numbers that Rule couldn’t sort out what an individual creature looked like. He had an impression of endless gray bodies with too many legs, and a pungent smell like mushrooms and grapefruit. They hurtled to the floor of the cul-de-sac in the hundreds and kept running, pouring up the other side in a steady stream. It seemed to go on and on but probably lasted ten minutes or less. As suddenly as the flood had started it was over, leaving a couple dozen bodies behind. Many had been trampled into bloody pulp—red blood, so maybe their metabolism was oxygen-based. A few still twitched. The demon didn’t move, so Rule didn’t, either. Seconds later two huge shadows glided across the rocky ground. Rule looked up. Pterodactyls? Giant birds? They were too quickly gone for him to pick up much detail, and his distance vision wasn’t good in this form. They seemed to be trailing the stampeding creatures. Hunting them, maybe. The demon heaved a great sigh and, after giving the sky a wary glance, wandered out into the open. Hoping that meant the coast was clear, Rule followed. He wanted to check out one of the creatures. The body nearest him was almost intact. It looked rather like a roach without the carapace, only the size of a cat and with leathery gray skin. The six thin legs were hinged oddly, but were more animal than insect. He could see bone where the skin and sinew was missing. They ended in small, clawed feet. The head was pure bug, however—small, flattened, with faceted eyes and serrated mandibles. Revolting to look at, he decided, but they didn’t smell half bad. In a pinch, they would do. For him, anyway. His body would throw off any toxins. He didn’t know if Lily could safely eat them—or if she’d be willing to try, short of starvation. He hoped with everything in him they wouldn’t have to find out. “Might as well get to it,” the demon said, resigned. It picked up one of the twitching creatures and bit its head off. Lily made a choked sound. “You were saying something about howwe kill too easily?” It chewed and swallowed. “I didn’t kill it. I ate it.” “Why am I not seeing the distinction?” “It isn’t dead now. It would have been if I hadn’t eaten it, but now it’s part of me. You people eat dead things and keep the physical stuff. We eat live things and keep the life. Not thathirug would be my first choice.” It grimaced at the decapitated body it held and wrenched off one of the legs. “Stupid creatures. But they’re here, and I’m going to need extraymu .” When it opened that wide slit of a mouth completely, it looked like the whole lower half of its face was hinged. It crunched down on the leg. “You should have told me you were too weak to travel.”

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Lily sighed and leaned back against the rock. It couldn’t have been comfortable, but the burn on her stomach probably made leaning forward worse. “Your little snack won’t help me travel. Unless you’re planning to carry me, and I’m not—” “Carry you? That would be stupid. Better if I give you a little boost and make your wound go away.” “You can’t do that. You said I’m a sensitive, and that— that feels right. I can touch magic…” Her hand went to the Lady’s talisman Rule had fastened around her throat when she became clan. “It can’t touch me, though. Can’t affect me.” “How do you think you got here?” it snapped. “By train?” Her head jerked as if she’d been slapped, her eyebrows flying up. “We’re tied,” it told her, impatient. “So I can affect you. I can’t get inside you any more than I already am, but I’m partway there. I can give you… English doesn’t have the words.” “Find some,” she said tersely. Its brow wrinkled. “Well, when I eat, I takeymu andassig . Ymu is the energy. Assig is the pattern, the memories and thinking. Not that hirug actually think, but you get the idea.” Rule did, and he didn’t like it. He moved between Lily and the demon. “I’m not going to hurt her! I’m going to help her.” Rule snarled. “Wait.” He looked at Lily, startled. The small frown tucked between her eyebrows reminded him of her mother. “I don’t trust it, either, but he—it—she—” She stopped, frustrated. “What are you, anyway?” “I’m called Gan. Your dumb language doesn’t have a word for he-and-she, so you can call me it. We don’t settle on a sex right away. Well, some demons never do, but most—” “You’re… a demon.” Gan rolled its eyes. “What did you think I was?” “Then this place is…” “Dis. Or hell, according to a lot of you people, but that’s a misunderstanding.” Lily had already been pale. Now she looked shocky. When Gan started to speak Rule growled at it: Shut up . She closed her eyes and then opened them as if she might be able to change what she saw that way. She

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looked at the stones, the bizarre sky, the dead and dying hirug, the demon. She drummed her fingers on her thigh. “Okay. You’re a demon and we’re in hell. How did we get here?” “It was an accident. The sorcerer burned up the staff while I was trying to get into you.” Judging by the look on her face, the explanation didn’t tell her much. She shook her head. “Never mind. We’ll go into that later. You seem to be right about one thing—this area isn’t safe.” And some other part of hell might be? Rule made a noise in his throat, frustrated by his inability to speak. And not at all sure they should budge from this spot. He didn’t know how they’d gotten here, but the staff had disappeared before when She called it to her. That times, Harlowe had been dragged along willy-nilly because he’d been holding it. Maybe that’s what had happened this time. The burn on Lily’s stomach suggested the staff had been touching her when it was hit with mage fire, and Rule had been touching her. So they’d been pulled into hell with it. But what about the demon? Why would it have been pulled here? And where was the staff? IfShe had summoned it, wouldn’t Rule and Lily have ended up wherever She was, too? He glanced at the volcano. Not that he was complaining about Her absence. The farther away they were from Her, the better. But if they’d been dragged here by the staff, they should have ended up with it. The other possibility was that the destruction of the staff had somehow opened a gate. Cullen had called the thing a rent in reality, so that wasn’t too far-fetched. If so, that gate might be their only way home. But if Lily remembered the existence of gates, they weren’t on her mind now. She had questions—that hadn’t changed—and only one place to aim them. At the demon. “How do you do this whatever-it-is? And what will it do to me other than make me stronger?” “I sort of get control of your body.” Rule growled. Gan frowned at him. “If you want to say something, you have to think the words. Just making sounds doesn’t work.” “I think I know what he meant,” Lily said. “You are not taking over any part of me.” “I’m not talking about possession. If I could have done that, I would have. I wastrying ,” it added, aggrieved. “I mean that I have to take charge of your body temporarily. So I can make it take ymu.” “This ymu is the energy you were talking about—that comes from living things?” She shook her head. “You’re not stuffing me with death magic, either.” It rolled its eyes. “Ymu is not death magic! When you eat dead things, is that death magic? Ymu is just energy. You people have all kinds of energy in your world— bombs and electricity and gasoline—only you can’t eat those energies, right? Your body would have to change to take gasoline energy instead of dead animal energy.”

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“Yes, but… I feel like you’re pointing in one direction so I won’t notice the card up your sleeve.” Its forehead wrinkled. “Card?” “Never mind. How would this ymu help me?” Its forehead wrinkled even more. “You could say that ymu makes things want to be in their proper form.” “Then a hirug’s ymu would make my body want to be like a hirug.” “No, no, no! Ymu is the energy. The pattern is from the assig—which you can’t do anything with. I can.” It looked smug. “That’s why I’m a demon. But you won’t get any hirug assig and your body already knows its pattern, so I just have to get it to take the ymu and it will make itself strong and right again.” She chewed on her lip a moment. “How would you do that?” “You could suck me off—” This time it was Lily who growled. “Okay, okay, it doesn’t have to be sex. But you have to take something of my body into you. This is still eating. I can’t put ymu in air.” “I have toeat part of you?” “I’m not crazy about that, either, if you won’t do sex, but…” It scowled, its brow wrinkling as if it was thinking fiercely. “Spit. Spit should work. I can push lots of ymu into it, then push some in your mouth.” Her face twisted in revulsion. “What’s that thing you say? Get over it. Yeah. Get over it. If you’re picky about what you eat here, you starve. No McDonald’s on the corner. No corner. Get it? No corner.” It giggled, appreciating its own humor. “Before you can eat ymu, though, I have to tinker with your body. Make things more dense where they should be.” “Dense?” “You don’t have the words!” It rubbed its head with the hand not holding the dead hirug. Then it spat out a stream of what Lily called babble—and this time, Rule didn’t know what it meant, either. Words mixed with images and sensory impressions. He heard “hydrocarbon.” Smelled blood. “Tender wheat” arrived with “liver” and the sound of water dripping. “Eggs” were part of an image of the glowing disc of the sun. “See?” the demon finished in English. “He doesn’t understand, either. You have to already have the ideas, or you can’t get the meanings.” She nodded slowly. “One more question. Can this be undone later?” “Sure.” It looked at the hirug it still held and then tossed it to the ground. Apparently once something

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finished dying it became inedible. After another glance overhead, it began studying the remaining dead and dying hirug. Lily rubbed her forehead. “I need to think about this.” In the distance, the mountain rumbled, though there was no accompanying trembling in the ground this time. “Think fast,” Gan said, bending to pick up another hirug. Rule rubbed his head along Lily’s arm, making a low, grumbling sound.This is a bad idea. Don’t do it . She ran a hand along his back. “You don’t like it, do you? I don’t, either. But what are my choices? I was barely able to make it out of the open before the hirug got here. Ihurt . And I can’t travel like this.” He poked her with his nose and pointedly sat down. “You think we should stay put?” For now, anyway. He nodded. She shook her head. “I think we have to accept that the creature—the demon—that Gan knows how to survive here. And we don’t. If it’s giving it to me straight about needing to keep me alive, or it dies, too… what do you think?” That he couldn’t answer with a simple yes or no. He couldn’t even write in the dirt. There wasn’t enough of it. Rule made a frustrated sound. “Never mind.” She sank her fingers into his fur and scratched. “I don’t know why I keep feeling like you ought to be able to answer… anyway, I think Gan’s telling the truth about that part.” She looked at the sky, where the fiery glow near the volcano was fading. “I wonder if you know anything about that goddess Gan says is duking it out with its prince.” Rule nodded again. “You do, huh? I wish you could talk. She must be pretty tough if she can hold her own with a demon prince. You think she might help us?” He shook his head vigorously. “She’s one of the bad guys?” He nodded. “Then it doesn’t matter who wins the fight. Either one will be bad news for us.” Dammit, she was right—more right than she knew. And he wasn’t thinking straight. If Her avatar survived the battle with the demon prince, She might come looking for Lily. So yes, they might have to leave this spot, but not right this minute. Lily was letting the demon’s urgency rush her to a decision. Slowly Rule shook his head.Slow down. Give me time to look for any

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remnants of the staff, or some trace of a hellgate. To look for food and water, find out if it’s possible for us to survive here . She titled her head to one side. “I can’t tell if that means ‘no, we can’t stay,” or ’no, 1 don’t agree.‘ I guess it doesn’t matter. It’s my decision.“ He shook his head sharply. She didn’t have enough information. She couldn’t even consult her own memories, or she’d realize that he’d be bound by what she chose. If she stayed or if she moved on, that’s what he would have to do, too. But she wasn’t paying attention. She’d raised one hand and leaned her head into it, looking strained and weary. And uncomfortable. He could help a little there, at least. He moved up beside her so she could lean on him. She gave him a small smile and did just that, laying an aim over his back and resting against him. For several moments neither of them moved. What would he do if she decided to take the demon up on its offer? There wasn’t much he could do, he realized. He might like the idea of attacking the demon, but it was their only guide in this world, however little he trusted it. And it claimed to be tied to Lily. He could try to interfere, not letting the demon approach, but that would do little other than make her angry. It wouldn’t persuade her to rethink her decision, and he couldn’t plant himself between them indefinitely. “Damn,” she said at last, straightening. “I wish I had clothes.” She shook her head. “That’s stupid. It’s just stupid to be worrying about clothes right now, but I don’t like this. I don’t like being naked.” It wasn’t stupid at all. He was, for having paid no attention to her nudity. Just because he didn’t react to her body in this form the way he did as a man… but why hadn’t her clothes come with her? The Lady’s token had. So had he. Later. He’d worry about that later. Right now he had to get her some protection. She was all-over skin, and her skin damaged easily. At the very least she needed shoes. He turned his head and yipped at the demon. It snorted. “You see a Wal-Mart nearby? Here, clothes are for decorating high-status types. You can’t just run out and buy them.” Rule yipped again. “Feet that can be hurt by walking on them!” Gan snorted. “Humans are weird. If walking hurts her feet, she’ll heal them. Once I give her some ymu, that is.” It smiled slyly. “I bet I could get her some clothes in Akhanetton.” “All right,” Lily said. Rule’s head swung back toward her. “My body,” she told him. “My choice. And I think I have to try Gan’s way. This isn’t a good place to be weak.”

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Gan hummed approvingly. “That’s good thinking. Your brain’s working better than I thought.” It had found another twitching hirug. This one was more lively—three of the legs still functioned well enough that it tried to get away, which seemed to cheer up Gan. It smiled before it bit the thing’s head off, chewed, and swallowed. Then it started toward them. “Okay, all you have to do is hold still.” Lily put up a hand, palm out. “Hold it. You’re not touching me with that in your hands.” “What?” Gan glanced at the remains of the hirug. “‘Oh. You don’t like blood and stuff? A lot of humans do. And weren’t you some kind of cop?” “I don’t know. Was I?” It slapped its forehead. “Right. Missing marbles. I forgot.” It gave its attention to polishing off the hirug, tossed aside a few bits that weren’t sufficiently lively, and then lumbered toward Lily. Rule’s hackles lifted. This was wrong. Ithad to be wrong, but he didn’t know how to stop her. Gan stopped a couple of feet away, eyeing him warily. “I don’t trust you. Go somewhere else.” The demon didn’t trusthim ? Rule’s mouth wasn’t shaped right for laughter, ironic or otherwise. Lily shoved at him. “Move. The sooner we get this over with, the better.” Apparently Lily didn’t need her memory to be cussedly determined on independence. Grudgingly, he moved away a few feet—close enough to be on top of the demon in one leap, if necessary. It might be stronger than he was, but it was smaller and slower. If it hurt her… Gan edged closer, staying as far away from Rule as it could. With Lily sitting, its head was roughly level with hers. It held out its hands. Its feet were large and flat, rather like a kangaroo’s, but its hands were small. Child-size. Aside from the color, they looked quite human. Lily stared at those small, orange hands, her face blank. Then she clasped them. For several minutes nothing happened. Nothing he could see, anyway. “You have to be still!” Gan said, frowning with that very wide mouth. “I haven’t moved.” “You’re moving inside. Pushing back at me.” It frowned harder. “Think about still things. Things that don’t move at all. Think about them real hard.” She scowled and closed her eyes. A few moments later, Gan leaned in close and opened its mouth over hers. She started to pull away, but it gripped her head and held her still. Rule stiffened, growling, but the kiss was over before he could be sure he should attack. Gan stepped back, smiling.

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Lily wasn’t smiling. She swallowed. Swallowed again, as if she was having trouble keeping the demon spit down. Gradually her expression changed to puzzlement. The redness around her burn was fading. It went quickly then, faster by far than he could have healed that degree of damage. First the red, weepy skin turned creamy, then the blister-bubble began to shrink. Within five minutes, there was no sign she’d been burned. The wound on her shoulder was gone, too. Was this, Rule wondered, how humans felt about his own ability to heal? Uneasy, unsettled, convinced that it wasn’t supposed to be so easy? That such ease would have to be paid for at some point. Lily touched her stomach and then rolled her shoulders as if testing the internal workings. Her eyebrows went up. “It worked. I feel…” She stretched out both arms. “I feel good.” “You ought to,” Gan grumbled. “You’ve got enough ymu in you for a Claw. Let’s go.” It started toward the other side of their cul-de-sac. Lily stood easily, with no wincing, no need to balance herself on his back. She looked at him, and there was nothing in her face for him to latch onto—no softness, no apology, no doubt. Maybe an acknowledgment: he hadn’t wanted this, and she’d done it anyway. He was, he realized, thoroughly pissed. He looked away. Gan was already scrambling up a ravine. Lily followed, so Rule did, too. He took the rear. The cul-de-sac wasn’t deep, and the ravine the demon had chosen for an exit made for an easy climb. He followed her as she followed the demon, and his anger didn’t dissipate. That was unfair. He knew it, though the knowledge didn’t release him from the anger. Lily was sundered from her self in a way he could scarcely imagine, lost in hell with a wolf and a demon, unable to recall her own name. In pain, afraid, and lacking memory, why should she take his wordless counsel? But anger isn’t always logical, and his welled up from the deep places inside. For he was sundered, too, from a large part of himself—from his clan, his family, his world, and his other form, And he might never get any of that back. He might never speak in words again, or see his father or brother, or be there to help his son through his first Change. He might never pick something up with a hand instead of a mouth. And if he stayed in this form too long, he would forget what it was to use his hands. He would cease thinking in words. The man would fade, and there would be only the wolf. The part of him that was wolf didn’t fear as the man did. He missed his clan, but he enjoyed his four feet, and his mate was near. And when was the future ever more than a mist? Yet the wolf’s pain went deep, too. Where there should have been the long, slow song, the pull and call that shaped his soul, there was silence. And for that there was no comfort. There is no moon in hell.

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TWENTY-ONE LILY started awake, her heart pounding, her eyes wide with terror. Scent seeped in through the fear-fog, a mix of antiseptic, flowers, and body fluids that saidhospital . With that understanding, reason woke, too, and began sorting the sensory impressions into sense. The sound she’d heard, the noise that had sprung her from sleep so abruptly… she backed up mentally, replayed it, and decided someone had dropped something on the hard hospital floor outside her room. She’d been dreaming. Wisps of the dream clung to her despite the harsh awakening… thick fur beneath her hand, fur warmed by a strong body. There’d been a sense of physical well-being, too, and a goal, a place she needed to reach. She had to walk to get there. That’s what she’d been doing when she was jerked awake. Walking. In the dream she hadn’t been alone. Here, she was. It was early. Gray light from the room’s single window barely smudged the outlines of things, but she could see that the space was empty of threats. Empty entirely, with a flat, lifeless feel, less real to her than a stage set. As empty as she was with something nameless and necessary drained out. Lily closed her eyes, riding out the backlash of unused adrenaline, waiting for her heartbeat to steady. She found herself alone with the numbness growing like a cancerous vine out of the dead place inside her. The place where her Gift used to be. Grandmother, you said this couldn’t happen. That it wasn’t possible for me to stop being a sensitive. Suddenly she wanted her grandmother, wanted her with the intensity of a child waking from a nightmare, crying out in the dark. She needed to be held. She needed someone who could explain what had happened to her, even if she couldn’t fix it. She wasn’t going to get what she wanted. Lily opened her eyes for the second time on a day she didn’t want to face. Rule was missing. Missing, she reminded herself. Not dead. Gradually the room took on context, substance, becoming real once more as the light subtly brightened outside. Just as her dream had suggested, she had a goal. She had to find Rule. She didn’t know how—where to look, how to find out, who might have the pieces she needed to make sense of his vanishing. But she’d take her dream’s advice there, too. She’d take one step at a time. Her first step, she realized, would be literal. She had to get out of bed. The skin’s two main jobs were keeping contaminants out and fluids in. Large burns compromised its ability to do both tasks, so they’d given her antibiotics and kept her overnight to get her fluids replenished. The IV had done a damned fine job. She was awash.

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Sitting up wasn’t too bad in a bed that answered her commands, but twisting around to slide off the bed hurt. So did standing, breathing… she’d just have to put up with it. She began inching toward the bathroom, trailing her IV stand. Maybe the nasty sense of unreality she’d woken up with had been an aftereffect of the painkiller they’d given her last night. She’d needed it. By the time they moved her to this room her mind had been so fuzzed by pain and emotion that she couldn’t have reasoned her way through tic-tac-toe. No more drugs, though. She had a lot of thinking to do. They probably wouldn’t offer her anything stronger than ibuprofen, anyway. She’d be leaving soon. There was no reason to keep her any longer. Lily did what she could to make herself ready to face the day. She used the facilities, the hospital’s toothbrush, and the hairbrush from her purse. She washed her face and hands and gave the shower a longing glance. Even if she hadn’t been warned against it, though, she wouldn’t have taken a shower yet. She didn’t have anything clean to put on. She’d have to call someone… someone other than her mother. Lily stared at the shiny white sink, the forgotten hairbrush clutched light in her hand. Words ran through her head, broken bits of actual dialogue tumbling around with all the things she might have said. No doubt last night had been a take on every parent’s nightmare—two children in the ER at the same time, both victims of violence. And her mother always handled anxiety by assigning blame, as if by fixing guilt she could fix the problem. So Lily supposed she was a fool for needing what Julia Yu was unable or unwilling to give… but understanding didn’t stop the ache. Or the anger. At first Lily had been too raw to comprehend her mother’s tirade. So much of it was reruns, the same tired complaints about Lily’s profession. Only so shrill. So full of blame.Your fault , her mother had said. It’s your fault your little sister is hurt, was nearly raped, nearly killed. What about me? Lily had said, or maybe she’d just thought that.I’m so sorry Beth got hurt, but I’m hurt, too. I did my best … When had her best ever been good enough? But her mother hadn’t left it at that.She’s gone too far , Lily thought. This time her mother had gone too far. So had she. When Julia Yu had yoked Rule in with her daughter, needing more than one person to haul around the shitload of blame she was dumping—when she’d said it was just as well he was dead—Lily had slapped her. Lily shook her head, throwing off thoughts that had nowhere to go but round and round. She put down the brush, shoved open the bathroom door—and her heartbeat went crazy. The outer door had swung open at the same instant, leaving her and a dark-skinned man in baggy scrubs

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staring at each other in mutual surprise. The doctor, she thought, feeling foolish as she took in the stethoscope and harried expression. She had to get over this business of jumping at every unexpected sound or sight. Twenty minutes later she was back in bed scowling at the blank screen of the television. She’d pulled the tray-table in front of her. It held a steaming cup of coffee and the pen and pad from her purse. They were keeping her another night “for observation.” There was no reason for it. The doctor had hemmed and hawed his way around an explanation, citing trauma and the danger of shock. Lily wasn’t buying. There’d been some danger of shock last night, but that was over. The IV was gone. The bastard with the stethoscope had actually patted her hand and told her she was lucky. HMOs and insurance companies were forever kicking people out too soon, and here she was being invited to stay an extra day. She should take advantage of it and rest. Ruben had told her to rest, too. Damn him. A paranoid type might think someone wanted to keep her where he could find her. Someone official, with plenty of pull. Someone who just might prefer that she be declared insane. Of course, a paranoid type might be kept for observation in case she started seeing little green men conspiring against her. Lily had reported to Ruben twice last night. First she’d called him from the scene, giving him a rough sketch of events. She’d followed up with a more detailed account while waiting to be moved from the ER to this room. Something had changed between the first time she spoke with him and the second. Something or someone had convinced him Rule was dead, not missing. He’d made noises about the lupi removing the body, just as they’d spirited away their wounded. She’d insisted they wouldn’t do that without telling her. That’s when he’d told her to rest. Cullen hadn’t believed her, either. No one did. And they should have. There was no body. Last night she hadn’t liked where her thoughts were taking her. She’d hoped that sleep would clear her mind enough to come up with an explanation that didn’t involve conspiracies. But today she found herself heading in the same direction. Lily sipped at the coffee and started organizing her thoughts on paper. Sequence, she wrote. Under that she began listing last night’s events. She put asterisks next to the parts she’d heard secondhand. According to Cullen, Benedict had scented the other lupi. Knowing help was almost there, he’d timed his play to have the gang in a state of maximum confusion when the wolves showed up, howling. He’d

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gotten Lily out of the line of fire even as he’d taken care of the one holding Beth. His knife had flown true. The gangbanger had died fast with several inches of steel in his throat—too fast to harm Beth. Then Benedict had opened fire on the rest of the gang. There’d been twenty of them, it turned out. Twenty young men with weapons trained on him, ready to shoot. He’d killed seven and wounded five before their return fire took him down just as the pack arrived. That had sent most of the remaining gang members running. Most of those who hadn’t run were dead—but only one of them had been killed by the wolves. Harlowe had been foaming-at-the-mouth crazy by then, fixated on reaching Lily. He’d used the staff so erratically that he’d done as much damage to his own people as to the lupi. The staff, Lily wrote. One. Harlowe had been holding it when Cullen hit him with mage fire. He’d been toasted… but his body hadn’t gone missing. Two. It had been touching Lily. She’d been burned, but she hadn’t vanished. Three. It hadn’t even been touching Rule, yet he was gone. Why? And why was she the only one who saw that his death didn’t explain anything? ‘She frowned at her list of events.Make it complete , she told herself, and added:Took patrol cop to Rule’s location. He wasn’t there . Lily couldn’t blame the local cops for thinking she was nuts. She’d known where Rule was, been able to feel his location precisely—on the west side of the dilapidated house that had been the gang’s headquarters. She’d talked one of them into helping her get there… and found nothing, no one, no sign of Rule. Alternatives, she wrote. Under that went:(I) The mate bond isn’t working right and(2) The mate bond’s working, but reality is screwed up . She grimaced. Hard to see how she could prove or disprove either of those. Then she made herself write the last alternative:(3) Rule’s dead, and I’m delusional . But dammit, she felt him. Not nearby, no. He was at least ten miles away now, maybe more. But the sense of direction was as clear as it had ever been. If she was imagining this, then the mate bond had been a delusion all along. She crossed out the last alternative. Where did that leave her? No one had seen him die. No one had seen his body carried away. Yet two groups, the lupi and the FBI, insisted that he was dead, not missing. One or both groups must have some compelling reason to want Rule declared dead, even if they suspected he was still alive. That was where she hit a stumbling block. She couldn’t come up with any scenario that would put Cullen

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in cahoots with the FBI… which left her either with two groups with different motives, or back at the delusional alternative. In which case she couldn’t trust her perceptions or her logic and should meekly agree when they offered to tuck her away in a nice, safe place. Fuck that. Rule was alive. She was the only one who could find him, because no one else wanted to look. How did she start looking? With what she knew, of course. And sheknew where he was—the direction, at least. She shoved back the table, bent and grabbed her purse from the floor, and pulled her city map out of the side pocket. She’d track him her way. He’d moved, she realized, surprised. He was still moving… slowly, maybe at a walk. She made her best guess about the distance and noted her estimate of his location on the map. Every thirty minutes she’d check, she decided. And she wouldn’t let herself wonder how she could find him, then bring him back, on her own. Because it looked impossible, and if she let herself get bogged down in what was or wasn’t possible, she’d never take the next step. Whatever the hell that was.

THE sky in this place didn’t change. That was hard to get used to. She had no idea how long she’d been walking, but it felt like a long time. Her feet hurt. Otherwise, though, she was in good shape physically. That ymu was strong stuff. She felt as if she could keep walking for days if she had to… whatever “days” might mean in a place with no sun. They’d left the barren heights behind and were walking along a narrow valley. Oddly, it had grown cooler as they descended, cool enough that she was beginning to envy the wolf his fur. So far, though, walking kept her reasonably warm. Things grew here. Nothing green. No sun meant no chlorophyll, she supposed. The most common plant looked like a succulent grass—thick, fleshy stuff the color of lemons that grew in patches that didn’t reach the top of her foot. The other plants were mostly stem or stalk and didn’t grow much higher than the “grass.” There was one exception—a rusty red vine that grew in great, looping piles to form thickets that dotted the valley like nests of enormous, vegetative snakes. She hadn’t seen the vine up close. Gan wouldn’t go anywhere near those thickets. Occasionally the sky flared behind the mountains on her left. The volcano was out of sight, but signs of the battle continued. Ahead was the Zone. Not far now—maybe thirty minutes, and they’d be there.

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From a distance it had looked like a huge gray wall stretched from one side of the valley’s mouth to the other, blocking the narrow egress. As they drew closer, it had lost definition rather than gaining it, growing almost misty and somehow hard to see. Unless she forced herself to stare at it her gaze would slide away. That wasn’t a spell, she knew. She didn’t react to spells. Something about the nature of the barrier was simply hard to focus on. Whatever it was made of, though, it wasn’t solid. At the top it faded into the sky like a shadow cast upward. On the other side was their goal: Akhanetton. There they’d be out of reach of Gan’s prince and the goddess Gan wouldn’t name. The Rules behaved oddly in a zone, according to Gan. And that was about all the demon had told her about zones. All she knew about Akhanetton was that it was another region. When she asked questions, Gan hushed her and looked scared. She was pretty sure the demon was faking some of its fear to avoid answering questions. Gan was especially jumpy now that they were in the open, but she hadn’t seen any threats. Mostly bugs. Hell was big on bugs. Most of them were small and acted like regular insects, flying or scurrying about on their buggy business with the fearlessness only the lack of a brain could impart. The few larger ones had run away when the three of them came near. More than bugs, though, more than plants, the valley had dust. Very fine dust in a funny color, sort of a dusky purple. Like desiccated twilight. She remembered twilight. Also sunrise, the scent of the ocean, and the sound of a cat’s purr. She had no idea how any of those sights and sounds related to her, but she remembered them now. At first she hadn’t had anything, not a single memory. But as she walked, from time to time a word would float in and make itself at home. Like when the whir of an insect’s wings had made her think of a cat purring, and all of a sudden she had “cat” back—the size and shape of cats, their soft fur, and sharp claws. The way they moved, as if they owned whatever space they occupied. She still couldn’t relate to the name the demon said was hers, but maybe that, too, would return. Maybe at some point she’d know “Lily” again. The dust, while kind to her feet, was hard on her nose and throat. It rose in puffs with every step. Her throat tickled, and she coughed. “Shh,” Gan said without looking back. The demon led. She stayed a few paces behind, and the wolf roamed. She hadn’t seen him for a while, yet she knew where he was. That had come as a surprise. The first time he’d roved out of sight, casting around for dangers, she’d felt anxious until she realized she could sense him. Not his thoughts or feelings, nothing so specific, but she knew where he was. He was on his way back to them now. The valley didn’t offer much real cover, but between the few bushes and the dips and rises in the ground the wolf—Rule— managed to keep out of sight. He was

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silent, too, uncannily so. Even Gan couldn’t hear him approach. Rule could probably have survived here on his own, but he wouldn’t desert her. Even though he was angry with her decision—and that had been obvious since they left the ravine—he’d stay with her. She knew that in a way she couldn’t explain. The demon would have done fine on its own, too. Not her. She wasn’t a liability because of her wounds anymore. She was just useless. Of course, if not for her the other two might have killed each other by now. A great, dark shape melted up out of the ground in front of them. Gan yelped and jumped back and then shook its fist at the wolf. “Quit that!” “Shh,” Lily said. Gan turned to glare at her. The wolf—Rule—grinned. At least that’s what his expression looked like to Lily. He rumbled at the demon. “What did he say?” Gan cast Rule a disparaging look. “Oh, the big puppy dog is tired and thirsty.” Rule growled louder. “Come on, Gan. What did he really say?” “He found some water,” Gan said grudgingly. “He thinks we should take a break before crossing the Zone.” “Good.” Yet she wasn’t truly thirsty. She wanted to wash the dust from her throat, but she didn’t actually need a drink. She wasn’t hungry, either, and that was weird, now that she thought about it. A by-product of the ymu? What else had that stuff done to her that she hadn’t noticed? That maybe she wouldn’t notice because she lacked the reference of memory to tell her something had changed? Rule gave her a questioning look. She nodded, and he trotted off. She followed. Gan did, too, grumbling about the detour, but she suspected the demon was ready for a break as well and only objected because it was the wolf’s idea. The ground here was easier to her feet than the rocks had been. The valley itself was monotonous, but the mountains on her right were rather pretty in their way. Vegetation softened and striated them into bands of color—yellow ochre, rust, and brown in shades from sand to coffee to grape. Not much like the mountains on the other side of the valley. She paused and looked back, trying to spot the place where they’d come down out of the rocks into

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this valley. Somewhere in that confusion of stone lay the ravine that was, in a sense, her birthplace. It held her first memories. She couldn’t find it. “What?” Gan whispered. “Do you see something?” The demon had stopped. The wolf had, too, and was looking at her over his shoulder. She shook her head, unable to put words to the feelings knotted up in her gut. It was too late to wonder if they’d be able to find their way back. Forward was all she had. So she kept going. TWENTY-TWO THE waterhole was literally that—a hole in the rock where water bubbled up in what was more a large puddle than a pool. It was set in a depression like a small meteor crater.Meteor , she thought, surprised, as the word opened up an image of a starry sky. Space. The moon, and meteorite showers that looked like falling stars. She paused, savoring space and falling stars. Gan made it to the little pond first and knelt, tipping forward on its short arms to dunk its head underwater. It came up sputtering and then bent and slurped at the water like a… well, a dog. Or a wolf. She looked at Rule. He would have drunk his fill when he found the waterhole. Now he lay nearby, his eyes open but head drooping. He’s exhausted, she realized, and that troubled her. Had more time passed than she’d guessed? Or was something else affecting him? “How long have we been walking?” she asked abruptly. Gan sat back on its haunches, having quenched whatever thirst a demon feels. “According to whose clock? Time’s more erratic here than you’re used to.” “Time doesn’t change. That just… it doesn’t make sense.” “It does here. Though…” Its forehead wrinkled. “Around you it might operate more the way you’re used to. I’m not sure how things work around a sensitive.” A dozen questions tempted her with side roads, but she held to her course. “Take a guess about how long we’ve been walking based on, uh, your own clock.” “Oh, maybe one of your days. I told you the Zone wasn’t far.” Then Rule’s exhaustion made sense, she thought, relieved. He’d probably covered twice as much territory as she had, and it had been a long time since he slept. Maybe he’d been awake for a long time before they arrived here, too. That was a disconcerting thought, stretching as it did into a past she couldn’t claim. She felt jealous, she realized. Jealous of Rule, for possessing what she’d lost. Jealous even of herself… the self who didn’t exist anymore, except in the memories of others. Of course, if Rule had been awake a long time, so had she. “I’m not sleepy.”

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“You’re still charged up with ymu. It lasts a lot longer than the kind of meals you’re used to. Once it runs low, you might get sleepy. Or mean. Or hungry. Or you might just keel over.” Great. “You don’t know?” It shrugged. “The only humans I know about who’ve taken ymu were possessed. It’s probably different if you don’t have a demon in you.” But she was tied to one—the one currently blocking her way. She stepped around it so she could wash the dust from her throat. Gan shoved her back. “Hey!” “You’ve got tolook first. See that?” Now that it was pointed out, she did. A small vine thrust out of a fissure in the stone right where she’d been about to step. Pale and leafless, it looked more like an albino worm than a plant. “So?” Gan rolled its eyes. “So why do you think we’ve been avoiding those things?” This was one of the snaky vines? “I don’t know. I asked, but you just hushed me.” She tipped her head, studying it. “The mature ones are a different color.” “They’ve got a lot of blood in them.” Oh. She bent to take a good look, wanting to be sure she’d recognize one if she saw it. “I don’t see any kind of mouth, but it’s got fine hairs. Or maybe they’re cilia.” “Whatever you call them, they’re sticky. Real sticky. And they’re the eating part.” “How? And why is it dangerous to me? It’s too little to eat anything but bugs.” “You’d get away, yeah. But you’d have it stuck to you, and the sap would eat away your skin.” She was very careful about approaching the water-hole after that. When she knelt she saw a number of flying insects skimming the water—pretty things the size of her palm, almost colorless but with iridescent wings. They lit on the surface and took off again, making little ripples. She wasn’t crazy about drinking after them, so she just splashed her face. The water was cold, but her skin tingled with more than the chill. “It’s everywhere in this place, isn’t it?” “What?” Gan plopped down on the bare rock next to the water, sitting in the tilted sprawl its tail necessitated. “Magic. Not literally everywhere,” she corrected herself, looking for a spot with some of the dust for cushioning. Bare rock wasn’t as comfortable for her as it seemed to be for the demon. “But there are patches of it all over— the ground, the air, the water.” Sometimes as she walked she’d felt it drift by, like a breeze, only the air wasn’t moving. Just the magic.

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That was different, wasn’t it? She felt sure she wasn’t used to having so much free magic floating around. “You mean you can feel it? You’re not even trying and you feel it?” “Of course. There’s nothing between my skin and everything else, and I’m a sensitive, remember?” Gan snorted. “Better than you do, I bet. Unless you’ve found your missing marbles.” Her fists clenched. “Not exactly crammed with tact, are you?” Rule stood and came over to her, rubbing his head along her hip. She dropped a hand to his shoulder, and just like that she felt better. Easier, as if she’d been holding an immaterial fist clenched around some thought or fear for a long time and could finally relax. “I’ve gotten a little of it back,” she said, speaking to him now. not the demon. “Nothing about me, but I remember… a place that isn’t like this.” He made a low, rumbling sound. She looked to Gan for a translation. “He says he’ll remember for you. Could you try to be quiet now? Or do you just have to attract an erkint or two?” “1 think,” she said, still talking to the wolf, “that Gan gets especially cautious about noise when it doesn’t want to answer questions.” He nodded. “I have a lot of questions, and you probably do, too. But maybe we’ll save them until we’ve rested.” Not that she was physically tired, though it would feel good to get off her feet. She was weary of questions, of the void inside her that gave back only silence. “I’ll grill Gan later. I need to sit, and you need some sleep.” Rule hesitated but then agreed by moving to a spot slightly sheltered by the rise in the ground that made her think of the lip of a meteor crater. He lay down and looked at her. He had lovely eyes, warm and dark and capable of conveying quite a bit of meaning. Right now they seemed to offer an invitation. She took him up on it, sitting down beside him. His body felt warm and furry and good. She stroked his back. “Go on, get some sleep. I’ll keep watch.” Again he hesitated. “Not used to letting someone else do the watching, are you? It’s true, I won’t be as good a sentry as you. I don’t have your senses. But I don’t need sleep right now, and you do.” He sighed and laid his head on her thigh. Within moments, he was asleep. This, too, felt good. He’d been angry with her earlier, she knew. He hadn’t wanted her to take the ymu, or for them to leave the ravine. But either he’d gotten over his anger, or he’d set it aside. He trusted her to keep watch while he slept, and that mattered. It mattered a lot. If she hadn’t had him with her here… well, she did, so there was no point in chasing that particular

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question. But even thinking it brought such a surge of feeling… like one of those ocean waves she remembered, it rolled up inside her, getting bigger and bigger. Also like the waves she remembered, this one was salty. Her eyes filmed over with tears. He was the one good thing she had. “I’m so glad about you,” she whispered—soft, soft, so she didn’t wake him. “I’m so damned glad about you.” Gan giggled. She dashed a hand across her eyes and turned to it, angry—but the demon was paying no attention to her. It was preoccupied with the flying bugs with the shiny wings. Its hand shot out, closing around one of them. She ought to appreciate Gan’s presence, too. True, the demon acted from self-interest, but it had healed her wounds. Gan popped the bug in its mouth. Its habits weren’t exactly appealing, but she and the wolf would find it much harder to survive here without the demon’s guidance. It grabbed another bug. This one it fed to the snake vine. It giggled again as the bug’s wings thrashed. There was a reason she hadn’t bonded with Gan. She looked away. Sitting still was hard. She’d wanted to rest, but now that she was resting, she wanted to move. She’d thought that the restlessness would go away once they left that ravine behind, but she’d brought it along with her. She’d brought another feeling with her, too. One that fed the restlessness, though she sensed it wasn’t the cause. An achy, needy feeling. She wanted sex. Now that she was sitting still, the ache was obvious. But she’d felt it for some time without paying it much notice—ever since Gan gave her the ymu, she realized. She remembered the startling rush of strength and energy, as if her blood had gone from flat to fizzy in an instant. Maybe she always felt this way when her body was healthy and rested. But weren’t demons supposed to be oversexed? Maybe these feelings came from Gan—she was tied to it, after all. Or from the ymu. She glanced at Gan again. No way was she going to ask. Gan had said that she and Rule used to have sex “when he wasn’t a wolf.” She frowned. It bothered her to think of him being different. Had he been a wolf a long time? What was he like when he wasn’t a wolf? She wished she could remember. Funny… she knew about sex, knew what her body wanted. She could imagine the way a man’s hands would feel, but she couldn’t remember being touched. She tried to call up a single, specific image—a face, a name, a place. And failed. What did her bed look like? Who had been it with her? Had she had many lovers? Or… another word arrived, but this one slammed into her mind with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Marriage. What if she was married?

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She looked at the wolf whose head was heavy and warm on her thigh, her brow wrinkling at the thoughts pinging through her mind. She wasn’t wearing a ring… but she’d arrived here without clothes, so the lack of a ring didn’t mean much. She didn’t realize she’d reached for the little charm hung around her neck until her fingers closed around it. The faint, familiar buzz of its magic made her shoulders loosen. Her necklace had arrived with her. Surely a wedding ring would have, too. The demon sighed, stretched its short legs and leaned back on its tail. “This is boring.” Silence only mattered when the demon wasn’t bored? She scowled at it.“What?” it said. “Aren’t you bored just sitting there?” It was like a child, she realized. A nasty little child who pulled the wings off flies—and fed them to carnivorous plants. But maybe demons didn’t sleep, so Gan didn’t realize it had to be quiet or it would wake up Rule. She shushed it. Gan grimaced and pulled up a handful of the fleshy yellow grass. She bet that once she started asking questions it would be hushing her and looking scared again. But they weren’t budging until she knew more. She’d rushed her decision, she admitted. Or allowed herself to be pushed into it, with pain arguing loudly on the side of the demon. She still thought she’d made the right choice, but she’d made it with very few facts. Before they crossed the Zone into the other region, she intended to get some answers. She looked to her left at the murky barrier stretched across the mouth of the valley like a T-shirt that was fifty percent spandex, fifty percent mist. Spandex. T-shirt. She smiled with pleasure as the words shifted all sorts of images and concepts into her mind. Gyms and working out. Department stores and malls. Socks and athletic shoes… and oh, but didn’t she wish she had some of those right now! Of course, she might as well wish for the whole mall so she could get a few other things, too. Panties, jeans, a shirt, a hairbrush… her hair must be a mess. Her hair. She didn’t know what it looked like. Or her face. The surface of the water had been too ripply from the insects to give her back a reflection. She hadn’t thought about it then. Now she needed to know. The hand she raised trembled a little. She checked out her hair first. Not long, not short. Straight. Black, she saw when she pulled a strand in front of her face. And her face… she touched her cheeks, her chin, but didn’t know how to assemble the messages from her fingertips into a picture. Were ears always this big? What about noses? Hers felt straight, but was it long or short? She didn’t know how long a nose ought to feel. Or lips. Hers— What was that? She turned her head sharply and shook the wolf’s shoulder. “Wake up. Quick. Gan, what are those?”

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“What are… shit!” the demon cried even as the wolf lifted his head, shook it, and turned to see where she was pointing. Four great, winged shapes were heading toward them, coming from the direction of the Zone. “Shit, shit, shit!” Gan hopped from foot to foot, clutching its head as it looked around frantically. “I knew stopping here was a bad idea! I just knew it!” The wolf was on his feet now, but he no more knew what to do than she did. There was no cover, nothing to shield them from overhead, and she lacked even the most rudimentary weapon… and those things were huge. And coming fast. She could see them clearly now. For a moment, awe outweighed everything else. Watching those four sinuous shapes the color of old copper winging straight at them, gliding across air with the sideways sway of a snake crossing sand, carried by wings whose tips would span a small house, all she could think was:They exist. They really do exist . Dragons. A cold nose poked her. “What—? Oh. Yes,‘” she said as the wolf flattened himself as much as possible against the rim of the small depression. “Yes, I see.” There was nowhere to run, no way to defend themselves. Their only chance was to be hard to spot. She curled up against the rock. She couldn’t see the dragons anymore. The fear she hadn’t felt a second ago struck. Her mouth went dry. Her heartbeat slammed into overdrive. She craned her head around, trying to spot them without moving.This is how a rabbit feels, quivering in the grass while the eagle stoops, unable to see its death coming, but knowing. Knowing . She clenched her fingers in Rule’s ruff. Maybe it was just coincidence that the dragons were flying this way. Maybe their vision was poor. Maybe… The demon was still hopping in one place, halfway to hysterical. “They’ll eat me! They’re going to eat me, 1 know it!” “Gan!” she called. “You’re making yourself a target! Shut up and get down!” It looked straight at her, its oddly lovely eyes wide with terror. “They’ll eat me!” it shrilled. “I won’tbe anymore! You have a soul—you’ll still be, but 1 won’t! All of me will be gone!” She stared at it, helpless. Should she tackle it, wrestle it to the ground? Could she? It was small, but so much heavier than it looked— “No!” she screamed, grabbing at the wolf—too late. He’d hurled himself up out of the depression. Had he lost his mind? Did he think he could fight them, or outrun them, or—no. Oh, no.

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“He’s nuts!” The demon stared after the wolf, too, as he raced away—not dodging, but running flat out—fast, so fast. Not running directly away from the dragons, either, but at an angle. “He can’t outrun them!” No, he couldn’t. He was trying to draw them away. Offering himself as easy prey. She was on her feet. She didn’t remember standing up. She watched as one of the greatest creatures of legend peeled away from the others, folded its wings, and dove, plummeting straight at Rule like an arrow loosed from a giant’s bow. She was still watching that terrible dive when two of the remaining three folded their wings and dove. The one stooping on Rule struck, skimmed the ground, lifted. Four long seconds later, a shadow dimmed the glow from the sky. Then the talons closed around her. TWENTY-THREE CYNNA hated hospitals. So did everyone who didn’t work in one, she supposed, and maybe some who did. Just the smell of this one made her want to turn around and head the other way. But there were things she hated worse, so she stepped out of the elevator and scowled at the wall with arrows pointing this way and that, depending on which room number you wanted. Okay, three-fourteen was to the left. She headed that way at a good clip, her tote tucked under one arm, the flowers she’d picked up at the grocery store gripped firmly in her other hand. She hadn’t been raised within whiffing distance of any social graces, but she’d picked up a few along the way. When you visited someone in the hospital, you took flowers. Cynna had never been one to dawdle, and with a good head of anger steaming her brain, she chugged past the nurse’s station pretty quickly. A nurse with a bouncy pony-tail called out something about stopping. She ignored that. Damned bureaucrats. She’d thought Ruben was different, but he’d caved, turned belly-up under the pressure. Well, she wasn’t about to go along with it. She was reaching for the door of three-fourteen when the nurse—persistent little shit—put a hand on her arm. “Miss! I’ve been trying to stop you. You can’t go in there.” Cynna turned around slowly. “Don’t touch.” It was the first good look the woman had gotten at Cynna’s face. Her baby-blues opened wide. There had been a time when Cynna enjoyed the stares—at least she wasn’t invisible. There’d been a time when they annoyed her. These days she mostly didn’t notice, but she was a little testy at the moment. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “Have I got dirt on my cheek? Is my lipstick smeared?” “Uh…” The woman blinked. “You aren’t wearing lipstick.”

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“No shit.” Cynna grinned in a way she knew made people nervous. “So what’re you staring at?” Nurse Ponytail was made of stronger stuff than she looked. “Your tattoos. I shouldn’t have. Excuse me for that, but you didn’t stop. You can’t go in there, miss. Visiting hours aren’t for another two hours.” “You’re full of assumptions, aren’t you, Miss Nurse? How do you know I don’t have three or four husbands scattered around? Here. Hold this.” She thrust the flowers at the nurse so she could dig out her badge. “Happy?” Damned if the woman didn’t take the badge and examine it before handing it back. “It looks legitimate. Did you clear this visit with the head nurse?” “No.” Cynna stuffed her badge in her jacket pocket and took back the flowers. “Why don’t you run along and tattle on me?” She turned away and shoved open the door. And stopped, letting her tote fall to the floor as she held her hands away from her sides. The .38 aimed her way had an effect on her heart rate, too. It was held by an aging Santa Claus in gold-rimmed glasses, a cheap sports jacket, and ugly black shoes. Cop shoes. Cop eyes, too, behind those glasses. She relaxed a bit. “Guess I should have knocked first.” “It’s okay, T.J.,” Lily said from the bed. “She’s MCD.” “Knocking would be a good idea,” he said, sliding his weapon back into a shoulder holster that was in a lot better shape than his shoes. “People keep trying to kill Yu. Makes me edgy.” “Understandable.” “They might miss and hit me,” he explained. She grinned and came farther into the room. It was typical hospital fare—semi-private, no window, two stiff, vinyl-covered chairs for visitors. No one was in the other bed. No flowers, Cynna noticed. Well, Lily hadn’t been here long and would probably be turned loose soon. If they didn’t decide to lock her away somewhere else, that is. Someplace where she could be medicated and watched. Lily didn’t look bad. Pale, tired, and all-over tense, but otherwise okay. Not noticeably nutty… not grieving, either, from what Cynna could tell. But she had her face closed up tight, so Cynna might have been wrong about that. Lily lifted a hand. “T.J., this is Agent Cynna Weaver. Cynna, this quivering mass of Jell-O is Detective Thomas James. I worked homicide with him.” “Make it T.J.” He grinned, revealing a gold tooth and more charm than she’d expected from an old, fat white dude. “Only civilians call me Detective James.” “Sure, if you call me Cynna. When I hear ‘Agent Weaver’ I start looking for some suit with a briefcase.”

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“I hear you. Good to meet you, Cynna.” He glanced at Lily. “Guess I’ll be heading out.” “Uh… don’t rush off on my account.” Cynna knew she sounded insincere, probably because she was. Some things couldn’t be said with an outsider around, even if he was a cop. “I was ready to leave. Yu here has already heard all my stories, and the strain of trying to look interested is wearing her out.” “T.J.” Lily gave him a long, level look. “Thanks.” He gave her a nod. “Still think you ought to come back, but I’ll admit we can’t offer you all the thrills you’re getting with the feds. Shot, burned… think you could arrange to be stabbed next time, just for a little variety?” “I’ll see what I can do,” she said dryly. Cynna moved aside to let him by. On impulse she asked, “Did the ponytail nurse give you a hard time about showing up before visiting hours?” “You mean Sally?” There was a knowing look in his eyes. “Nah, Sally likes me. Cute little thing, isn’t she?” She sighed. “Not my type.” “Never know, these days,” he said vaguely. “Later.” Cynna wasn’t sure what it was about her that gave people the idea she played on her own side of the fence, but this wasn’t the first time she’d run up against that notion. Not just from men, either. She’d been hit on plenty by the DC-types of her own sex. After the door closed behind T.J., Cynna sighed. “Maybe I need to wear a button. Something discreet like, ‘No, I’m not lesbian.’” The door opened again. “And I, for one, am pleased to hear it. Do you fool around?” Cynna turned around. And fell in love. “You must be Lily’s Finder,” said the most beautiful man in the world. “I’ve been wanting to meet you.” “I am so shallow,” she muttered. Then, louder, “Listen, about fooling around… I’ve got some things to do first, but if you’d like to wait until after I’ve talked to Yu—to Lily, I mean—I’m up for a discussion of the subject.” “Should I tell you who he is before you jump him?‘ Lily asked from the bed. ”Or would that detract from the mystery?“ “I’ve got this theory that it’s classier to know a man’s name before you get naked together, so shoot.” “Cullen Seabourne.” Shit. She should have known he was too good to be true. “The sorcerer.” Her right hand was still full of

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flowers, so she used the left one to run a quick diagnostic, barely moving her fingers. He noticed. It amused him. “Thank you. I’m afraid I haven’t rediscovered the trick to creating a full, mobile illusion, however. Nor am I running any charm spells.” “He really does look like that.” Lily didn’t sound amused. More like weary. “As for charm, I haven’t noticed any.” “Ouch.” He came farther into the room, and oh, man, but he did know how to move. He had one of those lean bodies, all muscle and grace, like a Siamese cat. And knew how to display it—tight black jeans, a snug T-shirt the same startling blue as his eyes. His hair was a spicy brown. She was pretty sure there were horses that color—rich and reddish, not quite auburn. He wore it too long, but Cynna wasn’t complaining. And his face… God, what a face. She could have hung him on the wall and just looked at him all day. After they had sex, that is. Hot, sweaty sex for maybe five, six hours. “Wait a minute,” she said, scowling at a sudden thought. “You aren’t gay, are you?” His eyebrows lifted. “Didn’t Lily tell you? I’m lupus.” And that, of course, was that. Lupi simply didn’t produce homosexuals. The so-called experts coughed up all sorts of reasons, but Cynna considered it an argument in favor of a genetic link for sexual orientation. “And I’m very glad to meet you. Cynna Weaver.” She held out her hand… and saw the flowers she was still clutching. She turned to Lily. “Uh, these are for you.” “Thank you. I’m afraid I don’t have a vase, but there should be a water pitcher around here somewhere.” “That’ll do.” God, how lame. Why hadn’t she gotten a vase with the flowers? She looked around. “Here.” The love of her life handed her an ugly plastic pitcher. “Great. I’ll just fill this up with water.” The bathroom was tiny. Cynna turned on the water, but not too high. She didn’t want to miss anything. Lily said one word to Cullen—a name. “Benedict?” “He’s hanging in there. Beth was treated and released, I understand. She’s okay?” “As far as I know. Mother said…” Lily hesitated, as if she didn’t want to repeat whatever her mother had said. “Beth will be staying with her and my father for a few days.” “What about you? Any change?” Cynna returned, ugly plastic pitcher in hand, in time to see Lily shake her head. The gorgeous Cullen didn’t even notice her, intent on Lily and his questions. “Did they find thetoltoi ?”

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“No.” “What’s atoltoi ?” Cynna asked, setting the improvised vase on the hospital table by the bed. Cullen answered absently. “A charm. Her necklace got broken during the fight.” “Easy to see how that could happen.” Harder to see why Cullen was so tense about a missing bauble. He was a sorcerer, though. Maybe he meant “charm” literally. “Change in what?” “What do you mean?” “You asked her if there was any change.” He was surprised. “I wanted to know if she felt better.” “Uh-uh.” She shook her head. “You’re good, but I’m not buying. I’m here because Lily is about to get dumped on, and I don’t like that. But 1 don’t like being kepi in the dark, either. And that’s happened right from the start.” The other two didn’t exchange telling glances, but their silence said plenty. Cullen broke it to ask, “Who’s about to dump on Lily?” “Have you seen the headlines?” “Some of them.” “They aren’t exactly good PR for any of us.” The ones in the more respectable media ranged from “Gang Slaughtered in FBI Bust” to “Wolves on the Rampage?” Cynna’s favorite tabloid had the FBI signing a demonic pact to wipe out all gangs, with the lupi acting as the demons’ hit men. Talk radio was going with pretty much the same slant, only without the demonic middlemen. “They were bound to be all over this one,” Lily said. “Fourteen people killed, the lupi implicated, the FBI definitely involved… have they picked up on the death magic angle?” “TheTimes mentions it. References an anonymous source on the San Diego PD.” Lily grimaced. “It’s a reporter’s wet dream, even if they don’t yet know just what went down.” “They will soon,” Cynna said grimly. “The Big Dick has scheduled a press conference for six p.m. Eastern. Just in time for the evening news.” Dick Hayes was the FBI’s acting director while the real boss recuperated from open heart surgery. The nickname given him by the rank-and-file was not a token of fondness. “He’s going to throw you to the wolves.” Lily’s sharp laugh surprised her. “No throwing required. I’m pretty much with the wolves already. Thanks for the warning, though.” “I don’t think you get it. He’s going to give them your name and tell them you’re scheduled for psychiatric evaluation. They’ll be all over you. Plus, he’s got this idea youfaked your Gift to get in the Unit. As if that…” She paused, frowning. “You aren’t upset.” Lily shrugged one shoulder. “I’m not happy, but it was only a matter of time before the media got my

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name. It was my investigation. Besides, I’m an easy sacrifice, considering how short a time I’ve been with the Bureau. The psych evaluation is news,” she admitted. “But not a big surprise.” “He ordered Ruben not to tell you.” Cynna simmered over that a moment. “I can’t believe Ruben agreed, but he did.” “I don’t imagine he had much choice. He made sure I learned about it.” Cynna felt suddenly foolish. “I guess he figured I’d tell you.” “I guess he did.” Cynna decided to sit down. The chair was as uncomfortable as it looked. “Hayes wants you to be surprised so you’ll look bad on camera.” “I’ll have to talk to the press at some point, but maybe not yet. Maybe I should check out of here.” She looked at Cullen. “Isen called a couple of hours ago.” “Oh?” “He wants me to see the Rhej. Though it sounded more like he was passing on a summons from her.” Cullen’s eyebrows lifted. “Who or what is the Rhej?” Cynna asked. “A holy woman. I wonder…” He shook his head, apparently unwilling to say more. “He also wants me to come stay with him for a while. He was very gentle, very careful with me. Didn’t believe me for a minute about Rule.” “You wouldn’t be bothered by reporters at Clanhome.” “No.” She chewed on her lip. “I’m going to tell Cynna.” “Lily—” “About my Gift,” she said, turning to Cynna. “It’s gone.” Cynna blinked. “Can’t be.” “That’s conventional wisdom. It’s impossible to lose a Gift, right? But I can’t touch magic now.” Cynna couldn’t think of anything to say. Losing her own Gift… she couldn’t get her mind around that. She was a Finder. She couldn’t imagine who she’d be if that were suddenly not true. “The staff?” she said hesitantly. “You think it somehow zapped your Gift?” “It felt… when Harlowe used it on me…” Her face wasn’t closed anymore. More like haunted. “It felt as if something was clawing my skin off. I think it pried my Gift loose.” “Shit.”

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“Pretty much, yeah.” She didn’t say anything for a moment, looking down at the sheet drawn neatly over her legs. The head of the bed was raised, pillows propped behind her. She looked so small in that bed. That shouldn’t come as a surprise—she was a little bitty thing, after all. But something about the woman had made Cynna forget there just wasn’t much of her, physically. Lily looked up then and met her eyes. “Losing my Gift… that’s one reason they think I’m nuts.” “Uh…” “The way everyone sees it, either I really did lose my Gift and it sent me round the bend, or I’m blocking it as part of my denial.” She glanced at Cullen. “That’s what you think, isn’t it?” “I’m keeping an open mind,” he said lightly. Lily shook her head. “If you really thought there was a chance Rule was alive, you’d be looking for him.” His expression flattened. “Where? Your former compatriots searched the area, didn’t they?” “You’ve got ways of looking they lack.” “I’m no Finder.” “No,” she said. And looked at Cynna. “I wondered when you’d think of that. Rule…” Saying his name made her throat unhappy. She swallowed. “Ruben told me you’re insisting that he’s alive. I want to know why.” “If I tell you—” “Lily,” Cullen’s voice was sharp. She ignored him. “If I tell you what you want to know, will you try to Find him?” “I already have.” TWENTY-FOUR LILY’S head went light and dizzy. Big Dick’s planned press conference hadn’t come as a shock, but the whiff of hope hit her system like a double scotch on an empty stomach. “Hey.” That was Cullen, standing by her bed with a hand on her shoulder. “It helps if you keep breathing.” “Okay. I’m okay.” She waved him away and got herself back under control. “Where? Where is he?” Cynna held up both hands. “I did that wrong. Sorry. What I mean is that Itried , not that I Found him. What I did Find doesn’t make sense. That’s why I need to know why you’re so sure he’s alive.” Lily realized her nails were about to draw blood. She unclenched her fists. “All right. Then you’ll tell me what you Found.”

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Cullen sighed. “As a clan member in good standing, this is where I’m supposed to threaten you with all manner of dire consequences.” “What can they do—kick me out?” She shook her head. “Sorry. I know that’s a big deal for you, but it doesn’t mean as much to me.” “Let me help.” As if she’d been still as long as she could, Cynna popped to her feet and began to pace. “I’ve got some of it figured out. I came up with three possible reasons for you to hold out on me. One, there’s some kind of national security deal involved that I’m not cleared for. Except you’d tell me if that were the case, right? Or Ruben would have told me before I got here.” “That’s not it.” “I didn’t think so. Reason two. The stuff you’ve kept to yourself is personally embarrassing. People do that all the time, and cops aren’t immune to the cover-up urge. But a good cop wouldn’t do it, and Ruben has pretty high standards for the Unit. Rule’s standards weren’t so shabby, either. So that leaves me with reason number three.” She glanced at Cullen. “Which you pretty much confirmed just now with that ‘clan member in good standing’ bit.” He raised his eyebrows politely. “Did I?” “I’m wondering if that was on purpose.” Lily didn’t wonder. She wasn’t sure of his motives, but Cullen gave away very little by accident. “Go on.” “It’s lupus secrets you’re keeping, isn’t it? And it has something to do with your relationship with Rule. Something that makes you think you’ve got the inside track on whether he’s dead or alive. Something that makes him, well,yours .” Lily nodded slowly. She’d underestimated Cynna Weaver. “You’ve got most of it. Rule and I are mate bound.” Cullen sighed and plopped down in one of the chairs, stretching out his legs and tilting his head back. “I wonder,” he asked the ceiling, “if I’ll be considered an accomplice for not stopping you?” “You couldn’t have.” “So what does mate bound mean, exactly?” Cynna asked. “It’s rare, I understand.” And harder than she’d expected to put into words, especially with this woman she didn’t know well… whom Rule had once known very well. “Lupi see the bond in religious terms. They say their goddess—they call her the Lady—occasionally chooses a life mate for one of them. And, uh, it’s very physical. Sexual, but more than that. When it first hit, Rule and I couldn’t be separated by more than a couple hundred yards. It’s more relaxed now, thank God.” “What do you mean, you couldn’t be separated?” “If we put too much distance between us, we get dizzy. I’m told that if we get too far away we’d pass out, but we’ve never gone past the dizzy stage.”

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Cynna’s lips pursed. She glanced at Cullen. “Don’t look at me,” he said to the ceiling. “I’m an innocent bystander.” Lily continued doggedly. “Rule says the separation thing never goes away completely, but I don’t know what our limit is now. I haven’t tested it lately, but…” She paused, tensing. The mate bond was like background music, she thought. If the radio was always playing, she didn’t notice unless she stopped and paid attention. But let someone change the station or the volume… “What is it?” Cynna asked. “He’s moving again. Moving fast.” “What do you mean, again?” Cullen asked sharply. “He’s been moving for some time, but slowly. Now…” She tried to estimate. “He might be in a car or something, because he’s going a lot faster.” Cynna frowned. “Can you guess at the distance? Are you likely to pass out or something?” “I don’t know. He’s farther away now than he has been since the bond happened, and the farther away he is, the fuzzier my estimate of distance. Direction, though—I get that right every time.” Cynna nodded. “It sounds a lot like Finding.” “What do you mean?” “The farther away my target is, the less I can say about the distance. There’s a limit, too. For me it’s between a hundred and a hundred fifty miles. Within that limit I get direction. Beyond it…” She shrugged. “You don’t just Find physical objects, though. You said you turned up ghosts sometimes.” “Yeah.” Her eyebrows twitched together. “That’s sort of what it was like when I tried Finding Rule.” “He is not a ghost. The mate bond ties me to his body, which is very much alive.” Somewhere. “What, exactly, did you Find?” “I went to the scene this morning after I talked to Ruben, and I did a Find. I, uh, already had Rule’s pattern, from when I used to know him. It’s better to have the current pattern, but I thought I had enough that I’d be able to tell if he was still around.” “And?” Lily thought she might jump up and shake the woman. “What I got was fuzzy. Real fuzzy. I didn’t think it was a ghost, but it’s hard to be sure when I had such a poor fix. But there was a direction, so I followed it. Right where my Gift told me he was, though…” She spread both hands. “A gas station. Lots of cars. No sign of Rule.” Her heart was pounding. Cynna had gotten the same results she had—a clear fix on a specific spot, yet no sign of Rule. That proved she wasn’t crazy and that the mate bond was working right, didn’t it? “Has

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that ever happened before?” Cynna shook her head but then added, “Except with ghosts.” “Ghosts don’t move around. Where was this gas station, and what time did you do the Find?” “The corner of Middlebrook and Hessing. I got there about nine-thirty.” Lily leaned over and pulled her table closer, took the city map off it, and passed it to Cullen. He raised his eyebrows as he took it. “Check my notes,” she said tersely. “I’ve been trying to track Rule. I had to guess at the distance, but the direction is right.” He unfolded it, studied it a moment, and then passed it to Cynna without a word. “Where… oh, yeah, I see it.” She looked at Lily. “Maybe you’re better at guessing distance than you thought. The line connecting your estimates runs pretty close to my gas station. The times fit, too.” “Yes.” She looked at Cullen—who was back to studying the ceiling. “Rule’s people might expect me to be weird right now. I gather that the sudden breaking of the mate bond can have repercussions. But only if you start with the assumption that he’s dead. And I can’t see why you’ve done that.” That was one hell of a fascinating ceiling. She kept going. “There’s no body. The staff wasn’t even touching Rule when you crisped Harlowe, so why assume he’s dead? And now Cynna has confirmed that the mate bond is working. She and I both know where he is— only he isn’t there. I only see one possibility. He’s someplace that’s tied to Earth geographically, but isn’t Earth.” “I’ve tried,” Cullen told the ceiling. “Haven’t I tried? But she’s determined, and maybe Isen is wrong. No, strike that—Isen is definitely wrong.” Abruptly he pushed to his feet. “Being Rho isn’t like being the pope, is it? No one granted him infallibility.” “What are you talking about?” He began pacing. There wasn’t much room for it. “Cast your mind back. I didn’t say Rule was dead. At the time you weren’t in any shape to consider nuances of speech, but what I said was that he was gone.” “So youdon’t think he’s dead.” “He might be.” Cullen shook his head. “I don’t know. Isen wants me to lie to you about that, and I could. I’m an excellent liar, but my heart isn’t in it. And I’m not good at blind obedience. Lost the knack, I suppose, in all those years I was clanless…” Cullen stopped, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. “God, I’m tired.” “Tough. Keep talking.” He sighed. “You’re right. Right about all of it, I’m afraid.”

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She closed her eyes.Breathe , she reminded herself. She did, and her muscles turned slippery, loosening up so suddenly it was a good thing she was propped up. “So why would this Isen dude want you to lie about it?” Cynna demanded. Cullen glanced at her. “Isen Turner. He’s Rule’s father and theRho , the head of Nokolai… my clan. He wants to protect Lily.” “Toprotect me?” That sent a charge through her that brought her upright again, all but vibrating with anger. “By trying to convince me Rule’s dead?” “Think about it.” Cullen’s face could never be other than beautiful. Even when it had been butchered, the eyes gauged out, it had possessed a certain ravaged glory. But she’d never seen it look so naked—naked like an old, twisty tree. All bones, no softness. He almost looked his age. “I spent a long time working out the possibilities last night. I’ll give them to you the way I gave them to theRho . One, Rule is dead. Wait.” He held up his hand. “Hear me out.” He resumed his pacing, a two-legged panther caged in a modern hospital room. “Mage fire burns in places—call them dimensions—you can’t see, and it burns very, very hot there. When my mage fire hit the staff, the hole in space that was its underlying reality imploded. It could have sucked Rule along somehow.” “Sucked him… where?” “That’s the question, isn’t it?” He reached the wall and turned. “Two. The staff was Hers. If She called it to Her the second the mage fire hit, she might have been able to recover part of it. I don’t know why Rule would have been dragged with the staff. As you said, it was touching you, not him, so I didn’t give this a very high probability. But it was just possible that the effect traveled along you without, ah, grabbing hold, because of your Gift. And Rule got taken instead.” ToHer . The Old One or goddess or whatever. Lily’s mouth was dry. “One problem with that. My Gift is gone.” He nodded without pausing in his restless motion. “Exactly. So I thought Rule probably was dead, only you were so damned sure he wasn’t. I couldn’t overlook the chance that you were right. I tried scrying for him.” “You didn’t tell me.” Anger burned still, but lower, retreating to a tight, sullen heat in her belly. “I take it you didn’t find anything.” He grimaced. “I had to light the candle with a match. Didn’t have enough juice left to raise a fever, much less start a fire. It’s hard to get a salamander to notice a non-magical fire. I struck out.” “I didn’t,” Cynna said. He gave her an unfriendly look. “No. So I’ve had to rethink some of my assumptions.” Lily‘ drummed her fingers. “I don’t see what any of this has to do with lying to me toprotect me.” Cullen held out both hands, turning them palms up. “The way Isen saw it, either Rule was dead and you

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were delusional, and feeding that delusion wouldn’t be healthy. Or else he was alive and we’d have to find a way of going after him. Of course, I don’t know how to do that, but assuming we made it past that little road block, it was apt to be a suicide mission, so—” “Wait a minute. You sound as if you know where he is.” His eyebrows lifted. “I thought you’d figured that out. You said you knew he was in the realm most analogous to ours, physically.“ She wanted smack him. “I don’t know what that means!” His mouth flattened. “Hell, luv. He’s in hell.”

A thousand feet up Lily discovered that ymu might keep her from sleeping, but she still needed oxygen. Or maybe it was fear, pure and simple, that made her pass out. She came to as they descended. This would have struck her as lousy timing if she hadn’t been so surprised to still be alive—and so busy trying not to throw up. From the ground, the dragons’ flight had been grace itself. Experienced up close and personal, the ride was jerky as the great wings sculled through the air, tilting first one way, then the other. Mountains again. These were green and gold, dust and rock—and hurtling toward her with stomach-wrenching speed. It was hard to breathe. The dragon’s talons felt like hot steel bands clamped around her middle, leaving her head, arms, and legs dangling. Her hands and feet were numb. Cold air rushed passed, filling her ears with its ocean noise, making her eyes water and her nose run. Rule was close. The heart-song of his nearness hummed inside her as they spiraled down and down, giving her one clear note to hold onto amid the cacophony of fear and pain. He hadn’t died. The dragon hadn’t eaten him. It looked like they’d die together in about thirty seconds though, when they smashed into the side of the mountain. No, wait, there was a crevice—it looked too narrow for the dragons’ wings, but they tilted madly and sailed through, leveling off over the ocean. Oh, God, the ocean. It was the first familiar thing she’d seen, though the colors weren’t right. Blue. She remembered blue, a shifting symphony of blues. This ocean shimmered through lichen colors—yellow ochre with bands of rust and dusty olive, reflecting the odd sky. No beach. The water rolled right up to the rocky cliff face they flew along. Then the cliff fell back. They tilted, turning into a wide inlet. More cliffs—rocks meeting ocean, then a thin strip of beach that widened— They dove at it. As if the dragon had suddenly discovered gravity, they fell faster and faster. Her eyes watered madly from the rush of air. She couldn’t see. She wanted to touch Rule, just to touch him once more—

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The dragon put on the brakes. Those huge wings pulled sharply forward, cupping the air. Her body tried to keep going. The talons didn’t let it. Too airless to scream, she blacked out again. Only for a moment, though, this time. She was dizzily conscious when, with the beach two stories beneath her, the bands around her middle opened and she fell— About five feet, into soft, warm sand. She hit awkwardly, catching a glimpse of the long tail passing overhead before the creature powered itself up again with a windy flap of its wings. She made it to her hands and knees and retched. With nothing in her stomach, the process was both brief and unproductive, but she missed seeing the second dragon drop its burden, only catching a glimpse of its long tail as it vanished upward again. Dizzy and miserable, she sat back on her heels and looked around. She was in a giant sandbox. End to end, it stretched about half the length of a football field.(Football , she thought… men in uniforms chasing a funny-shaped ball, fighting to possess it…) The sides were rocks—not masonry, for although they were fitted, they hadn’t been shaped. She was twenty feet or so above the beach. And twenty feet away, Rule was pushing to his feet. “Rule!” She tried to stand, but pain shot through her left ankle and she plopped back down in the sand. A moment later a furry head rubbed her arm. She twisted and flung her arm over his back, wanting to bury her face in his fur. He yipped. She pulled back. He was panting softly. “You’re hurt.” He touched his nose to his side. The talons must have gripped too tight, or maybe he’d cracked something when the dragon dropped him. “Your ribs?” He nodded and then touched her leg gently with one forepaw. The pad was rough and scratchy. “I twisted my ankle when I landed. No biggie.” She ran a careful hand over his side. Nothing protruded, anyway. If there was internal damage… A squeal brought her head up. She watched as another dragon finished its kamikaze run at the ground, dropping a small, noisy orange demon in the sand about fifteen feet away. So Gan was alive, too. Her relief surprised her. Of course, relief might be premature. Maybe the three of them were carryout. To her left were tall, rocky bluffs riddled with crevices. Next to their sandbox was a broad hollow in the cliff face, like a skinny kid pulling in his stomach—too shallow to be called a cave, but deep enough that half the sand was in shadow. She had the uneasy suspicion that bowl-shaped concavity wasn’t natural,

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that something had dug out the rock. Below the sandbox was beach, wide here, but tapering into nonexistence about fifty feet in one direction, seventy in the other. At the end of the beach farthest from the mouth of the inlet, grass grew. Beach grass, she thought.Ammophila arenaria . A damp tongue licked her cheek. She turned, startled… and realized both her cheeks were wet, and the salty taste in her mouth wasn’t just from the sea. “I know the name of it,” she murmured, threading her fingers into the wolf’s ruff. “I know the name of the grass here.” The ocean drew her. The water was the wrong color, but it smelled right. It was quiet here, the waves small. As she watched a wave slid up the sand in a delicate froth, lost interest, and retreated. “The dragons have a nice sandbox.” She ran a hand through the sand, letting it dribble between her fingers. It was grainy and loose. It would be hard to walk on and all but impossible to run across. It was also warm. Nearly skin temperature, she thought, which was odd. The air was cool. “We could climb out,” she said, studying the rocks. “The cliff is high but rough enough to supply plenty of hand-and footholds.” The wolf poked her shoulder and pointed up with his nose. She tilted her head and saw half a dozen shapes silhouetted against the dull sheen of the sky. Guards? If so, climbing out wasn’t an option. For the moment, though, they weren’t threatened. She drew a shaky breath and wished for clean water to wash the foul taste from her mouth. Rule lay down beside her. He touched her ankle with his nose and looked at her with a questioning lift around his eyes. “It doesn’t hurt much.” But it did hurt. Maybe the ymu was wearing off. She looked at Gan. The demon sat in a small, orange huddle, rocking itself back and forth, moaning. “Are you hurt?‘ she called. “I’m going to die, I’m going to die,” it moaned. She didn’t see any blood. Maybe it was short on optimism. “What now?” she asked, mostly of herself. Absently she sifted one hand through the sand while hunting for options. There weren’t many. “I’m going to see what happens if I climb down to the beach. Just so we know.” Rule sighed and pushed to his feet. “I don’t need an escort. You’re hurt. If you… what’s this?” She dug her hand deeper and pulled up… something. It was hard and sort of sand-colored, larger than her two hands put together, but thin, with a slight curve. A fragment of something, she thought. The edges were sharp. Could it be used as a weapon?

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She dusted off some of the sand and her breath sucked in. Pale colors seemed to run through it in a way that changed every time she tipped it to a new angle, colors with the subtle sheen of an opal. Gan squealed. “Put it back! Put it back! We’re all going to die!” “What are you talking about?‘ “You idiot! This is a dragon’s nest! We’re food for the babies! They hatchhungry]” One of the rocks near the cliff blinked. And the earth moved. Sand slipped and shifted as something beneath it rose, sending her rolling. She ended up on her back, both hands gripping futilely at sand as if she could hold it still, make it stop moving. Up and up it rose—a head shaped like a snake’s, but the size of a Volkswagen and with a scarlet frill at the back of the skull. A head long and flat and covered with iridescent scales whose colors ran one into the other— steel, blush, twilight. A head on a neck that seemed to stretch up forever, a Loch Ness Monster of a neck, the muscles taut and visible beneath the shimmer of scales— dawn, dusk, the tarnish of old mirrors. The dragon’s body humped up out of the sand like a football field-sized snake, sending sand slithering and flying, making her blink grit from her eyes. It was thickest in the middle between the pairs of legs, dwindling to a tail long enough to balance all that neck. It lay in a circle, the tail ending near the head, forming a living wall around them. Along its back rested the origami folds of its wings. The dragon looked down at her out of eyes the size of platters, eyes that were all silver and black with no whites. Fear was a weight on her chest, a taste in her mouth, a clamor in her brain and the noise in her ears from a pulse gone wild. She knew only one clear thought:That’s no baby . TWENTY-FIVE CYNNA frowned at Cullen. “I don’t buy it. Not as a sure thing, anyway. Too many assumptions.” Cullen gave his eyebrows a little lift. God, the man even had gorgeous eyebrows. Life wasn’t fair. “Or else you don’t know everything I do. That seems possible.” “Tie a knot in your ego for a minute, will you? Look at all the big, fat maybes you’ve stacked up. First we have to assume that hell actually is the closest physical analogue to Earth, but some say that’s Faerie.” “They’re wrong.” “I suppose you’ve checked that out personally?” “No. I had it from ni‘ Aureni Aeith. I think you’ll agree he ought to know.” “1 might,” Lily said. “If you tell me who Nee-orenee-aith is.” Cynna sighed. She could admit it when she was wrong. Not easily, but she could do it. “One of the lords of Faerie, if I’ve got the naming conventions right. You trust his information? 1 mean, the Fae are

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supposed to have a pretty playful attitude toward the truth.” “In this case I do. There was a debt.” “Okay. So, if Rule’s in hell, how the hell did he get there?” “I covered that.She’s in hell, and—” “Not established.” Impatience flashed in those pretty blue eyes. “It’s an assumption, but backed by fact—things that happened before you showed up. Somehow Rule must have been dragged along when She retrieved what was left of the staff.” She shook her head. “Too many maybes,” she repeated. “Why not go for the simpler explanation?” Cullen was all polite disbelief. “And that would be?” “Demon transfer.” She looked from one of them to the other. “Well, there was a demon, wasn’t there, trying its damnedest to possess Lily? Not that anyone but her saw it, but—” “I saw it,” Cullen said. “Not with regular vision, but it was there.” “Okay, so that’s confirmed. Now, I don’t know why the demon would grab Rule when it had been targeting Lily, but it’s still a simpler explanation, isn’t it?” “It might be,” Lily said, “if I had any idea what demon transfer meant.” “Oh.” She glanced at Cullen, her eyes widening—then narrowing as she grinned. “You don’t know, either, do you? Ha. How about that. I know something the hotshot sorcerer doesn’t.” He got even more polite. “Would you care to share your vast knowledge?” “Put simply, demon transfer is when a demon takes something with it when it moves between realms.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Demons can’t move freely between the realms any more than we can. That’s why the hellgates were closed at the Purge—to keep the demons out. Seems to have worked.” “Yes, but—” “I haven’t noticed any demon hordes ravaging the countryside, have you?” Cynna scowled. “Will you listen a minute? You may know all sorts of fancy spellcraft, but that’s not demonology. Demons vary a lot more than people do.” “Six-year-olds who watch Saturday-morning cartoons know that much.” “Maybe they don’t know that some demons can cross unsummoned and without a hellgate. Or maybe you should watch more Saturday-morning cartoons.” “You know this for a fact?” Cullen snapped.

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“I do. They can carry stuff with them, too.” “Stuff?” Lily said. “Does that include people?” Cynna grimaced. “I’d have to, ah, do a little research to find out for sure, but I think so.” Research she was not eager to attempt. “What kind of research?” Cullen waved a hand dismissively. “Your explanation requires a few big, fat maybes as well. Maybe this particular demon can cross unsummoned. Maybe demon transfer works on people as well as objects. Maybe it decided to take Rule along instead of Lily. Maybe—” “The demon was here, so obviously itdid cross. If you’d get your big, fat ego out of the way—” “This isn’t about ego. We have to look at the facts, which you’re confusing with opinions. The demon—” Lily spoke. “Shut. Up.” Cynna turned to her, surprised. TheChina doll looked like she was trying to stuff all sorts of messy emotions back down. “I don’t care who knows more than who, I don’t care who wins your little pissing contest, and I don’t want to waste time finding out.” Shit. She was right. While Cynna made like the poor little misfit girl trying to get the cutest boy in class to notice her, Rule was trapped in hell. Maybe one of these days she’d grow up. “Sorry.” Lily drew a deep breath and let it out. “It does make a difference how Rule ended up in hell. He’s either with what’s-her-name or he’s with the demon. But in the end, it doesn’t matter much. I might as well assume I’ll be dealing with a demon. There’s no way to plan for an encounter with Her.” “Shit.” That came from Cullen. He looked like he was vibrating. “That’s what I was afraid of. What Isen was afraid of. That if you knew where Rule was you’d try to go after him.” Lily looked at him as if he’d said something really stupid. She kept looking. “All right. All right, I said!” He snapped that out as if she’d been arguing with him instead of just turning that flat, dark gaze on him. “I’ll help. I’m a double-damned idiot, but I’ll help you. For whatever good it will do,” he added gloomily. “I don’t know how to open a hellgate. I don’t know anyone who does.” Cynna really, really didn’t want to say anything, but her mouth made a decision without consulting her brain. “I do.” Cullen’s head swung toward her. “Who?” In for a penny… She sighed. “Two people, actually. One who does know, and one who might be able to figure it out. That’s Abel. You know him,” she said to Cullen. “Abel Karonski. He can close leaks, and wouldn’t this be like doing the same thing in reverse? We don’t need a great big gate.”

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His eyes narrowed as if he was totting things up mentally. Reluctantly he nodded. “It might work, if he’s capable of creative thought. Spells don’t reverse neatly.” “No duh.” Lily shook her head. “Karonski would be last-ditch. Aside from the fact that he’s inVirginia , he’s not going to agree. Opening a hellgate is illegal. Who’s the other person?” “No one I want to talk to, if I can avoid it. She, ah, probably wouldn’t be happy about me tracking her down, and she might not help, anyway. And if she did, it would come with a price.” For a few minutes, none of them spoke. Lily had herself back under control. Cynna couldn’t read a thing on that pretty face as she sat there, one finger tapping against her thigh. Finally she said, “I need to get out of here. I guess the things I was wearing are around somewhere.” “I think your chums collected them as evidence,” Cullen said. “Evidence of what, I’m not sure, but they have a passion for plastic baggies.” She grimaced. “There’s a gift shop downstairs, isn’t there? Would you see if—” “No need,” Cynna said. “I’ve got that covered. Only where… oh, yeah.” She went to the door, where she’d dropped her tote upon being introduced to the cop with the Santa Claus face and the big gun. She snatched it, unzipped it, and pulled out a wrinkled T-shirt and the pants to her second-best gi. “They won’t fit,” she said apologetically, “but they’re better than nothing.” For the first time, Lily smiled. It wasn’t much, but it was a smile. “You came prepared to bust me out.” “Pretty much. Oh, here. You’ll need this to hold them up.” She pulled out her belt. Unlike the rest of the outfit, it was neatly folded. Lily took it, a small V between her brows. “A brown belt. Judo? With those long legs, you’d be good at it.” “Judo’s mostly defense. I’ve been told I’m offensive.” She grinned. “Tae kwon do. I don’t practice enough.” “Brown’s nothing to apologize for.” She swung her legs to the side of the bed, managing to keep it modest in spite of the hospital gown’s shortcomings. Cynna was hit with a nasty, rotten suspicion. “You do judo, don’t you?” Lily nodded. She was so short her feet didn’t quite reach the floor, so she had to slide off the bed. “What belt?” Cynna asked that even though she was sure she wouldn’t like the answer. “Black. Seconddan . I’ll be right back.” She headed for the tiny bathroom, the mismatched clothes over her arm. She moved slowly, as if she hurt, but Cynna was pretty sure an offer of help would get her snapped at. Seconddan —that was like second-degree black. Impressive as hell, dammit.

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“Jealous,shetanni rakibu ?” Cullen’s voice was lightly mocking. Cold prickled up her spine, popping out in goose bumps on her arms. She wanted to rub them, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “It’s been a while since I heard that.” He nodded, satisfied. “Then you were a demon rider. I thought so.” What exactly did he think? How much did he know aboutshetanni rakibu ? She asked very casually, “So where did you hear that title? It’s not exactly common knowledge.” “I read a lot. Is it a demon you’re hoping not to consult about opening a wee little hellgate?” “Dumb question. Most of them wouldn’t know how, either, or they’d do it. Seen any demon hordes ravaging the countryside lately?” He surprised her by grinning. “Touché. If you’re not consulting a demon about the gate, it must be someone in this realm. You know a master, don’t you?” “Everyone knows there aren’t any real demon masters.” “Everyone knows there aren’t any real sorcerers.” “You talk too much.” “It’s part of my charm.” He moved closer. “Are you going to help?” She needed to say no. Lord, but she did not want to go looking for Jiri. She wasn’t crazy about crossing into hell, either. “You didn’t want to do it.” He snorted. “I’m a selfish sonofabitch. What’s your excuse?” “That the whole idea is nuts?” “Consider that a drawback, do you?” He glanced at the closed bathroom door. “She’s going. With or without my help or yours, she’ll find a way to go after him.” “Yeah.” Cynna didn’t think Lily was fooling herself about the odds. They just weren’t a big factor in her decision. What would it be like to have someone matter that much? To matter that much to someone? Rule didn’t matter to her that way. She’d had some hopes about him, yeah. She’d wanted to be with him again, and not just because of the mind-boggling sex. Lord, the things a lupus could do… but that hadn’t been all of it. She’d wanted him to see who and what she’d become. To approve. It made her squirm to admit that, but it was true. But Rule did matter. And she owed him. Cullen moved closer. Close enough for her to see that he hadn’t shaved that morning. Close enough to see the darker rims around his irises, and the way his pulse beat in the hollow of his throat. “Even aside

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from opening the hellgate, you know more about Dis and demons than I do. Our chances would be better with you along.” “That must have hurt, saying it out loud.” “I’m tough. I can take it.” He ran his fingertips along the side of her neck. “What do you say?” Her heart was pounding. He’d know it, too, dammit. “You offering me sex in exchange for tossing my career in the trash, maybe ending up in prison?” He smiled into her eyes, and that was seduction more potent than the stroke of his fingers. “Think of it as a bonus. For both of us.” She stepped back. It was harder than it should have been. “Do I have ‘idiot’ stamped on my forehead?” The bathroom door opened. Cynna glanced that way… and had to bite her lip. “Did your mommy give you permission to play dress-up, little girl?” Cullen asked. “Shut up, Cullen.” Lily shuffled out. Cynna’s lips twitched. “Sorry. I should’ve stopped and picked up something in your size.” Lily flipped one hand, dismissing it. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s get me checked out.” “You could just leave.” Cynna kind of liked the idea of smuggling her out. “I need to get my prescription first. I don’t have time to deal with an infection.” She made it to the chair, lowered herself, and reached for the buzzer to call the nurse. Then she faced Cynna. “I need to make plans, and to do that, I need to know where you stand. The Bureau is not going to investigate Rule’s disappearance. They aren’t going to like it if we do.” “No duh.” Cynna frowned. “It bugs me, though. Ruben made it sound certain-sure that Rule was dead, but he’s not stupid. He had to realize that wasn’t a sure thing. Well, when we tell him what we’ve figured out, he’ll—” “We won’t be telling him.” “Huh? Wait a minute. Wait. I didn’t agree to hold out on Ruben. I can see why you’re suspicious, but you’re wrong.” “You’ve worked for him a while.” “Long enough to be certain-sure he’s righteous. Shit, if I had half his integrity I could count on a straight shot to heaven when the time comes.” “Ah… you believe in heaven?” “Hey, I’m a good little Catholic girl now.” A stab of honesty made her add, “Or at least I’m Catholic. Which reminds me.” She reached for her tote again.

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“Let’s say Ruben’s as straight as you think he is,” Lily said as Cynna bent and rummaged in her tote. “That doesn’t mean he can turn a blind eye to what I’m planning. Even if he were willing to do that, someone wants Rule declared dead and the case closed. Someone who can either persuade or order Ruben to go along.” “Sure. The Big Dick. Oh, here it is.” Cynna grabbed the little paper sack and straightened. Cullen nodded. “I see. The FBI has a master penis. That explains a lot.” Cynna grinned. “He’d like to think so. Dick Hayes is the acting director. I don’t think he’s bent, exactly. He’s just an asshole. Here.” She came up to Lily, dug into the sack, and held out a little cross on a gold chain. Lily flinched. Cynna drew it back, her forehead wrinkling. “I take it you aren’t Christian.” “It’s not that. I’m not sure what I am, but…” She blinked quickly, but Cynna had seen the sheen in her eyes. One hand went to her throat. “Rule’s necklace is missing. I… it may not turn up, but I’m not going to wear another one in its place. Not yet.” “Thetoltoi isn’t just from Rule,” Cullen said in a low voice. Lily gave a single nod and left her head down, her hair screening her face. Better give her a minute, Cynna thought. The tied-down ones hated it when they came apart with someone watching. She turned to Cullen. “What about you? I’ve got an extra.” The one she’d gotten for Rule. “It’s been blessed and all.” His eyebrows sketched skepticism. “Doesn’t the effectiveness of holy symbols depend on the faith of the wielder?” “Partly, but not altogether. It makes a difference what kind of demon you’re dealing with. Some don’t respond to holy symbols at all. Ah… someone I know thinks it depends on what kind of pacts the demon’s lord has with the various Powers. Demons are big on deals.” “Interesting theory.” Cullen accepted the necklace and dribbled it from one hand to the other, frowning as if he were considering some weighty question. “When did you…” His voice drifted off as the door opened. It was the ponytail nurse, and she was not happy about a patient checking out against doctor’s orders. It was in-teresting to watch Lily handle her. She didn’t get angry. Ponytail and the hospital weren’t important enough to get angry over. She gave the facts: She was leaving. She wanted her prescription. They could bring her some papers to sign if they liked, but they had to do it quickly because she wasn’t waiting. It was amazing how well not arguing worked. Cynna resolved to try it sometime. When the nurse huffed out the door, Lily leveled that steady gaze on Cynna. “If you’re not going to Find this person yourself, I need the name.”

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Some people had such a clear grasp of right and wrong. Cynna envied them. Finding the moral highroad out of a welter of possible paths was always a struggle for her. It would be wrong to lie to Ruben. She was sure of that. And opening a hellgate—pretty much everyone would tell her that was wrong. But it was wrong to leave Rule in hell. It was wrong to turn her back, pretend she couldn’t do anything to help— and giving them Jiri’s name and description wouldn’t help. They’d never find her. Another memory swam to the surface. The remembered voice was soft, male, and irritated. He’d been dying at the time. “Stop talking of paying back. Is no back. Only now. Only on.” That settled her. Paying it on couldn’t mean turning away. “What the hell. I’m in.” TWENTY-SIX THE huge eyes blinked. She came back to herself with a jolt, knowing time had passed. How much? She didn’t know. Seconds. A day. Never mind. She scrambled to her feet, moving because she could. Because, whatever happened, she wanted to meet it on her feet. She put out a hand. Rule was there. Without having to look, she’d known that he’d come up beside her. She rested her hand on his back. Had he been trapped by the dragon’s gaze, too? The lupus didn’t look into my eyes. The demon knew better, but did it anyway. The dragon hadn’t spoken. Those great jaws hadn’t opened or the mouth moved. The words had just appeared in her mind, sharp as glass—thoughts, but not her thoughts. But that was impossible. She was a sensitive. Magic couldn’t— Yet I can. I am dragon. With those words came a sense of something beyond arrogance. Power, perhaps. A vast, knowing power. Vocalize. Your thoughts are mush. Forcing them into the sort of speech you are accustomed to gives them a small degree of clarity. Her heart was trying to knock its way out of her chest. “Are we conversing, then?” Rather than dining, you mean? Amusement, desert-dry, gusted through her mind.When I hunger, I hunt. I don’t have dinner fetched . “Why did you have us fetched?” Utility. Politics. Curiosity. The great head lowered in a graceful arc. She jumped back. Her bad ankle gave out, dumping her ingloriously on her butt. Rule didn’t move, but his fur bristled. Gan squealed in terror.

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But the movement didn’t signal a change of mind about the dragon’s dinner plans. It seemed to be settling in for a chat. It rested its head on its tail like a cat curling up for a nap, leaving the three of them entirely circled by dragon. That long body gave off a lot of heat, she realized. That’s why the sand was so warm. “That didn’t really answer my question. Why did you bring us here?” It has been many moons since I’ve seen a human. And never have I seen one linked to both a lupus and a demon. Most curious. How did you become half-souled? “If you mean how did I lose my memory—I don’t remember.” Those eyes blinked again.Ah. You didn’t know . Its gaze shifted to the quivering lump of demon fifteen feet away.Your demon didn’t tell you . “Not my demon,” she muttered. “A demon. Not mine.” Rule’s head swung toward her, as if she’d surprised him. Then he looked at Gan, growling. “Don’t listen to the dragon,” Gan said. Its attempt at bravado was cancelled by the way it crouched with both arms over its head, as if that would protect it from the dragon’s jaws. “He doesn’t know anything about it. Besides, he can lie. I can’t. Who are you going to believe?” She snorted. “You lie all the time.” That annoyed it so much its arms fell away from its head. “No, I don’t! I can’t lie. Everyone knows what I mean even if I say something else. That’s how it works.” “You may not tell out-and-out whoppers, but you lie by misdirection. Not all that well, actually, because you’ve never learned to manage your face. Maybe demons aren’t used to reading expressions for clues because you all pick up each other’s meanings. By picking your words carefully, though, you can mean what you say and still be lying.” Clever small bite. Demons prize the ability to deceive without lying. They do this by watching their words, as you say, and also by finding a self who means what they wish to say. This little one you call Gan doesn’t have many selves, so it must rely primarily upon its choice of words. She rubbed her temples. Not many selves? Vocalize. “Uh… what does ‘many selves’ mean?” Demons consist of all the creatures they have eaten. Those eaten lose volition, not identity. “So Gan isn’t one demon? It’s a whole bunch of them, but Gan’s the one in charge?” Gan is mostly imps, bugs, and other nonsentients—though I do hear at least one surprisingly old demon inside it. Gan is also Gan. Demon identity is not what you are used to . The dragon turned his gaze on the little demon.You will now tell me why the human is half-souled .

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Gan cowered. “Oh, Great One, mighty of wing and mind, how would this feeble one know? I’m a demon, and such a small, insignificant demon, barely more than an imp. What do I know about souls?” You are right, small bite. The demon does not deceive well, though the din of its mind makes it difficult to sort through what passes for its thoughts. The dragon’s tail flicked out suddenly. It whizzed over Lily’s head and thudded into Gan, sending the demon tumbling. I have all your surface names and thirty-two of the deeper ones, Izhatipoibanolitofaidinbaravha— “All right, all right! Don’t say it all!” I can acquire the rest of your names if I choose. Or simply pull pieces of you off, but that would dirty my sand. Be truthful. What happened to the human ? If demons had been able to cry, Gan would have been sniffling. “I just wanted to get away—when that mage fire hit the staff, ithurt ! I can cross all by myself,” it added, puffing its chest a bit. “Hardly anyone can do that, but I can. But I was already tied to Lily Yu, so when I crossed, she came, too. And she’s tied to the wolf in some weird way, so he got dragged along, and… and everything went wrong.” “You mean you did it?” she exclaimed. “You brought us here, not the staff?” Gan heaved a windy sigh and nodded. “Then you can take us back.” “No, I can’t.” Rule lowered his head, growling. Gan scowled. “I tried! You think I’d rather be eaten by dragons than go back to Earth? Well, they didn’t eat us, but I thought they would, so I tried to cross. I tried and tried, but I couldn’t.” Because Lily Yu did not come along completely. When you tried to possess her, you became partially lodged inside her. You brought that part with you, but left behind the named half. She is both here and there. The effect is rather as if you’d jammed something against a door. It won’t open for you. Horror squeezed the air from her lungs. “I’m—I’m missing more than memories? Are you sure?” The dragon flicked her a glance. The black-and-silver eyes were too removed, too dispassionate, for anything as personal as contempt or compassion. I do not say what I am not sure of. I wonder if your other half is a ghost? Neither of your sundered selves will live long, of course, but it would be interesting to— Rule howled and launched himself at Gan. Ah, but he was fast! By the time Lily got to her feet he’d already hit once, bounced away before the demon’s roundhouse swing could connect, and was circling for another leap. The dragon’s tail smashed into him in mid-air.

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Lily cried out and stumbled over to him. He wasn’t moving. Foolish. I had expected better. He seemed to have some sense. “Shut up,” she said fiercely, kneeling. His heart was beating, she discovered when she pressed her hand to the bottom of his rib cage. But his ribs had already been cracked or broken. The lashing tail could have staved them in, punctured a lung. “I guess you don’t care that I’m bleeding over here,” Gan said grumpily. No, she didn’t. The demon was alive and talking, while Rule… wait, his eyelids twitched. Then they blinked open. Her breath shuddered out. “Where are you hurt?” Slowly, as if it hurt, he lifted his head. With his nose he indicated his left foreleg. Not his gut or his chest, then. Not a punctured lung. Aminor concussion as well, he thinks. But the leg is more of a problem. You will need to set it . Okay. She drew in a breath and ran her hand along the leg. He jerked. “I’m sorry.” She’d learned what she needed to know, though. Her fingertips glistened red. “There’s a bit of bone sticking out through the skin. It needs to be set, splinted.” Without anesthetic. She didn’t want to think about how much that would hurt. “I… I don’t know how to do it.” She looked at her hands. They were shaking. But that made sense. She was dying. She had memories of only a couple of days of life, and she was dying. Such drama. You aren’t dying yet. “You said—” I was interrupted. You’ll die of your condition eventually, but the demon is keeping you alive for now. She looked at Gan. It sat in the sand, scowling. A chunk of flesh and muscle was missing where its shoulder met its neck. The wound seemed to have already stopped bleeding, but its orange skin was heavily splashed with blood. Red blood, like hers. Rule really had meant to kill Gan. “You’re keeping me alive?” Its lower lip stuck out like a sulky child’s. “Why do you think I made you take ymu? He needs me, too.” Gan gave the dragon a wary glance. “To keep you alive. He probably plans to trade you to Xitil. If dragons aren’t eating demons, they’re trying to get more territory from us.” “Is that what you wanted me for?” she asked the dragon. “To trade?” Perhaps. The demon is correct about my desire to keep you alive. If your wolf had been thinking,

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he would have realized that. Why else would I suffer having a demon brought here ? Rule lifted his head and looked straight at the dragon. You would question me, wolf? She couldn’t tell if the trace of emotion coating that thought was amusement or irritation. She knew what she felt, though. Frustration. Everyone could understand Rule except her. “What did he say? Or think, or… whatever.” He wonders why I’m here at all. Why dragons are living with demons. Gan snorted. “Living with us! Eating us, more like, when you can. Trying to get more territory the rest of the time.” It looked at Lily. “No one knows why the dragons left Earth. I was just an imp when some of them showed up here, but even imps heard about the battles. Dragons live by magic, see, but they can’t be affected by it. That was their big advantage. Well, they’re good fighters, too, but we outnumbered them thousands to one. But—” But you did not unite to attack us, allowing us to prevail over the local lord and his court. Nor did you learn from this. When Xitil allowed Ishtar’s enemy to guest with her, the other lords should have banded together and destroyed them both. They never even considered it. This was folly of a monstrous degree. “Big wars are wasteful,” Gan said. “Unpredictable. Xitil will destroy the avatar.” I am unsurprised by your attitude. Ishtar’s enemy? Hadn’t Gan used that name, too? Lily shook her head. “Look, all that is interesting, but the timing’s bad for history lessons. I need something straight to use for a splint, and something to fasten it with. Cloth, rope, leather… something I can tie around the leg and splint. And if you know anything about setting bones…” Her voice faltered. “I could use some help with that.” She had no reason to think the dragon would offer it. That great head turned, focusing on Gan.The demon’s kind are good with bodies . Gan sniffed. “I’m not going to help him. He tried to kill me.” You will do as 1 wish, Izhatipoibanolit— “Right, right. But do you mean you want the wolf’s leg fixed?” Gan was incredulous. I do. Gan heaved a huge, put-upon sigh and stood. “I can put his bone back in place, but it won’t stay. He’s no demon. He can’t heal that quick.” “That’s what the splint is for.” Hope stirred, fragile and hard to trust. The dragon had broken Rule’s leg, but now wanted it to heal straight. She didn’t understand. Were dragons capable of compassion? “We have to stabilize the leg.” The dragon tilted his head up. After a moment, one of the circling shapes overhead broke from the rest,

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diving for the land at the top of the cliff. We are well supplied with bones. One of my line-kin will bring you an assortment to choose from for the splint. There are coverings in your cave. Tear strips from one, or have the demon do so. It has good teeth. “Uh—my cave?” The place you will stay. The entrance is near the grass at the eastern end of the beach. With that, he stood. The dragon’s legs were short and thick in proportion to his body, bowed out like a lizard’s. His haunches were house-high, his shoulders slightly lower.There is food in the cave. You won’t need it, but the lupus will. At the rear of the cave is a small freshwater spring . “I need food, too,” Gan said. “I can’t eat dead things.” You’ll be fed. You’ll continue to feed the human. Drop to the ground now. The dragon moved. A creature so large should have seemed ponderous. He wasn’t. She had to flatten herself to avoid getting clipped by his tail when he started walking, but the wide-set legs carried him over the sand as agilely as one of his tiny kin. “Wait!” Lily pushed to her feet. “Where are you going? When will you be back?” The dragon flowed over the side of the sandbox, stepping down the twenty feet to the beach like a cat oozing off a couch. “What’s your name?” she called. He just kept moving. “How did you know we were in that other region? How did you know I’m a sensitive before you brought us here?Why did you bring us here?” The great beast was a several dozen yards down the beach now. “Dammit, I’m vocalizing at you!” He stopped, his wings partially unfurled. They were doubled, those wings, like a moth’s. Slowly the neck swung around until he was looking back at her. Faint, so faint she might have imagined it, she caught a wisp of amusement just before he straightened, rising up on his hind legs, the long body lifting up and up. The haunches bunched and he sprang for the sky like a cat leaping onto a windowsill. Even from this distance, the wind from his wings stirred the sand, getting grit in her eyes. She was blinking them clean when she caught his last words:Sam. I believe you may call me Sam . TWENTY-SEVEN

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LILY needed clothes. Cynna’s belt had to be snug to keep the pants from falling off, and snug hurt. She also had to do something about Dirty Harry. So after checking herself out, she sat in the back seat of Cullen’s old Bronco, fists clenched, trying not to think about what might be happening to Rule while she took care of her cat and her damned grooming. One of the officers had driven her car back to her place last night, and Rule’s car had been impounded. For a few blocks she leaned her head back and shut out the sound of Cynna and Cullen arguing. She needed to see Beth, talk to her. She didn’t want to. Not when Beth was staying with their parents. But a phone call wasn’t enough, not for this. She needed to know how badly Beth had been scarred by last night. God, she was tired. She closed her eyes, but there was no rest inside her. Not with everything humming like an overloaded power line. She was scared. All the way down scared. Not so much of dying, though she wasn’t in denial about that. Death was a strong possibility, but she knew how to keep going in the face of that sort of risk. As a cop, she’d usually had backup going into a dangerous situation. Barring that, she’d had training to fall back on. You identified your goal, made your plans, and did the best you could. Fear was normal, just one more factor to account for. What was grinding at her wasn’t as clean as the fear of death. The shaky feeling came from the fear that she wasn’t enough. She didn’t know enough, couldn’t be enough or do enough to get Rule back. Her Gift was gone. She wasn’t sure there was enough of her left to do what had to be done. Maybe, even with her Gift, there wouldn’t have been enough. What they were planning—or, so far, failing to plan—was nuts. One lupus sorcerer, one female Finder, and one damaged former homicide cop were going up against who knew how many demons on their home ground. How do you plan for that? One step at a time, she told herself. If she couldn’t tell if she was going in the right direction, tough. She still had to take that next step. Up front, Cynna snorted. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s no technical difference between opening a big gate and opening a little one. It’s just a matter of power.” They should have taken Cynna’s rental. The Bronco’s engine knocked so badly she wondered if Cullen kept it running with sorcery. But Cullen had insisted on driving, and Cynna wouldn’t let him behind the wheel of her vehicle. Even one only temporarily hers. “I don’t imagine you’ve ever heard of McCallum’s Theorem.” Cullen sounded like an adult talking to a sweet but slow child. “He’s got a theory about hellgates?” “No, it concerns the difference between relevance and resonance, but it suggests that—” “There’s only one kind of relevance that matters with gates. Now, if we were talking about voodoo—” “Pretend you’re more interested in figuring this out than one-upping me,” Cullen said. “You won’t

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embarrass yourself so much.” Lily wondered if she was going to have to kill them both, or if taping their mouths shut would be enough. “Bickering is one way of dealing with tension, but it isn’t doing much for mine. Since neither one of you knows how to open a gate, can we talk about something more to the point? Make some plans?” “Believe it or not,” Cullen said, “our discussion is very much to the point. In a roundabout way.” “Sure. Right. Now I understand.” “We’re trying to settle what kind of gate to open,” Cynna said. “Single-relevance or multi-relevance. Only there isn’t such a thing as a multi-relevance gate, so you’re right. We’re wasting time.” Cullen hissed. That’s what it sounded like—a cat’s hiss. “Lady save me from small-minded hedge witches. Just because you’ve never heard of something doesn’t mean it’s impossible.” Lily tried once more to get them back on track. “Because you don’t know how to open a gate anyway, the discussion is moot.” Cullen was impatient. “We know the general principles behind it.” “Right,” Cynna said. “That’s like saying we don’t know how to build a television, but we know the general idea behind how one works. Cullen thinks that once we get our TV we should tinker with it. I think that would be too dangerous. We’ve got no reason to think his idea is even possible.” “It’s possible,” Cullen insisted. “McCallum’s Theorem—” “Hold off on the theorem talk a minute,” Lily said. “What kind of risks are we talking about if you tinker with the spell? What advantages?” “Ritual. Magic on this level requires a ritual, not just a spell.” “Whatever. Risks and advantages, Cullen.” “The major risk is that the ritual won’t work. We don’t get a gate. In which case we can back up and try again with the unaltered ritual.” “Maybe,” Cynna said dryly. “If we all survive. We’re talking about a major ritual here, involving forces we don’t understand. There’s no sure way to predict the outcome.” Lily frowned. “That’s a big risk.” “And the advantage,” Cullen said, “is that if it works we’d have full control of the gate and who and what passes through it.” She was silent a moment. Cynna and Cullen had needled each other about all the demons who weren’t ravaging the countryside, but if they opened a gate they couldn’t control… “That’s a big advantage. Big enough to outweigh the risks—ifthis multi-relevance thing is possible.” He switched lanes with typical split-second timing. “Let’s go back to the basics. You know gates are

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magical constructs, right? Located on or very near a node.” “Got that. The Azá were trying to open theirs right on top of a node. They needed the power from it.” “In part, yes. But nodes are also the places of greatest congruence. Think of them as spots where the realms almost touch. Now, magically speaking, congruence is one of the five fields of relevance. It’s spatial. There’s also physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual.” Lily shook her head. “I’m getting dizzy already. I thought spiritual stuff and magic were different. That’s how Nettie was able to do some healing on me—because she wasn’t using straight magic.” “Depends on who you talk to. Theories abound.” “Such as?” “My early training was Wiccan. They consider spirit one of the five types of power—earth, air. fire, water, spirit. Chinese practitioners work with five energies, too, though they substitute metal for spirit and see the spiritual as entirely separate. So do many Protestant faiths. Catholicism is hopelessly muddled on the subject. Most shamans say there is a difference between spirit and magic but just smile mysteriously if you ask what it is.” “Like Nettie.” “Exactly. Houngans and mambos—‘” “Who?” “Male and female voodoo priests. Their magic is spirit-based, so naturally they don’t distinguish between magic and spirit. And Buddhists…” He shrugged and added in a singsong, “Spiritual, nonspiritual—no difference. Duality is illusion.” Cynna chuckled. “I used to know someone who would have said just that.” Lily drummed her fingers on her thigh. “They can’t all be right. What do sorcerers say?” “Mostly we ignore the question. Spiritualism has that good and evil thing going on. Confuses things.” “And sorcerers hate to be confused,” Cynna said. “They can’t see spiritual stuff, so they treat it the way ungifted humans treat magic—as if it isn’t real. And if it is, it shouldn’t be.” Cullen gave a quick laugh. “Biased, but not completely inaccurate. Of course, theMsaidizi were faith based.” “The what?” Lily asked. “Dizzies.” Oh. “What does this have to do with a hellgate?” “The gates are magical constructs, like I said, but they were closed using a combination of spiritual and magical energies. To reopen a gate, we’d need spiritual energy as well as magic.”

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“That’s what the Azá were doing, wasn’t it? They believed in their goddess, and that belief was part of what She needed to get that gate open.“ That plus a little bonus from death magic. “Exactly. We can’t supply a large faith-based community, so even if we knew how, we couldn’t reopen a gate.” “But you’re planning to open one.” “Open, not reopen. We’ll have to build a new gate. Cynna and I have been arguing about how to, ah, tether it. She thinks congruence is the only criteria. I agree it’s essential—we don’t want to step out into thin air or the middle of a mountain, so the two spaces have to be congruent. But I think that with a small gate, other relevancies can be used, too.” Cynna spoke. “He means you.” “What?” She shook her head. “That’s a joke, right?” “Nope.” Cullen slowed. They’d reached her apartment complex. “Five fields of relevance, remember? Spatial, physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual. The more fields we use, the more stable the gate and the greater our control.” “Theoretically,” Cynna added darkly. Cullen ignored that. “The mate bond gives us two more fields to use—physical and emotional.” “I… see. Sort of. Because Rule’s there and I’m here, the mate bond is already sort of a gate. But once I’m there, too, that won’t be true.” “That’s why you need me,” Cullen said cheerfully, pulling into the space next to Lily’s car. “To figure out the hard parts. If I get it right, the gate will close behind us as soon as we cross. It will open again when you want it to, and nothing will be able to pass through it without your permission.” Whew. Lily ran a hand through her hair. “What happens if I’m killed?” ‘Try to avoid that.“ He shut off the engine and opened his door. ”It’s a damned good way of keeping the other side from making use of our gate, though, isn’t it?“ “Theoretically.” She pushed her door open, too, and got out. The burn throbbed, protesting the pressure from the belt. She eyed the stairs to her apartment grimly and started forward. “You’ve convinced me it’s worth a try, though.” “I knew you’d see sense.” She heard the click-click from the car’s lock behind her. “If it’s any consolation, I couldn’t do it if you still had your Gift.” She acknowledged that with a nod. She wasn’t ready to look on the bright side. “If you were still Gifted, it might not have been a good idea for you to cross,” Cynna added, coming around the car. “Considering what they say about sensitives in hell.”

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“What do they—hey!” Cullen had swung her up into his arms. “Who says I’m not a thoughtful and considerate guy? You don’t need to climb those stairs. All right,” he added to Cynna as he headed for the stairs. “I’ll bite. Whatdo they say about sensitives in hell?” “ ‘Feendly armies in foul affray dide fighte,’” she recited, “‘ ’for who wolde holde the sixewitte hral. Bihood thes brutall beistis, who wolde their yvel powers incresen—and drinken of hir precious herte blood!‘ Here, give me your keys. I’ll go ahead and open the door.” Lily dug them out of the side pocket of her purse. “I don’t know what you said, but I didn’t hear anything about sensitives.” “Sixewittewas the medieval term.” Cullen started up the stairs behind Cynna. “The five senses were the fivewittes . The way they saw it, sensitives had a sixth sense. Sixewitte.” “Ah… if I caught the gist, that’s whose ‘precious herte blood’ the feendly hordes planned to drink.” “You got it,” Cynna said, sticking Lily’s key in the lock. “Feendly hordes being demons. Supposedly they get some special power from the blood of a sensitive.” Cullen reached the landing. He wasn’t even breathing hard. Pretty good for someone pushing sixty. “I’ve never heard that verse. What’s it from?” “ ‘The Furiel Pyne of Helle.’ It’s pretty obscure. Fourteenth century, and it might be pure fiction, but the monk who—oh. Good grief. What are you doing here?”

FIVE minutes later, Lily sat in her one and only chair petting Dirty Harry, who had his motor going full-blast. The cat had claimed her lap when the man who’d been keeping him company stood up. “I’d offer you a sandwich, but Harry and I ate the last of your ham,” Abel Karonski said from her kitchen, where he was refilling his coffee cup. “Anyone want some coffee?” “Why does everyone feel entitled to break into my place?” Lily asked the ceiling. “Sure, I’ll take a cup, since it’s my coffee and all.” Karonski rejoined them, carrying two steaming mugs and looking around vaguely as if her place might have sprouted another chair in his absence. His gaze paused on Cullen. “Seaborne,” he said with a nod. “We met at your, ah, adoption ceremony. When you joined Nokolai, I mean.” Cullen was wearing his inscrutable face. “I remember.” “At the risk of repeating myself,” Cynna said, “what are you doing here?” She was silting on one of the floor cushions by Lily’s big, square coffee table, the only other seating in the pocket-size living room. Cullen occupied the other cushion. “I’m not really here. Think of me as a figment of your overheated imaginations.”

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“Nothing personal, Abel, but you’ve never figured high in my overheated imagination. Here.” Cynna scooted off her cushion onto the floor. “Sit down and give those old bones a rest.” “Mouthy. Always mouthy. I’m only ten years older than you.” He handed Lily a mug that read,Don’t Make Me Release the Flying Monkeys ! “You’re not looking so great.” “Neither are you.” The pouches under his eyes were looking more like duffel bags. “Tired, that’s all. We found the leak, and it’s big. The biggest I’ve seen. I’ve called a Gathering to close it.” “A Gathering?” “Multiple covens,” Cullen said. “Anywhere from three to a dozen. That’s a major working you’re talking about.” “It’s a major leak.” He lowered himself awkwardly onto the cushion and then scowled at Lily. “I don’t know why you don’t own chairs. Everyone owns chairs.” “My figments have never complained about the seating before,” she commented. “Or helped themselves to my ham. Maybe you’ll explain why I’m imagining you’re here.” “Officially I’m still inNorth Carolina . I’ll be flying back as soon as we’ve talked.” He sipped. “Good coffee.” “Rule’s picky about coffee. He buys some fancy blend and grinds it fresh.” The silence that followed reeked of everything he didn’t say. At last he sighed. “I’m sorry about Rule, Lily. Damned sorry.” She didn’t respond. Just waited. His eyebrows lifted, “You aren’t going to insist that he isn’t dead?” “I’m pretty sure you know that. Just like I know you didn’t fly twenty-five hundred miles to offer me your sympathy.” “No.” He took another sip, heaved another sigh, and put the mug on the coffee table. “I’m here to tell you some things Ruben didn’t want to go into over the phone. Also to be sure you aren’t planning to do something stupid.” Lily kept her face stony. “Ruben’s private line is as secure as any in the nation.” “So it is. I’m going to give you some background you aren’t cleared for. Heavy duty stuff with lots of tops stamped in front ofsecret .” He looked at Cullen. “I figure you see the advantage in continuing to fly under the official radar.” Cullen smiled pleasantly. “Just as you see the advantage in letting me hover there. Don’t worry. I’m not going to run to the tabloids with the story.” “You won’t tell anyone, or discuss it with anyone except those in this room. And you’ll all be damned

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careful how you discuss it at all. You’ll see why.” He paused. “In the past year, twoU.S. Congressmen and the under secretary of a major department have reported being contacted by a demon.” “What?” Lily’s coffee jiggled, spilling a couple of drops on Harry. He gave her an indignant look and jumped down. “That… is certainly not what I was expecting.” Demons didn’t just dial up Congressmen and offer them deals. For one thing, they couldn’t… or so everyone thought. “There hasn’t been a confirmed case of demonic tampering with government in… well, not since Hitler.” Karonski nodded. “And that was a freak occurrence, the result of conditions unlikely to be duplicated in a thousand years. You can see why they’re keeping the investigation quiet.” “They, not we?” Her eyebrows rose. “Who’s investigating?” “The Secret Service. They’ve needed some expert help, so Ruben’s made a few of us in the Unit available to them on an informal basis. But it’s their investigation, not ours.” “Are we talking about one demon?” Cynna asked. “Or more?” He gave her a nod. “Good question. We’d like to know if we’re looking at a widespread change in the relationship between the realms, which is what contact by multiple demons would suggest. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you. The descriptions we’ve got don’t match, but demons have a nasty habit of changing their body size and shape, so that isn’t conclusive.” Cullen slid him an unreadable look. “And what does this have to do with Lily?” “Think about it. If one appointee and three elected officials report unsolicited demonic contact, there’s a damned good chance that others were contacted, too. And haven’t reported it.” “Shit.” “The ones who reported it were taking a risk,” Lily said slowly. “Supposedly demons can’t initiate contact themselves, right? They have to be summoned. The Congressmen must have wondered if anyone would believe that it wasn’t any of their doing.” Karonski gave her a nod. “They showed courage, all right. We’re betting that others were contacted who didn’t take the deal but didn’t report it, either. Some would be afraid. Some probably persuaded themselves it never happened. Denial is a powerful force. But human nature being what it is, we have to assume there are people in powerful positions in the government who took the demon up on its offer.” “What kind of offer?” she asked. “The usual. Fame, wealth, power. The power to do good can be a strong temptation for even the best of us.” Cynna shook her head. “Those pacts leave traces. It’s not that hard to find out if someone has been sipping demon blood.” “Oh, yech,” Lily said. “Is that how the pacts are sealed?” “Blood is both the seal and the way power is transferred,” Karonski said. “And yes, we can detect it. But it’s not feasible to run blood tests on every member of Congress, their staffs and families, all the

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Secretaries and Under Secretaries, maybe a few dozen judges and—” “Okay, okay,” Cynna said. “But what is the Secret Servicedoing then? How do they investigate if they can’t run tests?” For a long moment Karonski didn’t say anything. “We’d hoped to bring in a sensitive,” he said at last. “Someone who could tell who was clean with a single handshake.” Lily closed her eyes.Shit, shit, shit … Cullen’s voice was hard. “You also didn’t fly twenty-five hundred miles to make Lily feel even worse about the loss of her Gift, I’m assuming.” Lily spoke without opening her eyes. “He’s warning us. He thinks the acting director of the FBI may have been corrupted. That’s why Ruben didn’t say anything over the phone. Why Karonski is officially still in Virginia… and probably why the Secret Service is investigating, not us.” Karonski spread his hands. “We’ve got no evidence. None. No reason to think Hayes was contacted, except…” “One of Ruben’s feelings,” she finished for him. “Yeah.” He picked up his coffee and took a drink. “Which was strengthened when Hayes put pressure on Ruben to close the investigation and declare Rule dead.” “I’m not getting the connection,” Cynna said. “You should. If Hayes is corrupted—” Karonksi interrupted himself. “That’s a big if, of course. He might have done one of his damned cost-benefit analyses and decided it was cheaper to write off Rule. He could be clean himself but getting pressure from others who aren’t. But if he is corrupted, he didn’t make the decision. The demon did.” Lily’s head hurt. She rubbed her temples. “And this hypothetical demon doesn’t want anyone looking for Rule?” “Either the demon… or the demon’s master.” Cynna made a small sound. Karonski looked at her, sympathy softening his eyes. “That makes the most sense, doesn’t it? More than assuming the rules have changed. A true master could put a demon in contact with ordinary humans.” “You haven’t brought me in on it.” Her voice was tight, her eyes turbulent. “I’m the one person who could Find her, and you haven’t brought me in.” “Ruben wanted to. The Secret Service refused.” She looked away and then nodded.

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“Which brings me to the other reason I’m here.” He drained the last of his coffee and put the empty mug on the table. “Just in case any of you are thinking of doing something colossally dumb, like crossing into hell without official sanction, you should know that the Secret Service’s chief suspect is Jiri Asmahani… Cynna’s old teacher. This isn’t a good time to renew that acquaintance.” There wasn’t much to say after that. Karonski stood, told them all he’d see them later, and then paused in front of Lily. She didn’t get up. Or speak. He stood in front of her for a long moment, looking tired and sad and like he wanted to say something. But in the end he shook his head, bent and patted her shoulder, and left. He took about every last drop of hope with him. Take the next step, she’d been telling herself. What did you do when you ran out of steps? Even if she’d been willing to endanger an investigation into the demonic control of highly placed national officials, there was a chance Cynna’s old teacher was behind the official ban on looking for Rule. She wasn’t likely to change her mind just because Cynna said pretty please. Karonski wasn’t going to help them open a hellgate. Cullen didn’t know how. God, she was tired. She closed her eyes and thought about keeping them closed. Just not opening them ever again. She heard Cullen push to his feet and start pacing, muttering to himself. It sounded like Latin. “Cynna,” she asked without opening her eyes. “Is there any chance you could summon the demon who took Rule? Force it to take us to him, or bring him back?” “No.” She sounded miserable. “I don’t have enough of its names.” “Okay.” Cullen took a deep breath, let it out. “We’ve run out of other options.” That startled her eyes open. “Other options? As in, you have one I don’t know about?” “You know about it. Sort of.” He stopped in front of her. “It’s a long shot, but the only shot we’ve got left. You said the Rhej wanted to talk to you.” Baffled, she nodded. “That’s what you should do, then. Go talk to the Rhej.” TWENTY-EIGHT CULLEN wouldn’t explain. He wouldn’t tell her why talking to the clan’s historian or priestess or whatever might help. He wouldn’t even tell her the woman’s name. It was customary, he said, for the Rhej to choose who would receive her name, and she was never referred to outside her presence by anything but her title. He had the jitters. He kept pacing, but when she asked why the idea of talking to the Rhej made him nervous he raised his brows, astonished, and told her he was a jumpy fellow. He’d thought she knew that. So she took a shower.

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She was careful. Getting her burn infected wouldn’t help her or Rule or anyone, so she kept her bandages dry. But sheneeded the shower. She craved water, the feel and sound of it, and the notion, however foolish, that she could wash away some portion of last night. She used Rule’s shampoo. Standing there with her hair lathered and the water beating on her feet, she suddenly understood why she’d needed this shower. The sobs hit fast, and they hit hard. She put her back to the side of the shower stall and slid down until she was sitting on the hard tiles, head back, hands hanging limp between her knees, suds dripping on her shoulders. And wept. No one, not even Cullen, would be able to hear her. She couldn’t hear herself. It was safe to let go, let the pain and helplessness wash up through her in huge, terrible waves. The weeping ended more gradually than it had begun. She was still leaking slightly when she stood and carefully rinsed her hair. She washed her face and underarms, looked at her razor, shook her head, and shut off the water without shaving. She wasn’t sure she felt any better, but maybe giving in to tears now would keep them from sneaking up on her later. The mirror was fogged. She didn’t bother to clean it, combing her hair out quickly. It could dry on its own this time. In the bedroom, she pulled on her bra and a pair of bikini panties and then grabbed a plain silk sheath she seldom wore. Her burn would be happier now, with nothing touching it. She folded up Cynna’s things and took a breath. Time to pull herself back together. Or fake it. She opened the door. Cullen had stopped pacing. He stood at the window, frowning out the parking lot. “Where’s Cynna?” she asked. “Went to pick up some lunch for us. Harry left with her. At least he went out. I doubt he’s headed for Sub Express.” He turned. His frown deepened. He started toward her. Lunch. She’d eat, of course. However little she wanted to. “I don’t suppose you’ve thought of anything else to try.” “No.” He stopped, standing a little too close. “You’ve been crying.” “Shit. Couldn’t you at least pretend to be tactful? I know it isn’t your strong point, but at your age you should have some grasp of the basics.” “Crying’s okay. I hear it reduces stress.” He reached up and took one wet strand of hair between his fingers, rubbing it with his thumb. “There are other ways to de-stress.” “Tell me you didn’t mean that the way it sounds.” His mouth kicked up at one side in a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “I’m making you an offer you’re free to refuse.”

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She jerked her head away and stepped back. “God. I can’t believe this. Rule’s missing and you’re—” “Offering to help you feel better for a little while. No permanent cure, but physical ease benefits the mind, too.” “Is sex on demand your notion of comfort?” “Yes.” She’d been sarcastic. He was serious. “Rule wouldn’t object, you know, or feel hurt. Not under the circumstances.” “I would.” He shrugged. “Okay. I’ll admit I don’t get the guilt thing. I assume that’s what’s put that look on your face? Rather as if you’d stepped in a pile of dog doo, which I must say is not the usual reaction. If you change your mind—” “I won’t.” “—just let me know. But if you think sex would make things worse for you, then we won’t go there.” “Good.” “I’m not lusting after you, you know. Except in a general way, because you do have—” “We aren’t going there, remember?” “Right.” He turned back to the window. “Have you reached a decision?” For a second she thought he was still talking about having sex, which was stupid. He’d rattled her. “How do I go about setting up a meeting with the Rhej?” “You show up at her lair. She said she wants to talk to you, so she’ll probably be there.” He was looking out the window, so she couldn’t see his expression. And his voice sounded normal—lightly mocking, though it wasn’t obvious whether the mockery was directed out or toward himself. Yet still she had the sense that he was… not sad, exactly. Lost. Rule had been his friend, perhaps his only real friend, for many years. Years when he’d been clanless, leaving him alone in a way no human could fully grasp. Had he thought having sex with her would make him feel closer to Rule? Yech, she thought and tried to push the idea away. But it clung the way a good hunch will, and gradually the disgust melted, leaving her a little disoriented. And hurting for him. “Cynna might not mind the idea of comfort sex.” He smiled at her over his shoulder, his eyes blue and sharp and somehow knowing. As if he’d guessed

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everything she’d been thinking… and maybe a few things she hadn’t quite wrapped her mind around yet. “There’s a notion. She’s annoying, but she smells good.” Lily blinked. At times she almost forgot Cullen was lupus. He was odd in so many ways that had little to do with his wolfish part. “I hope you won’t put it to her quite that way.” “I speak fairly good western human when I have to, but I don’t think Cynna would require that.” “In other words, you’ll say what women expect, but you won’t mean it.” He was amused. “I think of it as an imprecise translation. I don’t lie. I don’t have to.” No, he probably had more women making him offers than he could properly attend to. “That,” she said after a moment, “is deeply annoying.” “It’s all in your point of view. I find it convenient.” His head turned. “Lunch is heading up the stairs.” “Already?” Funny. A few minutes ago she’d had no interest in food. She’d have eaten, just as she’d take care of her burn, because it was necessary. Now… it was weird, but she was hungry. Actually hungry. “I’ll get the pickles. No one ever puts on enough pickles.” She had a next step again. And if the Rhej couldn’t help, she’d think of something else. Lily headed for the kitchen, thinking about steps and friendship and what kind of ammo would be most likely to stop a demon.

CLAN HOME. It rested in the mountains outside the city, sprawling over nearly two thousand acres. They weren’t regal, these mountains, like their grander cousins to the north, nor garbed in towering pines. The slopes were steep but not terribly high; valleys were mostly narrow, cut by small, seasonal streams. This was chaparral country, with scrub oak, juniper, sage, and here and there the tough, ugly mountain mahogany tangled together on the rocky slopes. It was cooler up here, downright nippy compared to sea level. The air smelled of dust and sage. At least that’s what Lily smelled. She didn’t know how much more the werewolf in front of her was smelling. “So,” Cynna said, “is this Rhej person a bit of a loner? She lives up here away from everyone else.” They were following a narrow path up one of those scrub-covered slopes. Cullen led; Cynna brought up the rear. “Lots of people prefer to live slightly apart,” he said. “They enjoy the contact with the wild. It doesn’t make them loners.” Apartin this case meant away from the commons—a loose cluster of homes and small businesses along the only real road in Clanhome. The Rhej’s home was less distant than some, being only a couple of miles away from the end of the gravel road. But there was a great deal she didn’t know about Nokolai and Clanhome. She’d only been here three times. Once when she was investigating a murder—the investigation that brought her and Rule together. The second time she’d come to take part in hergens amplexi , the ceremony when she was formally

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adopted into Nokolai. On her third trip here a little over a week ago, she’d just visited, trying to get to know some of the people she was now bound to. “You holding up okay?” Cullen asked as they straggled up the last, steepest part of the path. ‘ “I’m fine.‘” Utterly spent, actually, which was mortifying but not unexpected. A wounded body turned tyrant, insisting on channeling everything into healing. But her burn wasn’t hurting too badly. Looser clothing helped. “Why didn’t I meet the Rhej at thegens amplexi ?” Cullen stopped, though they weren’t at the top of the mountain. Maybe they didn’t have to go all the way up. He glanced over his shoulder at her, a small smile on his mouth. “You did. You just didn’t know it.” “More secrets,” she muttered. “Your bunch is too damned fond of secrets.” She was breathing hard as she came up beside him. The ground leveled out here, forming a small clearing. Not a natural clearing, though everything Lily saw was native and looked like it had just happened to sprout where it was. Bracken fern and spleenwort snuggled up beneath a small pinyon pine. Mock parsley and wild celery grew in a tangle with yarrow and some species of aster that still clung to a few small, bright blue blooms. But many of the plants she saw wouldn’t have grown on this west-facing slope naturally. Someone had planted them—after digging out the oak and juniper. A huge job, that, without earth-moving equipment. Maybe she’d had lupus muscles to help. The house was set smack up against the mountain, a tiny adobe building almost the color of the dirt behind it, but with a shiny metal roof. As Lily’s attention left the plants for the house, the front door opened. An old woman swept out a scatter of dust. Lily stared. She recognized her, all right, though they hadn’t spoken at the ceremony or the celebration that had followed. The woman stood maybe five feet high, which was enough to make her stick in Lily’s memory. She was Anglo, over sixty, and fat—the roly-poly, happy-grandmother kind of fat. Her hair was white and straight and short. It looked like she cut it herself, maybe with hedge trimmers. Her eyes had once been blue. Now they were milky. She was blind. Those sightless eyes aimed right at them. “Well, come in,” she said. “You didn’t hike up here to watch me sweep my floor.” And she turned around and went back inside. Lily gave Cullen a hard look. “Secrets,” she muttered, and headed for the little house. Inside it was a single square room, its symmetry disturbed only by two bumped-out sections with doors that she guessed were the bathroom and a large closet. To her left was the kitchen area—open shelving above the single wooden counter with a tiny electric stove and a refrigerator straight out of the fifties. To her right was a round table and four wooden chairs. The bed, a double, was at the back, between the bumped-out portions. Two battered trunks lined up along one wall. Along the opposite wall was a cushy green recliner, a top-of-the-line stereo, and three large baskets. A gray tabby slept in the recliner. No rugs. White plastered walls, dark wood floor… and an altar. Set smack in the center of the room, the rough-hewn stone held three white candle stubs, a scattering of sage, and a small silver saucer.

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Chiseled into the front of it was a symbol much like Lily’s missingtoltoi . The Rhej stood at her stove with her back to the door. She wore jeans, an old flannel shirt, white socks, and no shoes. “You’ll have tea,” she informed them. “I made cookies, too. They’re on the table.” “We didn’t come here for cookies,” Cullen said. The old woman clucked her tongue. “Still angry, eh? It wasn’t me said you were no Etorri all those years ago. Though as it turned out the Etorri Rhej was right, wasn’t she? It just took Nokolai a while to realize you were ours.” “Ah…” Lily glanced from Cullen to their hostess. “Obviously you and Cullen know each other. He hasn’t bothered to introduce us, so I will. The woman with me is Cynna Weaver, and I’m Lily Yu.” “I know that, child.” She turned her head to smile at them. The smile fell away, wiped out by pure startlement. Then she laughed. “Oh. Oh, my. I’m not half as clever as I’d like to think. Well, this will be interesting. You’re Cynna?” She spoke to Cynna as directly as if she could see her. Cynna agreed to that. “You’ll stay. Cullen, go run. It’s been too long since you’ve Changed. Go enjoy your four feet instead of your brain for a while.” Cullen didn’t look happy, but to Lily’s surprise, he obeyed, giving the Rhej a single, stiff nod and leaving. Nodding at someone who couldn’t see? But then, Lily didn’t understand how anyone could garden without sight. Unless… “Do you see the way Cullen does?” she blurted. “Second sight, or whatever it’s called?” She snorted. “I’m no sorcerer, and that is not what ‘second sight’ means. Sit down, sit down.” She nodded at the table, already set with cups and saucers and dainty china plates. A larger plate held a dozen or more chocolate chip cookies. Slowly Lily complied. Cynna sat, too, looking as clueless as Lily felt. The three cups had dried herbs in their bottoms. Cynna picked hers up and sniffed at it. “Are you a precog? You seem to have been expecting us.” “I wasn’t expectingyour She shook her head. ”Lady help me, I sure wasn’t expecting you. I’ve spoken to Isen, of course, about last night, and the Lady said Lily would come. I figured Cullen would be bringing her.“ “You talk to your goddess?” Cynna asked. “Talk, argue… now and then I even listen. But the Lady is just the Lady. She’s not into the god business anymore.” She turned, teapot in hand, and waddled over to the table. Lily didn’t want to talk about goddesses, even if they weren’t in the god business anymore. “You’ve created a beautiful garden.” Though she couldn’t see how. How did the woman know what seedlings to yank, which plant was which? How could she enjoy her garden when she couldn’t see it?

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The white eyebrows lifted. “Realized it wasn’t wild growth, did you? Not many would.” “I like gardening, and I’m interested in native plants.” “Rule mentioned that you enjoy grubbing in the dirt.” She found one cup with her fingers and then poured steaming water over the herbs in it, releasing their pungent scents. Rosemary, Lily thought, among others. “The cookies are just those refrigerator things, but they’re pretty good. Help yourselves. You probably won’t like the tea, but drink it anyway. It’s good for you.” She located another cup and poured. She found things by touch, Lily realized. She found people by… “You’re an empath. A physical empath, I’d guess, because you aren’t tuning into the plants’ emotions. It’s their physical state you sense.” The Gift itself wasn’t rare, but was usually considered one of the weak Gifts. The old woman obviously had a triple dose of it— which was probably why she lived apart. “You don’t see me, but you feel me so clearly it’s almost the same.” “Not the same,” she said. “Better in some ways, not as good in others.” She filled the last cup with water. “That’ll need to steep a few minutes.” She turned and padded back to the stove to deposit the teapot. “You going to tell me what you want?” “You asked me to come.” “I know that. I may be eighty, but my memory’s good.” She chuckled as she came back to the table and pulled out a chair. “Damned good.” Lily looked at her dubiously. “Eighty?” “Clan females don’t age as slow as the males, but we do weather well.” “Ah…” Lily darted a glance at Cynna. “Are we going to talk about big, hairy secrets now?” “That’s why you’re here. I’ll tell you some of my big, hairy secrets, and you’ll tell me yours. You’re wondering why I’m letting Cynna listen in. I’ll explain later.” She bent over the steaming cup, sniffed, and nodded. “Good batch. It’ll taste nasty, but it’ll work. Drink up.” Cynna looked dubious. “What’s in it?” “Rosemary, rue, chamomile, a few others. All properly harvested.” She “looked” at Lily. “It’ll be good for Cynna and me, too, but it’s mostly for you. Opens you up to the spell I’ll add to help your body mend. Not that I’m a healer, but I’ve picked up a thing or two over the years. You’ll need to sleep after.” Spells would work on her now. Lily’s hands fisted in her lap. The old woman leaned over and patted her arm. “I won’t tell you it’ll get better. It won’t stop being a loss and a grief just because times passes. I went blind more than thirty years ago, and I still miss the sight of dew on the grass. Or a smile.” She formed one of her own. “Lord, but I’d love to see a smile again. But the hurt changes over time, if you let it.”

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Lily started to nod and caught herself. “Okay.” She took a breath and let it out. “I’m not here to talk about the loss of my Gift, though.” “You want to go after Rule.” She jerked slightly. “Youare a precog. Or else Isen—” “Isen’s trying to keep you from doing that, yes. While hoping to do it himself or send some of his people, if he can come up with a way. He’s a man and a father, not just the Rho. But you’re Rule’s Chosen. Of course you want to go after him.” She picked up her teacup. “Drink your tea, child. I’ve a good deal to tell you, and I won’t start until you’ve emptied the cup.” Was there something in the tea other than healing herbs? Lily picked it up, sniffed dubiously, and glanced at Cynna… who was holding her hand over her own cup, her face wearing that focused look. After a second she shrugged, picked up her cup, and took a sip. “Oh, ugh. You weren’t kidding about the taste. Rat turds.” “Not in this batch.” The old woman downed her own tea in three big swallows, grimaced and then belched gently. “Before you tell me what you want from me, you need to know what a Rhej is. I’m the memory.” She reached for a cookie. “You haven’t drunk your tea.” If that’s what it took to get her to talk… Lily tried to emulate the old woman. It took her five swallows, and she wasn’t sure she’d keep the last one down. “The clan historian, you mean.” “I mean what I said. Eat.” She pushed the cookies toward Lily, who took one and bit. “They get rid of the aftertaste.” She finished her own cookie and dusted her hands. “You’re thinking I memorize a bunch of songs and stories so I can pass on our oral history as it was passed on to me. You’re half right. I do pass on what was passed to me, and I know and teach a lot of songs and stories. But I check their accuracy against the original sources.” “Ah… dead sources?” She chuckled. “I’m no medium. The Etorri Rhej, now—but that’s another story. A Rhej is always Gifted, though. There has to be a channel, but it doesn’t seem to matter much what the Gift is. Speaking of Gifts… you guessed mine. I know yours was taken from you. What about you?” she said to Cynna abruptly. “You’re Gifted, but I don’t know what it is.” Cynna blinked. “I’m a Finder.” The white eyebrows lifted. “Interesting. As I was saying, a Rhej has to be Gifted so there’ll be a channel, a way to receive what’s been passed down. I hold memories going back more than five thousand years. Mostly Nokolai,” she added casually, reaching for another cookie. “But some of the older memories are too important to trust to a single Rhej, so we all hold ‘em.” “Five thousand years,” Lily said blankly. “Five thousandyears ?” “Give or take a few centuries.” Her smile was a tad grim. “Makes for restless nights sometimes.” Cynna leaned forward. “Do they feel like your memories? I mean, is it all just crammed in there together, so that what someone experienced a thousand years ago is like what you lived through last year?”

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The Rhej nodded. “Good question, but tricky to answer. You might think of the passed—that’s how we refer to what’s been passed to us—as computer files, being as how that’s what your generation’s used to. I like suitcases better, myself, but to each her own. If I need to check the details of a particular memory I open a suitcase, take out the one I want, and try it on. Once it’s on, though… it isn’t memory anymore. I’m there.” Either the woman was sincerely nuts, Lily decided, or she was sincerely… well, something completely outside Lily’s experience. This was no put-on. She found herself tugged toward belief, maybe because she needed to believe. To think she’d found someone who could help. But Cullen was the opposite of gullible, and he’d brought them here, to this woman. “You’re saying that you experience what someone thousands of years dead lived through. You don’t remember it. You experience it.” “That’s right. But once we’ve finished our apprenticeships, we don’t open our suitcases often. We remember what’s in them well enough for most things.” The sort of memories that would be saved wouldn’t be pleasant, would they? They’d be from the big moments— the life-and-death struggles of the clan, not a baby’s first steps or the beauty of a sunrise on a particular morning. Lily could see why the Rhej didn’t open her “suitcases” often. “I’d planned to tell you all of this anyway,” the old woman said. “Along with a great deal more, including some of those songs and stories. You’re Nokolai now. You need to know your clan. But you won’t have time for that now. So.” She slapped her palm on the table. “Time to spill your secrets. Tell me what you know or have guessed about Rule’s disappearance.” It didn’t take long. Lily knew how to boil a report down and present it dispassionately. She left out what Karonski had told them, of course, simply saying they’d had a lead on a possible source for opening a hellgate, but it hadn’t panned out. “So Rule’s in the demon realm.” The Rhej’s voice was heavy. She was silent a moment. “It was Cullen’s idea, I take it. To come to me.” “Yes. We need to open a gate, and we don’t know how. Can you help us?” She shook her head, but it looked more like “let me think” than a refusal, so Lily held her tongue. For several moments the old woman frowned at her thoughts. “You’ve brought me a hard one,” she said at last. “Normally I’d refuse and then grieve. There are things we’re not allowed to reveal. That’s another reason Cullen isn’t fond of us,” she added. “We know things that we won’t tell him. Drives him crazy.” Lily smiled faintly. “It would.” “But now…” Her frown deepened. “I’ve been Rhej for forty-two years. I was apprenticed for twelve years before that. When I say I listen to the Lady, I’m not talking about hearing voices. If I get a feeling, a certain kind of feeling, I know it’s from her. Oh, when it’s clan business, I still use Tell-Me-Three-Times to confirm my feeling. That’s how we’re trained—check and double-check, using different rituals. But most of us only hear the Lady’s voice once in our lives. It’s enough.” She gave a short nod.

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“Do you have one of those feelings now?” She snorted. “Got better than that. There’s one time we don’t use Tell-Me-Three-Times. If the Lady ups and speaks, well, that’s it. Can’t mistake her voice for anyone or anything else, not if you’ve ever heard it. And we all have, that once. Well, she woke me up last night. Three o’clock in the damned morning, and for the second time in my life I heard her voice.” Lily’s heart was pounding. “What did she say?” “Bring him back.” She closed her eyes, so dizzy with relief she swayed. “Then you’ll do it.” “I’ll do what I can. It may not be enough. The sort of memories you need… they were split hundreds of years ago. Too dangerous to rest just with one person. None of us holds the entire spell to open a gate.” “Then what?” she demanded. “What do we do? Will the other Rhejes help?” “They should. When the Lady speaks… but you’d better hope the she’s been shaking some other shoulders. The ban’s been round for a long time, and we all remember why it was put in place. This is going to take time. Some of the others…” Her head turned toward the wall with the recliner. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Cullen. If you just have to hear what’s going on;come on in.” A few seconds later a lean wolf trotted in the front door. He was smaller than Rule’s wolf-form—his shoulders would hit below her waist—and his coat was a pale silver, not the black-and-silver of Rule’s fur. And the sight of him hurt her heart. Cynna made a small sound. Lily looked at her. “Knowing about it and seeing it are two different things, aren’t they?” “Yeah.” Cynna’s eyes never left the wolf, who came up to the table and fixed the Rhej with a pair of disconcertingly bright blue eyes. “I guess you heard the most of it,” the old woman said. Cullen-wolf nodded. “This is not going to be easy.” She contemplated things for a moment and then pushed her chair back. “Or quick, so I’d best get started. You can take me to Isen’s house. I’ll use his phone. Someone bring the cookies. Isen’s fond of chocolate chip.” She stood. “I’m Hannah, by the way.” Cullen yipped and then pointed with his nose at Cynna. “Wondering about that, are you? Why I let her learn so much?” Suddenly the old woman grinned and her face lit up, bright as a mischievous child. “I did say I’d explain. After all, she’s not clan yet.” “Ah…” Cynna looked taken aback. “What do you mean,yet ?” Hannah’s grin widened. “Just what it sounds like. You’ll have to become Nokolai sooner or later. You’re the next Rhej.”

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TWENTY-NINE RULE woke from his first true, deep sleep in hell with a hard ache in his leg; the scents of earth, water, and smoke in his nostrils; and a clear head. He lay quietly, eyes closed, savoring the relief. Most of his memories of the period immediately following the demon’s bone-setting were a blur of pain punctuated by fitful sleep. Lily had woken him periodically, coaxing him to drink from her cupped hands. Sometimes he’d woken on his own. She’d always been near. He did recall how he’d gotten to the cave. Lily had called down a dragon. The agony of having his bone set had left him too weak and dizzy to stand. She’d been determined to get him in the cave, where there was water, since they lacked any kind of bowl or pot. The demon was strong enough to handle Rule’s weight, but too small to manage his bulk. Lily had gotten one of the “coverings” the dragon had mentioned, a thick braided mat she could use as a stretcher. But there had been no way to lower him from the sandbox to the beach. He’d tried to tell her to wait until he’d healed enough to do it on his own. Maybe his meaning lost something in the translation, or maybe she was just stubborn. She’d called for help. One of the coppery-brown dragons had descended. Rule remembered the way Lily had ordered it to be careful of his ribs and gentle when it set him down. He remembered the miserable jerk of the takeoff, too, with the talons wrapped around his middle, but the flight had been brief. And the dragon had sent him down gently as ordered, right on the mat Lily had waiting outside the cave. Gan had dragged him in. He’d been glad of the water, he admitted now. But his bladder was about to burst. How long had he been sleeping? Rule was familiar with injury and its aftermath. Lupi played hard, trained hard, and often fought hard, and their bodies cleansed themselves of pain killers and as efficiently as they disposed of alcohol and other toxins. So pain was no stranger. He knew to ride it, not fight it. But he’d never been cut off from the sweet song of the moon or away from Earth’s rhythms. He hadn’t been sure he would heal. Lupi drew from both earth and moon magic. The Change was wrought by their interplay, when the moon’s call set the earth dancing in his blood and bones. Here there was no moon, and this earth wasn’t Earth. Yet it was enough like his earth, it seemed. His sense of time was distorted, but he thought no more than a day or two had passed—a little slow, but close enough to his normal rate of healing. His hunger fit that estimate. It had been much too long since he’d eaten. He took a moment more to assess his situation. His head didn’t hurt at all, so the concussion was healed. His ribs… well, he’d find out in a moment. Scents told him that Lily was near but not right beside him. He smelled demon and dragon, too, but more faintly—neither were present now. Good. But the smoke… what was that from? He opened his eyes.

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The cave was a single chamber about twenty feet deep, fairly regular, with a sandy floor. It was dim where he lay near the rear, but he saw well enough. The rough ceiling was less than five feet overhead—enough head room for him in this form, but Lily must have had to stoop to tend him. The fire was near the cave’s mouth. So was Lily. She was feeding it sticks. She was clothed, he noted with surprise. She’d wrapped a length of red fabric around her torso like a sarong. More of the dragon’s coverings, he supposed. Like the one beneath him, the braided mat Gan had dragged him in here on. Time to find out what shape he was in. Awkwardly he clambered to his feet, holding the splinted leg carefully. Shit. That hurt. Just his leg, though. The ribs were tender, but not painful. Good. They’d be fully healed in another day or so. His leg would take longer. That had been a bad break. A week? Maybe a little more… “What do you think you’re doing?” Lily made a bee-line for him. “You don’t need to be standing, for God’s sake. Lie down. Whatever you need, I’ll get it.” He looked at her wryly and started for the mouth of the cave, clumsy but determined. Some things she couldn’t do for him. “Rule. You’re not listening.” She kept pace beside him, looking worried. “You do understand me, don’t you?” He nodded. “Well, then, why… oh.” She nodded. “Right. Uh, I’ve been using the grassy area for a privy, but that’s too far for you. I guess… what’s wrong?” He’d paused in the mouth of the cave. Surely it had been lighter before. He looked up at the sky, where two dragons soared, high above. It was definitely darker than it had been. He looked at her. “The light’s fading,” she agreed. “Looks like night does fall in hell, after all. Or in parts of it. Gan says there’s no natural night and day here, but light and darkness get tugged around by the different demon lords. Xitil keeps her realm light most of the time, but the lord of the realm over there”—she waved out at the ocean— “goes for a more regular light-dark cycle. The dragons can’t regulate their territory the way the demon lords do, so it trends along with its neighbors. This close to the ocean, we’re in for bouts of darkness. That’s one reason I wanted the fire.” He glanced over at it, nodded, and resumed his slow progress. She kept pace beside him. “I sent Gan for some firewood. There wasn’t much on the beach to burn. I hope it gets back soon—I’m almost out of sticks.” She grinned. “At first Gan said starting a fire was easy, that demons can all do small magics like that. But he—it—took forever to get this one going. It blames the dragons, of course.” He glanced at her. “Apparently they have sort of a dampening effect on magic. Gan says they soak it up.” The demon had said earlier that dragons were immune to magic. Apparently they weren’t immune in the

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way Lily was, though, with it bouncing off them. They simply absorbed it. That is, if the stupid little shit was telling the truth, or even knew what was true. Where was the demon, anyway? Rule looked up and down the beach. No sign of it—and that bright orange skin did stand out. Well, he was far enough from the cave now. He’d have to squat and pee like a girl, though. He didn’t think he could balance on two legs. As soon as he started, his attentive nurse discovered a sudden need to attend to something in the cave. He hobbled back. It was awkward as hell. He promised himself that the next time he saw a three-legged dog hopping around he’d have a better appreciation for the skill involved. If he ever saw a dog again. Or anything else of Earth. Lily was messing with the fire. She looked up, her expression almost shy. “Are you hungry? There’s some fruit. A little meat, too… well, dead animals, really. There’s two of them. There were three, but I tried to skin one and made a mess of it. I’ve been sharpening one of the bones the dragons brought when we splinted your leg,” she added, “but it’s not much of a knife.” He could smell the game—at least a day dead, but not spoiled. It would do. He gave her a nod and started for the back of the cave. “No, I’ll get it.” She stood. “You’ve been rambling around enough.” He decided not to object, partly because that short walk had left him stupidly winded, partly because of the look on her face. Happiness. He hadn’t seen that in her eyes since her sister’s wedding. He lay down near the fire. The flames were small and gave off little heat, but a welter of emotions. Fire was a comfort for humans, bane to most beasts. He was uneasily aware of how little he enjoyed the flames. Surely the man hadn’t slipped so far away in such a short time? And yet he’d attacked without thought. When he learned what the demon had done, that his mate was dying because of it, there had been only the killing rage, the need to feel the demon’s life bleed away beneath his teeth. If the dragon hadn’t stopped him, he would have been responsible for Lily’s death. He held no anger for the dragon over his injury. He’d earned his broken leg. It scraped against his raw places now for Lily to look so happy at the chance to do him a service, when he deserved it so little. She needed the demon now. Needed it far more than she did him. And however ugly that thought was, he’d better get used to it. He had to get along with Gan somehow, or he’d make things harder for her. But what, he wondered with a blind sort of agony, had happened to the part of her left behind? What became of such a strange remnant?Lady , he thought, and stopped, unsure what to ask.Lady, she is yours. Care for her. All of her . Lilly brought back two creatures that looked like a cross between a rat and a naked jackrabbit. Nothing

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he’d seen here had fur. She glanced from the limp bodies to the fire. “I could cook them. Or try to.” He shook his head. Even in this form he enjoyed his meat cooked when it wasn’t a fresh kill, but he was too hungry to wait. Before he could take the game from her hand, though, he heard something approaching. He bristled to warn Lily. A few seconds later, he heard Gan muttering under its breath. A surge of loathing flattened his ears. “Rule? What is it?” The demon came into view. “This better be enough wood,” it grumbled. It was carrying several branches under one arm. “I had to climb to the top to get it.” Lily frowned at Rule. “It’s just Gan. You aren’t going to attack it again, are you?” It was harder than it should have been to remember the reasons he couldn’t. The wolf wanted to, badly. And the man didn’t disagree, but knew better. His tail twitched in disgust, partly at himself. He took the two rat-rabbits from Lily’s hand. He’d eat them outside. Less of a mess—and he wouldn’t have to smell the demon while he ate. He passed Gan on the threshold. “Hey, look who’s awake,” it said. “It’s old dark, mute, and crippled. Going to have a picnic, fur-face?” Rule ignored it, carrying his meal several paces away and lying down. He glanced up. The sky was much darker now, more gray than copper, and the air had that near-shimmer of approaching twilight. And there were more dragons overhead than before—three, five… six now, and wasn’t that another one headed this way? Either they wanted extra guards at night, or the dragons were protection as well as jailers. Night often brought new dangers, and they didn’t want Lily killed. On that one point, he and the dragons agreed. He bit into a rat-rabbit and grimaced. Good thing he wasn’t a picky eater. “How far away do you think you were?” Lily asked the demon. “How do I know?” “Guess. I want to know the limits of this bond.” That jolted Rule. It echoed so precisely the way she’d reacted to the mate bond—test it, learn the parameters. “Maybe three kilometers.” There was a clatter as Gan dropped its load. “Did you go to the limit of the bond?” “I said I would, didn’t I? It was like walking into a Zone that doesn’t want you there. Everything turned

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thick and I couldn’t breathe, so I backed up.” “I didn’t feel anything.” Lily crouched to feed one of the smaller branches into the fire. “Break a couple more in half, would you? They’re too big.” “Of course you didn’t feel anything.” Gan cracked a three-inch thick branch over its knee. “I’m the one partly inside you, not the other way around.” The bond between Lily and the demon wasn’t exactly like the mate bond, then. That didn’t make Rule feel any better. Rule finished off the first rat-rabbit methodically, glancing overhead every so often. The dragons were gathering along the top of the cliff. Odd. He’d stay out here a while, he decided. Keep watch. “How did the dragons react to you climbing the cliff?” she asked. “One of them kept track of me, but from a distance. They know I can’t go far. You’ll keep your end of our deal now, right?” Rule stiffened, looking back at the cave. Lily had made a deal with the demon? Lily had her fire going nicely now. She sat beside it. “Of course. One load of firewood equals five rounds ofI Spy” Gan grinned, showing its pointy teeth. “I get to go first.” It plopped down on the dirt floor, stubby legs extended, and leaned back on its tail as it looked around, its gaze landing on Rule outside. “I spy something furry and stupid.” “Your turn will be over fast if you play that way,” Lily said. “And you’re supposed to use colors, remember?” Rule shook his head and finished eating to the sound of “I spy something gray” and Lily’s guesses. With the light nearly gone, almost everything in the cave was some shade of gray, so the game was likely to last a while. How could she stand to be around the creature? She was playing kids games with it, for God’s sake. If he… A low, mournful sound drew his gaze up. There were seven dragons now. Seven dragons lined up along the top of the cliff, silhouetted against the darkening sky, their long necks stretched up. Again the sound came… longer, deeper. Haunting. A little like a didjeridu, he thought. And the dragons were making it. He’d thought them mute. Not dumb, no—they had mindspeech, possibly true telepathy. But not once had he heard any of them make a sound, not a grunt or a cough, until now. Now, when they sang to the gathering dusk. Inside the cave, Lily looked up. “What’s that?”

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Rule yipped:Come out. Come out and hear this . Another dragon had joined the first, and another. “It’s just the dragons,” Gan said. “And it’s still my turn.” “In a minute.” Lily stood. “We aren’t finished!” Gan cried. “Hush. I’ll finish later. I want to hear this.” She came out to stand beside Rule, looking up, as he was. The dragons’ long necks were their instruments. Lungs accustomed to charging those big bodies with enough oxygen to sustain flight powered their song, and they wrapped their voices together in harmonies like nothing he’d ever imagined—eerie, wordless, haunting. He glanced at Lily. Everything he felt was on her face—awe, grief, a poignancy as vast as the growing darkness. She met his gaze and then sat beside him, their bodies touching. And for a timeless period, Rule forgot everything he’d lost, everything he stood to lose, in the glory of dragonsong. It was full dark when it ended. Not pitch black; more like new-moon dark, Rule thought, once he could think again. Lily was leaning against him. He turned to look at her, aching to put his arms around her. But even if he’d had the right-shaped mouth to speak, he didn’t have words for what he’d just experienced. Her face was damp. She met his eyes… and yawned. “Oh,” she said, startled, and did it again. “I thought… but I’m sleepy. Really sleepy.” Everything inside Rule smiled. He’d worried about her sleeplessness. Her body might no longer want sleep, but the human mind needed to dream. He nudged her with his nose. She gave a little laugh. “I guess I’d better get inside. I feel like I’ve been up for days… I have been, haven’t I? But this hit so suddenly…” This time she yawned like she was going to crack her jaw. He nudged her again. She smiled, pushed his muzzle away, and stood, blinking. “Straight to bed, I think.” She looked a little unsteady as she headed for the cave. Gan was inside, sulking, playing some game with a few small pieces of bones. “Are you finally going to finish our game?” “Sorry, Gan. I’m not going to be able to stay awake long…” Another yawn. “Long enough. I’ll give you an extra round tomorrow to make up for waiting,” she promised, heading for the back of the cave, wobbling a little. “Shit.” Gan stared after her. “It gets dark, and she conks out.” Rule thought the darkness was coincidence, but maybe not. He followed her. Moments after lying down on the mat where he’d slept, she was asleep. He sat beside her for a while, listening to Gan mutter. The demon seemed to be trying to levitate the bones. It wasn’t having much luck.

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He was, he realized, extremely thirsty. But nature called. He went outside to take care of that and then returned to drink from the small basin filled by the spring. He was getting better at the three-legged bit, he thought. But bending to drink was a bitch. He emptied the basin and was waiting for it to refill when he noticed an odd scent. Curious, he followed his nose to a boulder. Dragon-scent, he realized. Faint enough that he hadn’t picked up on it from a distance. And not just any dragon—this smelled of the one he thought of as Old Black. The one who’d told Lily to call him Sam. He looked up at the ceiling, puzzled. That huge beast couldn’t have fit back here. His tail, maybe… Rule checked the ground around the spring and the boulder. Only the boulder held the scent. He’d moved it, Rule realize. The dragon had moved the boulder. To hide something? Something like—a way out? Excited, Rule yipped. “Go chase your tail,” Gan said, staring at its bone fragments. “I’m busy.” One of the pieces lifted about an inch at one end but then fell. “Stupid fucker!” Gan cried. “Those dragons have eaten all the stupid magic here!” Rule studied the boulder. He could have moved it himself, if he had hands. As it was… he sighed and hobbled to the front of the cave. He growled softly. “Go away,” Gan muttered, resting its chin in its hands “I’m not moving any stupid rocks for you.” Rule drew in the dirt with his paw—two horizontal lines crossed by two vertical lines. He put an X in one square and growled again. Gan sat up straighten Its expression was funny, as if it was trying not to look happy. “Tic-tac-toe? Well… it’s not as good asI Spy , but you can’t talk, can you? Okay, I guess I could do it. For twenty games, and you let me win every one.” Rule stared. The demon thought that would be fun? Knowing Rule was letting it win, it would still enjoy playing? He growled. “Okay, okay. Ten games, but I win them all.” Why not? Rule nodded and then added a growl that meant:If you can do it. You don’t get anything for failing . “Ha. Of course I can do it.” The little demon waddled to the back of the cave, and Rule showed it what he wanted moved. Gan and the boulder were the same height. It studied the rock for a moment—then, as Rule watched in amazement, it grew smaller. After a second he caught on. The demon had redistributed its mass to make itself almost as inert as the boulder. It spread its newly shortened legs, pressed its tail into the ground, and began pushing. The boulder rolled. And behind it… darkness. Stale air. A tunnel. Dread rose in Rule. He had a horror of small, closed spaces. If he went in there and Gan pushed the

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boulder back… “I get to go first,” Gan said, expanding back to its normal size. “I’m exes, you’re boos.” As promised, Rule let Gan win the first two games, making it so easy he didn’t see how the demon could get any pleasure from it. But Gan crowed over both staged victories as if it had won the sweepstakes. Rule sighed and put a pawprint in one of the squares. Gan studied the nine squares as intently as if there was some chance it could lose. And yawned. Its eyes widened. “Shit! Was that a yawn?” Rule nodded. “Demons don’t sleep.” Gan scowled. “I am not sleepy. I’m not going to start falling unconscious every so often like some stupid…” It yawned again. “Shit, shit, shit! She’s making me sleepy! I’ve never felt this before. I don’t like it.” It looked like a sulky—and very ugly— child defying bedtime as it glared at Lily’s sleeping figure. “This is all her fault.” Rule stood, growling. “I’m not going to hurt her, stupid. Sit down. You still owe me eight games.” The demon was asleep before they finished the fourth game. Once Rule was sure it was sleeping soundly, he hobbled to the back of the cave. He stared into the tunnel for a long moment. It might be a dead end. But Rule didn’t think dragons rolled boulders around for fun. The tunnel had been blocked for a reason. Even if Gan pushed the boulder back, he told himself, he’d just have to bark. Lily would hear him and make the demon let him out. He could mark his route by scent. He wouldn’t get lost. The lack of light wouldn’t be a problem. The tightness of the space would. And these rocks were mostly limestone. Good for forming caves, but also prone to shifting. To collapse. He did not want to go in there. He looked over his shoulder at Lily, sleeping for the first time in God knew how long. Gan thought the dragons meant to trade Lily to a demon lord. The big dragon hadn’t denied it. If they had a chance of escape… he had no choice, really. But he was shaking as he eased himself down onto his belly, his bad leg pushed in front of him, and inched under a mountain of stone. THIRTY ONE week later, Lily was at the airport, waiting for Cullen. Originally, Cynna had been supposed to pick him up, but she was upstate, looking for a missing child in one of the state parks. Lily could hardly argue for Cynna to ignore the needs of a lost child, but the other woman’s absence made Lily feel as if her plan was unraveling.

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Or maybe it was just her that was unraveling. Cullen had flown toNew Orleans yesterday. He called the trip research, though he’d refused to tell her what he hoped to accomplish—“you being an officer of the law and all, luv,” he’d said with an irritating grin. An officer of the law who was conspiring to open a portal to hell. She hitched her purse higher on her shoulder, scanning the faces of the disembarking passengers. She didn’t have much room to criticize his methods. It had been a long week. Before Cynna left, she’d located three small nodes within a few miles of the spot both she and Lily felt Rule to be. He’d stopped moving around so much, which helped. His current location corresponded to a point about two miles out to sea. Not so cool. That spot might be high and dry in Dis. She hoped so. But she was taking an inflatable raft, just in case. Assuming they were able to cross, that is. There was a whole lot of nothing going on with the Rhejes. Hannah kept saying it took time to be sure of the Lady’s will, but Rule might not have time. They didn’t know… oh, there was Cullen. At last. He had a carryon slung over one shoulder and his other arm slung over the shoulders of a dark-haired woman—fortyish, Caucasian, shapely, wearing a business suit that had probably started out crisp. Lily’s lips tightened. He saw Lily, turned to give the woman a murmured word and a kiss, and left her sighing. “What kind of research were you doing inNew Orleans , anyway?” she asked as soon as he reached her. “Chill,” he said. “Lorene and I were seatmates on the flight. I got what I went after.” He patted his bag, looking smug. “And what was that, exactly?” She started down the concourse. He ignored her question and asked his own. “Where’s Cynna?” She told him, watching his face for signs of disappointment or relief. Despite all the sparks, he and Cynna hadn’t fallen into bed together at the first opportunity. They probably couldn’t stop arguing long enough, Lily thought. “Anything else happen while I was gone? The scary old bats still conferring?” “Hannah says they’re doing the Tell-Me-Three-Times, checking out the Lady’s will through rituals. But how long can that take? It’s been seven days.” The days weren’t the worst, of course. It was the nights that made her crazy. She wasn’t sleeping well. “They’re trying to convince themselves the Lady doesn’t want what she said she wanted. ‘Bring him back.’ That’s what she told Hannah. How much clearer could she be?” He gave a hard-to-read glance. “You beginning to accept that the Lady is real, are you?”

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She shrugged impatiently. “Maybe. They think she is, so why won’t they listen to Hannah?” “Sweetheart, those women make the pope look like a screaming revolutionary. They aren’t going to like any decision that wanders a hair outside tradition.” He shrugged. “I guess when you carry that much of the past around inside you, you can’t help getting hung up on the status quo.” “Yeah, well, if the status gets any more quo, we’ll be moving backward.” “Is Hannah still convinced that Cynna’s her replacement?” he asked as he got on the escalator. “Yeah.” She followed him. “And Cynna’s getting annoyed. I don’t blame her. Hannah keeps instructing her.” Cullen let out a laugh. Two women riding the up escalator stared at him, practically drooling. “I’d like to see that.” “You probably will. When Cynna objects, Hannah just smiles and says Cynna is Lady-touched, and she’ll come around when it’s time. As if Cynna could change religions just like that.” “It isn’t a religion.” “What?” She stepped off the escalator after him. “Serving the Lady. There’s a spiritual aspect, or can be, but it isn’t a religion. Cynna could go right on being a Catholic if she wants.” “You might not see a conflict, but I suspect the Church would.” She frowned at him. “You sound like you want her to do it. To apprentice herself to Hannah.” He hesitated and then said slowly, “Hannah’s eighty. That’s old for a human, even one clan-born. There’s been a buzz for years about her lack of an apprentice. She had one once. She was lulled in the accident that blinded Hannah. That was more than thirty years ago.” He looked at Lily. “Nokolai has to have a Rhej.” She was absurdly disappointed. She’d wanted him to share her anger, dammit. “That’s not Cynna’s problem. Anyway, I thought you didn’t like the Rhejes.” Cullen stopped. He let his bag slip to the floor. “What?” She looked around, barely resisting the urge to reach for her weapon. “What is it?” “You.” He moved behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. She jolted and turned to face him. “Are you crazy? What are you doing?” “I’m going to give you a massage.” He moved behind her again. “You’re wound so tight you’re likely to plug someone for bumping into you. If you won’t accept sex,” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders again and kneading, “you’ll have to make do with a back rub.” “Here?” But she didn’t move. His fingers dug in just right, relaxing muscles she hadn’t realized were so

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tight. “Here. Where there are lots and lots of people around, and you won’t worry about where I’m going to put my hands next. This is a strictly asexual massage.” She didn’t think Cullen could do asexual if his life depended on it. But he wasn’t trying to seduce her, she admitted. And… it felt good. His thumbs made circles on her neck, and it was like he’d poured warm oil along her muscles. Everything loosened. “Damn, you’re tight. I mean that in a strictly asexual way,” he added. “Because I have no way of knowing—” “Shut up, Cullen.” But she smiled in spite of herself. “Have you been working out? That’s not as much fun as sex, but it can dissipate the tension.” “Sure. With an Ml6.” “Ah, I sense Benedict’s strong hand. He’s too banged up to train you himself, though.” “Jeff’s put me and Cynna through our paces.” She’d gone to Benedict for tactical advice and firepower. Nokolai possessed a weapons cache that horrified the law enforcement officer in her, but was coming in damned handy now. She and Cynna would carry Ml6s; Cullen got Benedict’s machine gun. He’d also carry the rocket launcher, and they’d each have grenades. Benedict had helped with her lists, too. They couldn’t know how big their gate would be until Cullen had a chance to evaluate the ritual, maybe not until he worked it. Mass wasn’t an issue, he’d told her, but size mattered. She didn’t pretend to understand that, but she and Benedict had worked up lists of supplies and weapons based on various possibilities. What should they take if it was just her, Cullen, and Cynna? If they could take either two extra people or one person and the rocket launcher, which should they leave out? Or if—oh, that’s right. She hadn’t told Cullen about that possibility. “He wanted me to ask Max to join us.” “Max?” His fingers paused. He chuckled. “I’d like to have seen his face when you invited him to go to hell.” “I didn’t get to see it yet myself. He wasn’t at the club.” Max was the owner of Club Hell, where Cullen danced. He was small, bad-tempered, foul-mouthed, and a gnome. Though no one was supposed to know the last bit. “Why Max, anyway?” He began knuckling her spine. “He’s no good with weapons.” “He can fight, though, and he’s smaller than any of the lupi. Plus Benedict says gnomes are immune to demon magic. The compulsion type, at least.”

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Cullen made a scoffing noise. “Rumor. Tall tales.” “I don’t think Benedict makes tactical judgments based on rumor. Will you ask him?” “Sure. He’ll turn me down, but I’ll ask.” He gave her shoulders a last squeeze. “Better?” It was. She rolled her shoulders and nodded. “Thanks.” “I’m just looking after myself, you know.” He picked up his bag. “How’s that?” she fell back into step beside him. “You stay stretched this tight and you’re going to screw up and get us all killed. Can’t run things by committee once we cross, you know. You’ll be in charge.” Uneasy and unsure why, she shook her head. “I’m the least knowledgeable of us. You or Cynna should be captain, or head wolf, or whatever you want to call it.” “Boss bitch?” He grinned at her scowl. “No, it needs to be you. Cynna’s not used to running the show, and I’m not alpha enough.” She snorted. “Oh, yeah, I’ve noticed how submissive you are.” “I do like to be on top, but I try to be flexible. There are all sorts of other lovely positions. For example—” “Cullen.” He flashed her a grin. “Right. Alpha isn’t really a synonym for bossy, you know. I could handle that just fine. A true alpha… funny. I never tried to put it into words before, but I know I’m not one.” They’d reached the automatic doors leading outside. She went through first. “So is a true alpha different from a plain old alpha?” “Yes,” he said definitely. “What you mean by alpha isn’t what a lupus means. You think of it as machismo— someone who dominates others. We mean someone who can’t be dominated. A subtle but real difference. Bullies need to dominate, but can be cowed if you’re tougher than they are.” She nodded, squinting against the sun. Where—? Oh, yeah. “I’m parked in Section C. So what’s the rest of it?” she asked as they wove between the parked cabs waiting for a fare. “Because you’ve got the ‘don’t even try to dominate me’ thing down pat, I’d say.” “Glad you noticed. The rest of it…” He shook his head, falling silent as they started across the parking area. Lily let the subject drop. Why was she uncomfortable about being in charge after they crossed? It wasn’t just her lack of knowledge. It was… guilt, she realized, feeling a little sick. She wasn’t sure she should be trusted with their lives. She’d proven she was willing to risk them by roping them into doing this. There was the way she was healing, too. Or not healing. The burn was better, but she still got so

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damned tired. She’d been taking naps in the middle of the day, for God’s sake. That wasn’t normal. If she couldn’t— “Rule has it.” “It?” He’d startled her. “What it?” “The alpha thing. The part I don’t have. So does Benedict. Mick didn’t.” The brother who died. “I didn’t really know Mick. He was already under Helen’s control when we met, so I never had a chance to know the real person.” “The real Mick wasn’t the sonofabitch you met, but he was no angel, either. He wanted to be Lu Nuncio. Helen didn’t plant that desire. She just used it. Which way?” he asked as the reached Section C. “Down here.” She was almost sure this was the right aisle. Cullen followed. “Mick convinced himself he’d be better for Nokolai than Rule, but his ambition was really all about what he wanted. Or what he didn’t want. He hated the idea of submitting to his younger brother. Isen knew it. That’s why he didn’t name Mick heir. “Isen’s got it,” he went on, seeming to speak to himself as much as her. “He’s a ruthless bastard, but he’s ruthless on behalf of the clan. Or sometimes for the good of all lupi, everywhere. A true alpha instinctively thinks of the clan first. I don’t. I can,” he added, with a twitch of a smile. “But it’s an effort. With Rule, it’s automatic.” Yes, it was. Lily’s throat tightened. She nodded, concentrating on not letting her eyes fill. “Here’s my car,” she said unnecessarily, clicking her remote. “You’ve got it, too.” “Me?” She shook her head. “The boss bitch part, maybe. But I don’t have the clan-first instinct. Half the time I forget I am clan.” “That’s not what I mean. If you’re in charge, you’ll think of the group after we cross, not just what you want or need. You won’t be able to stop yourself. Just like right now,” he said, opening the door and tossing in his bag. “You’re wanting to confess. You’re afraid you might be willing to spend me to save Rule.” She stared. “And you think that qualifies me to lead?” He smiled and patted her cheek. “You’re proving my point, luv.” He climbed in and shut the door. Baffled, she shook her head went around to her side. They were in the midst of heavy traffic on 1-5 before he spoke again. “I didn’t tell you what I went to New Orleans for.” “I noticed,” she said dryly. “I needed to confirm something about Dis I’d read in several references. Not good references, mind

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you. The only grimoires they didn’t burn during the Purge were all but worthless—fiction mixed with fantasy and peppered with a few stray facts, probably by accident. I can’t tell you how much nonsense got passed on from one medieval dabbler to another. One asshole would make up something to sound important, and half a dozen others dutifully recorded it.” “Actually, you have told me.” Many times. “Have I?” He glanced at her and then ahead. “That’s why I needed to double-check this. The text I wanted is far more reliable than most. It, ah, wasn’t available. But I was able to buy a photocopy of the pertinent pages. Cost a pretty penny just for that,” he added. “Isen covered it, though.” “I take it this—” Her cell phone rang. “Pass me my phone, would you?” He dug it out of her purse and handed it to her. “Yes?” As she listened, her heart began to pound. “Yes. All right. Tell Cynna—no, I’ll call her myself. Do you know when they… wait, let me get a pen.” But Cullen beat her to it. She repeated the information aloud, and he jotted down the flight numbers. “Got it,” she said. “We’ll pick up the one fromCanada . As Isen to send someone for the other one, so we can… Right. Later.” She disconnected and gave Cullen a tight grin. “You heard?” His eyes sparked with the same excitement she felt. “The scary old bats are coming.” “Two of them are. Hannah says these are the two who matter. They’ve got the other pieces of the ritual. They’ve agreed to share those memories after they arrive, but they have to be present for the ritual.” It was going to happen. They were going to make it happen. “I’m heading for Club Hell. The first one will arrive in three hours. We can talk to Max and then come back to the airport for her.” “He’s not going to agree.” “We have to try. Here.” She handed him her phone. “See if you can reach Cynna. We need to know when she can return.” A few minutes later she breathed a sigh of relief when Cullen reported his brief conversation with Cynna. She Found the boy—still alive, thank God—and was at the Sacramento airport now, on standby for a flight back. Her insides humming, Lily started going over her mental lists. What hadn’t she done? What hadn’t she thought of? “Lily.” “Hmm?” “I didn’t finish telling you what I learned inNew Orleans .”

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“Oh. Right.” It must be important. “What was it, then?” “There’s no moon in Dis.” She waited a beat. When he didn’t explain, she said, “And that means—?” “Rule went there as a wolf. He won’t have been able to Change.” She nodded, frowning, still not understanding why he was grave. “Don’t you know anything about us yet? By now he may not be thinking as a man, but as a wolf. He’ll still know us, but he might not understand what we tell him.” His breath gusted out. “He’ll follow you, though. You’re his mate, so he’ll go through the gate with you.” That wasn’t great, but still didn’t seem enough to make the bones stand out so sharply in Cullen’s too-beautiful face. “What’s the rest of it?” “If he’s been in wolf-form too long, he’ll have lost the man altogether. He won’t be able to Change back.” Her mouth went dry. “It’s only been a week. A week and part of a day.” “Here, yes. I’ve told you that time doesn’t pass in other realms at the same rate as it does here. In Dis it’s erratic. For Rule, a day may have passed. Or a week… or a month. A month,” he said gently, “would be too long.” She opened her mouth to argue. She needed to argue. What he said was just stupid. Time didn’t behave that way, jumping around all over the place. But when she looked at his grim expression, doubt hit, stealing her certainty and too much of her hope. So she looked straight ahead. After a moment she repeated her mantra. “He’s alive, though. Rule is still alive.” This time she could add to it: “And we’re going after him.” THIRTY-ONE AFTER her first sleep in hell, Lily had woken up hungry. Very hungry. Gan had woken up female. The demon was less upset at having exchanged one set of genitals for another than at the prospect of suffering periodic bouts of unconsciousness. It—she—had shrugged and said fucking was fucking, and while cocks were great, didn’t human females have multiple orgasms? And could Lily tell her how that worked? Lily had slept twice more since then, each time waking with a terrible craving for ymu. Each time, Gan slept when she did and woke complaining. For each of her sleeps, Rule had slept four or five times. How many days did that make? She didn’t know; she’d stopped thinking in those terms. But the light had faded three times now, dissolving slowly into darkness as if someone had the sky on a dimmer switch. When it did, the dragons sang. And she and Rule sat together and listened. Those were the best times she’d known, when it was just her, Rule, the gathering darkness, and the unearthly beauty of dragonsong.

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The light was beginning to fade again, and she was watching from her favorite spot, a flat rock that stuck out over the water. From here she had a view of the open ocean outside their inlet. An illusory freedom, maybe. But it soothed her. Gan was with her, digging idly in the sand next to the rock. Rule wasn’t. She glanced overhead. It wouldn’t be dark for some time. The dimming took a while. But she was worried. “The dragons haven’t assembled yet for their song.” “Bunch of noise,” Gan muttered. The demon seemed to have no sense of what music was, much less any appreciation for it. It… she… had casually mentioned after the last dragonsong that the dragons put a lot of stock in their noisemaking. They called their leaders the Singers. It was the first Lily had heard that the dragons had leaders. They didn’t have anything as formal as a government, a king, or a council, but apparently these Singers had enough authority to negotiate pacts with their demonic neighbors. Gan hadn’t known much more than that, though. She looked at the other end of beach, at the grasses that marked the entrance to their cave. Worry put a pleat in her brow. Rule was in the tunnels again. He hated them. She’d seen him emerge shaking, but he kept going back. “What?” she said distractedly. She hadn’t heard half the demon’s chatter. “I asked what you think you’re going to do with your stick. Poke a dragon, maybe? That’ll scare them.” “Maybe.” She went back to sharpening her spear, fashioned from the femur of a very large animal. Not much of a weapon, but it was all she had. “Or maybe I’ll just poke rude little demons with it.” “No, you won’t. You’d feel guilty.” Gan looked smug. “Humans feel guilty about hurting things.” “Some do. Some don’t.” “Well, you would. You’re that kind. Besides, you like me.” Lily looked up, amused. “I do?” “Sure. You won’t let the wolf hurt me. He may have stopped trying to kill me, but he still wants to hurt me.” Lily’s smile fell away. Twice since her last sleep she’d had to stop Rule from attacking the demon. Gan reveled in baiting him, true, but Rule had been able to ignore the demon’s taunts before. Something had changed, and it worried her. “And it’s not that you’re afraid I won’t feed you. I’d have to do that no matter how pissed I was, because I can’t let you die. Besides,” she added, “The dragon told me to keep feeding you. You know that. So you stopped the wolf because you like me.”

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“And you like me, too, of course.” “I’m a demon! I don’t…” She frowned. “No, of course I don’t. I’ve never liked anyone. It’s like eating dead things. Demons don’t do that.” “Demons don’t sleep, either.” Gan scowled. She shouldn’t tease Gan. She might have to ask her for a favor. Lily looked down the beach again. This was Rule’s first excursion without the splint. Over her objections, he’d chewed off the bindings after waking from his last sleep. And he’d been gone a long time, longer than usual. She couldn’t go looking for him. It was dead dark in those cramped passages, and she couldn’t find her way by scent the way he did. The demon’s sense of smell wasn’t that keen, either, but Gan had an unerring sense of direction, or so she claimed. If Rule didn’t show up soon, she’d have to bargain with Gan to… A dark shape limped out of the cave. Her breath gusted out in relief. The demon flung her piece of bone away. “It’s boring here. I can’t believe how long it’s taking Xitil to finish off her guest.” “Maybe she already has. Would you know?” “No, but they would.” She waved up at the sky, where two of the smaller dragons circled—their guards and occasional waiters, making their breathtaking dives to drop food on the beach. Living food. Gan ate hers that way. Rule chased and killed his. She wished she could remember eating. She remembered all sorts of food—ice cream and rice, fried chicken and pickles. But she had no memory of how those things tasted. “Have they been talking to you?” Lily asked. “They won’t mindspeak me.” Sam did, when he visited. He was curious about how Earth had changed in the years since his kind left. He and Rule had traded questions. That is, they had at first. Not so much now. She looked at the dark, four-legged figure headed toward them. “No,” Gan said, “but things would be happening if Xitil had finished her fight. They wouldn’t… hey, look who’s here. Fur-face. Find any good escape routes lately?” Rule didn’t even look at the demon before jumping up on the rock to settle beside Lily. She breathed a sigh of relief. He was controlling himself. “You’re limping.” He couldn’t shrug, of course, but gave his shoulders a roll that had the same meaning. He’d obviously understood her. Maybe she’d been imagining things. “Gan thinks it won’t be long before Xitil finishes her battle with the goddess.”

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Rule gave the demon a glance and growled. “What?” Gan snapped. “Think in words when you growl, stupid, or I don’t get any meaning.” Rule yawned, showing how little he thought of the demon’s opinion, then gave a few yips. Gan snorted. “Dumb question. Xitil wouldn’t eat a goddess.” Lily frowned. “But the goddess isn’t really here, right? Xitil’s fighting Her avatar.” “That’s almost the same thing. Eating an avatar would be worse than eating a human. She’d go nuts.” Lily nodded. Demons ate almost anything except humans. By eating the flesh they consumed something of the person, and they couldn’t absorb a human’s substance properly. Gan thought it was the soul that drove them mad, but she was just guessing. Demons no more knew what a soul was than humans did. But demons could drink human blood. It was the usual route to possession, as well as a potent delicacy or drug. And they wanted Lily’s. The blood of a sensitive had some sort of special power here in hell. Lily had questioned Gan enough to have some idea of what happened to her back on Earth. Gan had knocked her out and brought her to hell to sample her blood because it was more potent here. But then it had returned her to Earth. Blood alone wasn’t enough to get past a sensitive’s natural defenses. The demon had needed the goddess’s help to finish the business. Lily wasn’t clear about the details, but the goddess had invested some of Her power in a staff, and someone on Earth had used it to help Gan possess her. It had almost worked. Rule growled a question at the demon. Gan rolled her eyes. “I’ve told you and told you. I don’t know why the goddess wanted me to possess Lily. You think we sat down and chatted about Her plans over tea?” “You’re still convinced that we’re part of a deal between the dragons and Xitil, though,” Lily said. “Sam keeps dodging that question.” “He hasn’t denied it. And he could.” Gan sighed wistfully. “Because he can lie and all. But what else would he want us for? Well, he doesn’t really wantus , but he needs me to feed you. I’m the only one who can do that, because of our bond.” She smiled, pleased with her own importance. “And so far the wolf hasn’t pissed him off enough to get himself killed, I guess.” “Why not admit it, though?” Lily asked. “Sam doesn’t have anything to lose.” Rule growled something. “What did he say?” Gan shrugged. “I dunno.” “Gan—” “I don’t know! He doesn’t trust the dragon. That’s all I picked up.”

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Forehead furrowed, she stroked Rule’s head. Maybe Gan was just getting tired of translating and was pretending not to understand. “What do you think?” she asked him softly.Understand me. Please, please, understand me . “Will Sam hand us over to Xitil?” He looked at her with what she could swear was puzzlement. But then his eyes cleared and he yipped. “He said there’s a lot of demons,” Gan said. “Not many dragons.” “Their position is precarious, you mean.” He nodded. Okay. It was okay. He’d understood and responded. “What we really need to know is why my blood would be so valuable to Xitil.” They’d asked Gan about that several times. The demon insisted she didn’t know why the blood of a sensitive was important, just that it was. “What am I? One heck of a good bonbon, or does my blood have a practical value?” “You’re more than a treat,” Gan assured her. “You don’t have to worry about that. No one will kill you because then you wouldn’t make more blood. But Samcan’t be planning to keep you. The others will hear about you, and sooner or later they’ll try to grab you so Xitil doesn’t get you. The dragons won’t want that kind of trouble.” Lily was startled. “Are you talking about fighting? War?” “No, no. Wars are for grabbing territory and giving the nobles a chance to gobble up the other guy’s fighters. No one wants war with the dragons because they don’t just eat, they kill, so the princes aren’t going to… hey, look!” She jumped to her feet. “Mealtime!” Lily looked up. One of their guards was diving at the beach the way they did when they delivered food, but its talons were empty. “That’s no food run. Maybe they’re playing tag. The second one’s chasing the first one. Or is—what?” Rule had pushed her, hard, with his nose. He whined and shoved at her again, urgently. He thought they were being attacked. Her pulse rate jumped. Maybe the dragon diving at them was relieving the boredom of guard duty by playing scare-the-human. But if he wasn’t… They needed to get under something, quick. She jumped down. So did Rule. No way could they make it to the cave. She sprinted for the cliff, Rule racing alongside her, Gan huffing a few paces behind. The dragons couldn’t grab them from above if they were up against that wall of rock. She flattened her back against it, her heart pounding, her mouth dry, her brain silly with fear. She didn’t want to look. Stupid, she jeered at herself.Think you can close your eyes and the bad dragon will go away ? She made herself look up and caught a glimpse of scarlet near the head of the pursuing dragon. There was only one of their guards with a frill that color, the same crimson as Sam’s. It was smaller than the one it chased, she realized. Younger? Then the two collided.

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Her breath caught. This was no game, but battle, real and bloody. The two grappled in mid-air, a confusion of flapping wings, snaky necks, and lashing tails. She couldn’t see what was happening, who was winning. Then one broke away—the one who’d pursued, she realized, spotting the scarlet frill. Its wings worked desperately to carry it higher—for one wing was damaged. And pursuer had become pursued. The smaller one tried to dodge, but its attacker caught up with it, seizing one great wing and shredding it viciously. The injured dragon fought free, but it was clumsy now, lumbering through the air. Its attacker closed again. Slowly at first, then faster, the injured dragon fell, the long body tumbling, tangling with wings that no longer caught air. She caught glimpses of that scarlet frill as it plummeted. Her stomach clenched sickly. It hit up the beach near their cave, and she felt the impact in the soles of her feet. The winner circled once, then dove again. Toward them. “Oh, shit,” she whispered. Maybe she’d poke a dragon with her big stick, after all. “There’s another one!” Gan piped. “Coming from behind the mountains!” She squinted, trying to make out details. The sky had darkened enough that it was hard to see the dragons clearly against it, but— “It’s Sam!” Then the high, black shape folded his wings tight to his body and dropped, stooping like a giant hawk after a lesser bird. Aimed like an arrow at the dragon who had just killed. It must have seen or sensed him, for it twisted, beating its wings frantically—but too late. Seconds later, Sam struck. Dragons didn’t all die silently. This one screamed as its back broke, a bass howl that ended in a great splay of blood as Sam slashed its throat open, both of them still dropping. That body had little distance to fall. While Sam’s wings beat hard, fighting to keep him from finishing his plummet, his victim made a huge splash some twenty feet from shore. Go, that cool mental voice said as his wings prevailed and Sam began to climb.Don’t gawk. Get to the caves your lupus has been so determinedly exploring . “What’s happening?” Lily cried. The others will be here shortly, in case their tool failed. As it did. Satisfaction coated that thought. I do not tolerate betrayal. Rule shoved at Lily. She staggered a few steps, then stopped. “What others? Why are they coming here?” Sam was still climbing, but slowly, circling his way up.The Singers. The fools dispute my possession of you. They come to kill you . “No!” Gan cried. “They can’t kill her! That would be stupid! They need her!”

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They have finally understood the folly of allowing a sensitive to fall into Xitil’s hands. There will be no more negotiations. “But the Singers—you were holding me for them!” Lily said. “They’re your leaders—” Notmyleaders. I took you and held you because I wished to. They wished to believe it was on their behalf. I allowed this until I learned that they planned to kill you without asking my permission. Go now . Rule shoved her, hard. She gave in and started down the beach at a trot, but called, “What changed? Why do the demons want my blood?” You will ask questions of Death itself when it stoops for you! Remain underground until I summon you. It may be many sleeps before it is safe to emerge. The Singers will abandon their pique with me soon enough and cease challenging my possession of you. Xitil is coming. She has eaten god-flesh and is quite mad. “Oh, no,” Gan whispered. “Oh no, oh no, oh no…” Mad or not, Sam’s chill thoughts continued, growing distant as he rose,she has too much power now to easily defeat. The others will need me . Who are you? Lily thought, stopping at the mouth of the cave in spite of the insistent press of Rule’s body. She knew that once inside, the dragon’s mindspeech would be cut off by the earth.What are you ? Not a Singer … Not one of the little Singers, he agreed, the mental voice faint.A Great Singer. Perhaps the last of the Great Singers … THIRTY-TWO THE next day dawned cool and misty. Lily was sweating beneath her leather jacket anyway. Maybe it was the pack on her back, or the weight of the M-16 slung over her shoulder. Or maybe she was freaking, funked-out, bone-deep scared. “They’re taking forever,” Cynna muttered, shifting from foot to foot. Lily nodded. This was probably when she should say-something heartening, but she was fresh out of heartening. She wished Grandmother was here. Sharp and strong that wish rose in her, foolish as it was. Grandmother couldn’t have gone with them. She couldn’t have done anything but wait. But still, Lily wished she was here. They’d assembled their odd crew on a low bluff near the ocean forty miles north of the city. It was private property, part of an estate, but theRho had somehow arranged for them to be allowed on the grounds. Bribery, probably. It was the closest node to Rule—or where Rule would be, if he’d been on Earth. Three women and a part-time male stripper held hands in a circle atop the node. Behind each of them

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stood a tall black candle, unlit. Dead center in the circle was Hannah’s stone altar. It held a silver bowl filled with water. Lily hadn’t been offered the names of the other two Rhejes. The youngest one, the Etorri Rhej, was a slim, ordinary-looking woman about Lily’s age, with dirty blond hair and pale blue eyes. Cullen stood between her and the Mondoyo Rhej, a tall black woman with sleepy eyes who looked to be on the high side of forty. She’d arrived a scant few hours ago, having flown in from somewhere in northernAfrica . Then there was Hannah—old, fat, sightless, and very much in charge. Maiden, Mother, and Crone, Lily thought, looking at the three women. Weird. Hannah had said the Lady’s workings often fell out that way, even when, as now, her human agents didn’t plan it so. The air was still and moist with ocean smells. Lily and Cynna waited on the ocean side of the node beneath a twisted oak, its trunk leaning perpetually away from the absent wind. On the other side of the node were twenty armed lupi, as many trained Nokolai as Benedict could call upon this quickly. If something did manage to get through the gate despite Cullen’s precautions, it would be blasted. On the other side of the armed lupi, Nettie waited beside a modified SUV that would serve as an ambulance if necessary. With luck, none of them would need Nettie’s services, but Lily wasn’t about to rely on luck. Only Lily, Cullen, and Cynna were crossing. The gate would be too small, the power too little, to allow more to pass through. And, of course, they had to take a small enough party that there would be room for one more on their return. Max could have come. He was small enough to ride through the gate piggyback, but when they finally tracked him down he’d cursed a lot, told them they were idiots, and kicked them out of the club. Max didn’t deal well with grief, Cullen said. Lily wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be a joke. Lily stared at the circle, willing them to hurry. So far, all they’d done was hold hands. All that she could see, anyway. “ ‘It is easy to go down into hell,’” Cynna murmured. “ ‘Night and day, the gates of dark Death stand wide… ’ Guess old Virgil had that wrong, didn’t he?” “What?” Lily’s turned to stare at the taller woman. “Virgil? Uh—is that poetry?” Cynna shrugged the shoulder that didn’t hold the strap of an Ml 6. “I like old poetry.” For an ex-Dizzy, Cynna knew the oddest things. “Mir acculum,” Hannah said suddenly. “A dondredis mir requiem.” “A dondredis mir requiem,” the tall black woman repeated. The other woman and Cullen echoed the phrase in turn, then they joined voices in a quiet chant. At last something was happening. This first part of the ritual required all four of them—grooming the energy, Cullen called it. The second stage would be up to him, however. That’s when Lily… “Is that a taxi cab?” Cynna asked incredulously.

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It was. The cab bumped up the dirt road that led here from the highway, stopping in a flurry of dust where the ruts stopped on the other side of the armed Nokolai. Unable to see clearly past the men, Lily headed that way. Cynna fell into step beside her. Cullen and the women continued chanting, oblivious. Just as Lily reached the guards, the back door of the taxi swung open. Four feet of bad-tempered ugly climbed out. Cynna stopped. “What isthat ?” “That,” Lily said, feeling her mouth stretch in a wholly unexpected grin, “is what you’ll be carrying through instead of your backpack.” Max possessed ugliness the way a few rare souls possess beauty, an ugliness that fascinated. His nose stretched toward his mouth like a cartoon witch’s, as if it had melted, then reformed in mid-drip. He had no hair, not much in the way of chin or lips, and skin the color of mushrooms. He was skinny, with knobby joints and arms too long for his body. Today he wore camouflage and army boots. God only knew where he’d gotten the outfit. One of the lupi moved to intercept him. Lily gestured at him to let Max through. Max was muttering under his breath as he stomped up to Lily. “I can’t believe I’m here. I can’t believe I’m this stupid. Well?” he demanded, corning to a stop. “What are you staring at?” “A very welcome sight,” she said softly. “Max, this is Cynna.” The tips of his ears turned red. He scowled and looked Cynna up and down. “Nice boobs. Too big, but they’re shaped good.” Cynna shook her head and loosened the straps on her pack. “I hope you’re worth giving up half our supplies.” “Lily,” Cullen said. She looked over Max’s head at him. He stood alone now, holding a silver athame—a ceremonial knife—in one hand. The three women sat in the grass a few feet away, still chanting softly. The candles were burning. She took a deep breath and touched the canvas cases hung from her belt that carried extra clips. Show time. Lily’s part in the ritual was passive. From this point on she wasn’t to speak, not until she crossed. He would tie the gate to her, as he’d suggested—he’d won that argument— but she need only stand there and let him do it. That, and bleed a bit. Lily walked over to him and felt nothing—not a trace, not a whisper of magic, though it must be thick in the air. She closed her mind to that loss and held out her left hand.

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He murmured something, the words soft and foreign. Then he took her hand in his, palm up, and ran the blade of his athame across the heel of her palm. It burned. Blood welled up quickly, and Cullen murmured more words. Then he turned her hand palm down and shook it, sprinkling the earth with her blood as he called out one word three times. Vertigo seized her, a twisting, scraping otherness that slid inside, settling in her gut and turning her senses crazy. The world spun, and she staggered. Cullen’s arm came around her waist, steadying her. Gradually the world steadied, but the sense of otherness remained. She felt as if some bizarre geometry had been planted in her middle and was busily making itself at home. She straightened and gave Cullen a nod. He stepped back. Using the tip of his bloody knife, he began tracing the doorway that would surround the altar. Light followed the athame like the afterglow from a sparkler as he slit the fabric between the realms, and when he finished the air shimmered. It was like looking through heat waves. Lily put a hand on her stomach. The shimmer somehow matched the shifting geometry in her gut. It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t pleasant, either. She looked over her shoulder. At her glance, Cynna bent her knees and Max climbed aboard. She’d have to duck to get through, but they’d fit. Cullen tucked his athame in his belt and slipped on the harness that held the rocket launcher, a huge tube almost as tall as he was. He picked up his machine gun and took his place at the rear. They’d go through single-file. Lily gave them all a nod, unslung her M-16, and walked toward the shimmering air. Four paces, duck as she stepped over the alter—and into hell. Where a battle already raged.

A small fire smoldered in the center of the rocky chamber Rule had led them to. It was a Swiss-cheese sort of a space, the walls holed in several places, with fissures in the ceiling. Some of the smoke from the fire escaped through those overhead cracks, but the fire still made the room smoky without providing much light. Better than no light at all, though. Lily hugged her knees. Thank goodness Gan had been able to bring a load of firewood. She was small enough that she hadn’t had to crawl the way Lily had in the worst of the passages. Things could be worse. Who was she kidding? She hated this. Hated it. But not as much as Rule did. How had he done it? How had he made himself keep coming back to these tunnels, over and over, hunting a way out? She’d known it took a toll on him, but she hadn’t understood, not really. Not until she followed him into a darkness so heavy it had seemed to press the air from her lungs. She had no idea how long it had taken them to reach this chamber, where the air was good and the ceiling was higher than her outstretched hands. Probably not the hours it had seemed. They’d trended more up than down, though. Were they anywhere near the top of the cliff where the dragons gathered to sing?

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Gan spoke suddenly, her voice high and scratchy. “Xitil’s called Earth-Mover, you know.” “Does that mean what it sounds like?” Gan nodded miserably. “She could bring it all down on us. It’d be easy for her.” “Good thing she wants me alive, then.” “But she’s nuts,” Gan whispered. Rule lifted his head and snarled. “I’m pretty sure that means ‘shut up,’” Lily said. “Besides, didn’t you say dragons damped magic or sucked it up or something?” “Demon magic, yeah, but Xitil’s got goddess stuff in her now! Who knows what that could do? She might be able to—” “Shut up, Gan.” The demon swallowed and, for a wonder, fell silent. Rule laid his head on his paws again, and Lily went back to passing the time the only way she could, by playing her memory game. Where was she? Oh, yeah. Water beds. That had sprung to mind earlier, when she’d been sitting by the ocean. Before things went all to hell. Waterbeds sounded wonderful. Imagine a bed filled with water… how soft would that be? You had to pump the water in… Pumps, yes, she remembered pumps. Though the one she saw in her mind’s eye wasn’t for water, but for air. For filling up bicycle tires. Had she ridden a bicycle? She felt a touch of excitement. It made sense that she’d remember the kind of pump she knew best, didn’t it? She couldn’t picture a pump for a waterbed at all. Maybe she’d never had a waterbed, but she had owned a bicycle. What kind of bicycle? There were racers and… Rule’s head shot up. He almost quivered with sudden tension. “What is it?” she whispered. He got to his feet and paced a few steps, looking at the rock overhead, making a whining sound. He looked at her and then at the rocky ceiling. Then he shook his head hard, as if trying to clear it, and whined softly. “What is it? Gan, what does he mean?” “Nothing.” Gan looked disgusted. “He’s not making any sense.” “Rule?” Scared for more than one reason now, she went to kneel beside him. “Are you all right?”

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He whined again, louder and longer, and then looked at the demon. “He wants you to tell me!” she cried. “Try. Try hard.” Gan rolled her eyes. “It’s nonsense. Something about you being out there and in here, too.” Rule yipped. Then he took her wrist between his teeth gently and tugged as he took a step away. He wanted her to come with him. She drew a shaky breath and stood. “All right. Are you coming, Gan?” Rule immediately trotted into one of the black, black holes. That one was a little roomier than some, at least. Though it probably wouldn’t stay that way. “Follow that idiot? He’s lost it. You’d better stay here.” She just shook her head and, heart pounding, followed Rule into the darkness.

THEY wouldn’t have survived their first five minutes in hell if the terrain where they came out had matched Earth’s. They’d left a flat, low bluff. They came out into low, craggy mountains. Mountains where creatures were busy killing each other, while overhead, legend battled with nightmare. “I’m running low on ammo,” Cynna called. “I have to reload.” “I’ve got you covered,” Lily said. She was hunkered down behind a rocky outcrop. They had no cover overhead, but the aerial battle was a mile behind them now. Just as well. Not only was it dangerous, it was distracting. She’d never thought dragons existed, and to see them flying, fighting… she’d remember that always. And have nightmares about what they fought. If she lived long enough to dream, that is. Their progress had been halted in this rough pass between two low peaks.Trapped might be the word to describe their situation. Crossing itself had been easy. The shimmer in the air had sort of shimmered through her as she stepped through the gate. Then she’d been elsewhere… a dark, nighttime elsewhere, with four man-sized demons standing fifteen feet away, staring at her in obvious shock. That’s what had saved her. That, and the training Benedict had insisted on. Two of the demons had recovered from their surprise fast enough to jump at her even as she swung her weapon at them. She could testify that bullets did, indeed, work on demons. Especially when sprayed by a semi-automatic rifle. She’d gotten those two. Cynna, coming through right after her, had killed the other two. After wiping out the small patrol or skirmishers or whatever the hell the first demons had been, they’d been able to advance steadily. Gradually the eerie, blank sky had grown lighter, until now it was about as bright as a stormy day. The visibility had still been lousy, though, when they first reached the pass.

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Cullen’s nose had saved them. There were more demons holding the pass than there had been in the first group. A lot more. A few were man-shaped, but most were four-legged, built like giant economy-size hyenas, but with small arms growing out of their chests. They had jaws that put Rule’s to shame, teeth in rows like a shark’s, and glowing red eyes. She’d killed four of the red-eyes. It had taken Cullen’s machine gun, though, to stop the big demon, the one who’d looked like a troll on steroids. He’d just kept coming and coming… She shook her head, throwing off that memory. Later she could have nightmares about it. Right now she badly needed a plan. The demons were hanging back for the moment, safe on the other side of the pass. The only way forward was single-file through a gap between two enormous boulders. They had grenades but no way to get close enough to throw one. The same was true with the rocket launcher. They needed a line of sight to use it. Cullen couldn’t throw fire at them. There was an odd dampening of magic here that both frustrated and intrigued him; nothing he or Cynna had learned about hell mentioned it. He could still call fire, but couldn’t send it—his ability to affect anything with magic fizzled out above five feet from his body. They didn’t know how many demons were left. The red-eyes hadn’t given up and wandered off, though. They liked to yell out ideas about what they’d do once they got their teeth on the humans. And she could understand them. Even though they weren’t speaking anything she recognized as a language, she understood every nauseating detail. Cullen was on her right, huddled behind the same rocky outcrop. Cynna was several yards off to her left and slightly ahead. She’d made it to a tall, sheered-off bit of mountain and was crouched behind a boulder. Lily had known the general direction they had to go, but in this rough terrain there was no such thing as a straight route. Max had found the pass. He claimed he had an instinct for that sort of thing, and she supposed he must. But he’d disappeared after the fighting started. She was trying not to think about that. “I’m good to go,” Cynna called. “Right!” Lily barely resisted the urge to say,Go where ? They were pinned down, unable to get past the red-eyed crowd. So far they’d been able to hold the demons back, but— “Fire in the hole!” a voice called from above and up ahead. Max? What— Grenades were one hell of a lot louder in person than on a movie screen. Max threw three of them. Even after all the rocks stopped falling, Lily couldn’t hear a thing. Cullen rose to a crouch. She could see his lips moving. Nothing. She pointed at her ears and shook her head. He motioned ahead, patted his chest, and started forward.

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Hard to command the troops when you can’t hear them. But he wasn’t stupid enough to march up to the demons if he didn’t have a good reason to… ah. She heard Max herself now, faintly at first. Then louder. “Got ‘em all, the bloody boogers! Crash, smash, took ’em all out, rained those rocks down on them!” He was jumping up and down on top of one of the enormous boulders. How in the world had he gotten up there? Cullen called up to him. “I thought you didn’t like guns?” “Hate ‘em! But I love explosions. Boom, crash, smash ’em all down!” “It was a lovely boom,” Cullen said politely. “But are you quite sure you got all of them?” “Am I stupid? Do I dance around up here if there are some left? There’s a couple legs sticking up out of the rubble that are still twitching, but you can shoot ‘em as you go by. But, uh…” He stopped jumping. “The pass isn’t exactly stable. More rocks came down than I expected. Maybe we should hurry.” Good idea. Lily rose, wary still. Cynna joined her. “Lily, I hate to say this, but if the pass is unstable… are we going to be able to get back if we cross it?” Lily wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. They’d been a trifle busy since it grew light enough to see their back trail. Lily wasn’t surprised Cynna hadn’t had a chance to check it out. “Look back,” she said quietly. “What do you… oh. Oh, hell.” They’d climbed quite a bit. Rocky slopes spread out behind them. And beyond those slopes—beginning to climb them—were demons. Uncountable numbers of demons. And toward the front of that mass, one very large demon. House-size, maybe… if you lived in a three-story house. They were too far away for Lily to make out exactly what that one, enormous demon looked like, but she could see enough to be glad she couldn’t see more. “Holy Mary, Mother of God,” Cynna whispered. “Even if we turned back this second…” “There’s no going back,” Cullen said grimly as he rejoined them. “They’re already too close to the place we crossed. But the gate’s with Lily. She can open it anywhere.” “But…” Cynna glanced at Lily and then set her shoulders. “Right. You’ve got the inflatable raft. If there’s ocean on the other side of the gate, we’ll be okay.” Lily felt sick. “You had the raft,” she said quietly. “That’s what was in the backpack I had you leave behind.” Cynna’s mouth opened. Closed. She looked ahead, where the dust still hadn’t settled from Max’s grenades. “Well, the annoying little shit just saved our asses, so I guess you made the right decision. But I sure hope you can come up with a Plan B.” So did Lily. “Come on. Let’s take the annoying little shit’s advice and hurry.” She started walking, going

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the only direction she could—forward, one step at a time. THIRTY-THREE THE widest part of the pass was filled with rabble and body parts. Lily tried not to look. Immediately beyond that it narrowed again and they skidded down a steep slope for about twenty feet. The land leveled abruptly, then, as they rounded a low shoulder of mountain, it opened up. She stepped out onto a giant-size ledge maybe twelve blocks long and half a block wide. There was grass here, the first she’d seen. Otherwise it was flat, featureless. Beyond it the ground simply ended. Beyond that was the sea. The ocean didn’t look right, reflecting that ugly sky, but it smelled right. Lily paused, letting the breeze fill some of the empty places inside. But she couldn’t pause long. Rule wasclose . Only where—? Her small troop spread out behind her, looking around as she was. “Where do we go from here?” Cullen asked. “Maybe one of us should watch the pass,” Cynna said. “Try to hold it.” “Ha! You volunteering?” Max shook his head. “Better if we get rid of it. Boom!” He rubbed his hands together, grinning. “No,” Lily said abruptly. “No, we can’t go throwing grenades at the mountain. Rule is…” She started moving, scanning the blocks of stone that cradled the oversize ledge. “He’s there. He’s inside it.” The others followed. “Inside?” Cynna said dubiously. “A cave or something.” She was moving faster now, her heart pounding. He was so close, so horribly close. They hadn’t brought earth-moving equipment, she thought, halfway to‘ hysterical. They’d never once contemplated what they’d need to remove a few feet of rock. “But he’s moving.” “Toward us?” “No.” That came out quick and frustrated. “That way.” She gestured at the far end of the ledge, where a tumble of rock blocked them. And started running, as if her feet alone could bridge that last distance, carry her to him in spite of the rock between. “Max,” Cullen said, keeping pace beside her. “What?” The gnome was huffing slightly as he ran. “You’re supposed to have an instinctive feel for rock. How do we get in, or get him out?” “I’m working on it.” Lily barely heard them.Here, he’s here — And at the far end of the ledge, a huge, dark wolf stepped out from a crevice in the jumble of stone.

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Maybe she cried his name. Maybe she just screamed it in her head. Her feet moved without her telling them to. She was running, stumbling over the rough ground—and then someone stepped out behind Rule. Shestepped out. Wearing a dark blue sarong and her token. Rule’s necklace, the missing necklace. Lily stopped dead. She reached out one hand—not to touch, but to push the impossible away. She looked into her own eyes from twenty feet away, saw her own face go pale, and heard herself say softly, “My lost parts. All my lost parts. You have them.” Then her knees buckled. She didn’t faint. Quite. But the next thing she knew was a rough, wet tongue on her face. “Rule.” She touched his muzzle, his shoulder, ran her hand over his ribs. “Rule.” “This is beyond weird.” That was Cynna. Lily turned her head slowly, hoping not to see… butshe still stood there, her face blank. A face not exactly like the one Lily had seen in the mirror a million times, because it wasn’t reversed. “Holy shit.” That was a high, squeaky voice, vaguely familiar. And yet another person—creature—stepped out from that crevice. “There’s two of you!” A demon. The same small, orange-skinned demon who’d tried to possess her—the one who’d conspired with Harlowe, who’d grabbed her while Harlowe hit her with the staff. Lily grabbed her weapon on her way back up. Cynna and Cullen already had theirs aimed. But the other Lily moved fast, too. She stepped in front of the demon. “No! She’s—this is Gan. She won’i hurt you.” She looked at Lily, then at the others, and licked her lips—a nervous gesture Lily had been trying for years to break herself of. “You’d like an explanation.” Cullen answered for all of them, without lowering his machine gun. “That would be good. Be sure to include what the hell you are.” “You know her!” Gan piped up. “She’s Lily Yu!” Then, more subdued: “Of course, I guess the other one is, too.” The second Lily sighed. “This may take a while.” Lily glanced back at the pass. “Better make it theReader’s Digest version. We don’t have much time. There’s a war headed this way.”

SHE felt more lost than ever. She’d followed Rule through darkness to find herself—her other self, the one that possessed everything she’d lost. The self who knew Rule in his other form. Knew him as a man. She tried to keep her story short and coherent, but she was distracted by the sight of her face, her body,

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sitting on Rule’s other side. That woman wasn’t her. Maybe they’d started out as one person, but they weren’t the same, not anymore. They were sitting in a rough circle, all of them except the little one—Max—who’d taken a guard position in the rocks where he could watch the pass. At least the others had stopped pointing their guns at her… once Rule insisted. He’d gone up to the man—Cullen—and pawed at the muzzle of his machine gun, growling. Gan had translated that time with no problem:Put it down, you ass . They were all silent for a long moment when she finished. Finally, the other woman asked quietly, “How long do you think you’ve been here?” “I don’t know. We don’t have regular days and nights here. After a while I didn’t think about it that way anymore.” She glanced at Rule. “He’s slept about twenty times, I think. I don’t know if that means it’s been twenty days.” “Twenty.” The other woman didn’t sound happy. She kept stroking Rule, touching him. Lily wanted to push that intruding hand away, but… she swallowed. Rule wanted that touch. She could tell. He wanted both of them with him. To him, they were both Lily. It was the other one who knew him from before, though. Who remembered whatever they’d shared on Earth. All he’d shared with her was… hell. “We’ve got a problem,” the other Lily said. Cullen barked out a laugh. “Never let it be said you don’t use understatement, luv.” “I’m talking about the gate. We’ve got too many people to go back through it.” “A gate.” Her heartbeat picked up. Of course. They had to get here, didn’t they? They hadn’t all been dragged here by some realm-hopping demon, the way she had been. “You have a way back. We can go back.” “We have a small gate,” Cullen said. “And, as Lily— one of you Lily’s—pointed out, that’s a problem. We planned this pretty tightly. If…” He stopped abruptly, looking up. She looked up, too. And stood. “It’s Sam!” That huge, winged shape could be no one else. The others sprang to their feet, too. Cullen swung the long, hollow tube on his back around and onto his shoulder. Do you shoot at everything you see ? That rocked them. Cullen recovered first. “Around here it seems like a good idea.” There are better targets. Sam began a slow, spiraling descent. “Don’t shoot at him. Sam’s on our side… sort of.” He’d saved her life, anyway, and killed one of his own kind to do it. She suspected that was mostly because of the insult of another dragon daring to dispose of his property, but still…

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This is most curious. You seem to have connected with the missing half of your soul, but it is embodied. “I noticed that,” she said dryly. The little demon didn’t do that. I wonder… He was close now, the wind from his wings stirring her hair.Yet you are the one with Ishtar’s token . Cullen stared. “You know about the Lady’s token?” I know a great deal that you short-lives will never dream of. As gracefully as dandelion fluff, that great body drifted to the ground near the cliff’s edge. The head swung around to look at them. “Don’t look at his eyes,” Cullen said quickly. An informed short-life. Sam was amused.And… how interesting. You’re a sorcerer of sorts . “Of sorts?” Cullen said indignantly. And one of you has a gate. No, I misspoke. One of youisa gate. That is unusual . He settled his wings about him more comfortably.And useful. I wish to make a deal . “Deal quick,” the little one called down from his vantage point in the rocks. “They’re coming. First wave should be here in fifteen minutes—and that’s one fucking big demon coming along about thirty minutes behind it.” Yes. Xitil comes.

LILY couldn’t stop glancing at her other self. Her, yet not her. The part with her Gift. The self who’d been with Rule all this time. You’d think she’d feel a tug, a sense of longing, something. She wanted to knock the bitch’s hand away from him. Lily swallowed. Not now. She couldn’t figure out how she could be bitterly jealous of herself—her other self— right now. Somehow she had to get them all out of here. “We’ll have to hold the gate open longer.” Cullen shook his head. “Can’t, luv. We’re too far from a node for me to pull any energy, and there’s precious little loose sorcéri around.” ‘The dragons soak it up,“ the other Lily said. ”That’s what Gan says, anyway.“ Lily looked at the little demon, huddled unhappily against one of the larger rocks. It didn’t say anything. It hardly seemed aware of them at all, tuned in to some private fear. “Plan B, then. Cullen, you’ll carry, ah, the other Lily piggyback, and Max can ride Rule through.” There are two problems with that. First, you’ll fall a great distance. The land is much higher here than in the earth realm.

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She jumped. It was entirely too weird, having the dragon’s thoughts just show up in her head. And how did he know what this area was like on Earth? “There will be ocean below us,” she said tersely. A long way below you. The main problem, however, is that your gate won’t open. “It will open.” She just had to bleed again and say the word Cullen had taught her. The dragon’s gaze swung toward Cullen.What happens, sorcerer, when you tie a spell to an object, and another object identical to the first is nearby ? Cullen scowled. “They aren’t identical. Well…” He looked from her to the other Lily. “Not entirely. They’ve had different experiences. They’ve… diverged.” They are one soul. I believe your gate won’t open. The dragon’s long tail twitched at the end.But do try it and see for yourself . Unless, perhaps, you know how to check it without opening it ? Lily pushed impatiently to her feet. Where was Max? “Max! Come down. We’re going to get out of here.” The other Lily spoke suddenly. “What do you want, Sam? What deal are you offering?” Ican make the gate bigger. Much bigger. I can hold it open as long as is needed and fly you out. And I know how to solve the problem with the gate. There was a second’s silence, then the other one—the Lily wearing blue—cried, “No! No, there has to be another way!” Cullen glanced at her and then back at the dragon. “Dragonsare magic, but can’t work it.” Most do not. I, however, am a Great Singer. I know more about gates than you’ve yet dreamed, sorcerer. “Except how to open one, it seems. Or you wouldn’t be talking about a deal. What do you want in return?” The great tail lashed in obvious irritation.Is it not obvious ? I wish to leave. I wish to take those of my kind who still live and leave Dis . Something like a mental sigh whispered along the edges of Lily’s mind.We are losing . “This is what you’ve wanted all along, isn’t it?” the other Lily demanded suddenly. ‘This is why you captured us. You wanted to leave hell. Only I don’t see how you knew they’d come for us.“ I didn’t. I had… another way in mind. Cullen shook his head. “I’m sorry for your people. But a gate large enough for you to fly through can’t be tied to a person. It would destroy her.” For the first time the little demon spoke, its voice wobbly. “But you’re a Great Singer. You said they couldn’t win without you. How come you aren’t winning?”

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In her madness, Xitil has been quite clever. She—or the One she ate—made an alliance with the one you know as Tegelgor, lord of the realm to the south. In return for a large number of his lower demons, she has abandoned her region to him. She enters our land with every demon, every imp, every creature from her realm. We cannot fight such numbers. “Tegelgor!” the demon squeaked. “Abandoned it? No, even crazy she wouldn’t… allher demons? I didn’t… I wasn’t called to her. I felt a tug, but not a summons. She’s got all my names. If she wanted me—” You, too, have diverged, little demon. What did that mean? Never mind. They were running out of time. “Where’s Max, dammit?” “Wait a minute, Lily.” Cullen walked up to her. “I hate to admit it, but the dragon is right about one thing. I should check.” “How?” He made a graceful gesture with one hand, murmuring something in that liquid language he’d used before, and frowned. Then he turned to the other one, the other her, and repeated it. He lost all of the color in his face. “Hell. The gate’s jumping between the two of you. Oscillating.” “Then if we both do it—if we stand together and cut our palms—” He was shaking his head. “When it’s in her, it’s stuck in the closed position. She’s got your… she’s a sensitive. You’re the only one who can open the gate, but when it’s in her, you can’t open it. Your—her—Gift won’t let you.“ “But if she’s close enough to being me for the gate to jump between us, why wouldn’t my Gift know me?” she cried. “Itis me.” Because, as the sorcerer said, you have diverged. A spell, even one wrought by ritual, is a crude working compared to your Gift, Lily Yu. Your Gift recognizes differences between you that the gate cannot. Her Gift didn’t recognize her? She rubbed her forehead. “I’m out of ideas, here.” Then accept some of mine. I will do my best to shield you from— He broke off in mid-thought. With unbelievable speed for so large a creature, he sprang for the sky. The wind from his wings knocked her down, so in that first second she didn’t see what he was springing at. Then she wished she hadn’t. It was long and red, the color of blood that’s not quite dry. It had way too many short legs on the back two-thirds of its wormlike body, every one tipped in claws. And though its body was smaller than the dragon’s, its wings were every bit as large, veined like a bat’s. The front third of its body was jaws. laws rimmed with teeth like the red-eyes‘, and when it opened

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those jaws and screamed, she saw all the way down its gullet. It had the advantage on the dragon, swooping down at him from above, those jaws gaping. Sam flew straight at it. At the last second, he twisted. His jaws closed on one of those enormous wings and he twisted his neck, shredding the membrane. His wings beat hard, and he started to pull away. Rule howled. Lily spun around even as he raced past her—raced to where the other Lily was even now turning, staring up at one of the red-eyes perched on a ledge above her, jaw gaping in evil imitation of the fanged worm battling the dragon overhead. It leaped. And collided with Rule in mid-air. They fell in a snarling, slashing tangle. Lily raised her weapon, but there was no chance to get a shot in without hitting Rule. She moved closer. Blood sprayed out, spattering her. Rule’s blood. Oh, God, his side— “Get back!” Cynna shouted. “You can’t shoot! You’ll kill him!” “I’m not using a gun! Move, dammit!” She looked over her shoulder—and moved quickly away. Cynna stood just behind her with one arm straight up, the other straight out, pointed at the rolling mass of wolf and demon. Her lips were moving, but Lily couldn’t hear her over the snarls and howls. And there was a bloody light streaming from her hand. It didn’t travel like light. The ugly red glow crossed the space between her and the battling animals sluggishly— too slow, too slow! Rule was down—he wasn’t moving. Lily pulled her weapon to her shoulder again— And the light hit. The demon stiffened and fell down dead. “Sonofabitch,” came Cynna’s shocked voice. “It worked.” Lily raced to Rule. So did Lily. Blood covered his side, so much blood she couldn’t see how bad it was. But it was bad. She knew it. His breathing was labored, his eyes closed. She looked up. A shock went through her as she met her own eyes. “Leave now,” the one in blue said. “You have to go right away and take him where he can heal. To a—a hospital.” She said the word as if it was new to her. “He’ll die here.” “The gate—” “Sam told me how to fix it.”

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All at once she knew. Without knowing how, she knew what the other woman meant. Her mouth went dry. “There has to be another way.” “Funny.” Her lips quirked up, but her eyes shone with tears. “That’s what I said.” She reached up and ripped the chain with its dangling charm from her neck. “There isn’t, though. You’re the gate.” Slowly—knowing what she was doing, what she was accepting—Lily held out her hand. And Lily dropped thetoltoi into it. “Tell him…” She looked down and caressed Rule’s head. “Tell him how glad I was about him. How very glad.” Lily’s fingers closed around the necklace. She could only nod as her throat closed up. And the other one—the other her—sprang to her feet. She tugged at the top of her sarong, and it came open. “Bind him with this. He’s bleeding badly.” She tossed it to Lily—and started running. Naked, barefoot, she ran full out. For the cliff. Straight for the edge of the cliff. It was the little demon who understood first. “No!” it howled, and started after her, short legs pumping. “No, Lily Yu! Lily Yu, I do like you! I do! Don’t—” She leaped. Lily felt the air rushing past, air heavy with the scent of ocean. No, she was standing, standing on her feet, tears streaming down—down and down she fell, too far, so far from Rule— A hammer smashed her, smashed her everywhere at once. And she died. THIRTY-FOUR AND blinked her eyes open. It was Cullen’s face she saw first. His arm supported her. “God,” he whispered. “Lady above. Why? Why did she… and you. Are you—” “Not… all right, no.” Her tongue was thick. She swallowed. “The gate will work now.” Now would be good. They are in the pass, waiting for their lord to reach it and widen it. Xitil has grown somewhat stout recently. The dragon settled to the ground near the cliff’s edge, but he didn’t fully furl his wings. Then came another voice, small, uncertain—Gan, standing at the edge of the cliff. “I’m alive. She died, and I’m alive. That’s not right, is it?” Then, even more softly, “I did like her. I did.” Lily sat up. Thetoltoi was still clutched tight in her hand. She hadn’t lost it when she… fainted. “Sam, we accept your deal. And I agree. Now is good.” Cynna finished tying the blue cloth around Rule’s wounds. “Has anyone seen Max?”

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Max turned out to be lying on the ground not far from the ledge the red-eye had leaped from. He was unconscious, but alive—the red-eye had probably thought it killed him when it flung him from the rocks. But gnomes are notoriously difficult to kill. Two dragons landed. Each took off with a rider and a patient. First Cullen, who held Rule in front of him, his blood soaking the indigo cloth that had been Lily’s sarong. Then Cynna, balancing Max’s unconscious body in front of her. Then… “You have to take me!” Gan came running up. “I’ll die. Xitil will kill me slow. She’ll pull out my eyeballs and—” The demon stopped dead in front of her, eyes wide. “You—you’re-…” She looked down at her chest, rubbed it, and looked up at Lily again. “You’re Lily Yu,” she whispered. “I feel it. The bond. Only it’s not the same.” She nodded. “Somehow I am. I’m… both. Yes,” she said suddenly. “I’ll take you. God help me, if even death isn’t enough to get rid of you, what good would it do to leave you behind?” She and Gan climbed on Sam’s neck, settling behind his head. The frill that looked so delicate would serve as a windbreak of sorts and give her something to grip. This would be very different, she thought, from dangling from the talons—and then the thought wisped away, and the memory that went with it. That kept happening. She wasn’t equally both. One of her had died… or mostly died. But her Gift was back. Sam’s magic thrummed against her skin when she climbed onto his neck, powerful and ancient. It should have been totally alien, nothing she’d ever felt before, yet… that must be one of the other’s memories, she decided, holding tight to the bony frill. They’re here. With one huge leap, Sam plunged off the cliff, stopping her heart—but he spread his wings. Instead of falling and falling, they soared. Much smoother to ride here instead of in the talons. Dragons circled in the air around them. A dozen? Two? “How many of your kind are there, Sam?” she asked. Twenty-three remain in Dis. The demons killed ten. Once… once we were a great deal more than that, but now we are now only twenty-three. For the first time, real emotion came through with the mental voice. Sorrow, deep and untouchable—and old, very old. Now, Lily Yu. Open your gate, and I will sing it wide. She pulled a small pen knife from her pocket. No fancy ritual blades were needed this time. She grimaced and stroked the edge over the scab on her left palm, and she spoke the word of opening. Those weird geometries shifted, coming awake inside her. The air shimmered in its small rectangle, hovering there, hundreds of feet over the ocean—and the dragon began his song. Low and deep, the bass so strong she felt it much as she heard it, he sang. Like night had been given a voice, all that was dark and hidden thrummed through her—the cold between the stars and the stars

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themselves. The space inside her answered—growing, pushing out hard through her, a tumbled vertigo of space, so vast, too vast. The space inside her was bigger than the space outside, and that was impossible, it— The song changed. Suddenly Sam was in it with her— in his song and in her head, but in her belly, too, where the geometries swelled ever larger, more complex, less real. But Sam’s voice swam between her and the madness of inverted space, and Rule’s necklace was in her pocket, and death was not quite the absolute she’d always thought. Her hands held tight to Sam’s frill as the first dragon folded its wings and arrowed into the shimmering air. And disappeared. Rule had crossed. And Cullen. The one bearing Cynna and Max went next, as Sam sang. He sang still while the other dragons aimed themselves into the shimmer, one after another, and still he sang, coating the mad space inside her until all had crossed. Then, at last, still singing, Sam aimed himself at that shimmer. He dove for it, and she rippled along with it… And they were flying over another ocean, this one inky dark, with moonlight fracturing in silver glints on its waves. The moon—nearly full, and the stars—oh God, how she’d missed them! Quickly, she said the other word Cullen had taught her. The space inside her popped like a soap bubble, and she was alone in her insides once more. Mostly.

THERE is no inconspicuous way to land a dragon. Sam did his best. He gathered his—flock? What do you call a swarm of dragons?—and took them to the bluff Lily and the others had set out from. But they were miles out to sea. Before they reached the shore, some bright soul had scrambled two Air Force fighter jets to pursue them. They didn’t fire, but it made for a tense welcome home. They had to land one at a time. The bluff wasn’t big enough for two dragons to land at once. The one bearing Cullen and Rule went first. As soon as he was down, Cullen passed Rule to one of the lupi—a brave soul, to come running up the way he had—calling out instructions as he jumped from his perch. Lily couldn’t hear him, of course, from so high up, but Sam relayed the gist of it. Cullen’s first orders had most of the lupi holstering their weapons. The next brought Nettie running. The last one had someone fumbling for a cell phone so Cullen could call the Air Force and ask them not to fire on the nice dragons. Sam seemed amused by that. Cullen was talking on the phone when the second dragon landed, and Cynna and Max climbed down. Apparently, Max had regained consciousness while several hundred feet in the air. It hadn’t exactly sweetened his temper.

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Then it was her turn. And Gan’s. What in the world was she going to do with a tame demon? She sure hoped Gan was tame… Send her to the gnomes. They’ll understand her, since they are descended from demons themselves. When a demon catches a soul— “What?” Gan cried. “What did you say about a soul?” Lily could have sworn Sam laughed, quietly, in his mind. They swooped down and down. She had to close her eyes as the ground rushed at them. It was too much like… Lily Yu. “What?” she shouted over the wind, as if that would make him hear her better. Say hello to your grandmother for me. Her grandmother? How did he… but they hit the ground then—not hard, but firmly. And all she could think about was getting to Rule. “We’ll talk later,” she said, swinging her leg over and sliding down. Gan plopped down beside her, and then stood there, scowling around at everyone. “I’ve got questions.” Why does that not surprise me ? Duck. With no more warning than that, Sam launched himself back into the sky. Lily looked around quickly, spotted a Nokolai man she knew slightly, grabbed Gan, and thrust her toward him. “Keep an eye on her. She’s mostly a demon, but not entirely. Don’t shoot her unless you absolutely can’t avoid it.” She took off running. They’d loaded Rule on a stretcher and were carrying him toward Nettie’s SUV. She reached him just as they opened the back of the vehicle and stopped, staring. He was a man again. He’d Changed and was a man again. He was also naked and bloody, with a blood-soaked length of fabric that had once been blue wadded up against the deepest wound. Of course, she thought.He had to try. The moon is nearly full and he had to see if he would be able to Change at all —but what a risk, with him so weak from his wounds! She missed his fur, the lovely fur she’s stroked so often… Lily blinked, disoriented, and the memory wisp fled. He opened his eyes. “Lily?” “Here,” she said, coming up to take his hand. “I’m right here. We’re back. We made it back.” All the way back. He’d Changed. He hadn’t lost himself to the wolf.

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“I need to put him in sleep,” Nettie said firmly. “And this time, he’s going to the hospital. He’s lost a lot of blood, and I am not performing surgery in the back of this SUV.” “No, he’ll go to the hospital.” That’s what she’d asked. Get Rule back, get him to the hospital… “In a minute, Nettie,” Rule said. His voice sounded wonderful. Not like he was dying, not at all. He searched her eyes. “I had the strangest dream. A terrible dream. I thought it was real. There were two of you, and one… one died.” He’d been unconscious. She’d been sure he was unconscious. “It wasn’t a dream, but it wasn’t entirely true, either.” “You’re…” “Both. I think.” “Enough,” Nettie said, and laid her hand on his forehead. Slowly his expression eased, his eyes drooping. “Yes,” he murmured. “That’s right. You’re Lily.” His hand relaxed, releasing hers, as he slipped into the healing sleep that was Nettie’s Gift. Finally, the knots of tension in her shoulders began to relax. Maybe it was just that simple. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I am, aren’t I?” EPILOGUE “AT least think about it.” Rule’s throat was tight with frustration. “No.” Isen was blunt, as usual. “Not unless you give me some powerful reason to reconsider. Which you haven’t.” Oh, but he had. Isen just wouldn’t listen. Rule sat on the edge of his damned hospital bed and fought the urge to howl… though maybe he shouldn’t suppress that particular urge. Maybe his father would believe him then. “The Lu Nuncio must have control.” The words came out clipped. “I don’t.” Isen waved that away. “It’s temporary.” “I Changed!” The words burst out. “Here in the damned hospital, when the moon went full I Changed. I couldn’t stop it.” “Hurt like hell, too, I imagine. Good thing you warned Glen ahead of time.” Glen was one of the guards keeping reporters out of Rule’s room. Last night he’d had to keep the doctors and nurses out, too, until Rule mustered the will to Change back. It had taken him a good half hour, and the ache to stay wolf, to feel and smell the world more fully, remained. “That makes it all right, I suppose,” Rule said bitterly. “I can’t control the Change anymore, but as long as I warn someone—”

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“Son.” It was a rare word to hear from his father. Rule stilled. Isen put his hand on Rule’s shoulder. “This is pride speaking. Impatience. Your wolf is stronger than he used to be. So? You’ll learn a new balance. It will take time, but I’ve no doubt you’ll be able to do it. You’ve never disappointed me, not as a father or as aRho .” Rule had never understood why his father had named him Lu Nuncio instead of Benedict. He understood even less now. He didn’t know what to say. Words didn’t come as easily as they used to. Isen squeezed Rule’s shoulder once, then released it. “You’ll have help. I hear some of that help coming now.” So did Rule. He turned his head, a smile starting. The door opened. “How much of that welcome is for me, and how much for the fact that I’m busting you out of here?” Lily asked. But she was smiling, too, and she came to him without waiting for an answer. As easily as breathing, his hand found hers. Isen chuckled. “You two don’t need me cluttering up the place. I’ll see you at Clanhome,” he told Rule. “We’ve a lot to do to get ready for the All-Clan.” “After Nettie releases him for light work, you mean,” Lily said. Isen waved that away. “He’s one of the fastest healers in the clans. Nettie won’t keep him in bed long—if you don’t wear him out once you’ve got him home.” He chuckled at Lily’s expression and headed for the door. But there he paused, looking back at her. “I don’t know if I said it, but I’m damned glad to have my heir returned to me. You and Cullen and that other woman did that. I won’t thank you. You didn’t do it for me, but you should know you have Nokolai’s gratitude. And mine. To have my son back…” His eyes sheened with sudden tears. He didn’t blink them away, and he looked straight at Rule. “There are no words for that. No words.” Rule was too stunned to answer before the door closed behind his father. Slowly, the tightness in his throat eased. It seemed he wasn’t the only one having trouble with words. “You ready?” Lily asked. “We decided to sneak you out through the kitchen.” “We?” He slid off the bed carefully. Various parts twinged, but those little hurts were drowned out by the protest put out by his side. He put a hand on the bandages there. The demon had ripped him up pretty thoroughly. Nettie had patched things while he was in sleep, but the patched bits hadn’t finished growing together yet.

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“Here.” Lily pushed forward the wheelchair that had been delivered earlier. “The kitchen was Nettie’s idea. Getting you away without the bloodsuckers of the press finding out has been a joint project. Your father will let them comer him in the lobby, where he’s ostensibly waiting for you. He’ll keep them busy while we escape.” Rule scowled at the wheelchair. “I don’t need that.” “Humor me. If it was up to me, you’d stay in the hospital another couple days.” “If it was up to me,” he started—then stopped, remembering. He’d argued about remaining in the hospital once Nettie released him from sleep after the surgery. “She wanted you here,” Lily had said, her face tense. “I promised her.” “Promised who?” he’d demanded. “Myself. My other self.” The one he’d attacked a demon to save… the one who had then died to save him. Rule knew that in his gut, though Lily—this Lily, who both was and wasn’t the one he’d known in hell—hadn’t said so. She’d thrown herself away so they could open the gate, but she hadn’t done it for the others. She’d done it for him. This Lily smiled at him crookedly now. “I’m going to use it, you know,” she said lightly. “Every chance I get. I’ll guilt you right into behaving. Have a seat.” She jiggled the wheelchair. He sat. But she didn’t move right away. Instead he heard her suck in a breath and let it out slowly. “Not that you have anything to feel guilty about. You weren’t even conscious. I was the one who let her do it.” Rule couldn’t turn. His side wouldn’t let him. But he could reach back and cover one of her hands with his. He knew she was carrying a lot of guilt. He didn’t understand why, but he’d seen it on her face too often in the last three days. She started the chair moving. “Did I tell you what Max said about Gan’s tail?” For now, the little demon was staying with Max, who’d accepted his houseguest quite cheerfully after she asked what he knew about multiple orgasms, Gan was supposed to be regrowing her body into a more human form, but so far had refused to give up her tail. “Do I want to know?” “Probably not. It has to do with what she does with it during sex.” “You’d better tell me, then, or my imagination will drive me into a fever.” She chuckled. As she wheeled him to the staff elevator and they rode down, they talked comfortably enough. Nettie met them in the basement. “Ready to tour the kitchen?” Their elaborate maneuvers to avoid the press weren’t just for Rule’s sake. The reporters had been

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hounding Lily, making such pests of themselves that she’d given up, packed some clothes and her cat, and moved to Clanhome temporarily. They weren’t after her because she’d been to hell and back. They didn’t know about that. Someone at the top of the bureaucratic food chain didn’t want the public worrying about hellgates, and the FBI didn’t want to lose its only sensitive. They needed Lily too much to prosecute her. The realms were shifting. Sam had confirmed that when the two of them were trading questions. Earth was drawing closer to both Dis and Faerie, and the modern world was in for a bumpy ride. Lily’s boss at the FBI realized this, and had persuaded at least one other person of the truth—the one at the very, very top of the governmental food chain. So the reporters weren’t interested in tales about hell. They wanted to know about the dragons… who’d disappeared. Hard to see how the Air Force could lose twenty-three enormous beasts who, however powerful and beautiful their flight, couldn’t outrace a jet. But they had. Rule dozed most of the way to Clanhome. This tendency to nap at the drop of a hat was annoying, but normal at this stage of healing. He made it inside his father’s house on his own two legs, however. Two legs, not four. That ought to feel a lot more normal than it did. But it pleased him that Lily had chosen to stay with his father. It was another step toward moving in with him permanently. He still wanted that, though not with the urgency he’d felt before. The fear behind that urgency was gone. One Lily had risked everything to come after him. The other had died for him. How could he doubt her now? He let her tuck him up in bed, then patted it. “Sit.” “I should—” “Probably sleep. You haven’t been doing enough of that, I think.” When she didn’t answer he said gently, “Bad dreams?” She nodded and, slowly, sat beside him. “Some. I almost lost you. I did lose you, but she didn’t. And then she did.” “She?” “She, I…” She managed a wry smile. “The demons have a point. Souls are confusing.” “It’s not easy, being two-natured. It will take time to accustom yourself to it.” “Two-natured?” She was startled. “It’s something like that for you, isn’t it? My wolf…” He touched his chest. “It’s me, yet it isn’t. Just as when I was the wolf, the man both was and wasn’t me. The body matters.”

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“Yes! Yes, it does. We’re one soul, but the memories aren’t… it doesn’t come out even. She—that part of me—doesn’t get to have a turn at a body when the moon’s full, like your wolf does. Only sometimes she peeks out of my eyes. On the way to the hospital I saw a bicycle and my eyes filled. I was so amazed by that bicycle, and by the memory of my old Schwinn. Then…” She shrugged. “It was gone. I had tears on my face, and I didn’t know why.” “The memory game,” he murmured. “I’ll tell you about it, if you like.” She was silent a moment, looking down at her fingers picking nervously at the comforter she’d tucked around him. “Now I’m doubly jealous. Of you, for knowing her. Of her, for having you when I didn’t. And if you think that sounds nuts”—she gave a short laugh—“I won’t argue.” “Jealousy isn’t rational. I was jealous of Gan.” “Yes, I…” Slowly the tension in her face softened into a smile. “I know. I remember.” She rubbed her chest as if easing the memory physically into place. “I wish I understood. Even Sam didn’t know the other me had a body. How could that happen?” Rule thought he knew: the Lady. Somehow she’d preserved Lily’s sundered self in two bodies—one with thetoltoi , the other without. Toward the end of his time in hell, Rule had been mostly instinct. The Lady had reached him through those instincts, prodding him, sending him again and again into those underground passages. When the time came, he’d been ready to lead them to the place the Lady needed them to be. But not so she cold bring Rule back to Earth, as the others believed. It was Lily that Lady had needed rescued, Lily she had some purpose for. He was sure of that, sure in the same way he’d known he had to keep searching out those dark passages. He was equally sure Lily wouldn’t want to hear that. “Would you do something for me?” “Yes.” Just that. Justyes . “Lie with me awhile. I’m not proposing to disturb Nettie’s handiwork,” he added quickly, seeing refusal on her face. “I just… I want to hold you. For so long I couldn’t.” “Oh…” she said, her eyes closing. “Oh, I’ve wanted that.” And a few moments later, with her curled into him, her hair tickling his jaw, her body reminding him of pleasures he couldn’t seek yet, and her scent filling him, he did the other thing he’d wanted so much to do while he was wolf. “I love you.” She went still. After a moment she said quietly, “I love you, too. And I…” She put her palm on his chest and a smile bloomed on her face. “I am so glad about ... So very glad.”

5 - Blood Lines (2007)

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Dear Reader, It's been a little over three months since I met Rule. It seems a lot longer. I could turn all mushy and say it feels as if my life began when our eyes met that night at Club Hell, but I'd be lying. I had a life before him—bumpy and imperfect, but a life. Just about everything in that life has changed, though. That is why it feels like a lot more than three months have passed. I was a homicide cop back then. That's all I'd ever wanted to be—at least since the age of eight, when I learned that the monsters are real and look a lot like the rest of us. Now I'm working for the FBI, Unit 12 in MCD—that's the Magical Crimes Division—and I'm bonded for life to the prince of the Nokolai Clan. Two months ago I was investigating the first West Coast killing in decades by a werewolf—excuse me, a lupus. Rule Turner looked to be my prime suspect. I realized pretty quickly he couldn't be, but it took longer to find out who was behind it all. A nutty telepath, a charismatic cult leader, and an ancient goddess-wannabe had teamed up to destroy all lupi in theUnited States , and they didn't object to killing a few humans along the way to taking over the country. We stopped them. By "we" I mean Rule and me and a few others, like my grandmother—who's gone toChina , dammit, on some sort of personal pilgrimage. She left about a week before I ended up in hell. Literally. See, I killed the telepath. She was doing her damnedest to kill me at the time, so I didn't have much choice. But the cult's leader got away, and he took her staff with him. Or maybe I should sayHer staff, because it was tied to the goddess we don't name. We had to find and destroy the staff, which meant tracking down Harlowe, the cult leader.

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We found him. It didn't turn out well for any of us. Harlowe got dead, along with some others. I got split in two, with half of me blasted into the demon realm. Rule went with me. That part of me, anyway. Don't ask me to explain this split business. Cullen— that's Rule's friend, the sorcerer—might be able to, but you'd be making a mistake to ask. The man looks like walking sin, but he turns into the nutty professor when he starts talking spellwork and theory. It gets pretty confusing after that. Neither part of me knew the other one existed. The one in hell—or Dis, as the natives call it—had no memory. She did have Rule, but he was stuck in wolf form. The me still on Earth knew Rule wasn't dead because of the mate bond, but finding him was another story. Eventually some of the lupus priestesses— they're called Rhejes—plus Cullen managed to open a small hellgate, which is only a little less illegal than mass murder. Me, Cullen, Cynna, and an obnoxious gnome named Max went after Rule. Dis is split into regions, each ruled by its prince. The goddess-wannabe had infiltrated one of those regions by sending her avatar—think of an avatar as a sentient cup, with most of the person poured out to make room for some of the goddess—to make a deal with its prince. They had a falling out. The demon ate the avatar and went nuts, and both sides of me found ourselves in the middle of a war in hell. Both of me were very surprised by the dragons. The Other Me and Rule had been scooped up by a dragon early on. This hadn't seemed like a lucky break at the time; more like a nasty way to die. But in the end it was a dragon who knew how to get us back—get me back with my Other Me, that is, and get all of us back to Earth… including him and about twenty of his huge, beautiful, and deadly buddies. We didn't escape unscathed. The authorities decided to pretend it wasn't possible to open a hellgate, so we weren't in trouble for that. After all, the gate vanished as soon as we returned. But Rule nearly died, and I… I know things I never thought it was possible to know. Death isn't the absolute I used to believe it to be. And the dragons? They vanished so thoroughly that some people are talking aboutHollywood publicity stunts. It did happen inCalifornia , after all. This is the story of what happened after we all came home, sort of like Dorothy & Co. after Oz. I'm betting you thought everything was peachy for Dorothy once she got home. We forget thatKansas is no safer than Oz. After all, that's where the tornado hit.

PROLOGUE 2:52 A.M., December 20 (Greenwich) JUST outside Miller's Dale, Derbyshire, two budding naturalists snuck out of their cottage. Julie and

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Marnie weren't supposed to be out at night, of course, but they had every hope their mother would never know. She always slept very soundly after one of her "girls' night out" parties. They meant to find and photograph the pair ofMustela erminea whose tracks they'd spotted yesterday. At least, Marnie was convinced they were stoat tracks. Julie kept annoying her sister by pointing out that they might have been made byMustela nivalis , known to the Latin-impaired as the common weasel. Both left five-toed tracks and were largely nocturnal, though weasels often went about in the daytime, too. But they'd also found a tuft of white fur nearby. "It could have come from a hare," Julie said for the fifth or sixth time. "That was not hair from a hare." "How do you know?" "I just do." Privately Marnie had to admit she couldn't be sure, but it would be ever so lovely if they could find the weasel's beautiful white-coated cousin. It was possible. Stoats weren't that uncommon, and Miller's Dale was blessed with not one, not two, but three nature preserves nearby: the two belonging to the Derbyshire Naturalists' Trust at Priestcliffe Lees and Station Quarry, and the National Nature Reserve at Monk's Dale. Being in the Peak District, the area was also lousy with hiking trails, not to mention tourists and other pests. No hikers now. The moon was a lumpy golden goblin hanging low on the horizon, just over half-full. There was plenty of light for the girls to keep to the road that tracked the River Wye. Their breaths puffed pale in the still air. Marnie tucked her hands in her pockets, feeling the bulky shape of her new Nikon. She'd taken about a hundred pictures, trying to get the shutter speed, f-stop, and ISO right for night pictures. She'd preset everything. If they saw aMustela erminea , all she had to do was point and shoot. Some plans are never fulfilled. The girls made it less than halfway to the area where they'd spotted the tracks when they saw a soft glow coming from a small copse off to the left. "Some stupid bugger has left a fire burning," Julie said. "Maybe." The light wasn't flickering, like a fire would. "Looks more like a torch." "Not moving, is it? C'mon. We'd better check." Marnie jigged from foot to foot, wanting badly to pursue her stoats… but if that light did come from an abandoned campfire, it needed to be put out. "All right. But keep it quiet, in case it's just teenagers." The girls were good at moving quietly so as not to alarm wildlife, but it was much darker beneath the trees. Still, they reached the small, circular clearing at the center of the copse without making too much racket. And stopped dead—then ducked behind a tree. There werefairies in the fairy ring. That's what Marnie thought they were, anyway, though no one had seen a fairy in… well, forever. But they were little, so little they probably wouldn't have come up to her knee if any of them had been

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standing… which they weren't. Plus they had great, huge, butterfly wings. And theyglowed . As if they were made out of LEDs, a soft light radiated from all over their pale, perfect little bodies. Which she could see quite clearly because they were naked. And what they were doing… well, she'd seen animals do that, but never anything that looked so much like people. Marnie yanked her camera out of her pocket and clicked it on. She pressed the shutter button and prayed. Pressed it again. Again. "They're doingsex !" Julie whispered, shocked. Marnie pinched her to make her be quiet, but it was too late. One of them—a female with yellow wings with big brown spots— stopped what she was doing to the male with reddish wings. Her little head swiveled as she looked around. She twittered something. Marnie gaped. The little fairy hadteeth . Pointy teeth, like a cat. Several of them laughed. One chirped more words, and they looked all around as if they were spooked. A bitty little man with blue wings cried out and pointed right at the tree where Marnie and Julie were hiding. The biggest female, a slender redhead with wings the color of dusk, raised her hands over her head. She cried out some words real sharp, like she was bossing someone around. She was loud, too, louder than someone that little ought to be. Her teeny hands closed into fists. They all vanished, and it was very dark beneath the trees. The girls did get in trouble for sneaking out, but it was worth it. Marnie sold her pictures to the local newspaper and then to a wire service. Eventually she even forgave her sister for opening her big mouth and scaring the fairies off.

8:52 p.m. December 19 (local); 2:52 a.m. December 20 (Greenwich) LOS Lobos perched precariously on the mountainous coast of Michoacan, Mexico, where the peaks of the Sierra Madre del Sur crowded the coast so tightly they all but fell off into the Pacific. The tiny pueblo straddled one of the few roads into the mountains, a bumpy cement snake that shed its paving seven kilometers up to wriggle off in happy obscurity, becoming a dirt trail usable only by donkeys or those with no regard for their vehicle's undercarriage. There was no inn or hotel in the village, but Senora de Pedrosa, old Enrique's widow, had an extra bedroom once she booted out her third-oldest grandson—who, after all, was well able to stay with his brother and sister-in-law for a few days. She'd rented that room to the stranger who slept there now, dreaming of darkness. Cullen awoke with a start. For a second he didn't know where or when he was, but there was light. He could see.

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Not that there was much to see. He'd fallen asleep at the little table his hostess had provided, dozing off with his head on his arms. Gah. Tedious dream… though not as tedious as the other one. He'd hoped that one would quit squirming up from his unconscious now that he was Nokolai, but no such luck, Cullen straightened, scrubbed his face with both hands, and twisted to stretch the kinks out of his spine. Apparently his recent late nights, added to tramping through the jungle, had caught up to him. What time was it, anyway? He picked up the phone that served better as a clock than a communication device this far from any cell towers. The glowing display informed him it was a ridiculous hour to be asleep. Well, he was awake now. What had woken him? He frowned. The dream? But it had never woken him up before. He listened, sniffed, but didn't hear or smell anything unusual… Then he felt it again. Soft as the brush of a feather, something tickled his shields. Instinctively he snapped them tighter. What the hell—? Then he smiled. Of course. Someone had noticed him, was trying to turn him aside. Who else but the one he sought? His hand went to his chest, where the longer of his two necklaces dangled. He opened the pouch—leather, covered with silk— and removed the contents. For a moment he simply savored it, turning it over between his fingers. It was hard and smooth as glass and shaped like a large flower petal. The edges were sharp enough to make him careful how he handled it. In daylight, he knew, it would be dark gray with an opalescent sheen, as if coated by oily water. At the moment his eyes could barely make it out. But Cullen didn't rely only on his eyes to see. And his recent blinding, now healed, had only made his other vision sharper. With that vision he saw color: alive, glittering color. Blue for water, silver for air, brown for earth—red sparks, yellow, green—all the colors of magic danced across it. But underneath… ah, underneath them all, it was the deepest purple, a purple darkened nearly to black. Purple, the color of those of the Blood. What he held had come from the oldest of the magical species, the one made more purely from magic than any other. Chances were, Cullen thought as he smoothed his thumb along the glassy surface, that no one on Earth had held one of these in four or five hundred years. A dragon's scale, so recently shed that the magic of its former owner still lived in it. A dragon who might be looking for Cullen, as Cullen was looking for him—though for different reasons. He grinned into the darkness, his hand closing around the sharp edges of his prize.

10:52 a.m. December 20 (local);

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2:52 a.m. December 20 (Greenwich) EIGHTY kilometers outsideChengdu inSichuan Province,China , an old woman was climbing a mountain—quite a short mountain, actually, though the trail was steep. Few took that trail in winter, but today both land and sky were clear of snow. The sun was a shiny pebble overhead. She wasn't alone. Five others lagged behind, perhaps not as keen as she on reaching the Taoist temple at the trail's end. The cold annoyed Madam Li Lei Yu, bringing as it did intimations of age and mortality. But then, her pilgrimage was itself a reminder of those states: both the immediate pilgrimage up this blasted mountain and the larger one that had brought her back to her homeland. After arriving inChengdu she'd learned that the man she'd come here to see—a monk—had died last year. She was annoyed with An Du. Couldn't he have waited a little longer? She would make the trip to his grave, but there was a strong flavor of "get it over with" to her climb. She was twenty feet from the top and out of sight of the others when it hit. Not dizziness, though she lost track of up and down. Not blindness nor deafness, though her vision went gray and her hearing faded. Something strong andother blew through her, snuffing out her senses like candles, sending her sliding across reality as if it were ice. She came to lying on her back with the sun still shining, the rest of the climbers still on the other side of the bend, and a name on her lips that hadn't been spoken aloud in four hundred years. Li Lei didn't speak that name now, either. But it sang inside her, opening vistas of terror and joy, memory and change. For several breaths she didn't move, letting her heart settle back into its usual steady beat. Letting her thoughts settle, too, around the new shape of reality. "So," she whispered in the language of her birth, "he has come back." And just how long had he been back before the wind blew through and whispered his name? She scowled. The sound of voices all too near made her push to her feet, wincing—since there was no one to see—at the pain in her hip. There was a time when a little fall like that… well, no matter. She was old, and the Maker had for some unfathomable reason chosen to include decrepitude as part of the package. Railing against it did no good. Nonetheless, she was muttering under her breath to whomever might be listening as she walked back along the trail. The others came around the bend, following their guide. He was a small, agile man of about forty who had not liked it when she went on ahead. He had actually thought he could prevent her. The married couple just behind him were fromBeijing , the two young men from somewhere inGuizhou . Li Lei Yu neither knew nor cared why the others had decided to climb a mountain today. She was interested in only one person of the party: the middle-aged woman at the rear. She ignored the guide's questions and expostulations as she made her way to her companion. Li Qin's dear, ugly face was placid as ever, her voice as surprising in its beauty as it had been when they first met. "Have you reached the top and returned to show us the way, madam?"

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That was Li Qin's notion of humor. Obviously there was only one way to the top. "I have lost my taste for gravesite conversations. They are too one-sided. We will leave now." Obediently Li Qin turned around and started back down the trail. "We return to the hotel?" "No. We are going home." "Ah." Li Qin followed in silence. "You are doing it again," Li Lei muttered. "It is most unattractive." "I have said nothing." "You think very loudly." They descended in silence for several minutes before she spoke again, grudgingly. "I will admit it. You were right.China is no longer home." Li Qin answered gently, "That was not what I said." Not precisely, no. She had said that Li Lei would not find what she sought inChina . But it came to the same thing, for home was what Li Lei ached for. Home, and reunions that could never be, for so many were gone. But not all. Not all. She stopped, turning to meet her old friend's eyes. "I have found something I didn't seek. Or it has found me." She took a slow breath, let it out. "The Turning. The Turning has come, Li Qin." Li Qin's breath sucked in so softly even Li Lei's ears barely caught the sound. Her eyes went wide… and not placid at all. ONE 9:52 p.m. December 19 (local); 2:52 a.m. December 20 (Greenwich) THE National Symphony's performance of Handel'sMessiah had started at eight thirty, so the choir was winding up the "Hallelujah Chorus" when the lead tenor turned into a wolf. Until then, Lily Yu had been enjoying the evening. She hadn't expected to, not after getting the news about the investigation. And before that, there had been the problem of clothes. Lily liked clothes. She owned a fair number, too—mostly on-the-job jackets and such, but she'd brought her few dressy things to D.C., too. The assignment called for them. So she'd had her favorite black silk dress with her, and if she'd worn it four times already, so what? You couldn't go wrong with black, especially when it fit like it had been made for her. Which it had. Her cousin Lynn was trying to get a dressmaking business going. What she'd lacked was a coat. A dressy coat, to be specific. She'd bought a Lands' End jacket the day after her plane's wheels touched down atReaganInternationalAirport , but she couldn't very well toss it on over black silk.

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Lily was inWashington ,D.C. , temporarily, taking a special version of the usual FBI training at nearbyQuantico during the day and going to parties at night. The parties were work, not play. She was an FBI agent now, part of the secretive Unit Twelve within the Magical Crimes Division, but on loan to the Secret Service. The case she'd been brought in for was beyond the usual scope of that agency: a Congressman had been offered a deal by a demon. He'd reported it. They'd been fairly sure others in the same position hadn't. There was no denying they needed to know if any congressional critters or highly placed bureaucrats had signed in blood on the dotted line, but Lily had hated her part in the investigation— mainly because she hadn't been allowed to really investigate. Nor had she been told much of anything. The Secret Service took the first part of their name far too seriously, and most of them did not like or trust the Unit. Lots of people felt that way about magic, of course. That's one reason Lily had kept her own Gift a secret so long. Lily was a touch sensitive, one of the rarest Gifts. Magic didn't affect her, yet she could feel it on her skin, could identify its type and sometimes its source. For years sensitives had been used to out the Gifted and those of the Blood who were passing as normal. Supposedly the days of persecution were over, but prejudice hadn't evaporated with the lifting of official sanctions. Lily did not out anyone. Period. The work she'd been doing for the Secret Service came close to that, but there was a difference between making demonic pact and practicing the craft or turning furry once a month or so. Lily understood that. Besides, The Powers That Be hadn't wanted a whiff of this investigation reaching the press, and she has a dandy cover for her partying. Rule spent time in D.C. often, lobbying for his people. His current cause—or his father's—was the Species Citizenship Bill, still bogged down in committee, but not dead. So she'd shaken hands, smiled, and found one aide, a Representative, and a highly placed bureaucrat whose flesh carried a hint of orange. They'd been questioned, and though she hadn't been part of those interviews, it had looked like they were going to find whoever had brought the demon over to offer those deals. This afternoon, she'd been told the investigation was closed. The perp had confessed by killing himself. He'd even been thoughtful enough to leave a note, so it looked like she'd be able to fly home for Christmas. That ought to have pleased her. Pity she could so seldom feel the way she ought to. Home wasSan Diego , where the weather made sense. Water didn't get hard inSan Diego unless you put it in your freezer. It didn't fall from the sky often, either—certainly not as icy pellets, which it had done here the night before last. That had been a shock. She'd always thought ofVirginia aswarm . Yesterday when she returned fromQuantico , a coat had been spread across her bed; a long, black coat in a sumptuous blend of wool, silk, and cashmere. An extravagantly warm and luxurious coat with a cheap red bow sitting askew on the collar… and a fat orange cat shedding all over it. She'd removed Dirty Harry immediately, much to his displeasure.

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Harry was one of Rule's extravagances. They hadn't known how long they'd be inWashington , so Rule had insisted on paying for a plane ticket for the cat. The funny thing was that he and Harry didn't much like each other, but Rule regarded Harry as Lily's dependent. So Harry had flown first-class with them, little though he'd appreciated the honor. He'd been in his carrier, of course, and sedated, the latter being as much for their sakes as his. "I didn't have time to wrap it," Rule had said, coming into the room behind her. "I thought we agreed to exchange presents on Christmas, not before." She'd tried to sound stern, but the way she'd been petting the coat probably gave the wrong impression. His mouth had twitched. "I grew impatient. Forgive me. It isn't so much that I mind watching you shiver and shake and complain about the weather. I've gotten used to that, and your lips are really quite attractive when they turn blue. But I know how you hate waste, and since it seems we'll be back inCalifornia for the big day after all—" She'd rolled her eyes and interrupted him with a kiss. Then she'd given him the tickets to tonight's shindig, her early Christmas present for him, which destroyed any chance of complaining that he'd jumped the gun with his gift. She hadn't really wanted to complain. It was a gorgeous coat. The gorgeous coat was draped over her shoulders at ten minutes before ten as the chorus wound up into the climactic strains of the "Hallelujah Chorus." She glanced at the man beside her. He was a pleasure to look at. Lily was getting used to that. She cleaned up okay herself, but Rule Turner in a tux turned heads. It wasn't any one thing about him, she thought. His features were striking but imperfect: the lips a little thin, the nose a little crooked, like his smile. His cheekbones were sharp, with eyebrows parked along the same slant above eyes as dark as his hair. At the moment he sat perfectly still, his head lifted slightly, his entire being focused on the music. Ah, good. Good. The magic that let lupi heal so fast was especially strong in Rule. He'd mended quickly from the surgery that put him back together after a demon ripped him apart, but something inside him hadn't healed. He was too often silent, too slow to smile. Was he grieving? Did he missher —the other Lily? The one who both was and wasn't gone? The singers' voices pounded through her, the song that claimed there was no loss. That death, as the Buddhists held, was an illusion. Lily wished she could turn loose and go where the music wanted her to, but this wasn't her kind of music. It was Rule's, though. He'd told her his people were fond of music, but that was like saying Texans are fond of football, or cats of tuna fish. She'd learned that most lupi played at least one instrument, and all of them sang. Perfect pitch was more the norm than the exception.

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That's why she was here, why she'd bought the tickets. She hadn't seen Rule this intent outside of bed… …not since we sat on the rocky beach, listening to the dragons sing . She blinked. Elation, grief, the pinch of envy—all twisted through her as the memory wisp faded. She could never hold on to them, those whispers from another self. Like dandelion fluff, they drifted across her mind sometimes, teasing her with the not-quite-lost. Almost, she could summon the sound of dragons singing to the coming night. Almost. She jolted. Magic shivered and sparked across every inch of exposed skin—a rush of raw power, as if a door had opened and let an invisible wind blow through. Her heartbeat jumped and her breath sucked in, and magic prickled down her throat with her indrawn breath—andthat had never happened before. Then it was gone, a magic dust devil that had blown on past. She turned to tell Rule. His eyes were black. All the way black, not just dark, with no white showing. Beast-swallowed. A muscle jumped in his jaw, and his hands gripped the arms of the chair so tightly it was a wonder he hadn't squeezed them in two. "Are you okay?" she whispered urgently. He looked at her with those blind, black eyes. "Give me a minute," he managed through gritted teeth. Someone screamed. For a second she thought it was because of Rule, but a second scream came on top of the first, and from the stage. She looked—and caught the last few seconds of the Change. Probably no one else in the audience knew what they were seeing. It was impossible to describe, a shifting slit in reality where forms seemed to slide elsewhere and back like a Mobius strip on speed. But Lily had seen it before. She knew what was happening. They were about to have a werewolf onstage. If she was guessing right, a confused and frightened werewolf. Not a good mix with a lot of confused and frightened humans. Lupus, she reminded herself as she stood and sidestepped past the people seated along her row. Not werewolf. Nowadays you had to call them lupi in the plural, lupus in the singular. "Police," she snapped at a beefy man who'd stood and was trying to see what was happening. "Sit." He did. She emerged into the aisle. There was pandemonium onstage: singers tripping over each other trying to get away, musicians deserting. The conductor hadn't budged. He was yelling at them, though not in English. She glanced back quickly at Rule. He hadn't moved. The Change was riding him too hard, she guessed—if he let his concentration slip, he'd lose the battle. Then they'd have two wolves scaring people. She didn't have her weapon. A shoulder holster didn't make the right fashion statement for a night at

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theKennedyCenter , so she'd left it in the car, dammit. This probably wasn't a problem a gun could solve, anyway. She jogged up the aisle to the stage. Others in the audience were standing now. It wouldn't be long before confusion built into panic and they mobbed the exits. "Police!" She shouted it this time. "Everyone sit down, stay calm. You are not in danger." At least there wasn't an orchestra pit. She heaved herself up onto the stage—an ungraceful procedure in a short skirt, but it couldn't be helped. The choir had been perched on risers behind the orchestra. Most of those risers were empty now, though a few people were still scrambling off. A woman lay sprawled on the floor at the end of the highest tier, moaning. But the area around the wolf had cleared. He stood at the bottom of the risers—a big beast, but smaller than Rule was in wolf form. Reddish fur. Hackles raised. Teeth bared. The conductor was yelling at him. "Idiot," she muttered under her breath, stomping up to seize him by the shoulder. "Shut up." He turned, eyebrows flying up, his mouth pursing in a startled O. "You're yelling at a wolf. He doesn't like it." Though there was a man inside the fur and snarls, the wolf seemed to be in charge right now. "But he's ruined the performance! Ruined everything!" "Not his fault. What's his name?" "What? His name? Why?" "Just tell me his name." "Paul. Paul Chernowich." "Okay. You've got people panicking, one injured." She gestured at the woman on the floor. "Get her some medical help. You." She turned to a lone woman who stood staring, slack-jawed, at the wolf, apparently too stunned to flee. She was young, dark-haired, at least half Asian. Her violin dangled from one hand, her bow from the other. "Play something." The woman turned to her. "Wh-what?" "Play something. Anything. It'll calm people down." Including the wolf, she hoped. "Lupi don't hurt women," she added. "You're safe." The woman glanced at the wolf, out at the crowd, and back at Lily, comprehension leaking into her eyes. The corners of her mouth turned up. "A solo," she murmured. "Why not?" She stepped up to the front of the stage, tucked her violin under her chin, poised the bow for a dramatic moment—and began to play.

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The sweet strains of a Bach violin sonata drifted out. Lily faced the wolf. He was looking around, hackles still raised but no longer growling. Good. She wondered why he hadn't just run off. Wouldn't that be the natural thing to do? "Paul." She spoke firmly, not loudly. He'd hear. "You're upset. You don't know what happened, right?" He glanced at her, then away, scanning the area. What was he looking for? Whoever did this to him, maybe. "I don't know what forced the Change on you, but there's no immediate threat." She took one slow step closer. Where was Rule? Was he still fighting the Change? "We haven't met, but I bet you've heard of me. I'm Lily Yu, Rule's Chosen. Rule Turner of Nokolai." He looked right at her and growled. "Okay, maybe you're not Nokolai. But you wouldn't hurt aChosen ." She said that firmly, though the sight of all those teeth, not to mention the lowered head and raised hackles, had her heartbeat racing. She lifted the little charm hanging around her neck. "You know what this is. Your Lady—" A shot rang out. She spun, her hand automatically going to the place where her gun wasn't. A uniformed cop stood in the aisle, feet spread, weapon aimed. The wolf raced past Lily almost too fast to see—straight for the idiot with the gun. Rule landed on top of him. Lily didn't know where he'd come from. He seemed to drop out of the air. And he was two-legged, dammit, in no shape to play tackle with a couple hundred pounds of wolf! The man-wolf tangle rolled, ending at the very edge of the stage with Rule on the bottom. The wolf's jaws opened as it lunged at Rule's throat— Which Rule obligingly offered by tilting his head back. Someone screamed. Maybe it was her this time. The wolf froze. His teeth were on Rule's throat, but he wasn't moving. After a terrible pause, he removed his mouth. He sniffed Rule's chin and down his chest, and then looked at his face. She could have sworn he looked suspicious. "Ni culpa, ne defensia," Rule said. Slowly the wolf backed off, allowing Rule to stand. Lily's breath shuddered in. The violinist glided from one sonata to another, slowing from allegro to adagio, her music drifting out across the stage and audience like foam from a retreating wave. And the uniformed asshole with the gun took aim again. TWO

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9:52 p.m. December 19 (local); 2:52 a.m. December 20 (Greenwich) CYNNA Weaver stood on a corner inWashington,D.C. , that would never be featured on visitor tours or political photo ops. The temperature was supposed to be above freezing, but her fingers suspected it had dropped below that mark. She jammed her hands into the pockets of her bomber jacket. She'd remembered her jacket, her room key, phone, wallet, and weapon. No hat or gloves. Dumb. She didn't know where she was. That was more than a little embarrassing, considering the nature of her Gift. Somewhere inSoutheast D.C. —she'd switched to the Green Line at some point— but she couldn't for the life of her remember where she'd gotten off. Or why. Probably Anacostia, Cynna thought, looking around. Which just showed how little she could trust her subconscious, but her conscious mind wasn't coming up much exceptGet out of here . She chose a direction at random and started walking. Her current lodgings weren't much different from a hundred other hotel rooms she'd stayed in since jumping sides in the law-and-order game seven years ago. The room had a decent bed, cable TV, plenty of hot water, and no trace of personality. Midway through a room service hamburger, she hadn't been able to stand it anymore. Not that she knew what "it" was. The impersonal room? The too-personal dreams plaguing her? Or the dreams that had died…Stubborn sons of bitches , she thought, scowling. Those long-dead dreams kept throwing ghosts. Whatever the cause this time, the feeling itself was familiar. She never had been able to put a name to it. She just knew that when it hit, she had todo something. Anything. Back when she was young and stupid, that had usually meant partying. Nowadays she tried to work it off physically. Tonight she'd hopped the Metro, then started walking. Unfortunately, she'd been too busy chasing her thoughts round and round their hamster wheels to pay attention. When she'd finally woken from her stupid-induced trance… Well, this wasn't the worst street she'd ever been on, but it came close. And she'd been down some pretty badass streets. A lowrider truck cruised by, windows down, stereo up, the bass thrumming the soles of her feet through her Reeboks. One of the wits in the backseat leaned out the window to make her an offer easy to refuse. She did, using sign language that would be recognized in any high school inAmerica . Not exactly professional, but she wasn't here professionally. She was here because… nope, couldn't come up with a single good reason. Just ahead, a neon sign saying simply Bar fizzed over a scarred door. The door opened, spilling rap music, the scent of weed, and two young brothers in cargo pants onto the sidewalk. One of them staggered, giggling. The other one looked straight at her. Uh-oh. "Hey, ho," he said in a soft voice. "What you be doin' heah? Dis not yo' block."

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It wasn't a friendly inquiry. Not with his eyes set on empty that way. Middle-class people made a lot of assumptions about neighborhoods like this. They thought everyone did drugs, the only occupations were pusher, pimp, or hooker, and if you set foot in the hood, you'd be mugged, raped, or worse. Like most assumptions, those were wrong. The people who lived here weren't assaulted every time they walked down the street, and many of them hated the crime and violence a lot more than any soccer mom watching a condensed version on CNN. But a woman alone, after dark, who wasn't from the hood… Cynna stopped, rolling her shoulders to loosen them. She trickled a little power into one of the tattoos on her forearm, but left her jacket zipped so she wouldn't be tempted to draw on these idiots. Ruben would shit if she shot someone. "Bone out, bogart."Get lost, tough guy . "Lissen dat!" Giggles straightened, still grinning. "White Cheeks here be talkin' flash. She a mud shark, fink?" "Mebbe she white, mebbe banana." Dead eyes took a slow trip up and down her body. "Hard to say, all dat scribblin' on her face." "I'm plaid." She sent more power to the spell on her right arm. "Your mamas know you're out this late, boys?" He took a step forward. "Mebbe I find out what you are." Wanted a fight, did he? Cynna's blood hummed. She settled her weight on the balls of her feet and opened her shields. And staggered at the sudden onrush of power.What the hell —? The bar's door opened again. Another young black male stepped out. He was snake-skinny and taller than the first two. "You blockin' traffic, man," he said, giving Giggles a shove. "Move it." Giggles stepped aside obligingly. "Jo-Jo's gonna check out White Cheeks, see if her snatch is pale like her hair. Can't tell 'bout her skin wif all dat magic marker on her face." The newcomer glanced at her. Then he pimp-slapped the back of his friend's head. "Fool!" Jo-Jo spun, ready to explode. "What the fuck?" "She's Dizzy." Giggles snorted. "Dem Dizzies be old news. Dey all show, no blow." "Some had juice." The tall young man looked at her. There was someone living behind these eyes, someone with a working brain. "She do." Jo-Jo scowled. "You readin' her tea leaves, bro?" "Asshole. Lookit her. You ready to jump her, yeah? Well, she waitin', not shakin'. Shewants you to try

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it." He spoke to her directly for the first time. "Jo-Jo's assed-out, an' Patch here don' mean nothin'—he jes' dumb. No harm?" She held his eyes a moment, then she gave a small nod. "No harm." The three of them made room for her to pass—Tallboy and Jo-Jo quietly, Giggles with a flourished arm. She walked on by, not looking at them—confidence was half the battle—but with every sense alert in case the hopped-up Jo-Jo changed his mind. Nothing happened. Just as well, she told herself. Normally, her hands-off spell would give anyone who touched her a nasty jolt. Somehow, though, she'd pulled in a lot of extra juice. If she'd used the spell, she might have seriously injured one of those idiots. Speaking of extra juice… She made another block and stopped. A few muttered words, a moment of focus, and some of the extra power crawled along her skin to a pattern that served as a storage cell. Couldn't keep it all there, though. There was too much. She pressed her palm against the old brick of the nearest building and gradually discharged the rest. It made her think of Cullen. Wouldn't he have just loved to be around to soak up all that free magic? Annoying man. Equally annoying was the way thinking about him gave her a sexual buzz. Which would really have pleased that big, fat ego of his, wouldn't it? If he knew about it, which of course he couldn't. Though he was conceited enough to think she'd get hot thinking about him, except he wouldn't, because she undoubtedly never crossed his mind at all. But if he did… Shut up, she told her brain. Better to think about where that power had come from. Magic didn't just float around loose, ready for anyone with a bit of a Gift to suck up. Not that Cynna had only a bit of a Gift. She tried not to be smug about it, but she was the strongest known Finder in the country. She was also pretty good at spellcraft. Theoretically, any Gifted could use spells, but most didn't. Some couldn't find a decent teacher. Others lacked the interest, the patience, or the knack of it, just like some people couldn't do math to save them. Like her. Cynna sucked at math. But when it came to spell-craft, she had the knack, the desire, and the patience. The air had broken out in a cold sweat, emphasis on the cold. There wasn't enough precip to call it a drizzle, just a clammy dampness that fuzzed the streetlights and numbed her cheeks. Great weather for staying inside. That's where respectable citizens were, no doubt—comfy and cozy at home, maybe with a fire burning in the fireplace and a glass of wine in hand. Well, she couldn't manage the fire, but wine sounded like a fine idea. Something fizzy, maybe. Another two blocks, and she'd hit a busy intersection. She'd get a cab, get back to the hotel, and order something from room service. Even after years of prosperity she got a kick out of room service. Maybe that would wipe out this stupid, let-down feeling. For God's sake. Let down? Had she wanted a fight?

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Yes. She had. That's why she'd headed for the worst neighborhood in Washington. Dammit, dammit, dammit. When was she going to learn? Cynna scowled at her feet and walked faster. Some people had the whole good-and-bad thing down. She was working on it, but when the shit hit the fan and there wasn't time to think things through, she didn't have the right instincts. Her default setting hit a lot closer tokill the bastards thanturn the other cheek . Not that she went around killing people. That had only happened twice, both times in self-defense. The Bureau had agreed she'd handled the second situation correctly. They didn't know about the other. Well, Abel Karonski did. He was a friend as well as a fellow agent, and she'd spilled the story to him years ago. He might have told Ruben. But the deets weren't in any official file. She'd checked. But she did like a fight. Especially on nights like this, when the nameless feeling clawed its way up from her gut and wrapped her in its barbed-wire coils, there were only two things she really wanted to do: fight or fuck. That wasn't the way good people dealt with a bad mood. She stopped at the light, scowling. The neighborhood had improved some in the last three blocks. The four corners at this intersection were held down by a Mexican food place, a car wash, a resale shop, and a convenience store. Okay. She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. She couldn't control what she wanted to do, so she'd settle for controlling what she did. And what she was going to do now was get back to the hotel. Skip the wine, get some sleep. She could borrow a phone book at the 7-Eleven, call a cab, and let the driver figure out how to get from here to there. Halfway across the street she noticed the church. It was on the other end of the block, separated from the 7-Eleven by a couple of small stores and a big parking lot.Bound to be locked up this time of night , her reasonable side pointed out. It wasn't that late, though. Just after ten. And there were cars in the parking lot. As soon as she hit that side of the street, her feet veered that way. Probably isn't a Catholic church, the voice of reason said. Probably not. Couldn't hurt to check, though. It wasn't like she had something important to… hey, look. People. The side door had opened. An older couple and a younger one emerged, followed by another small knot of folks—Hispanic, looked like, though with everyone bundled up for the weather, she wasn't sure. The last one out wore a black cassock. Sure looked like a priest. And… yes, she was close enough to read the sign now: Our Lady of the Assumption. Ha. Take that, voice of reason.

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People called cheerful good nights; car doors slammed and cars backed out of their parking spots. But one older couple seemed uninterested in leaving. They stood on the narrow porch by the side door, and the woman was talking a mile a minute to the priest about flowers and tables and the number of guests. Wedding rehearsal. That's why they were here at this hour. Damn, she'd make a detective yet. As Cynna drew near, the husband told his wife to let Father Jacobs go inside—it was freezing out here. One by one, they noticed her and fell silent. The woman clutched her husband's arm, eyes wide. He rose to his role as protector by giving Cynna a go-away frown. At least this bunch wasn't likely to jump her. "Father Jacobs?" she said tentatively. Despite the cassock, he looked more like an altar boy than a priest. He was a true towhead, with white-blond hair and skin the color of an old parchment, slightly reddened now from the cold. His smile was surprisingly sweet. "Yes? May I help you?" "I was hoping… I know it's late, but can you take my confession?"

INSIDE, the scent was wood, incense, flowers. The kneeler was hard. Cynna could have gone around the screen to sit in an upholstered chair, but she'd take sore knees over face-to-face confession any time. She crossed herself, wishing she'd waited and gone to her home church in Virginia. This priest didn't know her history. His voice came quietly from the other side of the screen. "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, may the Lord be in your heart and help you to confess your sins with true sorrow." Start with the easy stuff. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's, uh… it's been five weeks since my last confession, and I've missed five Sunday Masses. The first one couldn't be helped because there wasn't a church there." No duh. Hell was seriously short on houses of worship. "The others… I've been busy. Okay," she admitted. "That's lame. But I like to be confessed when I take communion, and I guess I've been putting this off." He waited. "Uh… I lusted after a man. Two men, really, but one of them is taken, so that doesn't count. I just have to get over it, you know? But the other one…" "Have you acted on your lust?" "No. But I want to. I'm not married or otherwise committed," she added. "Neither is he." Another understatement. "So we wouldn't be breaking any vows if we did, uh, you know." "Sex can be a joyous expression of love within the sacrament of marriage. Outside that union, it's an inherently selfish act, the pursuit of pleasure for selfish reasons." This was one of those areas where she and the Church disagreed. Cynna couldn't see what was so wrong about sex. Back a zillion years ago, yeah, sex outside marriage had led to lots of ugly consequences, so abstaining had made sense. But now?

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Of course, Father Michaels said it was hubris to put her own reasoning above the collected wisdom of God's holy Church. He was probably right, but Cynna figured she'd have to come to her own understanding in her own way. "I've been guilty of pride. And anger. And…" Her heart jumped in her chest and started pounding hard, as if she were pushing something uphill. "This is hard to say." "Do you have a specific act in mind? Something you did that troubles you?" "Yeah." "Was this act a venial sin or a mortal sin?" "I don't know." That was the problem. "I couldn't help noticing your tattoos. You were once a Dizzy?" Like most people, he referred to the street-born cult by its nickname. Not many had ever heard of the movement's real name: theMsaidiza . In Swahili, it meant helpers. "Not since I came to the Church." "Have you practiced other forms of forbidden magic or otherwise been drawn into superstition?" That was a hard one. Father Michaels said the Church's stance on magic was so tangled you practically had to call a conclave before casting a spell. He'd advised her to consider her skills in the same light she did her weapon—to use her Gift and her spell-crafting only for self-defense or in pursuit of her duties, and only when it clearly served the greater good. "I think I'm clear there," she said after a moment. "That isn't what's bugging me." He waited. She took a deep breath and got it said. "I've killed." Silence. "Not humans. Shit. Sorry, Father. I'm saying this all wrong. What I mean is, I killed demons." The silence was longer this time. Finally he said, "You are quite sure these were demons you killed?" At least he hadn't told her she was nuts. She didn't blame him for asking, though. Everyone knew demons couldn't cross un-summoned, and accurate summoning spells were as rare as hens' teeth these days. Had been since the Purge. Like a lot of things "everyone knew," that was wrong, but this priest wouldn't have any way of knowing that. Of course, demons were common as hell in hell. "Um… I'm with MCD. You know, in the FBI? And… look, I'm sorry, but I can't talk about the details, not even with a priest. But it involved killing demons." "There is no sin in that, if the act was without malice," he said kindly. "Since Vatican II, destroying them hasn't been considered an act of grace in and of itself, but they are soulless creatures." She sighed. That's pretty much the reaction she'd expected. 'Thanks, Father."

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He talked with her a little more and assigned her penance. He added that he'd be in his office a while, so the sanctuary would be available. Cynna could take a hint. She sat in one of the pews to get started on her Our Fathers, but her attention kept drifting. The thing about killing demons was that they stayed dead. The ones she'd shot had been planning things even nastier for her and the others, so she didn't regret killing them. Not exactly. But the whole thing didn't seem right to her. No souls meant they were morally blind. They didn't know they were being evil, so they couldn't choose good. No souls also meant no shot at an afterlife. Didn't that make it worse to kill them? And why had God set things up that way? She shifted. Questioning the Almighty probably wasn't something good Catholics did, but she'd come late to the Church, and partly for selfish reasons. Believers were protected against possession. Of course, possession was another thing everybody knew didn't happen anymore. Damn. Still chasing her thoughts instead of paying attention to her act of contrition. Maybe she'd do better with her Hail Marys. She felt more comfortable with Mary than with the omnipotent Father. "Hail Mary, full of grace…" "Child." The voice was church bells and wind, the lap of waves at night and the hunting hoot of an owl. And yet it was utterly human. Female. It was an actual voice, too, air vibrating to produce sound, not mindtalk… yet it seemed to happen inside her as well. Awe. For the first time Cynna-fully understood the meaning of that word. For a long moment she neither moved nor breathed, hoping the voice would speak again. Finally she said, "M-Mary?" "No." The presence was amused, but so gently. "I have been many, but not that one. I am yours already, Cynna. Are you mine?" There was no thought to her answer, but neither was there fear. "I don't know. Who are you?" "When you know, you will choose. For now, Find your friends. Go quickly. You are needed." THREE WASHINGTON wasn't round-the-clock busy like New York or L.A. Even on the main arteries, traffic thinned out by midnight. But it didn't evaporate entirely. Lily watched the scattering of headlights on the other side of the median, the way they seemed to merge in the curve of the windshield with the reflections of taillights and neon. Her fingers tapped impatiently on her thigh. They were in the Mercedes Rule had rented, not her government-issue Ford. It wasn't a convertible like his own car, but it had the same bells and whistles.

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Lily still didn't get why Rule hadn't wanted to bring his car to D.C. Sure, it would have taken longer, but he hated flying. A touch of claustrophobia he liked to pretend didn't exist made anything but first class impossible for him. Maybe that was why he'd insisted on flying. He'd prefer fighting a weakness to working around it. That, she understood. There'd been no question that he would come with her to Washington. Even if they'd been okay with a long separation, the mate bond wouldn't have let them stay on opposite coasts. The mate bond. That's what she'd referred to earlier when she'd said she was Rule's Chosen—not that he'd chosen her, or vice versa. According to Rule's people, their Lady had tied the knot for them—a till-death-do-us-part bond she'd fought like crazy at first. But then, at first she'd thought of it as entirely physical. Sexual. But mind-blowing sex was only part of it. There was a limit to how much physical distance they could tolerate; put too much space between them and they'd pass out. If that limit varied maddeningly according to no rules she could fathom, she was learning to live with it. Plus she always knew where Rule was—his direction and roughly how far away he was. There might be a spiritual aspect to the bond, too, but Lily preferred not to think about that. Religion made her uneasy, and dying hadn't provided as many answers as you might think. She glanced at the man behind the wheel and smiled, thinking of the way he'd woken her that morning. Whatever the mate bond had brought to their relationship, she'd fallen in love with him on her own. She loved him. He loved her. It was that simple, and sometimes that scary. Rule had so many nooks and crannies, so much that remained a mystery… but she knew the important things, didn't she? He was smart and often kind. He could laugh, and he could listen. Mostly he was reasonable, though there was an autocratic streak in him. No surprise there. Rule was the heir, the Lu Nuncio, of his clan. When his father died, he'd be the big cheese, the Nokolai Rho. Lily hoped Isen Turner lived a long, long time. Which he might. One of the more unsettling things she'd learned recently was that lupi aged roughly half as fast as humans. Another thing she knew about Rule: at the moment, he was in a major snit. "All right," she said. "Let's talk. All that silent, simmering anger is interfering with my thinking." "Should I be flattered?" "What's got your tail in a twist?" "If that's your colorful way of asking why I'm angry—" "That's me. Colorful." "You stepped between a shooter and his target." Rule didn't get loud when he was angry. He turned

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quiet. His voice lowered now until it thrummed like an overloaded power line. "That cop was ready to pull the trigger, and you put yourself in his line of fire." "It worked, didn't it?" Rule growled. It was an honest-to-God growl, not a sound human throats accommodate well. "Look, the cop pulled an idiot act. Paul wasn't a threat until someone tried to shoot him, and firing a normal load at a lupus is more likely to annoy him than stop him. Not a good way to live to collect your pension. But most cops don't know enough about lupi to handle them right, and he'd had good training otherwise. It showed in his stance, the way he handled his weapon. I figured he wouldn't shoot with someone in his line of fire. I was right." "If you expect me to applaud your decision to risk your life because you won your gamble—" "I expect you to trust my judgment! What about you? You jumped an angry wolf, for God's sake, and invited him to rip out your throat!" "It was a brave act, and an honorable one," the man in the backseat said. "Especially under the circumstances. You want the next exit, sir." Lily didn't quite jump, but she came close. Their passenger hadn't spoken since telling Rule how to get to his apartment. She'd nearly forgotten him. It wasn't easy for a lupus to Change back to human quickly after going wolf. Paul Chernowich had managed it an hour after turning down his chance to kill Rule. By then the place had emptied of audience and most of the performers, and refilled with cops. It had taken another hour for the locals to accept that Paul hadn't actually violated any laws and let him leave. The soprano who usually gave him a ride home was among those who'd left, so Rule had offered to drop him off. Rule signaled and pulled into the exit lane. Lily twisted to look at Paul in the backseat. "What do you mean, 'under the circumstances'?" He shrugged. He was a young man—at least he looked young— with a gangly build, a hooked nose, and straw-colored hair. "Just the obvious. He's the Nokolai Lu Nuncio." "And you don't care for Nokolai." She'd had a clue about that earlier, but it was hard to read a wolf's emotional reactions. They'd left the elevated highway for the stop-and-go of regular city streets. Here the late hour was more obvious. There was little traffic. She looked at Rule as he slowed for a light. "Something you want to tell me?" He was silent a moment. "Paul is Leidolf." Her jaw dropped. "Leidolf? As in, your clans are hereditary enemies? The Hatfields and McCoys of the lupus world? Leidolf would be the ones who nearly killed your father not long ago.And you offered him your throat ?" Unlike Rule, she did get loud when she was mad.

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Paul spoke stiffly. "The assassination attempt on your Rho was not sanctioned by our Rho." "Oh, well, that's all right, then! And if you'd killed Rule, that would have been okay, too, I guess, as long as your Rho didn't order it!" "No. It would have been greatly dishonorable." He gave the back of Rule's head a puzzled glance. "She does not understandni culpa, ne defensia ?" "The Lady brought us together only recently. Lily is learning our ways, but the past two months have been… busy." There was an understatement. "What Paul just said… Isn't that what you said when you invited him to rip out your throat?" "It is." "So clue in the ignorant human. What does it mean?" "Literally, 'if not guilty, don't defend.' To prove innocence, we submit without offering any defense. Guilt has a scent," he added, slowing as he took the off-ramp. "Your mate did me great honor," Paul told her earnestly. "I'm not alpha, but my blood was up enough that I didn't realize at first that he'd allowed me to pin him." "Allowed." Her finger began tapping on her thigh again. She looked at Rule. "You jumped him so he could pin you?" "It was the quickest way to control the situation. Paul wasn't beast-lost, but he was too deeply into the wolf for reason to be effective. Instinct would have been pressing him to find his enemy, the one who'd exposed him by forcing the Change." She thought of the way the wolf had stayed onstage instead of seeking cover. "He was looking for you." "But not overhead." Paul sounded sheepish. "With no breeze and everyone's scents jumbled together, I couldn't pick out Rule's clearly enough to locate him. But I should have remembered to look up." "You were rattled," Rule said. "The Change had been forced on you." Paul was clearly disgusted. "Forced into Change like a pup." "You couldn't help it." Rule stopped for a light. "I damned near Changed, myself." "You? But you're—" "Too old for such loss of control, normally." Rule's face looked grim in the uneven light of the dash and the traffic light. "What happened tonight wasn't normal. Something hit us both. I'd give a good deal to know what, and who did it." "Maybe no one," Lily said. "What do you mean?"

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"I don't think it was aimed at anyone. It just swept through— something raw and powerful, not like anything I've ever touched before. Like…" She struggled to find words for a sensation others never experienced. "It reminded me of the sorceri Cullen uses. You know, the loose bits of magic that leak from nodes? Unworked stuff. Only this was a zillion times more powerful than any sorceri I've ever felt." "It didn't have any ofHer taint?" She shook her head. Rule drummed the steering wheel once. The light turned green and he accelerated quickly. "This was a hell of a time for Cullen to run off." Looking for dragons. Ever since they came back from hell, Cullen had been obsessed with finding the dragons who'd returned with them. But Sam and the others had vanished so thoroughly that Cullen wasn't having much more luck finding them than the U.S. government was. "Didn't he take a phone with him?" "Yes, and if he's in an area with coverage and hasn't turned it off, he might even answer… if he wants something." Cullen's attitude toward phones reminded Lily of her grandmother. "Take a left at the next light," Paul said. "Who's Cullen?" "A knowledgeable friend," Rule said. That was one way to put it. Cullen Seabourne was a lupus, a friend of Rule's who'd been clanless until Nokolai adopted him two months ago. He was also a sorcerer. Sorcery was illegal. Cullen claimed that was the result of envy and ignorance, that lawmakers had long ago banned sorcery without having a clue what they were writing laws against. People either associated it with death magic or believed it had died out after the Purge. Some claimed it had never been real—that there had never been adepts or sorcerers, just a lot of clever charlatans and a few witches willing to use death magic to augment their inborn Gifts. Lily turned the conversation away from their friend, the sorcerer. "Can you tell me what it felt like?" she asked Paul. "Was the Change different in any way from usual?" "It hurt." Paul grimaced. "Hurt like hell, actually. There's always some pain, more if you aren't earthed, but this was like being yanked backward through the proverbial eye of a needle. If there was any other difference, the pain blotted it out." "I understand that young lupi—adolescents—can't resist the Change at the full moon. Is that what this was like?" He considered that a moment. "Not exactly. When the moon's full, you hear her calling. Adults can resist the call or go with it, but teenagers are just too enthralled to see it as a choice, you know? But this… I wasn't feeling her call, yet something made me Change." "So Changing without the call isn't normal?"

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"It isn't possible," Rule said. "The moon is never wholly silent. Her call ebbs as she wanes, growing louder as she waxes toward full. That's how we're able to Change at will, rather than only at the full moon. We learn to release ourselves to the call even when it's a whisper." "I didn't hear her," Paul insisted. "I did." Rule slowed the car. "And still do. How old are you, Paul?" "Twenty-six." Rule nodded as if that proved his point. Lily supposed it did; the clans considered a lupus an adult at twenty-five, so by their standards Paul was barely old enough to live on his own. "Have you learned to hear her call when the moon isn't full or nearly full?" Paul obviously grudged his answer. "Sometimes I can." "First you were focused on your performance. Then you were distracted by the pain of the Change. I'm not surprised you didn't notice the moon's call, but it's just as it always is at this point in her cycle." "If you say so. That's my place on the next block. The Belle-view Arms." "The one on the other side of the skin flick joint?" Lily asked dryly. "Rent's cheap, and no one bothers me." No, lupi generally weren't bothered much, even in the worst neighborhoods. Which this one wasn't. On the seedy side, but she'd seen worse. Patrolled worse, for that matter. "See if I've got this right," she said. "The door to the Change is always open—wide open at the full moon, barely a crack when the moon's new, but never shut tight. When that blast of magic blew in, it didn't open the door any wider. It just huffed and puffed Paul through the crack, while Rule—" "Grabbed the frame and held on tight. Good analogy," he added as he pulled to a stop in front of a self-service laundry and shut off the engine. "The Change is rather like stepping through a doorway." They were still a block from the misnamed Belleview, but the curb was packed nose-to-tail with cars, probably courtesy of the all-night Triple-X Theater down the street. "Um… are we getting out?" Paul opened his door. "Rule will want me to revoke thesus-mussio . We'd both like privacy for that." She looked at Rule. "Meaning?" "I'll explain as we walk." "Pop the glove box first." He gave her a lifted eyebrow but did as she asked. She retrieved her SIG Sauer. "Pass me my shoulder holster, would you, Paul? It's on the seat next to you." "You don't need a gun." Paul was indulgent. "I know this isn't the greatest area, but you've got two big, strong lupi to protect you."

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She reminded herself that he was young. "Not your decision. Pass me my shoulder holster." But Rule had twisted around and snagged it for her. "Paul wasn't trained by Benedict." Benedict was Rule's older brother, a warrior who was something of a legend among the clans. He did things that really weren't possible, even for a lupus. But what Rule meant by the reference was that Paul, being Leidolf, wouldn't have had the usual lupus distaste for guns trained out of him. "Point taken." She was probably locking the barn door after the proverbial horses had escaped. She didn't care. Weird stuff kept happening, and she had no intention of wandering around without her weapon. She had to slip out of the wonderful coat in order to strap on the shoulder harness. She did that standing next to the car and scowling at the cold. "So what's asusmissus ?' "Susmussio." Paul paused to yawn. "It's a fancy word for submission. Lord, but I'm tired. Changing twice like that takes a lot out of you." She gave Rule a sharp look. He was wearing his imperturbable face. "But wasn't that just a ritual thing? A token submission so you could smell that he wasn't your enemy?" The two men exchanged glances. Rule answered. "Even a token submission carries meaning. Think of it as a debt. Since no terms were set beforehand—" 'Terms?" He was holding her coat out, so she slipped her arms in. Warmth, blessed warmth. "When used in a planned ritual, thesusmussio has conditions attached. It's how we make treaties between clans. But this was personal, with no terms set. I owe Paul, not his clan." He started down the street. She fell into step beside him, with Paul slightly ahead. "Owe him what?" "A certain level of loyalty." "And with him being Leidolf, that's awkward." "Yes. Added to that, while thesusmussio is in effect, his actions affect my honor, and my actions reflect on him." "Plus we're out of balance," Paul said. "Rule submitted, but he's alpha, older, and higher status. And yet I'm sort of responsible for him. It's… unsettling. And," he added over his shoulder, a grin flashing, "it's probably bugging the hell out of him." It would. "How do you cancel it?" "Easy enough." Paul seemed cheerful now, but tired, like a kid who'd been allowed to stay up late with the adults. "We agree to some basic terms that cancel the first submission. Then I submit to him. Which is why we want a bit of privacy. That looks a bit odd to—holy shit!" It shot out of a narrow alley between the skin flick place and Paul's apartment building. It was big, red-eyed, and ugly—sort of like a hyena on steroids, only hairless, with arms growing out of its chest.

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The arms had too many joints and ended in claws. It ran straight at them. It was a demon. "Get down!" she shouted at Paul, even as the air beside her shimmered and reality danced for a second time that night. Lily felt that happen. She didn't look. Before her shout cleared her throat, her gun had cleared its holster. She flowed into position—legs spread, arms outstretched, left hand supporting the right. Paul didn't drop, dammit. He crouched as if he meant to spar with the thing. She cursed and stepped aside so he didn't block her line of fire. The two men who came out of the adult theater did, though. One of them had a second to see the demon coming at them and threw himself to the ground. The other didn't. The demon didn't bother to swerve. It swiped the man out of the way with a clawed arm and left him howling and bleeding on the sidewalk. Clear target. Lily squeezed the trigger, ignored the slap of sound on her eardrums, corrected her aim, squeezed again— And the demon blurred itself into heat waves—a demon-shaped shimmer rushing at them. Would a bullet go right through it? More people had come out of the Triple-X—more stupid bedamned innocent bystanders, who she'd probably hit if she fired at an immaterial demon. At ten feet away, it turned solid again. And leaped. So did the wolf beside her. Rule's wolf form was big, but the demon was bigger, stronger, and those clawed arms gave it a pair of formidable natural weapons Rule lacked. His only real advantage was speed. Lupi could move like the wind—faster than any terrestrial creatures or any they'd encountered in hell. He went in low—to deflect, not to engage. They collided in midair and Rule somehow twisted his body to send the red-eye sailing off at an angle. It hit the street with a thud. Rule landed more neatly, rolling and coming up on his feet. Lily fired again before it could dissolve. Blood spurted from the demon's haunch. It screeched in rage and charged again. Charged Rule, not her. She'd shot it, but it went after Rule. Rule dodged, but barely, coming away with a bleeding flank from one of those claws. He was trying to stay between her and the demon, she realized. "It's after you, not me!" He acknowledged that with the flick of an ear. Then began a fast, deadly tarantella, with the demon lunging, grabbing, leaping, and Rule dancing aside just in time. Rule was drawing it away, she realized. And keeping it solid—apparently it couldn't engage him while in the shimmer-state. Good tactics, even if it did make her sick with fear. "Not too far, dammit! I'm not Annie Oakley!"

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A second wolf arrowed at the demon. Paul. "Don't close with it!" He didn't. Instead he darted in, nipping at it, and whirled away before it reacted. God, but lupi were fast. She circled, staying out of the wolves' way, trying to find a clear shot. A head shot, if possible. That was the only way to kill one with a handgun. She had to redistribute the brains. Dimly she heard cries from down the street. She hoped someone was helping the man the demon had wounded. She hoped they'd had the sense to call this in. Backup would be good—say, a SWAT team or two. Rule lunged in close and got a mouthful of demon—shit, shit, it nearly had him that time! But he broke away when Paul attacked from the other side, and Lily managed another shot. And missed. At least she'd missed the wolves, too. Up the street, a car turned in. Brakes squealed.Good idea , she thought.Go away . All they needed was more civilians underfoot. She couldn't get a clear shot. The wolves moved so fast she could scarcely track them—darting in, distracting, herding—and her reactions were too much slower than theirs. She didn't dare pull the trigger. But the wolves couldn't stop, couldn't slow down, or they'd be dead. How long could they keep it up? Paul had already been tired when… What was that? Feet pounding on pavement. Running toward them, not away. Lily flicked a glance that way.Cynna? How the hell —? Cynna shouted some nonsense syllables without slowing. She flung out her hand. A gruesome mix of sounds snapped Lily's attention back to the demon. It had a wolf in its jaws—a wolf with reddish fur. Paul. He was making a high, terrible sound. Rule leaped, his jaws closing around as much of the demon's thick throat as possible. The demon dropped Paul and fell onto its back, hind legs coming up to try to gut Rule, who released it and rolled away. Lily's finger tightened on the trigger, but the demon moved too fast. It stuck its snout into Paul's gut and slurped. Rule jumped on its back. It screeched in rage and threw him off. Cynna stopped and her voice rose: "…aerigarashiPAD !" Light snapped between her outflung hand and the demon, light thin and cold and colorless. The demon jerked. And died. Lily ran up to the big, ugly body, pressed her gun to the skull, and pulled the trigger. Her ears echoing from the shot, she called to Cynna. "Have you got your phone?" Cynna stood motionless, her expression masked by the tattoos. Her hand fell, limp, to her side. "Yes."

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"Call it in." She turned to Paul. Some of his guts hung out the hole in his middle. The smell was rank. Rule sat on the other side of him and touched his nose to the red wolf's muzzle. She knelt. Lupi healed so much faster than humans, but this… there was so much blood. Too much. It pumped out in spurts, but weakly. "Shit. He's bleeding out. There's an artery torn open somewhere…" She had to try, had to reach into the bloody cavity and try to find that torn artery. His eyes opened. Then… it was like shaking the chips in a kaleidoscope to make them fall back in another pattern. The second she touched the ripped and slippery flesh, magic hummed along her fingertips like tactile music. And the cells of his body jiggled like agitated dust motes and fell back in place. It was a man lying on the rough pavement of the street, not a wolf. A man naked and gutted and dying. His eyes met hers. She saw confusion there, not pain. His mouth opened as if he would speak, but no sound came. Instead, blood did—filling his mouth, staining his lips, dribbling down his chin. His eyes cut to Rule and held there for a long moment. He exhaled… and left. Just like that, there was no one home anymore. Rule lifted his nose to the sky and howled. FOUR OVERHEAD, the sky was shit-brown. City lights reflected off low-hanging clouds, tossing back light without heat. Things were mostly shit down below, too. Police spots punctured the darkness. The street was cluttered with vehicles at both ends of the scene: squad cars, a government-issue Ford like Lily's, an ambulance, the crime-scene van, the cars that had delivered reporters from thePost and the AP. For the moment, local and federal officials were playing nice with each other, with the uniformed cops keeping the press and other nuisances away while FBI techs recorded the scene. One ambulance had already departed, carrying the man who'd left the Triple-X Theater at the wrong time. He should be in surgery by now. The red pulse of the lights on the remaining ambulance reminded Lily of Paul's blood pumping out, beat by beat. Cynna knelt beside the demon's body, one hand stroking the air above it. Her form of spellcraft didn't look like much from the outside. Rule was across the street, talking on his cell phone. He'd needed to call his father. So had Lily. Her own father, that is, and for different reasons. He was expecting to pick her up at the airport in a couple days, and she wouldn't be on that flight. She might not make it back for Christmas. She'd left him a text message, hoping to delay the explanations.

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"Cynna told you she had a premonition?" Croft asked as Lily finished a quick summary. "Yeah." The man beside her was the only familiar face in the bustle of strangers working the scene. Martin Croft was a special agent, one of the two who'd recruited her. He was brown, too, but a lot friendlier shade than the sky—cinnamon without the sugar. There was a touch of Hah-vahd in his voice, a high gloss on his shoes, and no trace of a Gift in his makeup. Despite that lack, he was one of the Unit's top agents. She'd been glad when he showed up. Lily knew how to handle a crime scene. She didn't know what to do with a dead demon. Besides, if Croft was in charge, he'd have to talk to the press, not her. "She said it hit her suddenly that she needed to Find us." "Hmm." Croft looked at Cynna, still making passes over the demon's corpse. "Yet she tests in the low teens on precognition." "Low teens?" Lily's eyebrows went up. "Some of the unGifted score higher than that." "Exactly. We'd better have a word with our Cynna." Cynna stood as they approached. She was a tall woman with an Amazon's build: strong shoulders, miles of legs, and breasts any centerfold model would covet. Her hair was blond and brutally short; Lily suspected nature got a chemical assist in the coloring. Her features were the most ordinary thing about her, once you looked beneath the indigo tattoos that covered most of her face and body. She had a crooked nose, strong jaw, and eyes the color of whiskey. Her mouth was wide and prone to smiling. Not tonight. Cynna wore jeans, a thin black sweater, and an unzipped bomber jacket. Looking at her made Lily feel even colder. "Anything?" Cynna shook her head. "Nothing. Like I figured, the bindings slipped off when it died. I couldn't trace its master." "But you're sure it had a master? It didn't just show up on its own?" Lily's toes were going numb. She curled and uncurled them inside her shoes, hoping to get some circulation going. The Evidence Response Team—that's what the FBI called their crime-scene techs—was standing by. Their boss broke in. She was an older woman with an unfortunate resemblance to Lou Grant, only with more hair. "You finished with the woo-woo stuff?" Cynna waved at the demon. "Have at it." They'd already taken photos, both film and digital, so the next part was hands-on. It turned out two of the three were a mite reluctant to put their hands on a demon. One—a short white guy with a mustache—shook his head. "I dunno, Marion. Jesus. Look at that thing. Just look at it. You ever seen anything like that? Seventeen years I've been doing this, and I've never seen anything like that."

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"Now you have," his boss said. "Get your gloves on." "Maybe this is a dumb question," said the third tech, "but are we sure it's dead?" Lily supposed even jaded federal crime-scene officers weren't used to dealing with three hundred pounds of fanged and clawed demon. "See the brains spattered outside the skull?" she said. "They're a clue." "Yeah, but demons—" "Need brains to live," Cynna drawled, "same as everyone but politicians." That brought a couple chuckles. D.C. cops loved jokes about politicians. "So what do we look for?" the one with a mustache asked, pulling on his gloves. "Same as usual," Croft said. "Anything and everything." He collected Lily and Cynna with a glance, and the three of them moved away to let the techs do their job. Not that Lily expected much to come of it. Cynna said there was a physical component involved in binding a demon, but they'd need an autopsy to find it. The demon would have eaten it. Croft repeated Lily's earlier question. "Do you think the demon was sent? Bound to its task?" "Well, yeah. You know they don't act like that normally." "Pretend I don't know what you're talking about," Lily said. "Since I don't." "Oh. Okay. First, it's supposed to be impossible for a demon to cross unsummoned. We now know that's not true, but the ability is damned rare. But mostly I'm going by the way it behaved. It went straight for Rule, even though you were the more immediate threat. An unbound demon wouldn't do that." "It seemed to lose that focus on Rule after it attacked Paul." "It got a taste of blood. Demons love blood, especially the human variety. Makes them drunk. I don't know what lupus blood does to them, but it might have gotten enough of a charge from the victim's blood to resist the binding briefly." "They get a magical zing from blood?" "Oh, yeah. Blood carries power. That's why it's been used in so many spells and rituals over the centuries." Even she knew that much. "Black magic." Croft shook his head. "Not necessarily. Many practices ban blood magic, but that's mostly because of the temptation it presents, not because using blood in a spell is inherently evil. The Catholic Church—pretty much the expert on good and evil— tacitly acknowledges that. Their transubstantiation doctrine is based on the power of blood." "Keep translating," Lily said. "Transubstantiation?"

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"The belief that the communion wine literally becomes Je-sus's blood." He nodded at Cynna. "No offense." "None taken." She looked at Lily. "I wish I could've gotten here faster." Croft's voice was very dry. "You had a premonition, I understand." "Ah…" Cynna shoved her hands in her pockets. "Not exactly." "Whatexactly happened, then?" Lily's voice was sharp. Too sharp, maybe, considering that Cynna might have saved Rule's life. "It's complicated. Make that weird. Majorly weird." She puffed air through pursed lips, annoyed. "And it doesn't have anything to do with finding whoever sent the demon." Croft shook his head. "You know you can't leave it at that." She gave him a dirty look. "All right, all right. I, uh, was contacted by someone. She told me I'd better Find you quick, which turned out to be right." "Who? Who told you that?" "She didn't give me a name, but I think maybe it was… you know.Her . The one the lupi talk about. And now I'm going to call it a night, so—" Lily grabbed her arm. "Wait one minute. If you were contacted by the goddess who wants to destroy the lupi—" "Not thatHer !" Cynna shook off Lily's hand. "Holy hell, but there's too many unnamed deities messing around lately. There's the one we don't name because it might draw Her attention, and the one the lupi call the Lady—that's who I meant. She showed up… well, not in person, but there was this voice. It was… I don't know how to describe it, but I've never heard anything like her voice. I was in a church," she added, aggrieved. "Praying, or trying to. Andnot to her." Lily stared. 'The Rhej was right." "She was not, and I'm not talking about it anymore." "Rhej?" Croft's eyebrows lifted. "Who is that, and what was she right about?" Lily felt Rule drawing closer. "There's no real human analogue, but a Rhej is like a clan's priestess or historian. The Noko-lai Rhej thinks Cynna is her successor. Which sounds crazy, but if the Lady has started talking to Cynna—" "I don't know that's who it was," Cynna insisted. "I'm just guessing. And it doesn't matter anyway. I'm not Nokolai. I'm Catholic." "The two aren't necessarily at odds," Rule said as he joined them. He'd pulled his clothes back on after resuming the shape they were made to cover. His slacks and shirt were wrinkled, his tie missing, and he was probably exhausted.

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On him, it all looked good. Slightly debauched, maybe, but sexy. Cynna shot him an angry look. "I suppose you heard what I said." He nodded. "I'm not going to pressure you. The matter lies between you and the Lady. But you should know she speaks very, very rarely, and only to those who are or will become a Rhej." Cynna hunched her shoulders as if she could deflect his words that way, jamming her hands deeper in her pockets. Or maybe she was just cold. Lily sure was. Not as cold as Paul. At least they'd covered him now. "Damn," Croft said, looking off to the side. "The TV people found us." He grimaced. "I'd better see if I can get this spun right before they have demons attacking people all over the capital." "Better you than me," Lily said. "I'll tell the EMTs they can get the body loaded. If they do it while the press is busy hounding me, maybe the ghouls won't get any good shots." . It was a small dignity to offer, but Lily was glad he'd thought of it. As he walked away, she looked at Rule. "You reached your father?" "I talked to the Rho." Rule sometimes spoke of Isen Turner as if he were two people—the man who'd fathered him, and the one who ruled his clan. "He's not pleased." "Because his son was nearly killed? Or because the one who did get killed was Leidolf, and that will complicate things?" "Yes. To both." The muscles of Rule's face were drawn too tightly over the elegant architecture beneath. His eyes were unhappy. If Paul's death weighed on her, how much heavier did it sit on Rule's shoulders? Thesusmussio had still been in place. She laid a hand on his arm. "How many bodyguards is he sending?" His smile was quick and brief. "You surprise me,nadia ." He didn't say whether he meant by her question or her touch. Maybe the latter. She usually tried to keep the touching down in public. "I don't know yet how many will be shadowing my every footstep, but you're right. He insists on guards. Benedict will call me later with the details." When he wasn't busy being a legend among the clans, Benedict had charge of Nokolai security. "Every once in a while your father and I agree." Reluctantly—for the contact comforted her, too—she let go of his arm. "You're tired," he said. Once the adrenaline drained out, tired was inevitable. "What about you? That thing got in one good swipe. Are you sure the paramedics shouldn't have a look?"

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He waved that notion away. "It's a big scratch, that's all. Will you be much longer?" It wasn't a scratch by human standards, but the demon's claws hadn't ripped deeply into the muscle. Rule would heal it quickly. "Hard to say. Croft can handle the scene, but…" She shrugged. "But you want to be here if they find anything." "Don't you?" He looked aside. The EMTs were loading Paul's body on a gurney. "What I want is for that damned thing to be alive again so I can kill it." Abruptly, he walked away. Cynna said tentatively, "The guy who was killed was a friend?" Had Paul been a friend? His clan was Nokolai's enemy. She'd only known him for a few hours, yet she'd saved his life once. Then she'd watched a demon drink his blood. He'd fought for them. Died helping them. "It's complicated," she said at last. "But he mattered." "Complicated." Cynna's head tilted to one side. "Seems like that's what I said earlier." "You switched to 'majorly weird.'" But Cynna was right. She deserved a description of the night's events, if not a full explanation… which Lily didn't have. "We were at the Kennedy Center when some kind of magic swept through the place. It was strong and… different. It forced the Change on Paul…" Her throat tightened around a wad of emotions. If only she'dhit the damned thing more than once! Another bullet or two in its body might have slowed it, and if it had been a little slower… "He was onstage, one of the performers. A tenor. After we sorted things out there, it was late, so Rule offered him a ride home. That's how we ended up here." Cynna frowned. "When did this magical surge happen?" "Just before ten." "I felt something around then—a jolt of power, way more than any straysorceri . I had to drain some of it off." Lily's brows rose. "Where were you?" "Maybe fifteen blocks from here. Nowhere near the Kennedy Center." A magical wind that covered the whole city? "What could have caused that?" Cynna shrugged. "I'm not a theory person. You need Cullen. He's nuts for theory." "I don't have him. Cynna…" There wasn't a tactful way to ask, so she might as well spit it out. "Do you think your old teacher might be involved? The one you knew when you were with the Dizzies?" Cynna looked unhappy. "Can't say. You've been investigating another summoning." "I've been connected to an investigation," Lily said dryly. "I wouldn't say I'd been allowed to investigate. But yes, it's quite a coincidence, only I can't see any connection. Except…" She wasn't supposed to

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discuss the case's conclusion, but she knew Cynna could keep her mouth shut. "They did find out who did it." Cynna's eyebrows shot up. "Yeah? How come I haven't read about the arrest?" "You won't, if the suits have their way. He's dead, an apparent suicide." She had her doubts about that, but no one was listening. "And he's not a U.S. citizen, so the big boys cut a deal with his government to keep it all quiet." "And your point is… ?" "He's from an African nation." "Shit." Cynna's former teacher followed ancient African traditions, too. She studied the demon's corpse. The techs didn't seem to be making much progress. Marion was arguing with the youngest one, who kept shaking his head. "Part of me hopes Jiri wasn't behind this. Part of me hopes she was." Jiri had been Cynna's teacher in theMsaidizi movement, commonly known as the Dizzies. The movement sprang up in slums about fifteen years ago, spread like crazy for a few years, then fizzled. Most of its members had known next to nothing about the magic they tried to harness. Not Jiri. The FBI had a file on her, but it was ninety percent speculation, precious little fact. But she was thought to be African, not African American—from Senegal or Gambia, maybe. Or maybe not. "Why?" "Summoning a demon is one thing. Not many can do it, but the knowledge isn't as lost as people like to think. But binding a demon—not riding it, binding it—that's high-level shit. Master level. I don't like to think there's more than one person running around with that kind of knowledge." "What's the difference between riding and binding?" Cynna jammed her hands in her pockets and looked away. "When you ride, you're in the demon. You control it from inside. Binding means you control it outside a summoning circle without being in the demon. Jiri could do that. If she didn't do this, there's someone else who knows way too much about demons." "Could you do it—control without riding?" "I'm notshetanni mwenye ." "But could you be, if you'd wanted to?" Cynna looked back at her. "Yeah. Probably, if I were willing to pay the price. Am I a suspect?" "No!" A couple of people glanced their way. "No," Lily repeated more quietly. "Even if I thought you were capable of sending a demon to kill someone, that someone wouldn't be Rule." The other woman's mouth crooked up. "You don't buy into the woman scorned bit?"

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Lily smiled back. It wasn't hard to smile about it now. Rule and Cynna had been involved several years ago. That prior his-tory had been a problem for her and Cynna both, at first. Nice to know they were past that. "No. You might pout over being turned down—" "I don't pout!" "You did," Lily corrected her. "But you got over it." "Don't be silly. Big, mean Dizzies never pout. Even former Dizzies," she added as Lily's smile widened. "Um… can I ask you something?" "Sure." She owed Cynna more than the answer to a question or two. "Why did you shoot the demon after I—" "After your spell stunned it? To make sure, of course. I had no way of knowing how long it would be out." Cynna shook her head. "You know better." Exasperated, Lily lowered her voice. Death spells carried the death penalty. Technically that meant a spell that killed people, not demons, but… "The record will state that my bullet killed the demon." "Gotcha. But there's no problem. The spell I used only works on demons." "Are you sure?" Cynna had never acquired a cop face. Maybe she thought the designs covering her skin were enough concealment. Probably they were, most of the time, with most people. But Lily had literally been through hell with this woman. The inky swirls didn't distract her from the emotions swirling across Cynna's face: confusion, doubt, some conclusion reached. Finally she said, "Not one hundred percent. It would have to be modified, but maybe… uh, thanks." She nodded. "I'm trying not to do any assuming here, but I can't help thinking my main suspect is a pissed-off goddess. Or Her avatar, who was recently eaten by a demon prince." "Who promptly went nuts, according to informed sources." "That about sums it up. Tell me something," Lily said. "Is there any way our enemies in hell—or Dis, or whatever you want to call that realm—could have sent a demon to kill Rule without someone on this side helping?" Cynna chewed on her lip. "I hate to say something's completely impossible. The line keeps moving, you know? But on a scale of 'sure' to 'no way, no how, not ever,' that hits pretty close to 'no way.'" "Glad to hear it. Goddess, avatar, crazy demon prince—any of them would be tricky to bring in on charges." She paused, considering her options. "I don't have Cullen around to help with theory, but I do know someone with firsthand experience of what is and isn't possible for demons." "You don't mean… hell. You do. You're going to bring it here?"

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"Her," Lily corrected absently, trying to catch one of those will-o'-the-wisp memories. "Not it, not anymore. But she might not come," Might not be willing, might not be able. Lily wasn't even sure she'd be able to reach her. "I have to try." "The Bureau won't like it." Lily looked at where Rule stood, motionless, at the edge of the law enforcement bustle. He watched as they loaded Paul's body into the waiting ambulance. He had his expression locked down, nothing showing… but every inch of his body spoke to her of tension and pain. "The Bureau isn't my only worry." FIVE "YOU'REwhat !" "Going to get in touch with Gan, if I can. Bring her here, if she can come." It was one thirty in the morning. They were headed for his car, parked a block away from the bloodstained concrete where Paul had died. Rule tried taking a slow breath. He needed to calm down. "I don't suppose it occurred to you to ask my opinion." "Not necessary," she said dryly. "I knew what you'd think." "After what it did to us? You don't remember, but it—" "She," Lily said, her voice cold. "Not it. And maybe I don't remember the details, but I know enough. I know what I need to do. Think about it, Rule. Where else can I learn so much about demons but from one of them?" Lily's soul had been split in two when Gan tried to possess her. Rule didn't understand how she could forgive the demon for that, even if she didn't remember what happened to them afterward, in hell. At least, it had happened to one of her—the one she couldn't quite remember. He did. He remembered everything about that other Lily… what she'd said and done, the sheer courage of her, the companionship and the caring. The one thing he couldn't remember was her death. He'd been unconscious. He hadn't seen her sacrifice herself for him. Rule's hip throbbed. He ignored it. "You don't have a way to reach her." "Max does. Open the back door, will you? I need my laptop." He grimaced and clicked the locks. Max was Rule's friend… and a gnome. A half-gnome, actually, though Rule thought he was the only one outside of Max's own people who knew that. When they returned from hell with one unanticipated addition to their party, Max had agreed to let the little demon stay with him while they figured out what to do with her. Max had come up with his own solution. Two weeks ago, he'd called to tell Rule that Gan was "going under" for a while—a term Rule understood to mean she would be living with one of the gnomish peoples. "Can't stay a demon, can she?" he'd demanded. "Growing a soul now. Gonna have to make up her pointy little head what she wants."

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Typically, Max had hung up then. "Just because she's growing a soul doesn't mean she's one of the good guys," Rule said as he slammed his door. "She doesn't need a highly developed moral sense to be useful." "She'll trick you." Demons couldn't lie outright, but they prized the ability to deceive. "I'm pretty good at questioning people who want to trick me. Not that I think she'll try. She likes me." She opened her laptop and powered it up. "I'm going to work on my report." Irritation flickered into anger. "You don't care to discuss your plan to bring a demon into your investigation?" She gave him a level look. "You mean argue, not discuss, and I'm too tired for it." Guilt bit. He took a slow breath and pulled out into the street. Needs coiled in his stomach, a restless serpent with the sweetest of venom. The hairs on his arms stirred with the serpent's breath, and its tail wrapped round his heart, controlling the beat. He needed to Change. Still. Again. Hell has no moon. Rule had entered that realm in wolf form, so wolf he'd remained. But lupi who stay too long in wolf form eventually lose the human in the beguiling simplicity of the beast. Rule hadn't been lost, not quite. But returned to Earth and his human form, he wasn't the man he used to be. The balance between man and wolf had shifted, and the control he'd spent his life building had thinned to tissue, easily torn. Tonight it had torn. The demon had come at them from upwind, and in damnable silence. He'd had no warning until he saw it—and in seeing it, he'd lost the power of choice. Instinct had ruled, and instinct craved teeth and claws for that enemy, four legs for speed and senses keened to a pitch no human could know. Not even a part-time human. Twenty minutes, he told himself as he pulled into the traffic on I-295. It should take no more than twenty minutes to reach their temporary home. By then he'd be back in control. Rule's father had been pleased when the Bureau sent Lily to Washington. After the Supreme Court put an end to centuries of legal persecution of the lupi, Nokolai had joined with two other clans to purchase a row house in Georgetown. Isen had wanted a presence in the capital, both for show and for lobbying. Most of the time, Rule was that presence, the public face of a people accustomed to the shadows. To put it another way—as Lily once had—he was the lupus poster boy, the safe, almost tame image they presented to the public. He understood the image, how to use it, what was needed. A whiff of danger made him exotic, intriguing enough to be invited to all the best parties. All the best beds, too, though he no longer accepted that sort of invitation.

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Rule glanced at the woman beside him. The tilt of her head toward her laptop swung her hair forward, hiding her face. Her hair was beautiful, black and lustrous by day, keeping its secrets at night. Absently she lifted a hand and tucked a strand behind her ear, gifting him with her profile. The glow of her skin in the monitor's light reminded him of the moon—cool and pale. She smelled of blood. Paul's blood. Rule gave his attention to the road once more. Lily had fought for him tonight. The demon had come to kill him—a fact she'd recognized before he did. He thought of the way she'd moved, weapon ready, focused on her target. If she'd felt fear, she'd ignored it. It wasn't the first time he'd seen her fight. It wouldn't be the last. The thought terrified him. She was small, easily damaged, and slow to heal. Yet mixed with the fear was pride. That, he would never have expected. Who would have thought a warrior would suit him so well? Lily closed her computer. "You okay?" "What do you mean?" "You're obeying the speed limit. You've got to be either vastly preoccupied or exhausted." He smiled because she'd expect it. "A bit of both, I think. When will—" "There's something—" she said at the same time. They stopped, exchanged a smile. His was more genuine this time. "Ladies and federal agents first. You have questions." Questions were the way she dealt with the world's cruelties and confusions. Lily said, "Yes, and my first one is, what were you about to ask?" "I should have seen that coming. All right. When will Paul's body be released?" "Hard to say. The lab won't be able to learn much, but they have to go through the motions." Rule nodded. Those of the Blood—lupi, gnomes, and others— had magic woven into their cells, which played hell with laboratory results. That didn't mean the authorities would omit one jot from their usual procedures. "When it is, I'll escort it back to his people." "But… you? They won't release it to you. His family will have to claim the body." "Isen is arranging matters with the Leidolf Rho. He'll see that your legalities are observed, and I will take Paul's body to his clanhome. You'll have to accompany me, but you won't be in any danger. Leidolf is ruled by a cur, but even he doesn't make war on women." "Well, that was certainly my first concern." She shoved her hair back with both hands. "Why? Why do you want to do this?"

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"Thesusmussio ." That was part of the serpent in his belly, the coils of need and rage and ragged ends. "Paul died because of it. Because of me." "You don't know that! He might have helped us even without the, uh,susmussio . Or he might have figured the fight was too good to miss, or that the demon would come after him anyway. Or that he had to protect the female—your crowd is bent that way." Rule shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Even if I'm wrong about his motives, his actions were those of an honorable lupus who'd accepted submission in combat. He was exhausted, ill-equipped through training or experience to fight a demon, yet he came to my aid." Rule bit out the next: "He feltresponsible for me." "But…" She was silent for a long moment. Rule knew the problems she'd be ticking off in her head: the investigation, the enmity between Nokolai and Leidolf, the enemy who'd apparently reached out from hell to attack them. To attackhim . It was her poor luck to be nearby… but that wasn't something either of them could change. Her voice was quiet. "You don't feel you have a choice." "No more than you could choose not to hunt whoever sent the demon that killed Paul." "All right, then." She took a deep breath, let it out. "We'll work something out." He touched her hand briefly, a thank-you. "You're in luck on one count. Our trip won't take long. Leidolf Clanhome is in Virginia." "How far is it from Halo?" Halo, North Carolina… where his son lived. "It doesn't matter. You know I can't go there." "I know you're convinced of that. We'll have to ditch the press anyway so they don't follow us to Leidolf's Clanhome." "The press are only part of the problem. Any of his friends or neighbors could recognize me. His grandmother agrees. She doesn't want me there." "Toby does." A muscle jumped in his jaw. Toby had come up to spend the weekend with them shortly after they arrived in D.C. They'd spent their time together indoors, unable to see the sights together. Toby hadn't liked that. "He's a child still. He doesn't understand what the consequences would be if he were known to be my son." "The clans don't harm children." "His neighbors might. Some of those he thought were friends suddenly wouldn't be, or their parents wouldn't let them be. His life would never be the same. It would be different if…" If he could be raised at Clanhome, surrounded by his clan.

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Rule shut the door quickly on that thought. Toby's mother would never agree. She might not want to raise their son herself, but that didn't mean she'd let Rule have him. "His life won't be the same anyway," Lily said quietly, "once he hits puberty." "That's years away still. Leave it alone." She said nothing, but held out her hand. After a second's hesitation, he took it. For a time they were both silent. She spoke again as they passed the Arlington exit. "About thissusmussio thing… you didn't get to undo it. What does that mean? Are there consequences for you or for the clan?" She was learning, he thought with a flick of pleasure. She was beginning to think of the clan. As his Chosen, she was Nokolai, too, though she sometimes forgot. "Though things are never simple between Leidolf and Nokolai, there should be few consequences to the clan." As long as he handled things correctly, that is. "For myself… there are two rituals that may be observed. One is part of the burial service. Normally I would be expected to present an account of Paul's death in a formal response to questions." "Normally?" "Paul's people may not want Nokolai present." "You mean his clan won't want you there." "Not precisely. The Leidolf Rho would probably like to bar me from the ceremony, but the decision belongs to Paul's father, if he's alive. If not, his other male relatives will make the decision." "Male?" she said sharply. "What about his mother? His sisters, if any?" "Leidolf's customs are different from Nokolai and most of the other clans." He paused, choosing his words. "You won't care for some of their ways." "That's two." "Two?" "Topics you'll need to go into more later. You said there were two possible rituals. What's the other?" "If Paul's father is alive, I owe him a son's duty. I will offer it. He may not accept. Pride could hold him back, or a desire to shame Nokolai. Or pragmatism. In accepting, he would also take on certain responsibilities." "What do you mean, 'a son's duty' ? What sort of duty?" "Nothing so different from what you probably feel you owe your father. Not obedience, but respect, financial support if needed. My presence, if he wishes it, at certain occasions." "Since your presence means my presence, too, I'd like to know…" She stopped to frown at her purse. Her phone was buzzing from its depths. She retrieved it, glanced at the caller ID, and sighed. "Of

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course." She thumbed it on. "Hello, Dad. It's after one in the morning here, you know." Rule smiled faintly. Lily's father was well aware of the time difference. He was a stockbroker, and the Street was in their time zone. "Tell him we'll still try to fly back for Christmas." She shot him a frown. "Yes, that was Rule. He'll be—I know she is, but with what happened tonight…" They were nearly home. The street was quiet, the area thoroughly urban but more upscale than where Paul had lived. Here the row houses were brick or board or stone, the window boxes tidy, the Christmas lights tasteful. The tiny restaurant on the corner served decorative little seafood entries with mango chutney or saffron aioli. In some ways, Rule preferred Paul's neighborhood. "Tell Mother we'll try. That's the best I can do." Lily paused. "Well, how can I? She isn't speaking to me." While Rule was trapped in hell with another Lily, something had gone wrong between this Lily and her mother. She'd told him little about it. He'd been patient, thinking their return to San Diego would shake things loose, but if they didn't go home for the holiday… "You know I can't tell you much," she was saying. "You'll read about it, though. There was a demon, and—no, no, I'm fine." A pause. "He's okay, too, but someone else was killed. That's why… no. No one you know." Rule passed the elegant little bed-and-breakfast where he'd spent a few pleasant nights on other trips to D.C. Whether here or in San Diego, he'd seldom brought women home. A few, yes— those few who'd become friends as much as lovers. That life was over. There was only Lily for him now. After a lifetime of many women, there was only Lily. He wouldn't have changed that if change were possible, but tonight… He felt it still. The moon's song throbbed through him, a bass drumming played on his bones, carried by his blood. He shouldn't have. She was nowhere near full, and though he'd fought the Change once—and won, by a margin so small it shamed him—in the end he had Changed. That should have diminished the pull. Yet power still pooled in his belly, tangling with the other needs, and the wolf was close. So close. He wanted sex. The house where they were staying had a detached garage at the back of its narrow yard. He didn't look at his mate as he turned down the alley. What he wanted now had nothing to do with love or tenderness. He wanted a body to pound into, the smell of an aroused female filling him, the mindless rush to release. Sex dissipated the strength of the Change need. Nettie called that "evolution in action," encouraging behavior likely to result in more children. Considering the low fertility rate of his people, Rule supposed that could be true, though he wasn't sure evolution applied to those of the Blood. Whatever the reason, though, sex worked. Even in adolescence, when control was all but nonexistent, a bout of hot, sweaty sex could reseat a lupus firmly in his human form.

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But it was risky if the wolf was too close. A wolf in rut didn't care about the female's pleasure… or even consent. With true wolves, an unwilling female could keep a male from mounting her. Men, however, had been raping women since the species arose. He wouldn't risk Lily that way. He had to regain control on his own. "Sure," she said into her phone. "I'll let you know." She disconnected and sighed. "I should have known he'd call. Unlike Mother, Dad actually reads his e-mail and text messages." "He's upset that we might not be back for Christmas." "He claims it's Mother who's upset. No matter what, I'm still supposed to show up so she can refuse to speak to me in person. God knows my job is no excuse." There was too much bitterness in her voice… and he was more sledgehammer than scalpel tonight. Too preoccupied with his own needs, he admitted, to deal with hers with any delicacy. "That's one," he said, reaching up to hit the remote for the garage door. "One?" "Topic you're going to fill me in on later." "Oh." She gave a slow nod. "That's fair." The garage door slid up, the lights inside came on, and he turned in. The garage smelled like most—of oil, hot metal from the car, exhaust. There were mice here, too, which pleased Dirty Harry. The cat spent a fair amount of time in the garage. Rule breathed in more deeply as they left the garage to walk to the house. Though city smells still dominated, humus and cedar sweetened the air, too, and the hint of a breeze carried the scent of the old torn who'd been engaging in territorial disputes with Harry. He smelled the German shepherd next door, too. The dog was following them along the fence line. Rule wanted to pace the darkness on four feet, too. To tip his nose toward the moon and join her song, mourning a life cut off young. So very young. "Are you coming in?" Until Lily spoke from the doorway, Rule hadn't realized he'd stopped. He mentally cursed his inattention. "Of course." "You don't have to, you know." He couldn't read her expression. Sadness? Pity? Something solemn and annoying, he decided, and moved abruptly toward the house. She didn't step aside when he reached the doorway. He stopped, scowling. "I thought you were inviting me in, but if you prefer to bar the door—" "I'd say it's the other way around. You've been shutting me out."

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"Is my every thought supposed to be joint property? Move aside, Lily. I'm in no mood for hand-holding." "Good, because I'm running low on sympathy. Why are you working so hard at pushing me away?" "I'm not—" "Especially since you'd like to toss me on the floor and rip my clothes off." Her bluntness stripped him of words. She rolled her eyes. "Jesus, Rule, do you think I'm blind? You aren'tthat different, you know." "Except that I might suddenly develop very large teeth and the appetite to go with them." "So we add turning furry to your list of ways to cope with stress." "Stress?" he echoed in disbelief. "Is that what you think this is about?" "You're right. Discussion is a bad idea." She moved up to him, put her hands on either side of his face, and brought his head down to hers. She didn't kiss him. Instead, she rubbed her cheek along his. He went still. The smells of her flooded him—citrus from her shampoo, the slightly tinny scent of her cosmetics. Blood. Arousal.Lily . He shuddered. "I'm not…"Safe , he wanted to say. Not safe, not whole, not in control, not… "It's okay," she whispered, her fingers threading his hair. "It's okay." It wasn't okay. Nothing was… nothing but this. He scooped her close, some thread of sanity warning him to mind his strength. She was small, crushable… Fierce. Her hands roamed him. Her mouth demanded his. He gave it to her. And took hers in return. Taste joined scent, tangling with touch and heat to burst inside him in kinesthetic pinwheels. He turned with her in his arms— once, twice, spinning the two of them inside the darkened house. He slapped the door, shutting it. The lock clicked. Her purse slid from her shoulder. Her coat spilled to the floor. Within seconds, he forgot everything he knew about a woman's needs, how to tend them, build them. Her breath, her hands, told him he could, that she neither needed nor wanted tending. She wanted him. He needed her. Needed inside. Beneath the black dress she wore panty hose. Damnable stuff, but it ripped easily. The sound of it tearing nearly hid the catch of her breath, but he caught it. He flung his head up, nostrils flared, searching her face. No, that was hunger he saw, not fear.Good, yes, good … He kissed her again to thank her. Her hands gripped his shoulders, her fingers digging in hard. A tremor shook him. Here. He could do it here, standing. Her weight meant little with need riding him so

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hard. But he wanted, craved, the feel of her beneath him. For that he needed softness beneath her. He cupped her bottom, lifting her so that her heat met his. The living room. The couch there was soft. He could make it. He could get that far. He began to walk. She wiggled, wrapping her legs around his waist. He made it out of the kitchen. Using touch, memory, and luck, he passed through the windowless dining room into the muffled charcoals of the front room, where a crack in the drapes leaked city light. The couch was five paces away. Four. His phone chimed. Without missing a step he unclipped it from his belt and flung it aside. The crack of plastic meeting brick told him it hit the fireplace. He laid her down on the couch, propped himself over her, one hand at his belt. But his hand shook. Her hands joined his, helping with the button, the zipper. He kissed her, finding some ease in the intimacy of joining their mouths, scents, breath… "Mon fleur"he whispered, finding her with his fingers. "So beautiful…ton petales comme une rose , so soft…" Then he was in and moving, and lacked both air and mind enough for words. It was a short, hard climb to the top, bereft of finesse but joined, joined, with her matching him thrust for thrust. The world became musk and motion, sensation too keen to sustain. He reached between them, found the bud hidden in her petals, and she cried out. Her body arched. The ripples of her climax pulled him over after her. An aeon later, with the world resettled into more ordinary shapes, with her breath warm on his skin and his chest still heaving, she murmured, "What… was that… you said? It was French." "I praised your flower." He touched her to show her what he meant. "Oh." Her sigh mixed happy with sleepy. "It sounds better in… damn." It was her phone ringing this time. "Telemarketers," he said. "At two in the morning? Off." She pushed at his chest. "I'll get it." He forced himself to move. "I might as well. It's either my father again or something about the case." She rolled off the couch, stood, and frowned. "My legs don't work right after you've vaporized the bones." It was easier to smile now, so he did. She padded back through the darkness toward the kitchen, naked and untroubled by it. He followed. The demon's claw mark was burning after all that exercise, but otherwise his muscles were warm, loose. He felt comfortable in his body again. Lily bent to get her purse, presenting him with a pleasant view. He wondered if she realized how clearly he could see in the dim light. "Mr-r-row," said Harry.

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The big cat was sitting by the refrigerator, glaring at him. Harry liked to blame Rule for any disruption: rain, closed doors, an empty food dish. This time, though, Rule conceded that the cat had a point. Hehad delayed Lily. "I'll tend to your beast." He opened the refrigerator, spilling chilly white light across the floor. Lily grinned. "You already did." She thumbed her phone. "Hello?" He felt something damp and warm on his leg and glanced down. A thin trail of blood dripped down his leg from the wound. He frowned, puzzled. It had been scabbed over earlier. Lily was close enough for Rule to hear his father on the other end: "Good. You weren't asleep. I trust my son is around." Her eyebrows went up. "He is. Just a moment. Calm down, Harry," she said to the cat, who stropped her leg vigorously, purring like a furry chain saw. She held out the phone. "Yes?" Rule pulled out the carton of milk. A deep bass rumbled in his ear. "You screening calls now, or is something wrong with your phone?" "I need to replace it." The pieces weren't likely to go back together correctly. "Damn technology. Always breaking or getting bugs. Get a new phone first thing; we'll need to stay in touch. I've spoken to Leidolf." "Yes?" Rule was puzzled. What about the conversation with the Leidolf Rho could be so urgent that Isen needed to call at this hour? "I've also spoken to Szos, Kyffin, Etorri, and Ybirra, and I've got calls in to the others. Should hear back soon. You weren't the only heir attacked tonight." SIX THE inhabitants of Los Lobos didn't see many visitors fromlos Estados Unidos . U.S. tourists went to the province's capital, More-lia, or to Patzcuaro, near the beautiful lake of the same name. A few made it down to Playa Azul for surfing. But there was little to draw them along the highway that skirted the coast to a tiny fishing village, so the pale-skinned man sitting on the patio in front of the village's only cafe attracted a lot of attention. He was probably used to that. No one who looked the way he did could have passed through life without drawing many eyes. Especially female eyes. Pity he was crazy. His Spanish was very funny, so at first they weren't sure if he meant what he said, but he'd drawn a picture for Jesus Garcia, who owned the cafe. He really was looking forel dragon . But his money spent as well as anyone else's, so they shrugged and indulged him. If it made him happy to hunt for creatures that did not exist, why spoil his pleasure? At the moment the crazy man was scowling at his map as if he could make the little lines move into patterns more to his liking. He had a cup of coffee near his elbow, and his plate held the remains of his

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breakfast. He'd eaten four eggs and several tortillas, but he'd ignored the sliced mango. The two old men at the other front table who'd observed and commented on his breakfast sniggered when the waitress approached the stranger's table. Carmencita put so much sway in her hips it was a wonder she didn't hurt herself. But the man was busy disapproving of his map. He didn't notice. "Le gustaria mas, senor?" The tone of voice, more than the words, pulled Cullen's attention away from the topographic map. His smile was an automatic response to that husky purr asking what more he wanted, but it tilted into real appreciation when she removed his plate and wiped the table—a process that seemed to require her to bend over a lot. He looked where she meant him to and admired the view. "Ah…ahora, no. Pero mas tarde …" He let his expression say what his limited Spanish couldn't. She understood well enough. She gave him back a torrent of words he couldn't untangle, though it seemed to involve setting a firm time. He laughed, told herno comprendo , and eventually she had to settle for the ambiguouslater that he'd promised. Considering how well things weren't going, he might be here a while. No point in being standoffish, was there? Or depriving himself. Cullen had stopped in Los Lobos for two reasons. The name tickled his fancy, of course. And his curiosity. The village was farther south than he'd thought wolves ranged, even when there had been plenty of his wild cousins in North America. Why name it for animals the natives had never seen? If he understood the locals right, the place had been named for a pair of peaks, oddly denuded of forest, visible from the village. They, too, were called Los Lobos. From this angle, Cullen supposed they looked a bit like a beast's gaping jaws. That didn't explain why they'd been assigned to a wolf rather than a panther, which this region did have. Maybe the village had been named by the Spanish. Spaniards would have thought of wolves. The bigger reason he'd stopped here, of course, was that his trail did. Dammit. A soccer ball bounced into the street, followed by a gaggle of screaming children. Boys, mostly, though one gap-toothed athlete wore braids and a dress. She was the one whose knee connected with the ball, sending it flying straight at him. He grimaced, stretched up a hand, and punched the ball. It sailed over their heads, hit the cement-block wall of themercado across the street, and rebounded into the stomach of the tallest boy, who landed on his butt on the cracked pavement. The underage mob erupted in hoots, jeers, and a few shouted comments aimed at Cullen. "Little monsters," Cullen muttered. They ought to be in school. Why weren't they in school? It wasn't Christmas yet, was it? He checked in with the moon, knowing it wouldn't be full until the thirty-first. Barely half-full. Not Christmas yet, then. So why didn't their parents chain them up somewhere? To his relief, the soccer players chased their ball down the street. He returned his attention to the topographic map in front of him.

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Before leaving California, Cullen had spent three days en-spelling his maps: a large one to give him the general direction, with successively smaller maps to pinpoint his target. He was no Finder, but he'd gotten the spell from one, a luscious and annoying Amazon who'd gone with them into hell, where they'd found plenty of demons, as expected. And a war, which they hadn't expected. Also dragons. Dragons who'd returned with them to Earth to escape the war. Dragons who had, in fact, made their return possible because one of them knew more about magic than any Faerie lord. And that damned dragon had flown off before Cullen could ask him one single damned question. Flown away and vanished from sight, radar, second sight, and scrying. And now from his map. Cullen scowled and moved his coffee out of the way. He hadn't tried to trace the dragons directly. They knew too much about magic—at least the one who called himself Sam did. Sam could block any direct search Cullen might devise. He'd blocked Cynna, and Cynna, however irritating she might be, was a powerful Finder. So Cullen had been tracking where they'd been, not where they were now. Cullen was very good with fire, and fire elementals exist partly in the present, partly in the past and future, so he'd tied the spell to a small salamander. Dragons being of the present, like men, they shouldn't be able to block the past. Until five days ago, the spell had worked. The thin gold band on his map, invisible to those who couldn't see magic, flowed along the coast, turned in to the mountains near this little village… and vanished. Just like those damned dragons. Since then, he'd been trying to find them by more ordinary means: asking about missing livestock or sightings of strange creatures. As a result, his hosts thought he was insane. Not that he cared, but they told him whatever they thought he wanted to hear, not what they'd actually seen or heard of. But he was close. He knew it. There was that tickling at his shields last night—which didn't, he admitted, prove anything. But when he'd tramped well up one of the mountain trails yesterday, he'd hit a spot where magic was damped. That proved he was in the right area. Something about dragons smothered or absorbed the magic in their vicinity. Today he would— The soccer ball came sailing at him again. "Dammit!" This time he stood and snatched it out of the air. The herd of children swarming toward him stopped. The girl giggled. The tallest boy—the one who'd ended up on his butt earlier— shot a babble of words at him. It didn't sound like an apology. Or a polite request to have his ball back. Cullen smiled at him in a way that had been known to make grown men nervous. He passed the ball back and forth between his hands. "¿Este es supelota?" "Si. ¡Demelo!" Cullen gave the kid credit for guts. Instead of stepping back, he puffed out his skinny chest and tried to

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grab the ball—and fell back, nostrils flared, shocked eyes huge in his thin face. "Brujo," he whispered. Witch. No, Cullen thought,and neither are you. Though you may not have a clue what you really are . For he had caught the boy's scent, just as the boy had caught his. To make sure, though, hesaw the boy. Sorcerous vision didn't involve the eyes, or even some arcane third eye that could be opened and closed. Cullen saw magic all the time, but the vividness of ordinary vision obscured it until he paid attention. Some sorcerers had to close their eyes to see magic. For Cullen, it was a matter of changing his focus—something that came easier for him now, after spending three weeks without eyes. The boy's aura was bright, lively… and shot through with streaks of purple. Oh, yeah. The skinny brat was definitely of the Blood, though not full-blood. Add that to what Cullen's nose had told him, and the riddle of the village's name was solved. "Boy," he said softly, "we need to talk." The boy, of course, didn't understand English. Jesus came waddling out of the cramped interior of the cafe, scolding away in rapid-fire Spanish. Cullen smiled pleasantly, tossing the ball idly from one hand to another as he listened, catching maybe one word in ten. How should he handle this? The boy hadn't hit puberty yet—both his scent and his aura confirmed that—but it wouldn't be long. He couldn't be left to face his first Change alone. Who should he… An odd, unpleasant scent made him turn his head. To his regular senses, it was the barest shimmer in the air fifty feet away, a whiff of a carrion stench. To his other vision, it was a nightmare striding down the street. It walked upright on two great, clawed feet. The haunches were huge, making the lumpy body look too small. There were no upper limbs. The head—shaped like a cross between a crocodile and a rhinoceros, with the teeth of the former and the hom of the latter—quested forward on about five feet of thick neck and still topped the tin roofs on either side of the road. A naked woman rode on its back, her skin the black-brown of the mask on a Siamese cat. No, he realized a split second later. The astral form of a woman. The demon was dashtu—physically present but slightly out of phase with this realm. The woman wasn't really here at all. "Shit. Double shit. I don't guess any of you see that?" "¿Senor? ¿Qué dijo usted? "The café's owner tapped his arm, jabbering at him. The boy talked right over his elder, glaring at Cullen and gesturing. Three of the kids were sitting in the middle of the road, playing some stupid game with a bit of string. The others shoved each other, chattered, or watched Cullen and the boy. And the demon was coming, one slow stride at a time. Its head swung from side to side—and zeroed in

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on Cullen. The eyes glowed red. So did the woman's eyes. She smiled at him and raised one lazy hand. Instinctively he reached for the diamond hanging on a chain around his neck. That single, flawless carat, lab-certified, was the reason he was on a cash-only basis these days. Visa still didn't understand why its computers had allowed him to go so far over his limit, and they weren't happy about it. The stone was only about half-full, since he'd used some of the stored magic in his search. Didn't matter, though, did it? No arcane duels with all those kids in the line of fire. "Shit!" he said again, with feeling. And moved. Cullen wasn't as strong as some of his kind. He could fight, of course, but he wasn't trained. But he was fast—faster than anyone he knew, except Rule's supernally skilled brother, Benedict. Fast enough that the humans around him would later deny what they'd seen. So he ran… toward the demon, not away. Running away would draw it after him, right over the underage mob. He didn't know what would happen if a dashtu demon stepped on a kid, but he wasn't minded to experiment. He'd surprised the demon's rider. The glimpse he caught of her expression as he barreled straight at her and her nightmare pet told him that. Not enough for her to lose focus, though. Her raised hand still directed the magic she'd gathered, an energy loop spinning over her head in slow circles, like a lasso. Fortunately, her mount had less control. It stopped, jerking its head back, and hesitated briefly before thrusting those toothy jaws at the idiot charging it. Cullen dodged. One huge foot lifted as the demon tried stomping on him. He threw himself aside, rolling as he hit the ground, and came up running. No point in hanging around to fight, not when there was a good chance he'd lose. He made for the church. It was tiny and crumbling, but those consecrated walls should repel the demon. He felt rather than heard the thing's feet thud against the ground behind him. So why he could feel that, when the thing wasn't present enough to be seen or heard? He knew damn little about the dashtu state, but— Damn! That thing couldjump ! Cullen skidded to a halt. The demon had leaped over him, landing less than ten feet away. Its snout darted toward him even as the rider sent the glowing loop she controlled his way. No time for a spell or to draw down from his diamond. Cullen did the one thing he could without weapons or spells. He flung fire at it. The creature bellowed as flames crawled up its belly and chest. It tossed its head, staggering back so fast its rider lost control of her lasso. The glowing loop snaked wildly through the air. Cullen was already running the other way when the loop whizzed over his head. The demon was annoyed, not stopped. Not enough of it was physically present for normal fire to do real damage, and

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Cullen needed a boost from the diamond to call mage fire. Probably just as well. Mage fire was the devil to control. He ducked between two houses, where the demon's bulk wouldn't fit. Unless, that is, it could slip deeper into dashtu so its mass could overlap with— A glance over his shoulder told him it could. He popped into a yard overrun with chickens, which squawked and fluttered and generally got in his way. And kept running—into the trees and up a winding mountain path. An hour later he perched in a gnarly oak tree surrounded by thousands of others. His chest heaved. The muscles in his thighs jumped and twitched, and his shirt was soaked with sweat. The legs of his jeans were wet to the knees. A butterfly with wings the color of sunrise drifted past like a scrap of tissue paper. Monkeys screeched nearby. He was maybe eight or nine miles from the village and at least a thousand feet higher. Time was on his side, he told himself. Eventually the woman would have to give up. Legend said that some adepts had been able to sustain an astral body for nearly a full day, but he was damned if he'd credit that bitch with an adept's abilities. Another hour or three, and she'd have to return to her physical body. He just hoped she took her demon with her when she left. As the sweat cooled on his body, he shivered, but not really from the chill. Twice he'd thought he'd gotten away; twice the demon and its rider had found him. How? That was the twenty-thousand-dollar question. Not psychically. He was sure of that; his shields were locked down tight, and they'd kept out a crazy telepath assisted by an ancient staff. Nor did he think the demon was using scent, not after he'd splashed along that damned creek. Hearing was theoretically possible, he supposed. In his wolf form, he could distinguish between one beating heart and another, but he had to be pretty damned close. He didn't think his heartbeat was giving him away. That left vision or magic. Maybe the demon was Davy Crockett on steroids and could spot Cullen's traces whether he went down a creek, over boulders, or made like Tarzan through the trees. Or maybe the demon's rider had some kind of magical fix on him. Last night something had brushed against his shields. He'd assumed it was Sam. Too bloody sure of himself, he thought now, bitter at finding himself a fool. He should have been warned. Instead he'd been smug, knowing nothing could get through. He… Cullen blinked. How did he know nothing could get through? Dumb question. He tested everything. When he'd devised his shields… The flush of vertigo hit so suddenly he nearly swayed right off his perch. He grabbed the trunk, sweat

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popping out on his forehead. When he'd devised his shields. That's what he'd thought just before falling off into… nothing. Because he couldn't remember testing the shields. He couldn't remember coming up with them in the first place. Them? Cullen's fingers dug into the bark. He stared out at the jungle, seeing nothing. A beetle as big as his thumb investigated his hand. He ignored it. He had a shield. One shield, singular, that protected him from any sort of mental attack. And he had no idea where it had come from, or why he kept thinking ofshields , plural. Someone or something had messed with his mind, swallowed part of his memory. He began tracking his memories, plucking at one, then another, trying to figure out when he'd acquired his shields. When had he first begun relying on them? It didn't take him long to turn up an answer. That day wasn't one he was likely to forget. He could make a good guess about the culprit, too, though not the motive nor the man's current location. Lucky him, though—he knew someone who could help. Someone with access to all sorts of information. Gradually, the silence penetrated his concentration. No birds called, no monkeys fussed and chattered. The forest was quiet… and drifting faintly in the air was the stink of rotting flesh. Son of a bitch! He didn't havetime to play hide-and-seek. He needed to be out of this damned jungle and onto a plane. When the demon's questing snout preceded its ungainly body up the path twenty feet from Cullen's tree, he was standing on the ground at its base. He waited with one hand closed around the little diamond at his throat, the other outstretched. "All right, sugar," he murmured. "Have it your way. You want to play? I'm ready." SEVEN CYNNA skidded into Headquarters at two minutes after ten o'clock. Elevators never come when you're late, so it was 10:07 when she arrived, only slightly breathless, at his secretary's desk. "He's expecting me." Ida Rheinhart was older than God and a lot meaner. She looked at Cynna over the top of bright red reading glasses and handed her a folder. "He was expecting you at ten. Everyone else is here already. Conference room B-12." She started to explain—Ida had that effect on her—but closed her mouth. What was the point? Ida had never been late in her life. But that was easy for her, because she never left her desk. Cynna was pretty sure she curled up beneath it at night, waiting to snatch unwary agents or cleaning people who trod too close to her lair. Cynna tucked the folder under her arm and hurried down the hall. She hadn't expected they'd use a conference room. Apparently this was a bigger meeting than she'd thought.

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That worried her. The news this morning had been decidedly odd. The demon she'd killed had been given a big play, of course, but that was only one of last night's oddities. TheNew York Times online edition reported all sorts of sightings—of lupi, yeti, banshees, even fairies. Of course, people claimed to see things they hadn't really seen all the time, but what about that brownie reservation in Tennessee? Supposedly it had doubled its population overnight. A school bus in Texas had disappeared on the way back from a football game; drivers around it claimed they'd seen it vanish. A well-known medium had announced the end of the world. So had an infamous terrorist organization. Not that Cynna put any stock in end-of-world bullshit, but something was up. She shoved open the conference room door and stopped dead. Two dozen people sat around the dark wood table. Every one of them turned to look at her. "Sorry. Car died." Jesus. She'd never seen this many of the Unit's agents in one meeting before. And it wasn't just Unit agents at the table. Not even just FBI. Sherry O'Shaunessy, the high priestess for the oldest and largest Wiccan coven in the country, sat beside a short, dark-haired man in a clerical collar. Cynna was pretty sure he was Archbishop Brown, a fiery Catholic with reformist leanings. She didn't know the old guy with Einstein hair or the bald man built like a pro wrestler, but she recognized the woman sitting on Ruben's right. Cynna swallowed and hurried to sit down. She'd never met the president's senior adviser, but she'd sure seen pictures. Ruben sat at the head of the table. Nothing about his appearance explained the respect he commanded. He was painfully thin, making the custom-tailored suit a necessity. His nose was large, and Cynna knew for a fact that his wife cut his hair. He'd mended his glasses with duct tape again. On his good days, when he could walk with a cane, he was slightly above average height. Cynna hadn't seen him on a good day for over a year. Today, as usual, he sat in his motorized wheelchair. Ruben gave her a nod. "Gentlemen and ladies, this is Cynna Weaver, one of my best agents. Her particular Gift is Finding, but she's trained in spellcraft and demonology as well. Cynna, Agent Yu just finished summarizing two of last night's ASEs—ah, excuse me. Some of you aren't familiar with our jargon. ASE stands forapparent supernatural event , which is the designation given to events that meet our criteria for investigation." "Two?" Cynna repeated, zeroing in on the important part. "How many ASEs were there?" "Since ten o'clock last night, we've received fifty-seven reports of ASEs from official sources and two hundred forty-two reports from unofficial sources." Cynna's jaw dropped. That was beyond unprecedented. It was… scary as hell, she decided. She wasn't the only one shocked. Ruben had to quiet the questions and exclamations with a raised hand before continuing. "This is more than ten times our usual load. Since we can't suddenly acquire ten times our usual personnel, we're forced to apply triage. Only the most critical incidents will be handled by Unit agents. For the rest, some investigations will be delayed, some will be left to local authorities, and some

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will be turned over to our non-Unit colleagues in MCD. I realize," he added with a brief smile, "that will displease some of you." No duh. In Cynna's opinion, most of MCD—the FBI's Magical Crimes Division—was staffed by pencil pushers and exterminators. The pencil pushers were useless. They wouldn't know a spell after it turned them small, furry, and fond of carrots. But the others were worse—MCD agents who'd tracked down lupi and others in the bad old days, before the Supreme Court changed the rules. Exterminatorswasn't Cynna's nickname for that bunch. It was what they'd called themselves. "However," Ruben was saying, "because these events lie within our jurisdiction, we will retain some control. MCD agents will be loaned to us and will report to Special Agent Croft." Cynna's eyebrows shot up. How had Ruben pulled that off? On paper, the Unit looked like part of MCD. In practice, Ruben operated free of the nominal chain of command, which did not endear him to the rabidly territorial head of MCD. She glanced at the presidential adviser. Had she leaned on MCD? What was going on here? Ruben shifted in his chair. "So far I've referred only to ASEs within our borders, but the United States wasn't the only country affected by what happened last night. For example, in Dublin a pair of banshees—" The bald guy snorted. "If I had a dollar for every Irishman who claims to have seen a banshee, I could pay off the federal debt." Ruben nodded politely. "Perhaps, though I believe there are somewhat less than eight trillion Irishmen. But irrelevant. This sighting was witnessed by the Japanese prime minister—you may recall he's on an official visit to Great Britain—as well as three journalists and two members of Parliament. And that was a single example. Ms. Pearson brought me a report, which I'm unable to share with you due to security constraints, but it confirms my gut feeling that we are dealing with a worldwide phenomenon." Holy shit. "Perhaps all of the consequences of this unknown phenomenon have already occurred. Perhaps not. My strong feeling is that we've seen only the first wave—that more will follow." One of the Unit's agents said quietly, "One to ten, Ruben?" Ruben gave him the faintest of smiles but spoke generally to all of them. "Sean's in the habit of asking me to pluck a number from thin air to back up my hunches. On a scale of one to ten, he's asking now how certain I am that I'm right." He looked at Sean. "I'd give this one a ten." Cynna shivered suddenly. She knew about Sean's scale, including the part Ruben hadn't mentioned. Ten meant Ruben was slightly more sure of this hunch than he was of gravity. "Yet we need more than my gut feelings. We need to know what happened, whether it could happen again, what the consequences might be. The president has asked me to create a task force to answer these questions. Dr. Fagin will head this task force." Einstein-hair was doodling on a pad of paper. He looked up to smile vaguely at them.

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"Archbishop Brown and Ms. O'Shaughnessy have also agreed to serve, and Hikaru Ito will be joining them soon. Dr. Fagin has the authority and the budget to add to his staff as needed. They will require your utmost cooperation and have been granted security clearances that will allow you to freely answer any questions." He shifted again. Cynna hoped he wasn't having one of his bad spells, when his muscles ached constantly. He'd probably been up most of the night. "Some of you have already received your assignments and are eager to be off. I think you understand now why I delayed your departures for this meeting. Before you go, you need to know two more things. First, I will be unable to monitor individual investigations as I normally do, nor can even one of my Gifted agents be pulled from the field to assist with coordination. We have too many fires to put out. Therefore, for the duration of this emergency, field agents will operate with full field authority. Get your codes from Ida before you leave." Full field authority. Forall of them. That slid down Cynna's gullet and settled in her stomach with all the comfort of a lumpy rock. "Second, you are to consider this morning's briefing highly confidential. Full field authority permits you to reveal classified information if such revelation is essential to your investigation. It does not allow you to discuss it around the water cooler." There was a bustle of papers and movement as Ruben dismissed those agents who had their assignments. Cynna was so busy assimilating the morning's shocks that she didn't notice Lily until she felt a tap on her shoulder. "Come on. You're with me on this one." Lily grimaced. "Though we'll have to use your office. They haven't assigned me one yet." EIGHT LlLY felt short, tense, and awkward as she kept up with Cynna's longer legs. She needed to explain that she hadn't asked to be put in charge; that was Ruben's doing. But they couldn't discuss that or any of the morning's shocks in the corridor. When they reached the elevator she thought of a way to break the silence. "Car trouble?" Cynna grimaced. "Son of a bitch turned belly-up on I-235. I should've taken the Metro, like usual. Cars hate me." The doors whooshed open and they joined three others. Lily didn't know any of them, but Cynna exchanged nods with an older man. After that, they followed the usual elevator protocol, pretending they didn't see the others trapped in the little box with them. "All cars?" she asked. "Or just that one?" "Any of them I drive too often. Computers hate me, too. So do cell phones and remote controls, and I gave up wearing a watch years ago." "Wait a minute. You use a cell phone." "Sure. And most of the time it works. But if I leak, it doesn't."

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"Leak?" Lily said. "Leak magic, you mean? I know some of the Blood don't deal well with technology, but I hadn't heard of any Gifted having problems." "Most don't, but—" The doors opened. Cynna finished explaining as they left the elevator for a long hallway. "I wear a lot of my magic on my skin. It's locked up in thekilingo andkielezo —the two kinds of what you'd call tattoos—but sometimes there's a discharge, like static electricity. Then things go wacko." "Magic can interfere with technology?" "Sure, but the little bit that floats around loose is weak, not enough to…" Cynna fell silent as the implications sank in. "Holy shit." "Yeah." Loose magic hadn't been a problem before, but if last night's phenomenon hit again… Lily added that to her list of things to worry about when she had time. "What's 'full field authority'?" "Scary." Cynna stopped in front of a door that looked exactly like the others spaced with metronomic precision along the hall. "I was hoping for a more precise definition," Lily said dryly. "Just a minute. Put your hand here, next to mine." Cynna flattened her palm on the door above the knob. "I want to key it to you." Puzzled, Lily did. "There," she said after a moment, and moved her hand to turn the knob. "You'll be able to open it if I'm not around." "Most people use keys." "So do I." Not the usual sort, obviously. Lily followed her into a small office made smaller by a cacophony of objects: a desk bearing the expected computer and such, yes, but also a sitar, two dead plants, a human skeleton, a bookcase crammed with peculiar objects—the shrunken head was an eye-grabber—piles of baskets and files and papers, and a little fountain. To her surprise, the fountain was burbling away. "Where do you pace?" That brought a grin. "It's a challenge. Full field authority," Cynna said, grabbing a stack of files from the visitor's chair and dropping them on the floor, "means you can commandeer just about anything, no forms to fill out, no questions asked. Supplies, personnel, weapons, airplanes… technically you could call in the army, but I don't think anyone's ever done that." Cynna was right. That was scary. "Ruben said something about a code." She nodded and plunked herself down on the corner of her desk. "On the rare occasions when a Unit agent is granted full field authority, he or she gets a code number. That's the authorization, but it's only

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good for a short time. Ida will tell us how long our codes are good and what the procedure will be to invoke them." There was plenty she needed to tell Cynna, plenty she needed to ask. But Lily wanted to clear the air first. "Cynna, I told Ruben you should be in charge, but—" "Whoa!" Cynna held up both hands. "Is that what has you as stiff as if rigor had set in? I don'twant to be in charge. Ruben knows that." "I've only been an agent for two months. You've got the seniority, the knowledge—" "Not to mention the rap sheet." She grinned. "Didn't know about that, did you? Penny-ante stuff from when I was young and stupid, but I did some time. It would disqualify me for any part of the Bureau except the Unit. As for my seniority, that's bullshit." "Experience isn't bullshit." "No, but your experience counts more than mine. I'm a Finder, not an investigator. The only cases I've handled on my own are missing persons. Kids," she added, her voice turning soft and sad. "A lot of the time, Ruben sends me to Find kids. Sometimes they're just lost. Sometimes… too often… they've been kidnapped, raped, hurt. Killed. But even then, someone else puts together the case. I'm not trained for that. You are." Lily drew a breath, let it out. "So we're okay." "We are. Sit, if your body will bend now." "I've been sitting all morning." Besides, if she sat in that chair, she'd get a crick in her neck looking up at Cynna. "We're working the case we started last night. The demon summoner." Cynna nodded, obviously expecting that. "You should know that I tried to Find Jiri before I left the scene. Bombed." "You told me your Gift can only reach a certain distance." "About a hundred miles, given a tight, fresh pattern. Which I don't have for Jiri," Cynna admitted. "I haven't seen her in years, so my pattern for her is old. But I still should have been able to Find her if she'd been close enough to control that demon." "Did she have to be close? You said summoning and binding were two different things." "They are, but you still have to bring the demon here, to our realm, which means bringing it into a summoning circle. There's no way to do that from a distance." That's what Lily had thought. It wasn't what she'd wanted to hear. "There were five demons last night, not one. Five demons who attacked the lupi heirs to their clans—three here in the United States and two in Canada. Three of the heirs were killed. So were at least two of the demons, counting the one we killed." Cynna stared. "Holy Mother Mary. Five summoners?"

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"And maybe three demons still around." Lily gave her a moment to absorb that. "From what I was told, one of the demons vanished after killing its target. But that doesn't mean it's really gone, does it? The one last night mostly vanished, too. It turned shimmery. I almost couldn't see it." "Almost?" Cynna was surprised. "You shouldn't have been able to see it at all when it was dashtu. I wonder if that means dashtu is part illusion?" "I'm not following you." "A dashtu demon is out of phase with our realm—not quite here, not quite gone. They can't go dashtu in hell," she added. "That's one reason they like to come here. I thought dashtu made them completely invisible, but if you saw something, there must be a degree of illusion involved. Illusion wouldn't work on you." "I saw Gan when she was invisible to others. No shimmer." "Huh." Cynna considered that a moment. "There's a lot I don't know, but Gan's a really young demon. Maybe she can't phase out as completely as the older ones, so she relies more on illusion. What kind of demons attacked the others? Did you get a description?" "Only of two of them. They match the one we killed last night: big, built like a hyena with a broad chest and short rear legs, red eyes. A third pair of limbs attached at the chest that end in claws." Cynna nodded. "Like the ones we fought in Dis, then." "Except for the claws on the forelimbs." Which made a difference. Lily took a slow breath to steady herself. "Five demons means we're looking for five people who can summon and bind demons. That suggests a strong, organized conspiracy." Cynna frowned. "Maybe not. Give me a minute." She stared at the fountain, jiggling first one foot, then the other, as if trying to pace sitting down. "Five summoners were needed," she said slowly. "We can't get around that. But maybe only one did the binding." "How?" "Theoretically, at the master level—and with binding, that's what we're talking about, a demon master—at that level you start getting into demon politics. Politics in hell," she added, "make the UN look good." "I can believe that, but I don't see where you're going." "It's because of the way demons are bound to their higher-ups, see? You bind enough low-level demons, or reach for one of the more powerful ones, and you're treading on some powerful toes. See, the one you're hooked into is hooked into a more powerful demon, and so on, right up the feeding chain. So your deal can end up involving some of hell's big muckety-mucks." She took a deep breath, let it out. "The short version is that our perp could've cut a deal with a demon lord, who can bind multiple demons, no problem. Though distance still could be a problem… but if the deal involved a demon prince, it wouldn't be." Sickness settled in the pit of Lily's stomach. "Xitil."

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Cynna nodded. Xitil was the demon prince who'd made an ally ofHer avatar, then fought her, then eaten her—and promptly gone insane. Demons didn't just eat the flesh of those they consumed. They absorbed something of the essence. How much of the lupi's ancient enemy now lived inside a demon prince? Had someone here allied with that prince? Lily pressed her fingers into the hollow where neck met skull, trying to dig out an incipient headache. "It makes too damned much sense. Xitil is controlled or strongly influenced byHer . Killing lupus heirs would suit Her. The one thing I can't figure is how She was able to track her targets. She's not supposed to be able to see lupi with her X-ray vision—or whatever it is She uses to see into our realm." "Maybe the human perp has a strong farseeing Gift." Lily frowned, mentally running through what little was in the dossier on Jiri. "What's Jiri's Gift?" "I don't know. No one did, though we all tried to guess. I can say for certain it's a strong Gift, and it isn't Finding. I always thought she might be a precog—it was uncanny the way she could make things work out the way she wanted. But her Gift could be farseeing." Lily heard the reluctance in Cynna's voice. "You don't want our perp to be Jiri." "She wasn't… when I knew her; she wasn't a person who could do something like this." "But you left." "Yeah." After a moment Cynna shrugged. "I left, and I don't know what she's like now. If half the street talk about her is true, she's turned into a major badass." Lily's brain felt sluggish, unable to keep up with the thoughts skittering around in it. She'd only gotten about three hours of sleep. But she could see Cynna was hurting. New subject. "You don't have a coffeepot in here." "Never touch the stuff, but there's a pot down the hall. You need a cup?" Yes. "It can wait. Ruben is proceeding on the assumption the demons who weren't killed are still around. He's informed the authorities in Canada." "What about the U.S. attacks? Where were they?" "Montana and Virginia. The one in Montana occurred on federal land, so the Billings FBI office will handle it with some help from MCD. At least, Ruben hopes they can handle it." Lily was glad that call wasn't hers to make. "And in the one in Virginia?" "Near a little town called Nutley, on land owned by the Lei-dolf clan. That one's ours. Actually, it's yours for now, but I'll be joining you there as soon as possible."

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Lily told Cynna about Leidolf and Nokolai and Rule's duty to escort Paul's body home. There was plenty for her to do while she waited for the body to be released—Dr. Fagin wanted to ask her some questions, and she had some for him and the other task force members. And she needed to pry some information out of the Secret Service. They'd traced some of Jiri's former associates in the course of their investigation—people who'd been students, hangers-on, or lovers, according to Cynna. Not apprentices. As far as Cynna knew, she'd been Jiri's only true apprentice. Cynna seemed to think Lily's delay was reasonable, even necessary. And it was, dammit. But reason didn't ease her guilt. All those good, solid reasons weren't the only thing holding her in D.C. There were details to settle: the need for a warrant if the Leidolf Rho didn't cooperate; the type of weapons to take; the type of backup. Cynna tried to argue about that. She didn't have a high opinion of MCD agents, and no one from the Unit could be spared. Lily wasn't having it. "You're not going without backup. You need someone who can shoot an M-16. If they can use a rocket launcher, even better." "They won't be much help if they get themselves possessed." "You can't be the only Catholic with the Bureau. Or the only person of faith. That's what counts, right? Anyone with a strong, personal faith is protected." "Yeah, yeah, but—" "You mentioned coffee down the hall." "And you'd like me to shut up and quit arguing." Instead of being offended, Cynna grinned. "See? This is why you're in charge, not me. Who'd I argue with if I was heading up the case? Come on. Let's get you some caffeine." The break room smelled of old, burned-to-bitter coffee. Lily felt right at home. The cops she used to work with never made fresh, either. "In Virginia, I've notified the local police chief and the state cops, as required. But I told the state troopers not to go in yet." "Good." Cynna nodded emphatically. "The last thing we need is a possessed state trooper." "Which could happen if the demon's still there. Also, Rule says Leidolf is pretty territorial. If a dozen gun-toting heroes charge into their clanhome—" "Could be a bloodbath." "That was my thinking." She blew on her coffee, then took a sip. Tasted as bad as it smelled. "You'll need to check in with Chief Mann in Nutley when you get there. When I told him of a possible demon outbreak in his jurisdiction, he was inclined to doubt my sanity, but he did agree to speak to the Leidolf Rho." "I guess the lupi didn't report the attacks." "Good guess," she said dryly. Lupi weren't exactly known for cooperating with the authorities. "If the Virginia demon is still there, how hard will it be for you to Find it?"

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"My range will be limited—probably closer to ten miles than a hundred. The pattern I got last night will let me Find other demons of the same type, but it won't be an exact match." "Because they're different individuals?" "Mostly because I took it from a corpse. Death doesn't resonate strongly with life, even when the patterns match otherwise." That made a grisly sort of sense. "There's one more thing you should know before you leave." "What's that?" "These demons are different from the red-eyes we tangled with in hell." "Yeah, we covered that. They've got claws on those stubby little arms." "That's right. They may…" Lily had to stop, take a breath. "Those claws seem to carry some kind of poison. Rule's wound… it isn't healing." NINE CYNNA insisted on going home with Lily before leaving for Virginia. Lily didn't argue as much as she should have. Rule hadn't told her, dammit. She'd found out the wound wasn't healing when she saw blood on the sheet this morning. Not until then had he admitted something was wrong, and he still refused to see a doctor. He didn't think traditional medicine would help. He was probably right. When she'd touched the ripped flesh, she'd touched magic. Orange magic, coating his wound like sticky syrup. Demon magic. "The stickiness reminds me of a curse I touched once," she said as she climbed out of her car. "You think it's a curse, then?" Cynna shut the passenger door. "Gan doesn't think so." Unlike a lot of the others in Lily's life, Gan liked talking on the phone. The little demon had returned her call that morning. Cynna followed her out of the garage. "So you talked to it? Ah—her, I mean. Do you believe her?" "She can't lie." Yet. That was one of the treats in store for Gan if she converted to a more terrestrial body. "Demons may not be able to lie outright, but they love to deceive." "I don't see any advantage for her in deceiving me about this." "So what did she say?" "She says the… I can't pronounce the word she used. It's all consonants. But she meant the red-eyes.

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They're foot soldiers, bred to fight in demon wars. A few of them—the elite troops, like Special Forces—have something extra. Their claws exude… call it a poison. It interferes with magic, which blocks healing. She said…" "Huh," Gan had said when Lily told her about Rule's wound. "You mean he isn't dead yet? I would've thought he'd have bled out by now." Gan was nothing if not tactless. Lily jammed her key in the back door. "The magic poison is fatal for less powerful demons. The stronger ones eventually throw it off. She thinks it probably works differently in a lupus, because your magic is different from a demon's. Or even," she added neutrally as she swung the door open, "that Rule's Lady is blocking some of it." Lily preferred to ignore the subject of religion, but to Gan the Lady was fact, not belief. So were souls. Demons didn't understand souls, but they were fascinated by them. She and Gan had that much in common. Lily didn't understand souls, either, though she knew now that something continued after death. Might as well call it a soul. She supposed the Lady was real, too… but she could think about that later. "Back, Harry." She blocked her cat with her foot and edged inside, juggling messenger bag and laptop so she could punch the code into the alarm system. Rule was upstairs. She didn't call to let him know she was home. He'd know. "Even though the magic isn't a curse, it might work enough like one to be lifted that way. Or antihex spells might work." Cynna bent to give Harry a rub behind his ears. "Hey, big guy. These folks treating you okay?" "Never well enough, in his opinion." Lily set her burdens on the table, slipped out of her coat, and draped it on the back of a chair. "What did you mean about hexes and curses?" "Hexes have a physical component. Curses don't. So if this poison is partly physical, it might respond to the same techniques that remove a hex. Any decent Vodun priestess can lift a hex—I can give you someone to call. If it's more like a curse, though, you want a faith-based practitioner like Abel or Sherry." "Both of whom are going to be busy. Who else could do it?" "Well, some Catholic priests are trained in removing curses, but these days it's rare. And I think their method works best if you're Catholic." "What about Nettie, then? Or the Rhej? If faith-based healing works—" "Isen is going to speak to her about it," Rule said from the doorway. He wore khaki slacks and nothing else. Even his feet were bare. Lupi didn't much feel the cold. "She may have something in the memories that wüi help." "Will she come here if she does?"

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The Rhejes were pretty much laws unto themselves, and the Nokolai Rhej in particular was known for never leaving Clan-home. She had reason for that, though, being over eighty and blind. He shrugged. "We'll find out. Hello, Cynna." "Hey, Rule. Would you believe Lily wants you to take off your pants for me?" His eyebrow quirked up. "You do like to live on the edge." "That's me. Edgy." Cynna grinned. "So drop 'em." What flashed through his eyes wasn't as obvious as temper. "I appreciate the offer, but it isn't needed. I'm inconvenienced, not incapacitated… as I've pointed out more than once. If my body can't clear the poison on its own, in a week or so Nettie will fly out." He looked at Lily as if the subject were closed. "How did the big meeting go?" "It turned out to be even bigger than I expected. I'll tell you about it, but first you tell me why Nettie can't leave Clanhome for a week." "She's in Oregon, not Clanhome." Lily's breath sucked in. "The twins?" "Their mother went into labor last night… about the time the Change hit Paul." There could be no arguing with Nettie's priorities. The entire clan had been worried about the fate of twins due to be born to a Nokolai man this month. The babies would need every ounce of skill the shaman—who was also a Harvard-trained physician— could offer. On the very rare occasions when a lupus sired twins, one or both babies almost always died right after birth. Lupi kept more than one secret from the humans around them, but the one they guarded most closely was the effect their innate magic had on their fertility. Some were completely sterile; many were nearly so. This was the reason for their promiscuity, their taboo against marriage, even the way their leaders derived their authority. A Rho and his heir had to be fertile. Technically, Rule was fertile. He had a son. But Toby was the only child he'd sired in a lifespan almost twice Lily's, and he'd not play the bumblebee anymore, flitting from flower to flower to scatter his seed. Toby was probably the only child he'd ever have. "Okay." Lily nodded. "I see why Nettie can't come. That makes it even more important to let Cynna see if she can help." His eyebrow did that little lift that turned his expression mocking. "And is Cynna taking up healing now?" Lily looked at Cynna. "You'll have to excuse him. I think the poison is leaking into this brain—testosterone poisoning, that is. He's turned all male and I'm-fine-don't-fuss." Then again, he could mock without budging a brow. "You wouldn't know anything about that sort of thinking, of course."

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"I'm no healer." Cynna was cheerful, as if she could ignore his sarcasm out of existence. "I probably can't fix this magical poison, or poisonous magic, or whatever it is. And Lily can tell quicker than anyone if it starts spreading, just by touching you. But I'm well-stocked with holy water, since I'm heading off to hunt a demon. It might work." "I'm not Catholic." "But I am, and I'm the one who will use it, so we've got the faith thing covered. Now, it's true that holy water doesn't work on all demons, so it might not work on demon poison. But it's worth a try, right?" "I learned this morning," Lily said quietly, "that the demon's other victim—the man from the adult theater—died on the way to the hospital. They couldn't stop the bleeding." "I believe he was human." "Which is probably why he's dead and you're alive. But you're not healing." His mouth flattened. For a second she thought he'd refuse, but he shrugged one shoulder. "Very well." His hands went to his belt. Rule had about as much inherent modesty as her cat. He stepped out of his slacks as casually as Lily would slip off her shoes. At least he'd worn boxers today. "Do I need to remove the bandage?" he asked. "Probably better." Cynna put her satchel-sized purse on the table and began rooting through it. "I need to get holy water directly on the wound." So much for the boxers. The demon had clawed his flank. Translated to this form, the wound ran from the top of his buttock diagonally across his hip, ending a few inches down his thigh. Awkward to bandage. She'd taped a pair of sanitary pads over it, that being the most absorbent thing she could find at six a.m. There was only one pad now, taped on differently than before. And it was bright red, saturated with blood. "How many times have you had to change the bandage?" she asked quietly. "Once. Which does not mean that I'm bleeding to death. Even a human wouldn't be bothered by such a small blood loss." Lily bit her lip to keep back the sharp words she wanted to use and bent to pick up the slacks he'd dropped on the floor. Fear didn't bring out her best side. Maybe he was afraid, too. Maybe that's why he was being such an ass about this. He removed the pad. The wound looked fresh, with no trace of a scab. Blood welled up and trickled down his leg. A drop hit the floor. "Question," Cynna said. "Is the poison carried by blood? If so, I'd better wear gloves. I'd rather not pick up a little demon poison accidentally." "I didn't notice." When she'd inspected the wound earlier, it hadn't been bleeding this freely. "I'll check."

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She went to him and bent to touch the rivulet of blood running down his thigh. "It's clean. While I'm here, though…" As gently as possible, she touched the flesh near the wound. Her breath hitched. "The contagion is spreading. I'm picking it up in the flesh around the wound now." Rule touched her cheek. She looked up. His eyes were very dark, opaque to her. "Then it's a good thing you and Cynna thought of holy water. I apologize for my churlishness." She swallowed. Nodded. And moved aside to make room for Cynna. "You shouldn't feel anything other than wet," Cynna said as she came to stand in front of him, carrying a small glass vial. "But we're in experimental territory here." He gave her a single nod. She frowned, looking down at his bare hip. Her lips moved, but if she was praying, Lily couldn't hear it. She uncapped the vial and poured its contents directly on his wound. Rule's face contorted. His hand swung out so fast it was a blur. And Cynna went flying backward. TEN HORROR froze Rule in place. Lily scrambled over to Cynna, who lay crumpled on the floor. Acid ate at his hip and thigh, a screech of pain shoutingenemy andhide, run, fight … "I'm okay," Cynna muttered. With Lily's help, she sat up. She gave her head a careful shake as if checking that it was still attached. "But, Jesus! You do pack a punch." A punch. He'd hit her. He'd hit a woman. "Good thing you slapped instead of making a fist," she went on, "or I'd probably be… Rule?" He'd lurched to his feet. The burning in his hip made him unsteady, or maybe it was guilt spinning him into vertigo. He couldn't look at the woman he'd struck or at the one he loved. Quickly he left the room. His ears weren't interested in what he could or couldn't deal with. They continued to report to him. He heard the two women talking as he moved blindly into the parlor—Lily asking where Cynna hurt, Cynna telling her, "Go on. I'm sore, but nothing's broken. I'm not so sure about him." Broken. She was right. Something inside was broken, and he couldn't make it work right anymore. Lily came up behind him. Without saying a word she put her arms around him. He stiffened. He didn't deserve comfort. She ignored the implicit rejection, laying her head on the bare skin of his back. And then she did nothing at all. Her scent made the air sweet to him; the beat of her heart and the soft susurration of her breath were the only sounds. She didn't question or accuse or excuse. She just stood there, letting her body say things he wouldn't have listened to had she spoken them aloud. His body listened. "It was pride," he said, not having planned to speak at all. "Pride. I didn't want to admit how little control I have. The wolf is always close now—too nearly in charge, too much of the time.

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I shouldn't have let Cynna near me. A wounded animal is dangerous." "You tried to avoid it. We wouldn't let you." "Because I hadn't told you what the real problem was." The silk of her hair moved against his skin as she nodded. "You should have told me, yes. Now you have." Something unlocked inside him and settled. He wasn't sure if he should call it acceptance or despair. "No questions?" "Dozens," she assured him. "Think of this as the lull before the storm. The holy water hurt more than Cynna expected." "Yes," he said dryly. Though the first shrill shriek of pain had faded to a steady throbbing, his hip certainly hurt more now than before she splashed him. "If we want to be optimistic, we can assume that means it accomplished something." "The hell with optimism. I want to know." Her hand slid down his side. Rule tensed. But when her fingertips traced the wound it was only pain he felt, simple physical pain. No instinctive rush to defend drowning out reason. But he should have known instinct and reason would agree this time. The wolf was as bound to this woman as the man. "It's scabbing over," she said. He'd have felt more relief if she'd sounded happier. Rule turned to face her. "But… ?" "The contagion isn't gone. The holy water diminished it. Diluted it," she corrected herself, as if precise speech could limit the danger. "It doesn't cover as much area, but there's a hard knot of it still, and… look. Look at your leg, Rule." He did. His eyebrows rose. "Is it forming a scar?" "Looks like." Most of it was scabbed over, though the deepest part still oozed blood. The shallowest part of the scratch, on his thigh, was closed entirely… in a thin line of shiny skin. "Interesting. I've never had a scar." "Adds to the machismo." She was trying for humor. He helped. "Should be good for the image. What do you think? Should I take Cosmopolitan up on their offer?" "What offer?" "I believe it involves a bearskin rug. At least, something was mentioned about bare skin."

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She rolled her eyes. "Speaking of which, maybe you could put your pants back on now." He looked toward the kitchen. Humor drowned in a rush of need and guilt. "There's something I must do first." "You need to do this naked?" "Actually, yes." He detached himself gently and headed for the kitchen. Cynna sat at the table, holding a bag of frozen peas to her jaw and scribbling on a pad. She looked up. "How'd we do? Is it gone?" "Diminished. Repeated doses may eliminate it entirely." "I've got more. We can—" "No, we can't. Someone else will administer any further doses." He knelt in front of her, bowed his head, and closed his eyes. "What are you… get up, Rule. Rule?" She smelled upset. Her voice shifted as she turned her head. "What is he doing?" "It looks like he's submitting to you," Lily said. "Kinky. But so not necessary. Rule, get up." He spoke quietly. "My regret is not enough. My apology is not enough. I submit myself to punishment, payment, or penance." "You're forgiven, all right?" She sounded panicky. "No payment or punishment or anything." "Cynna." That was Lily. "I agree that punishment isn't called for, since he's beating himself up pretty well already. But you're Catholic. You understand the need for penance. His need, not yours." "Oh." She took a deep breath. "From where I stand, we all made a mistake, not just you, but I can tell you're not ready to be reasonable. Only I'm clueless. I don't think assigning you an Our Father or two will help." He'd allowed himself to be ruled by instinct. Again. A moment's thought, and he would have known to explain before he knelt; he wasn't supposed to speak once the ritual began. But that was unfair to Cynna, who was understandably confused. "Lily," he said. "I can't speak to Cynna now, but you're clan. You may speak to her, if you wish." Lily's voice was cool and thoughtful. "Am I allowed to ask you questions?" "Yes." Though he'd have to be careful that his answers didn't suggest a particular response. "If the Rho were here, what would he do?" "He would ask, as I did, that Cynna choose penance, payment, or punishment."

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"And if she chose penance?" "He would ask if she wished to assign it herself." "If she didn't?" "If the Rhej wasn't present, he'd summon her." And that, he realized, was why instinct had led him to begin the ritual of contrition without explanation. Like the Rhej, Cynna was Lady-touched. For the first time he felt that in her, an indefinable stir of recognition. Lily still had questions. "What would the Rhej do?" "Assign penance." Cynna snorted. "Oh, that's helpful, seeing that the Rhej is in California. I know—let's put off the penance bit until she can handle it." Good try, but not an option. Once the ritual of contrition began, it had to be followed to completion. "He's not moving," Lily observed. "I think we're going to have to wing it. Do you want me to ask him anything else?" "I don't know. I can't think of anything." Cynna sighed. "This is like being called on in class when I didn't do the assignment." For several moments no one spoke. Cynna broke the silence, her voice closer by a breath. She'd bent her head toward him. "It seems like you want forgiveness, but from yourself, not from me. So it isn't me you need to hear from." Her voice changed subtly. "Very well." Her hand came to rest on the back of his neck, warm and dry. "For ten minutes a day, every day for a month, you will be wolf. While you are wolf, you will lie quietly, not moving, and consider the man who is also you. At the end of ten minutes, you will Change back." Rule swallowed. He'd expected… he wasn't sure what he'd expected. Some version of a hair shirt, he supposed. But this reached deep inside, rasping against fears already raw. Changing every day would bring the wolf closer. If he couldn't relearn control… He'd asked for this, though, hadn't he? Insisted on it. "I accept the penance." Her hand left his neck. "Are we done?" Cynna's voice was back to normal. "I really need to hit the road." "We're done." He flowed to his feet. "What made you choose ten minutes?" She shrugged. "It just sounded right." "That's the shortest time possible between Changes." "Shit, did I do it wrong? I can make it—"

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"No," he said. "No. I can accomplish the Change twice in that time." But most couldn't, and it would be painful. He supposed he'd gotten his hair shirt, after all. "You touched my neck." Cynna grinned. "If I'd touched anything else, Lily would've swatted me. And she wouldn't have apologized afterward, either." "That's part of the ritual." Her eyes widened, then narrowed in a frown. "Don't go reading anything into that. The way your head was bent, it was the natural thing to do." He smiled. Cynna did not want to believe she was Lady-touched. Lily tapped him on the shoulder. "Here." She handed him his slacks. "I realize I'm the only one bothered by you running around naked. Humor me." "Spoilsport." Cynna tucked her writing pad back in her oversize purse, which she slung on her shoulder. "I'll call and let you know where I end up staying. You suppose Nutley, Virginia, is big enough for a Holiday Inn?" "It isn't," Rule said. "But Harrisonburg is close. Who's going with you? Abel?" "No one you know. No one I know, for that matter. He's one of MCD's God-I-hate-magic types. He won't like me," she added, "but I probably won't like him, either, so that's fair. He's supposed to be a good shooter." Rule shot a hard, questioning look at Lily. "The Unit's stretched thin," she said. Her scent shifted—not to the pungency of fear, but to a more subtle mingling that signaled distress. "There's a lot I need to tell you, but it can wait until Cynna leaves. Is there anything she should know about Leidolf or its Rho?" "Leidolf is… difficult," he said, stepping into his slacks. The movement pulled on his wound, but the scab held. "They're the largest clan, and the most feudal. Their Rho is Victor Frey— tall, fair, looks about sixty. Smart. Mean. Unpredictable. If you speak to him, be very polite. Victor isn't the sort of tyrant who respects those who stand up to him." Lily shook her head. "Somehowpolite isn't the first word that springs to mind when I think of Cynna." "Hey, I can be respectful," Cynna said. "Especially if it was this guy's son who was killed last night." "It was." Rule zipped carefully, since he hadn't bothered with underwear. "I didn't like Randall, but I wouldn't have wished such a death on him. And it creates problems. Cynna." He held her gaze with his. "I'd feel better if you'd wait to speak with Victor until Lily and I can join you. He can be unpredictable. I don't know how grief will take him." "Unless he's crazy along with smart and mean, he won't mess with a federal agent. He may not cooperate, but a warrant will take care of that." "We hope. Here." Lily tossed a key ring at Cynna. "Be careful."

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Cynna caught the keys one-handed, included them both in a cheeky salute, and left. Rule watched her go, then turned to Lily. He saw shadows beneath her eyes, but the shadows trapped inside them worried him more. Her face was calm, but she smelled of distress. What was wrong? He helped the one way he could think of. "You have questions." ELEVEN "THEY can wait. I need to tell you about the meeting." Lily's chest felt full, as if inside the cage of ribs a storm was brewing, a cloudburst of words that might break any second. Yet she didn't know what she needed to say. To ask. Something about the wolf… Rule's eyes were dark and grave. And though he remained human, though his face and form and voice were calm, wildness seemed to shimmer inside him. She could almost glimpse the wolf hiding behind bone and sinew the way a wolf in the wild might peer out from the trees. Was she seeing him differently because he'd admitted his wolf was close? Or had something changed inside her? His words were prosaic enough. "Cynna is taking your car?" "Hers broke down, and she needs to get to Nutley as quickly as possible." Though right this moment that seemed less urgent than the imminence in her chest, she didn't know what else to say.Help me? I've swallowed my words and they're swelling up inside me . "Tell me." He was unaccountably gentle, as if he knew about the cloudburst and was asking for it rather than facts. But facts were all she had. "Last night's power surge wasn't a local phenomenon. It happened all over the world, causing all sorts of problems and oddities. As I said earlier, the Unit's stretched to capacity and beyond. Goblins showed up in Missouri, brownies in Tennessee, and there may be a golem in Vermont. A school bus is missing in Texas. And, of course, we have demons to chase." "That's why Cynna's going to Nutley with someone she doesn't know. There's no one from the Unit to send with her." "Yes. Ruben has put together a task force to come up with an explanation and make guesses about the implications. He believes last night's power wind will happen again. That something fundamental has changed." For a long moment he looked at her, the dark slashes of his brows drawn down in thought. Finally he spoke. "Have you eaten?" She was telling him about the disasters stalking their world, and he wanted to know if she'd had lunch? "I'm not hungry." "Healing burns a lot of calories. I need to eat whether you do or not. You talk. I'll put together sandwiches." He moved to the refrigerator and began pulling out the fixings. "Extra, extra, extra pickles,

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right?" "You're going to make me a sandwich whether I want one or not, aren't you?" He smiled at her over his shoulder. "Of course." For no reason at all, that smile popped a bubble in her throat and words spilled out. "I missed pickles." Rule, of course, looked puzzled. "Not… me. The other me, the one who was with you while you were a wolf. I—I think she's trying to tell me something. Or maybe…"Something about the wolf . "She needs to tell you something." Rule crossed to her, put his hands on her shoulders. "Sheis you." "Sort of." Same soul, different memories. "I can't get it to come up to the top, but it feels important. If—" The doorbell rang. "I'll get it." "Lily—" "I'll get it," she repeated. And fled for the front door. The house was familiar to her now. She knew where things were, could navigate the furniture in the dark. Most of the time she was glad to be here instead of in some bland and crowded hotel. And sometimes she felt as if the place were choking her. These rooms held too much stuff. Beautiful stuff, of course: a Jacobean chest in the entry, a dining table whose dark wood gleamed beneath a crystal chandelier, a pair of Queen Anne chairs facing a plush sofa in the parlor. Excellent prints hung on the walls. Elegant arrangements occupied all the various surfaces— silk flowers, leather-bound books, candlesticks, brass or crystal whatnots. Her mother would love it. As Lily passed through the dining room she resisted the urge to sweep her arm along the sideboard and knock the cut-glass decanter, the shiny glasses on their silver tray, onto the floor. Less stuff, she thought.More plants . She longed for at least one blank wall and air that smelled of the ocean. She was homesick? Maybe she wanted to be home so she could pull the covers over her head and hide from monsters, responsibilities, and change. Life was very simple with a blanket over your head. She had to go up on tiptoe to see through the peephole in the front door. Whoever had installed it thought the whole world was at least five foot six. What she saw had her rearing back in surprise.

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The alarm was still disengaged. She unlocked the door, swung it open, and was hit with a second surprise. The two people at her door must be planning to stay awhile. Each had a large duffel bag. The one she'd seen through the peephole was a man of average height with light brown hair. Those were the bits that looked normal. He was completely abnormal otherwise—head-turning, heart-stopping gorgeous, the most physically beautiful man she'd ever known. Cullen Seabourne smiled at her. "Hello, luv. Look what I found." The other person on her doorstep was much shorter than Cullen, too short to be seen through the peephole. He was cute, not sexy, and his smile lacked the cocky confidence of Cullen's. He was eight years old. "Hi, Lily," Toby said, his voice as wobbly as his smile. "Is my dad home?"

SO far, Toby's interrogators hadn't gotten any more from him than Cullen had. Rule and Lily sat at the kitchen table with Rule's surprising son. Dirty Harry had plunked his fat ass next to Cullen, who'd taken over slicing roast for sandwiches. "It wasn't hard." Toby's set jaw made him, for a second, a miniature of his grandfather. "I went on the Internet an' booked the flight. There's a box to check if you're a minor, so I checked it." "How alarming," Cullen murmured. Toby looked so much like Rule, and Rule so little like his own father, that he'd never noticed the resemblance before. It was a matter of expression rather than bone structure, he supposed. And scent. No question about it—Toby was a dominant. "What?" Rule snapped. Cullen appeased the beast at his feet with another scrap of roast, then used his knife to point. "Look at him. Can't you see Isen's ghostly image floating over that cherubic young face?" Toby joined the adults in frowning at Cullen. "My granddad isn't a ghost." "It's a metaphor." Cullen turned back to the cutting board to send the knife whizzing through a tomato, leaving a tidy pile of slices. "That's when you say a thing is something else to make a point. Like saying it's raining cats and dogs when, in fact, nothing more amazing than water is falling." "But why's it alarming if I look like Granddad?" "Isen kept going back for seconds when they handed out stubborn. Got way more than his share." Cullen dealt tomato slices over the meat heaped up on the sub rolls. "I'm thinking you did, too." "We've wandered off the subject," Rule said. "How did you book the flight, Toby? I'm unaware of any companies that issue credit cards to children."

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Toby looked down. "I used yours," he admitted. "The numbers of it. I had them 'cause… 'member when you let me order that music?" "I see." Rule's voice was utterly level. "Two months ago, you memorized my credit card number so you could use it again without permission." "No!" Toby sat up straight. "I didn't… I mean, the computer 'membered the number, not me. I didn't know I'd need it. I mean," he said again, correcting himself meticulously, "I didn'tplan on being bad. Only then I had to." "Which brings us back to the original question," Lily said gently. "Why?" Toby shrugged, kicked the table leg, and wouldn't look at any of them. Poor kid. Wasn't it obvious? Cullen grabbed two plates and crossed to the table. "Me and my mum got along fine," he said. "It was my dad who couldn't deal with what I was." Toby's serious face swung up toward him. "But your dad was a lupus! He knew what you were." "He wasn't a sorcerer. Or even a witch, like my mother. Mum wasn't thrilled when I accidentally burned something— my Gift was greater than my control when I was young—but she didn't think I was too weird for words because I could see magic." He set a plate in front of Toby. "My father couldn't handle it." Toby's eyes, dark and intent, fixed on Cullen's face. "Your dad didn't like you?" "He didn't trust me." He said that as if it didn't matter, though after all these years that simple truth still stuck in his throat. "I possessed a power he didn't understand. He thought I ought to be able to give that up to fit into his world. And I couldn't." Lily and Rule exchanged glances. The house phone rang. "That's probably your grandmother," Rule said, standing. Mrs. Asteglio hadn't been home when Rule called, but that wasn't surprising. She didn't think her grandson was missing; she thought he'd flown to D.C. to spend Christmas with his father. Exactly true, of course. She just didn't know it had been all Toby's doing, not Rule's. Quite an achievement, really, Cullen reflected as he delivered two more plates to people with no interest in food. The boy possessed unsuspected talents. Toby's lower lip jutted out. He opened the sub roll and gave full attention to removing the tomato Cullen had just placed there. "She's gonna be mad. I don't see why we can't just tell her you want me here." Rule stopped in midstep, swung around, and knelt on one knee in front of his son, putting their faces on a level. He gripped Toby's shoulders. "I want you here." His voice was low and fierce. "I have always wanted you with me. You know that." Lily looked at the two of them and went to get the phone. "Hello? Yes, Mrs. Asteglio, he arrived just fine. The problem is that we didn't know he was coming."

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Cullen took his own plate to the table and listened to both conversations—Lily explaining to the grandmother that they hadn't sent for Toby, and Rule explaining to his son the difference between wanting him here and allowing him to show up on his own initiative. The boy certainly had shown initiative. Cullen took a bite of his sandwich. Toby had planned his adventure well, right up to the moment the stewardess expected to hand him off to a waiting parent. The jig would have been up then if Cullen's plane hadn't landed when it did—just enough ahead of Toby's for Cullen to be making his way down the concourse and hear a familiar voice. What are the odds? he thought, taking another bite. Then he put his sandwich down, his eyes narrowing in thought. Coincidences happen all the time. People run into someone from their hometown while thousands of miles away, or stand in line behind a stranger with the same last name. Statisticians worked their own sort of magic to show that these events were less - remarkable than they seemed. In a country of 280 million people, you could expect a one-in-a-million event 280 times a day. But the odds of encountering one specific person at an airport far from home at one specific moment… Cullenlooked at Toby. No, that wasn't it. The boy's aura looked much as it always had—the magic a little stronger, maybe, but that was to be expected as he grew older. It had been a wild notion, anyway. Patterning was a damned rare Gift, and as far as Cullen knew, he was the only Gifted lupus on the planet. Lily promised to call Mrs. Asteglio back and hung up. Rule asked with a lift of his brows what she'd learned. "She's upset, of course." Lily wore her just-the-facts-ma'am face, void of opinion. "We need to call her back when we've decided what to do so she can adjust her plans, if necessary." Rule's eyebrows crunched down. "What plans?" "Toby's mother was transferred to her wire service's office in Beirut. She flew there yesterday, so she won't be able to make it home for Christmas. Mrs. Asteglio decided to spend the holiday with her son and his family in Memphis. Toby…" She cast him a glance. "… objected. She thought he'd contacted you, and that you'd booked the flight for him." A beat of silence followed. Rule looked at Toby. "I understand you were disappointed that your mother won't make it home for Christmas. But youdidn't call me. Why not?" Toby studied his shoes. "I dunno." "You know I can smell it when you lie." When Toby looked up, his stubborn expression reminded Cullen of a mule—or Toby's grandfather. "Grammy says Mom loves me, but she doesn't. She doesn't want to be around me 'cause I'm lupus. I want to live with you."

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"Toby." Rule's voice held a helpless ache. "Your mother has refused several times to share custody, much less cede it to me. Changing that would mean a court battle, and I'm not in a good position to win." "You think the judge won't like you 'cause you're lupus, but so am I." "Which would become public knowledge if I sued for custody." "I don't care! You love me. She doesn't. An' we could prove that to the judge, 'cause you're with me a lot more'n she is. And I know you have to go places sometimes, but during school I could stay at Clanhome with Granddad, so you could still do clan business." "What about your Grammy?" Lily said softly. "She loves you." Toby's lip jutted stubbornly. "She could come to Clanhome, too." Oh, that was likely to happen. Cullen had only met the woman once, but once was enough to know she didn't like lupi any better than her daughter did. She did seem to care about the boy, which must set up a colossal inner conflict or two… richly deserved inner conflicts, in his opinion. Rule sighed and stood. "We aren't going to settle this now, and, given recent events, it may be just as well for Toby to stay here for a while. We'll have bodyguards soon." "Oh, God. I hadn't—" Lily broke off abruptly, shutting her mouth on whatever she'd been about to say. She and Rule exchanged another glance. "It's possible," he said, just as if she'd asked a question. "Lord knowsShe is capable of any abomination." Cullen's eyebrows rose. "I'm feeling sadly uninformed." "Later." Rule was curt. He looked down at his son. "We've a matter of clan discipline to deal with first." Lily shook her head. "This isn't about the clan." Cullen had a feeling she was going to be difficult. He stood and headed for her. Rule didn't look away from his son. "It is, and Toby knows that. Toby." His voice was hard now, as hard as his own father's would have been. "You came here hoping to force my hand." He hung his head. "I—I guess so." "By using my credit card without permission, you stole. You disobeyed and deceived those who have charge of you. You understand that there are consequences for your actions." Toby gave a single, small nod. "Kneel." "Wait one minute!" Lily burst out. "He's—"

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"Lily." Cullen took her arm. "Shut up." She rounded on him. "He's a little boy!" "Yes," Cullen said softly. "A little boy who, in another five years or so, will be capable of ripping out throats. Who will sometimeswant to rip out throats, including, on occasion, his father's. Adolescence is trying for anyone. For a lupus, it brings perils you do not understand." Lily opened her mouth. Shut it again. She aimed her frown at Rule, who hadn't taken his gaze from his son. Cullen grabbed his plate. "Come on," he told her. "You and I need to talk about what brought me to your door." And Toby didn't need an audience. In the parlor, Cullen plopped onto the couch—a fussy Victorian thing with a curvy back and too many pillows—and pointed at the painted armoire in the corner. "Is there a TV in that thing?" Lily stared. "You want to watch television?" "No, I want some sound. Toby's hearing isn't as good as it will be, but it's not a large house. He can probably hear us from the kitchen." Lily stalked to the coffee table, picked up a remote, and pointed it. A rolling guitar arpeggio flowed from the armoire— Spanish flamenco, he thought, and took a bite of his sandwich. Either the channel was set to a radio station, or Rule had installed a CD player instead of a TV. Whichever, it ought to do the trick. Lily paced the length of the room, turned. "That bitch." It wasn't the subject he'd expected her to jump on first. "Which one?" "Alicia. Toby's mother." She paced. "Two weeks ago, Rule asked Toby's mother if he could spend Christmas with us. She wouldn't even discuss it, but she doesn't feel any obligation to spend it with him herself." He shrugged. "Alicia never should have been a mother. She hadn't planned on it, and I give her points for letting her mother raise him instead of botching the job herself." "She could have let his father have him." Lily's intensity roused his curiosity. He hadn't thought she was much more interested in motherhood than Alicia. "Is that what you want?" She waved that away. "We're talking about what Toby wants. What he needs. Alicia doesn't seem to care about that." "To be fair, Alicia believes she's doing what's best for Toby by limiting his exposure to our perversions. If her mother hadn't insisted that Toby be allowed to spend time with Rule, he wouldn't get even the brief visits he does." "Alicia doesn't approve of lupi, but she went to bed with one?"

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"Amazing. After working homicide, you still think people are consistent." She lifted one hand, palm out. "All right, point taken." She brooded over the situation a moment, then asked, "Tell me why discipline means that Toby has to kneel to his father." Still not the subject he'd expected. Maybe he didn't know her as well as he'd thought. "Toby's alpha. Rule has to remain his dominant, so when the boy hits his first Change and hormones collide with the moon's song and his brain shuts down, he'll still obey." "But to make him kneel—" "Quit being so damned human. Submission isn't humiliating. It's instinctively right for us, but humans do it, too. Does a sergeant feel humiliated because he has to salute his colonel?" Her voice was dry. "He might, if the colonel made him prostrate himself first. How would you feel about kneeling to Rule?" "Wouldn't do it," he said promptly. "But I'd kneel to my Lu Nuncio." She looked at him a long moment, then shook her head. "Men don't make sense. Men who are lupi really don't make sense." Her frown tightened down another notch. "Rule was uncomfortable after submitting to Paul, but I guess the act itself didn't bother him." Cullen's eyebrows climbed. "Who's Paul?" "It's complicated, and I'm getting things out of order." At last she sat, tucking one foot up on the chair with her. "It started with the power surge last night." "Are we talking electrical power?" "Magic. A big, fat whirlwind of it, unleashed at the same time all over the world, from what we can tell. You didn't feel it?" He frowned. "The dragons were probably closer to the node than me when it hit. Greedy bastards must have soaked it all up." "They can do that?" "Like sponges. Remember how hard it was to work magic in their territory in Dis? Tell me about this power surge," he said, picking up his sandwich again. "I'll eat." TWELVE CULLEN did eat, but he didn't taste a bite. Demons, demonic poison, and the Great Bitch indulging in cross-realms assassination… the Lady speaking to an outclan know-it-all… a top secret task force investigating a mysterious power surge, and a top-notch pre-cog who thought that was just the beginning. Even if he hadn't interrupted with questions here and there, the tale would have taken awhile. Cullen's ears being better than a prepubescent boy's, he'd heard Rule assign Toby his punishment and

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send him upstairs, where he was to play on the computer until further notice. That wasn't the punishment, of course; Rule wanted to hear the game's sound effects so he'd know Toby hadn't snuck down to eavesdrop. Harry joined them, staring at Cullen's sandwich with a twitching tail. Rule followed, though he gravitated to Lily, not roast. He settled on the floor next to her chair, and she rested a hand on his shoulder without pausing in her tale. Cullen doubted she even knew she'd done it. The mate-bound were touchy-feely that way. He passed Harry a bite of roast. When Lily finished, theboing-boing of Toby's game was still competing with Pepe Romero's guitar. For the first time since joining them, Rule spoke. "You didn't tell him everything." "All that concerns him." Their eyes met. After a moment she said, "It's your decision." He smiled, it evaporated when he looked at Cullen. "When Cynna dosed my wound with holy water, I hit her." "Shit." "Pretty much. My control has suffered ever since we returned from Dis. You need to be aware of that. You should also know that I submitted to the ritual of contrition." His eyebrows flew up. "With Cynna? Bet that confused her." "It did, but she handled it well. She's Lady-touched, Cullen." Rule seemed certain. Cullen wasn't, but if the Lady had spoken to her… He frowned. He didn't like that, but for the life of him, couldn't see why it would matter to him. Lily spoke. "Pretty much everything I've told you is highly secret. Repeat any of it and I'll have to pull out your tongue." "I adore secrets. I'm fond of my tongue, too, as you would be if you'd let me—" "I may pull it out anyway." He grinned. It was fun to flirt with Lily. She disliked it so much. "Will you be in trouble if they find out you've told me all this?" "Not unless you abuse the confidence." Her fingers drummed once on her thigh. "You said the dragons must have been closer to the node than you were. You're assuming this magic wind came from nodes?" "That's where all magic comes from. Not that your friend Sherry will agree," he said, bending to put his plate on the floor so Harry could nose out any scraps of roast. "Wiccans believe the Earth inherently possesses magic, but they're wrong." "Explain." "I can't. The realms connect at the nodes, but I don't know enough about the way they connect to devise

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a coherent theory. But I've watched magic. They haven't. It comes from nodes, then dissipates in air and is absorbed by earth or water." "If you didn't come here because you felt the magic wind, what made you abandon your dragon hunt?" "Postpone, not abandon. I had a spot of demon trouble myself. Different model—" "You were attacked?" "Chased. I don't know what she had in mind if she caught me, though I'd wager I wouldn't have liked it. She meaning, in this instance, the demon's rider. No doubt, left to its own devices, the demon would have just killed me." Lily's eyes widened. "Someone was riding it?" "Not physically. What I saw was her astral form. That's drawn from the physical state, but it's not an exact mirror of the body. For example, amputations and most scars aren't reflected in one's astral form, and age is fluid. You won't project an astral body that's older than you are, but your projection might look a lot younger. Within those parameters, I can give you a description, if you like." She did. "Tall, very dark skin, thin but with wide shoulders and a prominent rib cage. No boobs to speak of." "You're sure it was a woman, though?" "There's another thing about the astral state—no clothes. I'm sure. Her hair was buzzed off close to the skull, and she looked about thirty, so she's at least that old. Tattoos everywhere." "Then… but I thought scars didn't show up." "These weren't regular tattoos. I'm thinking our Cynna knows her." Lily didn't look happy. "It sounds like her old teacher, Jiri As-mahani. Which isnot her real surname, just something she made up—and that's about all we know. We don't have a social security number, place of birth, parents. We don't know what her Gift is. Cynna's sure it isn't Finding, but other than that… it might be one of the elemental Gifts." Earth, air, fire, water. "Those are less formed, so they work best for spells, and Jiri is apparently hell on wheels with spells. But we don't know." "A dark Athena, sprung whole from Zeus's brow," he murmured. "What?" "Never mind. I think I singed her, by the way." "But she wasn't really there. She was, ah… what would you call it? Astrally present?" "Mage fire reaches farther than ordinary fire." "Cullen," Rule said.

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That was all he said, but Cullen knew a rebuke when he heard one. He flung a frown at Rule. "I was being chased by a damned demon! What was I supposed to do—call my lawyer?" "I thought you weren't going to use mage fire anymore." "I agreed not to experiment with it. This wasn't an experiment." Lily rolled her eyes. "We'll examine your verbal contract later. I need to know the rest of the story. Where were you? And when did this happen?" "This morning, at a little village called Los Lobos in Mi-choacan, Mexico." Her eyebrows lifted. "The other attacks all occurred about the same time, shortly after the power surge." "I'm special." When she rolled her eyes, he grinned. "Actually, I did experience something last night that might be connected to your magic wind—a tickling at my shields. I assumed it was one of the dragons, probably the one who calls himself Sam," He was still annoyed about it, too. "That would be when Cynna's Jiri got a fix on me. I'm betting she used the power surge to give her search a boost." "But she didn't come after you then." He shrugged. "Maybe she was busy coordinating the other attacks. Maybe she was sleeping or having sex or never missesAmerican Idol . All I know is, around ten the next morning she showed up riding a demon the size of a tyrannosaur. They chased me into the mountains and kept finding me and finding me. Since running wasn't working, I decided to fight." "You think you hurt her?" "Maybe. She winked out the second the mage fire hit. The demon was slower to leave," he said with satisfaction. "I know I burned it." "But did you kill it?" "Probably not, but it's gone." "Not necessarily." Lily leaned forward. "They can turn invisible, or very nearly so." "Yeah, I know. You're talking about dashtu." "That's the word Cynna used. The one that chased you might have turned dashtu. It could still be around." "It's gone," he repeated patiently. "Dashtu doesn't affect my other vision." He chuckled, remembering. "I was talking with a couple of the locals when Jiri and her ugly pet sauntered up the street. I'll bet the village is still talking about the crazy American who took off as he were being chased by demons." He remembered something else and looked at Rule. "I said that the village is called Los Lobos. That puzzled me at first—it's pretty far south for wolves. I figured out where the name came from just before I left. There's a lost one there, almost surely a throwback." "Shit. How old?"

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"Hasn't hit puberty yet, but he's close. We need to tell someone. Ybirra?" Rule nodded and stood. "I'll take care of it. You have his name?" He shook his head. "When I went back to the village for my things, I asked about him, but either my Spanish wasn't up to the job or they didn't want to tell the crazy man about one of their kids." "Describe him." "Five feet or thereabouts and skinny as a post. Probably had a recent growth spurt—his pants don't reach his ankles. Black hair, skin the same color as Sarita's… you remember her, don't you? Used to dance with me? Had the prettiest little ass, and—" "Cullen," Rule said. "Right. He's mestizo, of course, but looks pure Indian. You can't see the European side of his heritage in his face, though it shows in his height." Lily was looking from one to the other of them. "Someone want to tell me what you're talking about?" "Cullen can explain. I need to call the Ybirra Rho." Rule left the room. Cullen looked at Rule's Chosen, the stubborn cop who'd been to hell and back for her mate. He felt a twinge of… something. Not jealousy, nothing so obvious or demeaning, but…Never mind. It will go away . "Basically, a lost one is a lupus who doesn't know what he is." She frowned. "I thought the clans made sure of their children. Since you always know if you've sired a child—" "We do, but there are two ways a lupus child can be born without the clan knowing. First, the father might die before registering the conception. Second, a lupus can be born to apparently human parents." A gossamer glow drifted by near Cullen's foot. He snagged it. "Quit playing with your invisible friends and explain. Lupi can't be born to human parents." "Apparently human." The sorceü clung to his palm, but he couldn't hold it there long. Sorceri were cobwebby strands of pure magic usually generated by a node, though the ocean or a storm could throw them, too. This one would either dissipate or soak into him in another couple seconds. He wrapped his hand around his diamond. "Just a sec. If I don't feed it in right, I'll get dissonance." "As in something might blow up?" "Not yet." Blasting the demon had emptied his diamond, and it took days to refill the thing one wisp at a time. For that he needed raw magic; mage fire turned treacherous if fed by filtered magic. "There. Recessive genes," he said, looking up. "You know that only our male children are lupi. The girls still carry that heritage in their genes, however." "Ah. I get it. You called that boy a throwback—the product of some recessives meeting up. But why doesn't anyone know this is possible?"

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"Oh, you think we should make it public knowledge? Then they could develop a test, and mothers-to-be who didn't want occasionally furry offspring could abort any fetuses that—" "You know very well that's not what I meant. Never mind. I assume this doesn't happen often." "It's rare. The descendants of female clan are seldom fertile with each other. But if they do manage to get a zygote started, there's a decent chance the offspring will be lupus. These days we keep track of our children's children, but the conquistadores settled Los Lobos long before anyone knew about recessives." "The Inquisition," she said suddenly. "Mexico was conquered before the Purge, but the Inquisition was getting going about then." Her apparent non sequitur made him raise his brows. "Very good. You've been studying our history." "I'm Nokolai now. I'm supposed to know this stuff." She drummed her fingers on her thigh. "Not that it's easy. Your people don't keep much written history. But the Rhej gave me an English translation of a sixteenth-century journal, and the lupus who kept it was worried about the Inquisition." "With good reason," Cullen said. "Nokolai was centered in France then, but the inquisitors stuck their big noses in everywhere. The Spanish Inquisition was the worst. Spain mostly deported Muslims and Jews who wouldn't convert. Us, they killed. Extra points for burning us alive." "They killed the Gifted, too," Rule said from the doorway. Cullen didn't jump. He hadn't heard Rule—the son of a bitch was almost as good as his big brother at silent sneaking—but he'd caught Rule's scent. "And anyone else who was a little odd, on the chance they might be Gifted, but both Spanish clans were essentially wiped out. The boy?" "Ybirra will see to him." Cullen exhaled in relief. Harry jumped up on the couch and informed him with a head bump that petting was now allowed. Cullen complied. "Wait a minute," Lily said. "If they had killed all the Spanish lupi, there wouldn't have been any to sire a lost one in the New World." "Not all the lupi," Rule said. "Many, but not all. But somehow the Church learned the identities of the Rhos. They killed them and their sons—all of their sons, not just the heirs. Without a Rho, there is no clan, only lone wolves and a scattering of packs." Lily's brow creased. "Packs. Wouldn't they be just small clans?" "Packs are unstable. Without a Rho, most lupi go feral." "Surely you have some system for a new Rho to be chosen in an emergency." "Rhos aren't chosen," Rule said patiently. "They simplyare . Each clan has some not in the direct line who can claim the clan's founder among their ancestors, but if the Rho and all his line are killed, those of collateral lines are unlikely to withstand the death shock."

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"Thewhat ?' "We're bound by blood to blood," Cullen said. "Didn't Rule explain that when I was brought into Nokolai?"You are called to Nokolai by blood, by earth, and by fire … The ritual words flamed in Cullen's mind, igniting a spasm of memory and emotion he fought to keep from his face. Simplest to change the subject, and there were so many juicy ones to choose from. "You think that's the Great Bitch's goal?" he asked Rule. "Kill enough heirs and the clans are in trouble." "So far, no Rhos have been attacked, however. And you aren't an heir." "But I'm handy to have around." Amusement glimmered in Rule's eyes. "True. Isen believes Her main goal is to block the All-Clan he's called." "Isen sees everything in terms of his own goals. Doesn't mean he's wrong, of course. The Rhos aren't likely to risk their people by gathering so many of us in one spot for Her to attack." A grim silence fell. Harry broke it to complain that Cullen had stopped petting. Rebuked, Cullen rubbed the beast's jawbone, and Harry cranked up his buzz saw. Rule's eyebrows lifted. "That cat actually likes you." "I'm a charming fellow." Rule shook his head and settled on the floor beside Lily again. She laid a hand on his shoulder as she spoke. "There's still one Spanish clan, though, right? The one you just contacted. Ybirra." Rule leaned back against her chair and rested a hand on her foot. "Ybirra is our newest clan. It wasn't recognized until long after the Spanish diaspora. Tomas Ybirra proved his claim at the 1882 All-Clan." Touching. The two of them kept doing that. And why would that bother him? It didn't, he decided, and carried on with the history lesson. "Tomas Ybirra was born Leidolf. He was a full alpha who disagreed frequently with his Rho, especially over the need to gather the lost ones. Rather than Challenge, he went lone wolf until he'd collected enough strays to form his own clan." "A lone wolf?" Lily said, surprised. "I thought—" "We don't all go mad," he snapped. "Don't be in such a rush to read my mind. You aren't good at it. I was about to say that I didn't know lupi ever voluntarily left their clans." "It's… uncommon," Rule said quietly. "Andvoluntary isn't the best word, perhaps. But it does happen." About once every century or so, Cullen thought. And no,voluntary wasn't the word he'd choose, but Tomas had been given a choice: submit to your Rho's will, Challenge, or be expelled. So had Cullen, thirty-five years ago. "Returning to our own era, has it occurred to you that she may not

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be able to continue her demonic harassment?" "I'd like to think so," Rule said dryly. "But what's stopping her?" "Her agents acted at or right after the power surge. I'm no expert on summoning, but it's reasonable to assume they needed the extra juice." "That would be more reassuring," Lily said, "if we knew the magic wind wouldn't blow through again next week. Or tomorrow." "There is that." Cullen had some ideas about the cause of the power surge, but they weren't ready for prime time. He frowned. "Have you talked to the Rhej about this?" She blinked. "Nokolai's Rhej? No. She doesn't have a phone, and I don't have time to fly back for a chat." "But she's got the memories." About three thousand years' worth. If anything like this had happened before, she'd be able to access a memory of it. "You're right," Rule said. "Isen was going to ask her about the demon poison. I'll ask him to question her about the power surge, too. But…" "Rhejes don't always tell everything they know," Cullen finished. "It's one of their more annoying traits. I'll bet she'd speak to her chosen apprentice, though. We need to get Cynna to—" "Can't," Lily said. "Not right away. She's headed for Nutley." "Shit. She's gone after that demon." "Someone had to, and she's qualified. I wish…" "What?" "Nothing. It's just that I don't know these people. But the backup I sent with her is supposed to be a good shooter and a good Baptist." "Gifted?" "Not even from the Unit. He's MCD. We've got too many fires and too few Gifted to put them out." Pepe Romero ceased strumming. In the silence as the CD ended Cullen heard the frenzied pinging from Toby's video game. He thought about a tall woman with a butch haircut and ornate skin who thought too highly of her own abilities and too little of his. But she sure smelled good. Rule stood and headed for the armoire. "While I put some more music on," he said, "why don't you tell us why you're here? I'm thinking you didn't come running because a demon pestered you." Cullen grinned. "You think right. I'm here because of what I realized while I was dodging Jiri and her pet. Someone's tampered with my memory."

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"What?" Lily sat up straight. "But your shields—even Helen couldn't get past them with that damned staff to help her." Cullen did not have fond memories of the former leader of the Aza, the cult devoted to the Great Bitch. Helen had been a powerful telepath; she'd also proved the dictum that insanity follows close on the heels of that particular Gift. Among other things, she'd had his eyes put out. "It must have happened before she got hold of me. Not long before, though. Probably the same day. I was her default choice, remember? They were hunting another sorcerer, one who'd visited me earlier that day. We quarreled—at least, that's the way I remember it. He left rather abruptly." Left Cullen unconscious, actually, but that embarrassment he preferred not to mention. "So what did he do to you?" "I don't know. That's the problem." Cullen brooded on that a moment. "I wouldn't have agreed to meet with him at all, but a friend vouched for him." "Molly, wasn't it?" Rule said dryly. "Molly's okay." Memories that hadn't been altered made him grin. "In fact, she's damned good, even for a succubus. But—" "Wait a minute," Lily said. "You didn't say anything about a demon being there." "Molly isn't a demon. She started out human. Now…" He shrugged. "Whatever she is, she got there by being cursed by the one we don't name, which seems to put her on our side." Though he wasn't as sure of that as he used to be. "Anyway, she wasn't there for sex that day. She set up a meet between me and this guy she'd hooked up with. Called himself Michael." Greed had played a part in his agreeing to the meet, he admitted. He seldom had the chance to learn from another sorcerer. There were damned few of them, for one thing. And those few tended toward a high level of mutual distrust. With good reason. "Anyway, the gap in my memory shows up right after Molly and her friend left, and right before the Aza came calling. Before then, no shields. Afterward, I had shields that could stop a high-powered telepath backed by an ancient artifact." "But that's good." "Sure, the shields are great. Not so great is that I can't remember how I came by them." Neither of the others spoke for a moment, then Rule said, "You think this other sorcerer gave you these shields, then tampered with your memory? Why?" "He'd have to have done it the other way around, but yeah. And I've no idea why. I've dug up some other snatches of memory—stuff that had been… overwritten, not erased. It's not complete." In fact, the memory bits were tooth-grindingly fragmented. "But I think Molly brought her friend to see me because they needed help. There's something about an active node and the FBI taking an interest." He flashed Lily a grin. "Which brings me to you, luv." "You want me to find out what the Bureau knows about him, or her, or both."

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"Yep. Molly Brown, Galveston, Texas. She isn't there now—I checked—and she's probably changed her name. The nodal activity would have been on or shortly before the seventeenth of October." He stood and stretched. "Lord, but all that flying, followed by all this sitting, has me stiff. Do you still take care of the clan's finances?" he asked Rule. Rule hiked his eyebrows. "I do." "Invest in silk. The price is bound to shoot up—it's a magical insulator. Gold and silver probably will, too, but—" "Those aren't insulators," Lily said. "No, they conduct or carry magic, which is why those won't shoot up in price for a while. Well." He twisted, ridding himself of the kinks. "Guess I'd better be going. Get that poison removed," he added, nodding at Rule. "Nasty stuff." "Wait a minute," Lily said. "You just got here. Where are you going?" "To give you a hand with your little demon problem, of course. That's fair—you help me, I'll help you." She huffed out a breath. "I haven't agreed yet. What will you do with any information I pass on about Molly Brown or Michael no-last-name? Assuming thereis something to pass on." "Bound to be a report—bureaucracies thrive on 'em. Cross out anything too terribly secret and pass it on to me. Shouldn't take long. As for what I'll do…" His frown came and went. He shrugged. "I don't know yet. Find him, obviously. Don't you want to know the whereabouts of a sorcerer the Aza—and, by extension, our enemy—were interested in?" Lily didn't speak, but he could almost hear her busy little mind totting up possibilities. "All right," she said at last. "I'll see what I can find out. In return, I want your promise that you won't take off on a vendetta." "I'm not after revenge." A flash of honesty mixed with anger made him add, "Not major revenge, anyway. I wouldn't mind bloodying the bastard's nose, but anything more would depend on his reasons for messing with me, then taking off to leave me to deal with his chums." A yawn overtook him. "You can have the west bedroom," Rule said. "Thanks, but I'd rather borrow your car." "I need my car." "Then Lily's." "Cynna's using it," Lily said. "I thought you were going to give me a hand with my little demon problem." His eyebrows flew up in surprise. "I am. I'm off for Nutley. Cynna might be up to handling a demon, but a demonand Victor Frey? And maybe Brady. He could be around, too." The woman didn't know half as much as she thought she did, and her much-decorated skin smelled too good to let a demon rip it up. Or anyone else.

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There was a beat of silence. "I'll rent a car for you," Rule said. THIRTEEN "WELL, now, if there is a demon around, it's the quiet type." Chief Mann leaned back in his creaky office chair and laced his hands over a stomach Cynna could have used for an ironing board. If she ironed, that is. He treated them to a laid-back grin. "Hasn't stirred up any trouble." Nutley was small. The town boasted a single traffic light; the speed limit was twenty-five. Jail and cop shop shared space in the basement of the courthouse, a stout redbrick building that held down one end of Main Street. Cynna felt as if she'd accidentally wandered into Mayberry. Not that Chief Mann resembled Andy Griffith. No, he was a manly Mann, six feet of the sort of sculpted muscle body builders love to see in the mirror. But he had the folksy bit down pat, and he was sure white enough for Mayberry. So was every other cast member she'd seen so far. Kind of weird in a little Southern town. "Aside from killing Randall Frey, you mean." "Don't know exactly what happened to Randall. His father didn't say." Agent Timms snapped, "And you didn't think it was worth asking." If Nutley's boss cop was Andy, then Cynna had brought Opie with her—a quarrelsome, grown-up version of Opie, that is. On uppers. MCD Agent Steve Timms was short, wiry, and wired. His boyish face, complete with red hair and freckles, clashed with his passion for weapons. She'd heard more than she ever wanted to know about the properties of the M72 LAW they'd borrowed from the Army—LAW being one of those cute acronyms government types adored. This one stood for Light Anti-Tank Weapon. But he also knew how to use a dart gun. He used to shoot lupi with one, back before the Registration Act was ruled unconstitutional—and he'd survived, which said a lot for his skill. Darts were their fallback weapon. If the demon had possessed someone, they'd need to tranq the host. Cynna didn't think they'd need it. Some demons loved the opportunities afforded them by possession, but if this one was like the one she'd killed last night, it was all fight, no stealth. She'd been wrong about one thing, though. Timms didn't dislike her. Not when she was his ticket to the biggest, baddest quarry he'd ever sighted down on. He was all aquiver over the prospect of bagging a demon. Chief Mann shrugged those impressive shoulders. He wore an old flannel shirt, jeans, and boots. "None of my business. The law's got nothin' to say about what happens to a wolf." "So Randall was killed in wolf form." Not surprising; Rule had Changed, too, when faced with a demon. Still… "Did you see the body?" That amused him. "Yes, ma'am, I did. It was pretty torn up, but a torn-up wolf doesn't much resemble a human."

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Cynna fought the urge to tell him to quit calling her ma'am. He'd probably just start calling her honey or sugar, and then she'd have to hit him. That was not the way to get along with the locals, and besides, she had a headache. She was no healer, couldn't do a thing about her swollen jaw. But she did have a nifty little spell that blocked pain, though it only worked on her. Had to be careful with it, since pain was nature's way of saying, "Watch out," but a little more power should be okay. She upped the trickle feeding the spell. "Did you ask Victor Frey who or what killed his son?" "Course I did. Told that other FBI agent I would, didn't I? Victor said he didn't know." "Did you get a description?" "He didn't see the killer." Cynna nodded as if he'd said something reasonable. "Did you ask any of the others? Like, say, someone who'd actually witnessed the killing." "Appears Randall was alone when it happened." Timms snorted. "And you believed that." Chief Mann looked at him. "They're always alone when one of 'em kills another one, son. Doesn't pay to get your panties in a twist about it." Timms leaned forward, all but vibrating with intensity. "It seems to me you've got a pretty cozy relationship with this werewolf, Chief. Makes me wonder if you're getting paid to look the other—" "Hey." Cynna tapped his arm. "Chill. You're out of line." She'd never been the one to put on the brakes when it came to harassing the local cops. Wouldn't Abel just bust something laughing if he could see her now? Timms gave her a hard look, but he settled back in his chair. "I'm hoping you can drive out to the Leidolf clanhome with us, Chief," Cynna said, trying a big smile to see if that helped. Ouch. Apparently big, wide smiles were out for the time being. She resisted the temptation to pump up the power into the pain-blocking spell. "I'd appreciate being introduced to the Rho. I've got a warrant, but I'd rather not use it if I don't have to. I'm hoping he'll cooperate." "Well, that's good thinking—Victor doesn't like feelin' pushed around. But… clanhome? Rho? You speakin' English?" Could he really know that little about the lupi living so close to his town? "Victor Frey is the Rho or leader of the Leidolf clan, which has its clanhome—uh, the land owned by the clan—just outside Nutley." "Victor's in charge, all right," he said, nodding. "And he owns a few acres. I don't know about that clanhome stuff, but I can take you out to see Victor." He reached for the Stetson hat on the corner of his desk, unhooked the bomber jacket draped over the back of his chair, and shot a glance at Timms. "Y'all

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be polite, though. He's suffered a loss." Cynna snagged her tote and followed. The tote held several vials of holy water packed in a foam wedge. The vials were specially made, designed to shatter on impact. It was usually best to apply holy water to a demon from a distance. Pity she hadn't done it that way with Rule. They stepped outside into light burnished to gold by the setting sun. The air was chill and dry, and winter-bare trees and white clapboard buildings dragged long shadows behind them. Somewhere a dog barked, over and over, in tired repetition. On three sides of the little town a rolling stack of browns and greens climbed the mountains to a lumpy blue horizon. In the west the hills were dark, blackened by the glare of the descending sun. Dammit. It was nearly five o'clock. The drive down here had only taken a couple hours, but before leaving D.C. she'd had to change into something better for hunting demons than her got-a-meeting clothes, pack a bag, and collect Timms and his arsenal. By the time they finished talking to Victor Frey, it would be fully dark. Cynna wasn't crazy about chasing a demon at night. Maybe she wouldn't have to. So far she hadn't Found any lurking demons. Surreptitiously she raised a hand and did a cast, not putting all her power behind it, just running a quick check. Even with only a partial pattern, she ought to Find it if it was within a mile or three. "You tryin' to flag a taxi, ma'am?" Manly Mann was amused. "No." Still no trace of a demon. Maybe Timms was destined for disappointment. "We'll follow you out," she said, "if that's okay." He gave an amiable nod and headed for his cop car in the middle of the reserved spaces in front of the courthouse. Cynna spoke firmly to Timms as they made for the public lot across the street. "We're not here to investigate the chief." Timms scowled. "If he's in bed with those werewolves—" "Our assignment is the demon," said Cynna, who had been in bed with a werewolf and had liked it very much, thank you. "If it's still around, we kill it. Whether it's here or not, we need to talk to those who saw it, check out the scene, examine the victim's body… you know. Investigate. We'll need Victor Frey's cooperation for that, and the chief can help us get it." Timms muttered something under his breath Cynna pretended not to hear. A few courthouse employees had jumped the gun on quitting time. A dumpy woman was cranking up her shiny red Mustang as Cynna and Timms reached the parking lot; two men carrying briefcases got into matching SUVs. A battered pickup pulled out of the lot. One car was arriving, not leaving. A white, late-model Camry with D.C. plates turned into the lot and parked in the empty spot two spaces down from the Ford Cynna had borrowed from Lily. Cynna glanced at the driver as he climbed out, then stopped dead. Her hormones did the Snoopy dance. Cullen Seabourne stood there grinning at her. His T-shirt was old and tight, his denim jacket in worse shape than hers, and his jeans worn threadbare in interesting places. Two days of stubble decorated that

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impossibly gorgeous face, and he'd needed a haircut at least a month ago. At least one person here was dressed worse than she was, even if shabby looked a lot better on him than it did on her. She parked her hands on her hips. "Well, hell." "Been there, done that," he said cheerfully. "You going to introduce me to your sidekick?" "What are you doing here?" His eyebrows climbed. "Isn't it obvious? I'm going to help you bag your demon." "It's not my demon, and you are not—" Timms spoke right over her. "Who is he?" She rolled her eyes. "Agent Timms, Cullen Seabourne. Cullen's a lupus," she added, not sure which of the two men she wanted to needle but figuring they both deserved it. Timms narrowed his eyes at Cullen. "You don't look like part of the Unit." "Oh, no," he said blithely. "I help out when I can, but the FBI isn't interested in my professional skills. I take my clothes off for a living."

CYNNA told Cullen he wasn't going with them to speak to the Leidolf Rho. She told him to go back to D.C., where he might be of some use. She was firm. She let him know his help was not needed. So why was he sitting next to her in the backseat of Lily's Ford while Timms drove? Well, .she did know why she'd let Timms get behind the wheel. She wanted to be free to do a cast every so often. But how, exactly, had the man with the face of a god and the morals of an alley cat ended up in the car with them? Surely she hadn't caved in to her body, which really appreciated being close enough to reach out and touch. Because she was so not touching him. No way, no how. She was working, dammit. Besides, he was a jerk. Oh, not an all-around jerk. She admitted that. Cullen had risked everything to rescue Rule, so he had friendship potential. But where women were concerned, he set off her jerk-o-meter. Cynna knew a jerk when she lusted after one—which was usually, she admitted. Rule was the single, shining exception to her lousy taste in men. Not that she was looking for Mr. Right. She couldn't imagine pledging to live with one person for her entire life. It boggled her brain that people did this regularly. How could they possiblyknow ? But she was tired of waking up with yet another Mr. What-Was-I-Thinking. She meant to change that, even if her stupid hormones hadn't yet signed on with the plan. "Victor Frey may not allow you on his land." "Victor thinks I'm scum," he agreed. He sat in a comfortable sprawl that took up more than his share of

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the seat, with his knee nearly touching her thigh. "But that means he'll think he can use me. Victor gets off on using people." "Guess we'll find out soon." The cop car ahead of them turned off on a dirt road marked by a small sign that read, Private Property. Keep Out. "Don't they have guards, like at Nokolai Clan-home?" "You won't see them unless they decide to stop us. You haven't picked up any trace of the demon that killed Randall?" She shook her head. "My range is limited, though, because the pattern's from a dead demon, and I'm looking for a live one. Also, I haven't done a full cast yet—just quickies." They turned onto the dirt road. Its ungraded surface trended mostly upward, winding through a slew of trees. Cynna was a child of the city. She didn't really approve of trees. Notwild trees, anyway, and not in such numbers, and especially not when they held hands overhead as if they wanted to be ready to drop a branch on intruders. Enough with the trees, she told herself. "Uh… I guess Lily and Rule briefed you." "Thoroughly enough that she felt obliged to threaten my tongue. That's her gentle way of suggesting I don't discuss top secret secrets in front of those who lack my wisdom and discretion." He wiggled his eyebrows at the back of Timms's head. "Speaking of being briefed, did Rule warn you about Victor Frey?" "Said he's mean, smart, and hard to predict." "That's one way to put it. Victor's a treacherous son of a bitch. He'll try to charm you." "I'm hard to charm." "Pretend, then. He doesn't expect much from women, so you can lull his suspicions that way, and you're going to need every advantage you can get. If you'd sleep with him, too—" "What?" "Okay, that's out. Not that I blame you, but for some reason a lot of women have slept with Victor—or not slept, as the case may be, but I'm trying to be tactful. Did Rule mention that Victor's surviving son and possible heir is crazy?" Her eyebrows shot up. "You're talking figuratively?" "No, I'm pretty sure that's the literal truth. Brady Gunning is a sadistic sociopath." "Gunning? Isn't he a Frey, too?" "Not unless he's named heir. Mummy and Daddy don't marry when Daddy's a lupus—you know that. So we carry our mother's surname." "Rule doesn't."

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"An accepted heir usually adopts his father's surname." So Rule hadn't started out as a Turner. Maybe that's why the FBI had never been able to dig up much about him before he "came out" as the Nokolai prince. "Will this Brady Gunning be there today?" Cullen shrugged. "If not, he'll show up soon. Leidolf Clan-home is smaller than Nokolai Clanhome. Not many clan actually live there, but most are close by. They'll be descending on their clanhome for the naming." "The naming. Of the new heir, you mean?" He nodded, frowning into space as if he'd half forgotten she was there. Which was another good reason not to touch. Cullen Seabourne was fantastic fling material, and she'd been tempted to pursue that option when they first met. But then she'd gotten to know him. In between hot, sweaty bouts of sex he was likely to forget you existed. Not that it mattered, since she wasn't going to have hot, sweaty sex with him. She dragged her thoughts back to business. Cullen hadn't answered her question about why he was here instead of chasing dragons, but Timms was listening. She'd ask again when they were alone. In the meantime, she might as well see if anything nasty was hiding in all those trees. Cynna trickled power into thekielezo for the dead demon, letting it itch there a moment as it built. Then she held up her hand, and—"Ow!" They'd bounced over a rut so hard she'd hit her head on the roof. "Sorry." Timms didn't sound sorry. Cynna scowled at the back of his head. The headache she'd already started on ached in earnest now. "Slow it down. I can't do a cast if I'm bouncing off the roof." "What does it matter? You haven't found anything." Sitting in the driver's seat seemed to have gone to his head. "Slow. It. Down." "Rebellion in the ranks," Cullen said sympathetically. "Want me to bite him for you?" Timms's shoulders twitched. "Better not," Cynna said. "He'd shoot you, and Lily would be pissed if we got blood all over her car." Cullen grinned. "No, he wouldn't. Not before I—" "Cullen—" "Shut the fuck up," Timms said. She swung toward him. "What?"

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"Him. Not you. I'm not working with a damned werewolf. A damned werewolfstripper ." "Yes, you are. You know why? Because I'm in charge." Good Lord. Had that just come out of her mouth? If she didn't watch it, she'd be telling him she was the decider, and then she'd have to wash her mouth out with soap. "I know I can't be possessed," Timms said. "You say you've got faith, too, so you're safe. But him?" Timms snorted. "If a godless heathen of a werewolf gets possessed, he's gonna take us both down." "No worries," Cullen said, leaning back at his ease. "This particular godless heathen can't be possessed." "You know that, Timms," Cynna said, exasperated. "At least you should, since I told you on the way out. Lupi claim they can't be possessed. You'd better hope that's true, since we're going to be around a number of lupi, and it would be real inconvenient if the demon was in one of them. And while we're there, you're going to be very, very quiet. I don't want your prejudices screwing things up." Timms breathed his way through a few moments of silence. He sounded more grumpy than truly pissed when he spoke. "If I slow down, I'll lose sight of the chief's car." "Not a problem," Cullen said. "The road leads to Victor's place. Can't miss it." Cynna looked at him. "You've been here before." "Not lately, but yeah, I have." He didn't signal discomfort—no frown, tensed muscles, averted eyes. His voice didn't go flat or sharp, and every luscious inch of his body stayed easy, announcing how little the subject mattered. So why was she struck with the notion that this rutted tree tunnel was memory lane for him, and damned unpleasant memories at that? She thought of a neighborhood in Chicago and how she'd feel if she returned there accompanied by people from her new life. People who thought she was basically okay. The last thing she'd want would be for anyone to notice her reaction. "Is it normal for there to be this many trees?" He blinked. "You've heard of forests?" "I've even been in one." They'd been looking for an eleven-year-old girl… She pushed that memory aside. "But it had space between the trees, and those trees were a lot taller. These are all tangled up together. They lean out over the road." "Leaving aside whether we can call this a road—" They hit another bump for emphasis. "This is a deciduous forest that's been logged in the past. What you're seeing is new growth, which includes a lot of shrubby stuff. Older forests, especially conifer forests, have less competing growth." "Yeah, these trees are so into competition they've decided to take on the road. They're trying to push it right out of here." "Oh, please. Don't tell me you're one of those idiots who personifies everything." "Hey, personification is a tool in some magical systems. And Wiccans and other pagans say plants do possess intent, so—"

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He snorted. "You've been watching Saturday morning cartoons. Plants lack the sense of self it takes to form independent will, though en masse they sometimes develop an accreted version of consciousness. But it's ridiculous to ascribe human motives to them." She settled in to enjoy the argument. "I'm a simple kind of a gal. Even if these trees aren't aware in the sense we understand it, they might have a dryad or something guarding them." "A dryad?" he repeated, disbelieving. "In a new-growth forest this close to civilization?" She waved a hand. "Okay, not likely. But a number of African, Celtic, and American Indian traditions claim trees have spirits that people can communicate with, right? There are tons of legends about it." "Legends are mostly allegorical. Which means," he explained kindly, as if to a three-year-old, "that they're not meant to be taken literally." "I kind of get the difference between symbolic and literal truth. Hard to work a spell without some grasp of symbolism, isn't it? But maybe the tree spirit bit is literally true. I know a shaman who sacrifices to the oak in his backyard every new moon by burying tobacco leaves at the roots." "Shamanic practices connect the practitioner to major and minor earth spirits or gods, not individual trees." "Hesays he's contacting the tree, not some all-purpose spirit." "He's mistaken. Oh, his oak probably does have power. Trees soak up a fair amount of magic over the years, but not everything that possesses magic is sentient. Or do you think crystals are alive and plotting against you?" She rolled her eyes. "Sarcasm doesn't prove anything. Don't you feel something menacing about these trees?" Not only did he not sense any menace, he thought she was an idiot. Which she was perfectly willing to debate, too. Cynna had known Cullen wouldn't need much encouragement to argue. That's what they usually did. It made for a nice distraction the rest of the way to the clanhome, and not just for Cullen. Timms was so busy eavesdropping that he drove slower and didn't say a word. Maybe she wasn't completely inept at the in-charge thing, after all, even if her methods were unconventional. They reached their destination without a drop of blood being spilled. Leidolf's home territory didn't look much like Nokolai's version. The road took them to a clearing about the size of two football fields laid end to end. She saw four buildings, total: a barn, a long, one-story structure like a bunkhouse, and two houses. The first house was small and built from gray stone. Smoke trickled up from the chimney. Across from it, three pickups and a car were parked in front of the bunkhouse-type building. They were headed for the larger of the two houses, a two-story structure at the far end of the clearing. Two vehicles sat in front of it-—a two-year-old Bronco and the chief's cop car.

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"Are there any more houses?" she asked Cullen. "Hiding back in the trees, maybe?" "Not that I know of. Leidolf is poor compared to Nokolai, but they could afford more housing here. Victor doesn't want that. He doesn't trust the mainstreaming movement, doesn't want his wolves coming out of the closet, and anyone living here is admitting he's lupus." Victor Frey's house had all the charm of a big, white box. The wide front porch was its only grace note. There was a detached garage on the near side, and she caught a glimpse of a swing set on the other side before they pulled to a stop. Chief Mann was leaning against his car, chatting with another man—tall, blond, and bony, with a tidy mustache and old jeans. No shirt, no shoes, nice chest. He looked about thirty. Had to be a lupus, but not the one she'd come to see. "Shit," Cullen said. "What?" She paused with her hand on the door handle. "That's Brady, the local sociopath. Timms—" "What?" Timms snapped. "Brady's nuts, but he knows how to hold a grudge. If he can't get you now, he'll get you later, and he thinks an eye for an eye isn't nearly enough. Don't insult him." "I'm a federal agent. He'd better be polite to me." Cynna shook her head. "So does testosterone make fools of you all. Behave, or at least be quiet." Cullen cocked an eyebrow. "You've read Shakespeare?" "Hey, I'm not illiterate. No warnings for me?" "You're a woman. His expectations will be different. But if he asks you for sex and you turn him down, do it with regret." She snorted and opened the door. FOURTEEN CHIEF Mann turned to nod at her, still leaning casually against his car. "Brady, this is the federal agent I was telling you about. Agent Weaver, this here's Brady Gunning. He's the brother of the deceased." "I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Gunning." "Randall's no loss to me. Couldn't stand the bastard." He gave her a thorough once-over. "I never saw anything like you before. What are you?" "An FBI agent." Cullen and Timms got out. "And this is—" "My, my. Cullen Seabourne, and on Leidolf land." Now he smiled.

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Nasty, she thought. Maybe Cullen hadn't exaggerated. "I'm here to speak with your father, Mr. Gunning." Gunning's head turned toward her slowly, as if he were reluctant to take his eyes off Cullen. But he didn't look angry. Instead, his face was snake-empty. A second later he'd slipped on a smile, as if remembering that was what people did. "But does he want to speak with you?" "Why don't we find out?" She started for the porch. He stepped in front of her, moving a little too fast for a human. His smile was warmer now, frankly sexual. "I didn't hear you say 'pretty please,' pretty lady." She raised her brows. He was a full head taller than her, which was unusual and annoying. Made it hard to look down her nose at him. "It's my understanding that this property belongs to your father, Mr. Gunning. Not you." "So?" "So I don't need your permission." She stepped aside to go around him. "Hedoes." Gunning didn't look at Cullen, but it was obvious who he meant. "He needs my permission to go on breathing." "Brady," Chief Mann said mildly, "you see anyone here who isn't shaped like a human?" "I smell something that—" "The law doesn't take account of what you smell." He straightened, moving away from the car. "You remember that. Agent Weaver, is this one of your people?" He nodded at Cullen. Great. If she said no, she could ditch Cullen now… leaving him out here with a sociopath who didn't like the way he smelled. "Mr. Seabourne's a consultant." Chief Mann sighed. "Wish you'd told me about him ahead of time. Let's go see if Victor's up for company." He headed for the house. Cynna and the others fell in behind him. She was conscious of the blond lupus standing perfectly still, watching them with those dead-empty eyes.Stone killer , she thought—the kind that scared her worst, because you couldn't handle them, reason with them, get on their good side. They didn't have one. She told herself that big, tough FBI agents didn't break out in a sweat when they walked within grabbing distance of death. But death reached for Cullen, not her. Only Cullen wasn't there. She'd never seen anyone, human or lupus, move that fast. She wasn't sure she'd seen it now. Cullen stood three feet away, smiling. "No touching, Brady. You're not my type."

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"From what I hear, anything's your type, if it stands still long enough," Gunning said. "Stay away from the dogs while you're here." Cullen kept smiling. "Vesceris corpi." Gunning lunged for him. It was like trying to track a hummingbird. Cullen slid aside so fast he seemed to teleport. "You want to Challenge, Brady?" "Boys," Chief Mann said from the porch, "I don't think Victor would appreciate your squabbling right now." Cullen looked at him incredulously. Gunning spat in the dirt. "I don't Challenge a cow turd if I accidentally step in one. I just scrape it off my boot." He turned and stalked off. Cynna remembered to breathe. The manly Mann had gone up in her regard. "Think Gunning will try something?" Timms sounded hopeful. No doubt the possibility of shooting something cheered him up. "Oh, yeah," Cullen said. "But not here and now. Too many witnesses." "Come on," Cynna said, starting for the house. As Cullen fell into step beside her, she muttered, "Be polite, he says. Don't insult the crazy man. Remind me to kick your ass later." "Sure. Did you say kick, or lick?" "Maybe I'll do it now." That was just talk, of course. This wasn't the time for ass-kicking. Or for questions, and she was accumulating a goodly pile of questions for Cullen Seabourne. As they reached the porch she caught the tune Timms was whistling: "The Battle Hymn of the Republic." Just the thing to endear him to Southerners. Maybe she should shoot them both. The porch was painted, wooden, and empty. "Sorry about that," she said to the chief. "I didn't realize my consultant had a history with Gunning." Chief Mann pressed the doorbell. Dimly she heard it chime inside the house. "You want to watch out for that Brady," he told her seriously. "He's a bit wobbly." A bit? "As for you," Mann said to Cullen, "I don't know who you are, but I don't want you provoking Brady anymore." It was one of those man-to-man moments, with Cullen and the chief holding each other's gazes without speaking. Cynna could almost smell the testosterone. She knew Cullen was about to say something flip

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and insulting, and then she really would have to hurt him. Instead, he asked, "You the sheriff?" "Chief of police." He nodded. "I'll do my best not to make your job harder, Chief." Huh. Who would have guessed Cullen could actually show some respect? The door opened. The middle-aged woman who stood there wore her dark hair short, her June Cleaver dress belted, and flip-flops on her feet. Her voice went with her expression—soft and sad. "Hello, Chief. Did you wish to speak with Victor?" He nodded. "Brought someone who needs to talk to him." The woman gave Cynna a disinterested glance, let her gaze linger a bit on Timms—and then she saw Cullen. Her eyes widened. "Oh, my." "Hello, Sabra," Cullen said gently. "It's been awhile." "I… yes." Her hand flew to her chest and fluttered there uncertainly. "Yes, it has. Uh… come in. I'll let Papa know you're here." They were left standing in a large foyer while Sabra retreated down the hall, her flip-flops slapping the wooden floor. A staircase faced the door; on the right a closed door suggested a coat closet. On the left an arched opening led to the living room they hadn't been invited into. Everything was very clean and about sixty years out of date. Cynna was getting a real lost-in-the-fifties feeling. She turned to Cullen, keeping her voice low. "She's Victor's daughter? "One of three. The youngest girl married out—caused quite a fuss. The oldest one died several years ago. Suicide." Chief Mann shook his head. "If you're thinking of Marybeth; she was Victor's sister, not his daughter. Happened better'n twenty years ago, and Marybeth was over forty when she died. Sad story. She drove herself onto the train tracks one night, then just waited for the train." "Sounds like I had some of the details confused," Cullen said. "I'm surprised you've heard about it." Cullen smiled. "We're great gossips. Talk about each other all the time." Cynna gave him a curious look. Cullen had many faults, but his memory was excellent. Shouldn't he have known how many children the Leidolf Rho had had? Seemed like that was the sort of thing all the lupi would keep track of. Cullen didn't notice her quizzical glance. He was looking at the wall. "I'll be right back," he said suddenly

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and reached for the door. "Wait a—" Too late. He was gone. Some consultant he was, taking off like that. If he didn't… A board creaked on the stairs. She looked up. A young woman—really young, Cynna thought, maybe late teens—descended slowly, holding on to the rail. Her smile was shy, her eyes blue, her hair a soft brown. She wore low-slung jeans with a snug blue sweater. Interesting fashion choice, considering she was at least seven months pregnant. Didn't all that exposed belly get cold? "Merilee. Aren't you supposed to be resting?" Cynna jumped. The man who'd spoken had come up the hall so silently she'd had no idea he was there. Victor Frey looked more like a professor than a tyrant. Maybe it was the old sweater with leather patches at the elbows, or the wrinkled slacks. He was tall—well over six feet—and skinny, with bony wrists and big hands. The girl smiled down at him uncertainly. "I wasn't sleepy." Sabra came up behind her father. "I could use some help in the kitchen, Merilee, if you're feeling up to it." "Of course." She finished her descent at the same careful pace. Victor watched her as if he weren't sure of her balance. He'd probably been as golden as his wobbly son when he was younger, but his hair had faded to white-streaked straw. His eyes were the pale blue of a winter sky, and his face bore a friendly assortment of lines. Right now, the lines drooped with weariness, and he looked older than the sixty Rule had mentioned. Grief can do that. "You doin' all right, Merilee?" Chief Mann asked. "I'm okay." Now that she was closer, Cynna could see that the girl's eyes were red and puffy. "Half the time I can't believe he's gone. He'd be… he was so proud…" Her hand went to her swollen stomach, and her lip quivered. "Come on, sugar," Sabra said, putting an arm around the slim shoulders. "Staying busy helps, and I've got a bushel of apples that need to be peeled." As the two women left down the hall, Victor Frey turned to the chief. "I thought we covered everything yesterday, Robert. What now?" "I'm just here to introduce you to this young lady. Agent Cynna Weaver." He nodded at her. "She and Agent Timms are with the FBI, and they believe it was a demon killed your boy. She needs to talk to you."

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The door opened, and in came Cullen. Victor Frey's face went from tight to furious. "What the—" "Accipiaris in pace," Cullen said. The old man looked at him a long moment. The anger didn't so much drain out as get packed up, put away. He smiled a hard little smile. "Accipio in pace. I didn't expect to ever see you on Leidolf land again." "Life confounds us all," Cullen murmured. "I'm helping our lovely demon hunter—who, by the way, is also the chosen apprentice of the Nokolai Rhej, though not yet formally installed." Several heartbeats passed while Cynna considered once again the need to kick Cullen's butt. He had no business revealing that. Finally Victor spoke, his tone precise, though his words were oblique. "She's an FBI agent." Cullen smiled. "Life confounds us all." Victor turned his attention to Cynna. "Agent Weaver." There was an old-world courtliness to his nod that somehow suggested a bow. He barely glanced at Timms. "Agent Timms. Excuse me for failing to greet you right away." "No problem."- Dammit, Lily would've known how to talk to this guy, how to use the formal courtesy his manner seemed to require. Cynna didn't. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Frey." He nodded again. "Our Rhej will wish to meet you. Perhaps after you've fulfilled your official duties, you'll visit her." He gestured at the living room. "We might as well be comfortable. May I offer you something to drink?" "No, thanks." "I won't be staying, Victor," Chief Mann said. "You let me know if I can do anything to help, though." "Thank you. Ah… Agent Weaver?" He waved again at the arched doorway. The living room was huge, maybe twenty feet by thirty, with an oversize stone fireplace and three big windows that let in what was left of the daylight. It held two couches, a love seat, a piano, and an assortment of chairs. Overall, the decor looked straight out ofLeave It to Beaver . Cynna sat in a big, square armchair upholstered in a nubby beige fabric. "Mr. Frey, I know this is a difficult time for you. I'll try not to take long. I mainly need permission to check out your land. There's a chance that the demon that killed your son is still around." The Leidolf Rho chose a wooden rocker about five feet away. It creaked gently as he sat. "You're very sure a demon killed Randall." He looked at Cullen, sprawled next to Timms on the closest couch. "Rule Turner's Chosen works for the FBI, doesn't she?" "Yes." Frey nodded and returned his attention to Cynna. "I don't mean to be rude, but I'm wondering about the

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designs on your skin." "I used to be a Dizzy. Now I'm FBI, but things I learned then will help me Find and deal with a demon, if there's one around." "There isn't." "I'll have to confirm that, I'm afraid. That young woman— Merilee—she's family?" "Not the way you would define it. She's carrying my son's child." Timms quivered with indignation. "She can't be old enough to—" "She's of legal age," Victor said without looking at him. "Is this what you wished to question me about, Agent Weaver? My grandchild?" Cynna gave Timms a quelling look and promised herself she'd check with the chief about the girl's age. "I'm told Randall was alone when he was attacked." "Randall likes—liked—to range for a while in wolf form most evenings. Sometimes someone goes with him, but last night he was alone. It apparently happened very quickly. He didn't…" His breath hitched almost imperceptibly. "He didn't have time to cry out, to call for help." "The attack took place on Leidolf land?" "Your consultant keeps you well-informed. Most people would have spoken of it as my land, since it's registered in my name. Perhaps you've begun learning our ways, even though you aren't formally apprenticed yet?" He was fishing, and she had to decide how to play this. Cullen could have let her in on his intentions ahead of time, dammit. Keep it simple, she decided—and the truth is usually simplest. But there was no need to offer a lot of details. "I know a little more than the average person, but not much. Think of me as ignorant and you won't go wrong. Was Randall attacked on Leidolf land?" "Yes. We're careful where we travel in wolf form." "Understandable. How did you learn about it?" "He was my heir. When he died, I felt it." His eyes, Cynna realized, were totally opaque. He moved slowly, like a man weighed down by grief; the very lines on his face seemed to sag beneath the emotion. But his eyes gave up nothing. "You may find that difficult to credit." "That's why she has a consultant," Cullen said. He looked at her. "That part's true. If a Rho loses his heir, he knows." Either Victor Frey didn't notice the innuendo in Cullen's phrasing, or he didn't care to react. He'd reverted to silent mode. Time for another question. "Did you smell the demon—try to track it? They have a distinctive odor, I'm told."

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His eyebrows lifted. He still didn't speak, just looked at her out of eyes that gave back nothing. "I'm not interested in arresting anyone for failure to report— too much paperwork for damned little result. Besides, it would piss you off, which would make my job harder." "A practical woman." His smile was small and tight. "I did follow a scent I didn't recognize that led away from the scene of the attack. Perhaps that was your demon. After a mile the trail evaporated. If there was a demon, it's gone." "I'm hoping you're right. Do I have your permission to search your lands to make sure?" He sat, thinking. The rocker creaked. "We are a private people," he said at last. "Nor have the authorities been our friends. But you'll get a warrant if I try to keep you out, won't you? Very well. You may look for your demon." "Thank you. Could I—" "Leave now." "What?" "Time to go," Cullen said, standing. "I'm not—" "Yes. You are." He took two steps, tugged her to her feet, put his hand over her mouth, damn him! And spun her to face the Leidolf Rho. Frey was sitting perfectly still in his rocker, yet she still heard it creaking. She blinked. His eyes were blank, giving up nothing, but his hands gripped the arms of the chair so hard the wood squeaked in protest. Shit. Cullen's hand fell away from her mouth. "Thank you," she told the paralyzed Rho again and let Cullen propel her from the room. Timms followed, glancing over his shoulder several times. "That was weird," she said, low-voiced, in the hall. "What—" "Shut up. He can still hear you." Cullen reached for the front door. "You're leaving?" Sabra said. Cynna jolted. The woman had ditched the flip-flops. Without them, she moved as quietly as a lupus. "Victor is unwell," Cullen said. "No, don't check on him. He's having some trouble balancing theheres valos ," Sabra glanced in the living room, paled, and turned and walked quickly back down the hall. Cullen grabbed the doorknob and dragged Cynna onto the porch—which was now occupied.

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FIFTEEN TWO men stood at either end of the porch. So did a pair of wolves. The men were bare-chested and held knives as long as her forearm. The wolves were big. Really big. Cullen's hand flashed, knocking Timms's hand away from his jacket. "Don't draw on them, fool. They'd kill you before you touched your weapon." Timms scowled. "I'm not going to—" "Do anything. Right. Good decision. These are the Rho's personal guard," he said, putting his hand on the small of Cynna's back and pushing. "They'd like us to leave now." "You've taken up mind reading?" she said, but she obeyed the urgent hand at her back. "No one needs to speak, you just know what we all want. Handy." He ignored her. Once they were off the porch and a few feet away, he looked up at the older of the two guards. "This woman has permission to search on your land. I'll accompany her, as we discussed." Was that why he'd ducked while they were waiting for Victor Frey? He must have heard the guards show up. What had he told them? The man he addressed was grizzled, just under six feet, and built like a pro wrestler. He was also the first nonwhite she'd seen, with skin the color of burnt toast. He gave a nod so small it might have been an optical illusion. "Very well, Nokolai whelp. The other man will leave. He won't be allowed back." "Excuse me," Cynna said. "You need to speak to me about that, not the Nokolai whelp. Your Rho gave permission for us to search for the demon. That includes Agent Timms." Dark brown eyes met hers. "I heard him. He gaveyou permission, not the FBI. That one"—he nodded at Cullen—"gave proper greeting and was accepted in peace. The Rho didn't restrict his guesting, so it's within my authority to allow him to accompany you. The human will leave." She sighed. "Timms, wait in the car. Just for now," she added before the protest forming on his face could erupt in words. "I need to consult with my consultant. Privately." She gave Cullen a lift of her eyebrows to askwhere . "Center of the meeting field," he said, nodding at the middle of the clearing. "If we keep our voices low, they shouldn't be able to hear us." "The human will leave," big, bad, and burly insisted. "Hey, there are two humans here. The one with the Y chromosome is named Timms, and your Rho didn't say anything about him one way or the other, so I think you're exceeding your authority by trying to kick him out. I'm considering a compromise. You do the same." "Themale human will leave." She rolled her eyes. "Temporarily. Timms—the car." Timms shot her a look fraught with meaning, but—lacking telepathy as she did—she had no clue what

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meaning. He did obey, so she and Cullen headed for their designated private area in full view. Maybe she could get through a few of the questions piling up. "What did you call him?" "Who?" "Gunning. You called him something in that bastardized Latin you use." "Is that what you wanted a private consult about?" "We're not private yet." She was sure the guards and their wolf comrades could still hear them. "True. The phrase translates literally aseater of corpses and implies taking a certain carnal pleasure in the act." "Jesus. You warn everyone else to play nice with the nutcase, then accuse him of some weird-ass version of necrophilia." "Brady can't hate me more than he already does." Her curiosity was itching fit to kill. She wanted to know when Cullen had been here before, what had happened, why the nutcase hated him, why he'd thought the long-ago suicide was Sabra's sister instead of her aunt. It wasn't nosiness… well, not entirely nosiness. If Brady was likely to come after Cullen while she was standing beside him, she should know that. But she'd have to sit on it for now. They'd reached the center of the field, and the light was fading. She stopped and faced him. What was left of the sunlight loved Cullen's face. It lingered on the crests of his cheekbones, played over his forehead, and tucked shadows around the contours. His lips looked like a sculptor's version of the sensual ideal. When he frowned in thought, the beauty of his face lent him an air of gravitas she knew was false. But oh, he was lovely to look at. She forgave herself for the little hitch in her breath. At least her voice stayed level, since she kept it low enough she barely heard herself. "What's wrong with Frey?" His frown deepened. "The Rhej has already shared one of our most closely guarded secrets with you, even though you haven't accepted her offer of apprenticeship. I'm taking that as permission. But you are not to speak of this, ever, with anyone outside the clans." "I made Timms wait in the car, didn't I?" Something occurred to her. "Lily's Nokolai, though. I can tell her." "Rule needs to know, so yes, tell her. But don't say much over the phone—just that Victor's having trouble with theheres valos ." "Keep going with that explanation." "I'll give you the short version, but bear in mind I'm oversimplifying. Part of a Rho's mantle is invested in

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the Lu Nuncio, or heir. If the heir—" "Wait, wait. Mantle?" • "The power that makes a Rho. When a Rho dies, the full mantle automatically descends on the heir, since he's already carrying part of it. Among other things, this protects the clan from death shock. But if the heir dies first, the Rho has to reabsorb theheres valos . That can be difficult, and grief makes it worse, but anyone who becomes Rho is a hardheaded son of a bitch. Normally they manage it okay." "But Victor isn't." "No. He must have invested more than the usual amount of the mantle in his heir." "Why would he do that?" "Ill health is the obvious reason." "I thought lupi didn't get sick." "You want the long explanation after all?" She glanced at the sky. The sun was out of sight, and the shadows were beginning to blend together. "Just tell me what the danger is with Victor." "He's likely to be testy." She rolled her eyes. "Testy? You hustled me out as if he were about to rip out my throat." "Testy enough to rip out the throat of anyone who seems a threat to his authority, male or female." "You're saying he's crazy. That thisheres valos makes him insane." That's what Rule had told her, long ago—that an adult lupus who attacked a woman was considered insane. But Rule had struck her. She hadn't thought that was possible in either of his forms.A slap isn't an attack , she told herself, but there was a tight, unhappy feeling in her stomach. "Or else the 'lupi don't hurt women' thing isn't true." "Rule's problem isn't the same as Victor's." "What?" He'd sounded kind. Cullen, kind? "That's what you were thinking about, wasn't it? Rule slapped you, so you're wondering if he's gone nuts or if he lied about lupi not hurting women." She scowled. What was the world coming to if Cullen Seabourne could turn perceptive on her? "I can't believe he told you. He felt so bad about it." "Of course he wanted me to know. Part of his hair shirt is exposing his shame. But like I said, Rule's problem is very different from Victor's. Victor is a tyrant at the best of times. Right now, he's only intermittently rational. There's nothing wrong with Rule's thinking—he just doesn't trust his wolf enough."

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"Maybe he has reason? It wasn't his human side that socked me." "He was injured. The wolf reacted to the pain you caused, but even with reason out of the loop entirely, he was careful with his strength. Or did you think a little slap is the way he'd respond to a real threat?" "Little?" she said, indignant. "You think it's okay to hit a woman as long as you don't damage her too much?" "No, I think you're deliberately misunderstanding me." She looked away. Her stomach still felt unhappy. She was making a big deal out of this and didn't know why. Time to change the subject. Over at the house, the guards—human and wolf—were watching them. "You heard the bodyguards show up. Why weren't they out front earlier? And why did you go talk to them?" He snorted. "I already knew they were around—Frederick's good, but the breeze wasn't with him." "That wasn't what I asked." He waved that off. "Personal business. Victor's a great believer in passing for human as much as possible, and knife-wielding toughs don't fit the image, so he kept them out of sight at first and had Sabra answer the door. I'm sure Merilee was supposed to stay in her room." "You heard her? Yes, of course you did. But I still don't get it. I knew Frey was a Rho. I was expecting guards." "Most humans don't even know the wordRho , much less what it means. He was expecting a regular FBI agent who'd buy the scene he set—a nice old man, grieving but handling it well enough. No threat. Then I showed up, and it turned out you might become the next Nokolai Rhej. Blew his stage-setting all to pieces. He kept to his role, but he'd lost control of the situation, and he knew it. When he realized he had to let you hunt on his land, he crashed. He's down to a fingernail's worth of sanity, and gnawing on that." "You could have warned me ahead of time about thisheres thing." "Am I a precog? I didn't know Victor was in trouble until we got here. Smelled it then, but that was a bit late for warnings." She thought of the way Frey's daughter had turned pale and left when she learned he was having trouble with theheres valos . "He's a danger to those around him." "We can't help them. What are you going to do about Timms?" She chewed on her bottom lip. If she served her warrant she could insist on Timms's presence, but that challenge to his authority might push Victor over the edge. "Who gets hurt if Victor goes round the bend? Us, or the people around him?" "Anyone. Everyone. It's impossible to predict." Great. "I'm going to do a full cast, see if the demon's anywhere near."

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"There's a node here," he warned her. "Keyed to Leidolf, so it's not usable by anyone else, and it's small. But we're standing close. Will that distort your cast?" "Shouldn't. If I don't pick up anything, we'll come back tomorrow, get someone to take us to the site of the attack. We don't have a description of this demon. Maybe it wasn't like the dead one, and that's why I can't Find it." "And if you do pick up something?" "We hunt." She glanced at the car. "All of us. Timms is an ass, but he's a top shooter and those things are hard to kill. I've got a spell that works, but it takes everything I've got. I'd like backup." "What am I, Swiss cheese? Alex and company won't let Timms out of the car." "Alex is the boss guard? Well, he might not like it, but what can he do?" "Kill us, if Victor tells them to." "So we don't tell Victor." "Alex will." Shit. This was why she didn't like being in charge. Sometimes there weren't any good options, and you had to pick one anyway. "Can you fire an M72 LAW?" "Does it have a trigger?" "Never mind. Are you armed?" "With my wits and charm. I hate guns." "But you can use one if you have to. Guess what? You have to. We've got an M-16 in the trunk, and it does have a trigger. What about your diamond?" "Not recharged yet." Yet? She mentally added one more question to the "when we're alone" list. "I'm going to do a full cast now." He nodded and turned his back on her. It wasn't rudeness. He was facing out while she faced in, watching her back so she could concentrate on her cast. That was one of the things she actually liked about Cullen. She didn't have to explain herself when it came to magic. He knew. Working magic typically requires three things: knowledge, focus, and power. Power could be innate, pooled with other practitioners, drawn from natural sources, or stolen—though that was dark magic, what most people thought of when they thought about sorcery. Focus was learned. Knowledge usually meant knowing the spell to be performed; with a Find, that meant using thekilingo for the target.

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With a quick cast, Cynna just had to give her attention to the object she sought. Doing a full cast meant putting a lot of power into her search. For that, she needed her focus crystal clear. She said a quick Our Father, bent, untied her shoes, and removed them and her socks. The ground was cold and prickly with dried grass. She closed her eyes and shook her arms until her fingertips tingled. She sent that tingling up her arms, down her spine, tracing the magic that coursed over her skin, attached yet never entirely still. Like fur, she thought, always ruffling a bit in the breeze. Some of the intricate tattoos stored spells. Those were thekilingo , and they took days or weeks to perfect and imprint, and would take at least as long to alter or remove. Most werekielezo , patterns lifted from something or someone she'd Found or might need to Find.Kielezo were much quicker to imprint, change, or remove. Thekielezo for the dead demon was on her right shoulder blade. The skin there felt tight with residual power from the cast she'd started in the car and never finished. She fed more power into it… and began to move. Only her feet at first. She flexed her knees and lifted one heel, then the other, keeping the balls of her feet earthed. Slowly, then faster, her heels thumped out a rhythm as old as Africa, letting it build, catching her power up into it and lifting the essence of thekielezo from her shoulder to thrum in the air all around her. Her arms began to lift, too—hip high, waist, chest. She breathed the pattern in. When her arms were over her head, with her heels still pounding the earth, she searched. And Found. Not an exact match, but the click of connection was unmistakable. She felt it in her stomach, her palms, the lifting of all the tiny hairs on her arms. Her eyes opened. She was facing the house. SIXTEEN "SHIT!" Cynna snatched up her tote and kicked into a run, not taking the time to put her shoes back on. "Where?" Cullen demanded, loping along easily beside her. "Where is it? How far?" "The house. It's in the house." "Can't be. Even if I didn't smell it when we were inside, Victor or his guards would have. Behind the house, maybe." "No. It's on the second floor." That's what made her so sure it was in the house—it wasthat way, and the right distance, and well above ground level. "The connection feels odd, but it's clear enough." "What kind of odd?" "Finding is kind of like tying a rope between me and what I've searched for. The texture of this rope is funny, a little like when I search for a living person and Find a ghost. But not exactly, and anyway, demons don't throw ghosts." "Maybe it's dashtu. That might explain… no, it wouldn't," he said, arguing with himself before she could.

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"I still smelled the one that chased me when it was dashtu." "You were chased by a demon? When? Where?" "Later. They aren't going to let us in." He kept pace with her even as he told her it was pointless. "They won't believe you. Demons stink. Even a human could smell one if you were close enough." "Maybe this one's using deodorant." "I'd have seen it. I think. If it were in someone, I should've seen it." "So maybe it's in someone you didn't see. Get Timms." "They for damned sure won't let him in. If that odd texture you mentioned…" His voice trailed away. He stopped. "Holy Mother." She stopped, too, though it made her twitchy. "What?" "I'm stupid. I'm a fool. There are humans in that house.We can't be possessed, but there are humans in that house." "Oh, God." She stopped and tossed him the car keys. "M-16 in the trunk." She took off running. He ran with her, damn him. "Go get a weapon!" she shouted. "And shoot who? It's in a woman!" The car door slammed. Timms started for them, .357 in one hand, submachine gun slung over his shoulder. "Get the dart gun!'' she called. He paused, spun, and went back for it. The guards, human and lupine, massed in front of the door. "Stop." That was the one with African blood. Alex. Boss guard. "You heard us, dammit!" She skidded to a halt at the steps. Her heart was pounding, and not from the short run.The back of the house. The demon is upstairs, at the back of the house. It can't hear us. It has only its human host's senses . "There's a demon inside. We need in. Now." "The Rho is resting. He's not to be disturbed." "He'll be damned disturbed if that demon gets hold of him!" Timms slid into place beside her. "What's going on?" She answered without taking her eyes off the guards. "The demon has possessed one of the women. That's why the lupi didn't sniff it out. Look," she said to the boss guard. "I'm Dizzy and a Finder. I know demons, and I know Finding. You've got a demon in the same house as your Rho, and there's a good chance it wants to kill him.She sent the demon, andShe may be trying to decapitate the clans."

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"She?" he repeated, brows snapping down in a scowl. "The Great Bitch," Cullen said. "The Lady's enemy." "You can prove this?" "Not from out here," Cynna snapped, "but I have holy water. If one of the women reacts to it, will you accept that as proof?" He thought about it longer than she liked, but at last nodded. "Wait here. I'll wake the Rho." "I need innow . I have the authority. If you don't—" Cullen put a hand on her arm, then said something Latin. At least she thought it was Latin. He spoke so softly she barely heard him. Boss Guard heard just fine. He looked at Cynna, astonishment mixing with skepticism, then back at Cullen. "AH right. Gary, go get her." One of the wolves—the one with reddish fur—leaped over the porch railing, landed on the ground, and hit high speed in a blink. "Where's he—" Boss Guard spoke right over her. "If you've lied, Nokolai—" "You'll pull me apart and feed me to the pups. Fine." Cullen leaped onto the porch without bothering with the steps. "Lead on," he told her. One hell of a leader she was. She should have planned for this possibility. Lily would have. She'd have to wing it. "Timms," she said, "we treat this as a hostage situation, only the hostage may try to kill us or take other hostages. We have to restrain her, not kill her. I want to surprise her if possible, so hang back, try not to let her see you. Be ready with the dart gun." And pray the dose they were using worked. "Cullen, burning things won't help. What else have you got?" "I'm more of a brute force kind of guy, but I do have a sleep charm." "Good. That's good. How long will it hold her under?" He shrugged. "It'll put a human to sleep for up to a week if left undisturbed, but I haven't tried it on a demon. And it has to be activated while touching her skin." Okay, the demon might not stand around quietly for that. "We may still need it. If Timms darts her, the anesthetic should have an effect, but we don't know how much, or how long it'll last." It was getting hard to stand still—this close to a target, the Find pulled at her. Boss Guard shook his head. "You aren't shooting anyone unless you prove she's possessed." "You'll have your proof. How many women are in the house?" "Three adults and two children."

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Oh, God. She hadn't thought of that. Never mindThe Exorcist; demons seldom possessed a child. Kids were too constrained by size, social roles, and the lack of a Visa to be much fun for them. But she'd already been wrong about this demon once. "Timms, if it's in a child, you can't dart her. That dose is for an adult." "If I don't dart her, how will we hold her long enough for an exorcism?" "We'll think of something." Oh, that was lame. She looked at Boss Guard again. "How many of you are coming with me?" "Me. David." He nodded at a man-shaped guard, then told the wolf to hold the door. "Okay. Keep in mind that she'll have demonic strength— more than you've got—but she won't be as fast as you." "If thereis a demon." He worried her. Doubt could make him hesitate, and hesitation could get him killed. But she didn't know what else to say. "Here's the plan. I Find her, splash her with holy water. She'll react in a way that proves she's possessed." Except that not all demons were hurt by holy water… but this demon matched the pattern of the one she'd killed. The poison from that one had definitely been affected by holy water, so the demon should be, too. Shouldn't it? Never mind. She didn't have time for second-guessing. "Soon as she reacts, I'll get out of the way." She shifted from foot to foot, wanting to get moving, to follow her Find. "If she's an adult, Timms darts her, and you big, strong lupi can finish subduing her, if necessary. Then Cullen puts a sleep on her." Boss Guard and Cullen exchanged a glance. "Well," Cullen murmured, "it does have the virtue of simplicity." Boss Guard grunted. "And if this alleged demon is in a child?" "There's three of us," Cullen said. "We might be able to hold her long enough for my charm to work." Or not, in which case… dammit, she couldn't think of any other options. Cynna took a deep breath, made the sign of the cross, pulled a vial of holy water out of her tote, and opened the door. No one in the entry, the hall, or on the stairs. She gave the living room a quick scan. Empty. Couldn't hear any voices, but music was playing upstairs—something longhair, with violins. She started up. The Find yanked hard now. She had to consciously mind her pace or she'd have sprinted up the stairs. Stealth , she reminded herself, and kept to the outsides of the risers, hoping to avoid any creaky spots. The music grew louder as she climbed but remained muffled. Someone was listening to it in a bedroom, she thought, and hoped it was the Leidolf Rho, and that he wouldn't pop out of his room to make trouble. Then she hoped even more he was alone in his room. Close. So close. Fourteen feet away, and up. Thirteen. Cynna gestured at those behind her: wait. She eased up the last few steps.

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The pregnant Merilee was in the middle of the hall that ran the length of the house. So was Victor Frey. She was bent over her big belly, hands braced on the wall, her sweater bunched up beneath her breasts, jeans and panties MIA. His pants hung at his knees, stopped in their descent by his spread legs. He was fucking her from the rear, quick and hard. Merilee turned her head and met Cynna's eyes. Her face was flushed, her mouth smiling, her eyes wild. She liked it. Typical damned demon. Cynna drew her arm back and pitched the vial. Frey saw her. His face contorted in rage, his hips kept pumping, and his hand flashed up—and caught the vial before it struck. Damned lupus reflexes! Cynna dug out another vial, dumped the tote, and raced down the hall. "Timms—dart her!" she cried, cursing herself for telling the others to stay back. "Frey, she's possessed! She—aw, shit!" Still smiling, still fucking, Merilee had twisted around impossibly to loop one arm around Frey's neck, and squeeze. Frey's eyes bulged. Vial in hand, Cynna threw herself into a tackle. And Cullen, who'd never heard an order he didn't disobey, hurtled right past her. He arrived first, ducking as Merilee swung at him with her free hand. He grabbed the arm clamped around Frey's throat and threw himself back, pulling all of them off balance. They'd just started to topple when Cynna collided with a confusion of legs. She glimpsed shaved skin on a shapely calf and smashed the vial against it. Merilee howled. A heavy weight landed on Cynna's back, smashing her to the floor. Her breath whooshed out. Someone yelled. Feet thudded down the hall. A sledgehammer hit the side of her head, and everything went black. SEVENTEEN THAT afternoon, Lily developed a deeper appreciation for the problems of working parents. Right after Cullen left, she did, too, heading for the Secret Service's headquarters on Murray Drive. She wanted everything they had on the perp they'd tagged for demonic dealings. She wanted copies of whatever they'd learned about Jiri and the others on the list Cynna had given her, too. She struck out. The two men she'd worked with still wouldn't tell her a damned thing, so she insisted on being passed up the food chain to the assistant chief muckety-muck. He made her wait, then made vague promises of cooperation, claiming he wanted to help but had to clear it "at the highest level" first. But his face and body language said he'd die and rot before he gave freaks like her and the others in the Unit one jot of information. She wondered if the presidential adviser would take her phone call, maybe goose the jerk a bit. Didn't hurt to try, she decided, so she called Ida on the way back to the row house, requesting the number. Ida

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wouldn't give it to her. So Lily wasn't in the best of moods when she headed back to the row house. Next up was a meet with the task force at five, and she wanted Rule there. They'd have questions about the lupi's ancient enemy andHer role in the demons sprouting up like spring flowers. Plus he needed to get the last of the poison removed, and at least two of the task force members should be able to handle that. But Toby was there—scrubbing the kitchen floor, at the moment, as penance. "I don't see why he can't come with us," she said for the second time. "To FBI headquarters." He was incredulous. "It's secure." "And what do you plan to do with him? You don't have an office to park him in—not that I'd recommend that, anyway. The number of things a kid his age can get into—" "Like an airplane, but he managed to get here okay, didn't he? He's a bright kid." "He's a bright eight-year-old. Last summer he decided to make a pair of wings modeled after da Vinci's sketches. I found out before he tested them, thank God." "Maybe we can find someone there to keep an eye on him while we talk to the task force." "Ruben, maybe?" "Very good." She nodded. "You don't have anything reasonable to say, so you use sarcasm." "Reasonable. You think it's reasonable to insist I leave my son—" "Have I once said you should leave him?" "—with strangers because you're determined to manage my life. You don't trust me to take care of my leg. You don't trust a solution you haven't come up with yourself, so—" "Waiting is not a solution!" That's what he'd suggested—that he wait until the bodyguards arrived to deal with his wound. "—you want to drag me with you and make sure it's done on your schedule." She flushed. "I do have other priorities, like trying to find out how these demons are being summoned and who's behind it. Plus the task force needs to know about the conclusions we've drawn and the goddess we don't name." "So go." She stared at him a long moment, then shoved her hair back with both hands. "Why are we arguing? Do you even know why? I don't." "I'm arguing because my hip hurts and I'm an ass. You're arguing because you're worried about me. And

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because I'm an ass." "At least there's a good reason." She went to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. He put his arms around her, too, and rested his cheek on the top of her head. Within a few breaths, they were okay again. "You didn't mention the other reason we were fighting," she said. "Which is… ?" "The way I turn into a control freak when I'm scared." "Oh, that. I was being tactful." She snorted. "If we don't—" The doorbell chimed. She repressed a sigh. The world never gave them much time before poking its nose in. "Guess we should see who that is." "We should," he agreed without moving. Feet thudded on the stairs. "I'll get it!" Toby called. "No, you won't," Rule said, disengaging and starting for the stairs. Lily headed for the door. "Have you told him what's going on?" "Not yet. I will as soon as I see who our caller is. Toby, go back upstairs." Lily didn't listen to the argument that followed. She'd applied her eye to the peephole again and received an even bigger shock than finding Cullen on her doorstep. After a stunned pause, she unlocked and opened the door. This time it was two women who stood there, both Chinese. One was middle-aged, plain, and wore a simple dark-blue pantsuit with a wool jacket. The other was old, tiny, and as proudly erect as a queen. Her black hair was winged with white and drawn into a ruthless bun; her dress was crimson and reached her ankles; her jacket was quilted silk of many colors. Lily sighed. "Grandmother. Of course you would show up now." "You are not moving aside so we may come in," Li Lei Yu pointed out severely. Automatically Lily complied. Grandmother brushed past. "Our bags are in the car. Your Rule Turner may see to them. Do you still have that cat?" Grandmother was using English instead of insisting Lily speak Chinese. No doubt that was meant to convey some sort of message, but Lily was in no mood to decode it. "Harry's around someplace. Grandmother, why have you—" "Not now," she said, giving the living room a disapproving eye. "Ugly. I suppose that is not your fault,

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however." Li Qin paused on the threshold to give Lily an apologetic smile. "The limousine driver can bring in the bags, Lily. Are you well?" "Mostly." She watched, resigned to her fate, as her grandmother seated herself on the sofa. Her feet didn't reach the floor. "I will need a footstool," the old woman announced, "but later. I have been in airplanes and airports for seventy-two hours. You have no Christmas tree." "We expected to go home for Christmas, so we didn't put one up. Grandmother—" "Your plans have changed? Ha! I am not surprised," she said darkly. "Later you will tell me. Now you may tell me where my room is. Li Qin will wish to go to her room, also. We have eaten. Abominable food, but we do not require a meal." Lily's conscience nipped at her. It was easy to forget that Grandmother wasold . She sat as erect as ever, but the skin around her eyes looked bruised with fatigue. But why exhaust herself so? Why had Grandmother cut her trip short and flown here instead of home to San Diego? "Upstairs," she said automatically. "Your room will be upstairs. But, ah, we weren't expecting you, and we have to—" "Madam Yu," Rule said, entering with Toby trailing behind. Toby hung back in the doorway while Rule crossed the room. He bent, taking the old woman's hand to press a kiss there. "You honor us. May I present to you my son, Toby Asteglio?" Grandmother gave an approving nod. "You may. You are Toby," she informed the boy. "You may greet me." Toby gave his father a panicky glance but came forward a few steps, offered a jerky little bow, and said, "Madam Yu. H-how do you do?" "I am well, thank you. Do you stay here, also?" He nodded uncertainly. "I wasn't supposed to, and I'm in trouble about it." "I will teach you to play mah-jongg. You will not enjoy it at first because I will win, but you will like it later, when you find players you can defeat. Lily." She turned imperious black eyes on her granddaughter. "I have much to say to you and Rule Turner, but I will rest first. Why are you not at work?" "I'm trying to work," she said dryly. "People keep showing up, expecting to stay here." A gleam of amusement brightened the tired eyes. Grandmother enjoyed being outrageous, but at least she knew she was doing it. Mostly. "You require a Christmas tree." Oh, Lord, she was right. With Toby here… "Maybe you'd like to take care of that for us." "I will call," she announced, as if making a great concession. "You want one with candy. Sugarplums. No Santas. I do not like Santas. Someone will deliver it." The painted eyebrows arched. "I think you have

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much to tell me." They shared a look of understanding affection. "As you say, later. I've an appointment I—" "Wehave an appointment," Rule said smoothly. "Madam Yu, I have a great favor to ask of you."

"SHE'S not a stranger," Lily said as she punched the elevator button. "But do you really feel good about leaving Toby with Grandmother?" Rule grinned. "He may consider it part of his punishment, but he's safe with her." She couldn't argue. Grandmother was a real tiger when it came to protecting children. Areal tiger. No one outside the family knew about that, of course… well, aside from two members of the Unit, and they would keep the secret. And even the family didn't know how Grandmother had come to possess her unique ability. She discouraged questions. Sure, there were stories of adepts in pre-Purge times who'd been able to take a beast form or curse someone into an animal's body. But who knew if those tales were true? The days of the adepts were long over. Today the only werebeasts were the lupi… and Grandmother. "I expect Li Qin will do any actual work," Lily said as they climbed into a little box already nearly full of people she didn't know. "You forget. She's going to teach him mah-jongg." She grinned. "That's a mark of high approval. She normally refuses to play with anyone not up to her standards." If Lily hadn't known him so well, she wouldn't have seen the tension in Rule's body. He didn't like elevators. He didn't like anyone noticing his discomfort, either, so she kept talking. "We should do something for Li Qin as a thank-you." "A vacation? Without your grandmother, that is." "Surprising as it may seem, Li Qin is devoted to Grandmother. I doubt she'd go. But Christmas is nearly here." "Yes, and it looks like we'll have family around for the holiday, after all. Not to mention a Christmas tree. With sugarplums." "But no Santas. I hope you realize you're paying for that. Grandmother will feel she's done more than her share by condescending to use the phone." "I certainly wouldn't let her pay for it. You need to call your mother." That had sure come out of left field. It took her a second to recover. "She'll just refuse to talk to me." The elevator doors opened on someone else's floor. Two men got off. "Then leave a message. You know better than most that we aren't guaranteed the time we think we need to mend fences with those

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we love." She stared at the closing doors. "Wrong time, wrong place. Nag me later." He lowered his voice. "You haven't told me what's wrong between the two of you. But does it matter? Does it matter as much as spending the holiday without speaking to her? She's difficult, but she loves you." Lily didn't answer. He meant well, but so did her mother. Every time she told Lily how she ought to be running her life, Julia Yu meant well. Almost every time. When Lily had desperately needed her support… "This is our floor," she said, as glad as Rule must be to escape the crowded elevator. Before she and Rule left San Diego, Lily had gone to her parents' house to say goodbye to her father and her younger sister… and to apologize to her mother. She owed her that much, though she'd known damned well she'd get no apology in return. She'd managed two out of three. Her mother hadn't been home. Five weeks ago Lily and her younger sister had both been in the emergency room. Lily had been injured physically; Rule was missing and presumed dead, and Lily's Gift had been reft from her. She'd needed her mother, and Julia Yu had come… to hover over her youngest daughter and blame Lily for everything. "Your sister could have been killed! And why? Because of him! Him and your job, the stupid job you insisted on, no matter how many times I told you I didn't like it. And now you've brought hurt to your family, you and that—that wolf man you're sleeping with. I'm glad he's dead! I—" That's when Lily had slapped her. "Lily," Rule said. Yanked back to the present, Lily noticed the woman hurrying toward them—fortyish, with dust-colored hair, glasses, and a bright pink shirt straining over generous breasts. Sandy McPherson was an analyst in data collection with a wicked sense of humor, and one of the few people Lily knew in Headquarters. "You sleepwalking?" Sandy said. "I called you twice." "Sorry. What's up?" "Ida is looking for you." "Is it urgent?" Lily glanced at her watch. "We're due in a meeting in two and half minutes." "She didn't say, but…" Sandy shrugged. "It's Ida." "Right." Ruben's secretary wasn't likely to make a fuss if it wasn't important. "Thanks, Sandy." "You can thank me by introducing me to the sexiest man I've ever seen." She was looking at Rule with a familiar expression on her face. Lily grinned. "Mine."

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"I can still drool, can't I? You're Rule Turner. Not only can I read your visitor's badge, I read the gossip mags, and… no, better not go there. I'm supposed to be somewhere myself as of…" She checked her own watch. "Twelve minutes ago." "It's good to almost meet you, Sandy," Rule said. She grinned, sighed, and bustled off down the hall. They headed for the next intersection in the maze, took a left, and arrived at Ida's lair. Ida was speaking into her headset, tapping away at a keyboard, and passing a file to the woman standing by her desk. "Take that in to Ruben," she said without missing a keystroke. The other woman hurried to the door on the far wall. Lily waited a moment, but Ida didn't look up. "Cynna suspects she's an alien," she whispered, "but I think she has three brains. Has to, to multitask that way." "I heard that," Ida said without looking away from the screen, adding—presumably into the headset—"You're booked on the 4:30 flight. Yes. I'll ask. For now, use the Morrison ID." "She also has supernaturally keen hearing," Lily said in a normal voice. "I can't figure out why I don't get a buzz of magic from her." "Call Jules. No, not yet—I'll let you know when we do. All right. Goodbye." Ida stopped typing long enough to remove her headset. She spared Lily a glance. "The report you wanted is in the blue folder. I thought you might need it before your meeting." "And she's supernaturally quick with flashes of omniscience." Lily picked up the folder. "Thanks, Ida." "You've got thirty seconds to make it to the conference room." Lily hurried. "Friendly soul," Rule said. "Maybe not, but she's devoted to Ruben and the Unit—" "How can you tell?" "—and she's got a better memory than my computer. You're miffed because she didn't drool." "I don't expect drool. A glance, maybe, some hint of awareness… Do you think she's a robot?" Lily grinned and pushed open the door. They walked in on a fierce argument. Sherry O'Shaunessy was stabbing her finger in the air at a man Lily didn't recognize, who scowled back at her. The archbishop was nowhere in sight. Sherry didn't look like either of Hollywood's versions of witches—the cackling crone or the nubile young Wiccan. Aside from the hair, that is. Her hair flowed in a gray and silver cascade to her hips, held out of her face by a silver headband. Otherwise she might have been someone's suburban grandma: short,

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chubby, with rosy cheeks and blue eyes set off by plenty of smile lines. She wore tailored slacks and a sky-blue twinset. Not that she was smiling now. The object of her stabbing finger was a man of about forty: skinny, wide mouth, rimless glasses, and thick eyebrows. Japanese or Korean descent, probably; wrinkled white dress shirt, conservative haircut, no tie, brown slacks. The third person in the room, Dr. Xavier Fagin, wore cargo pants—an interesting sight on a man of his age and girth—a black T-shirt, and a tweed jacket. His white hair poked up in all directions like dandelion fluff. He was leaning back in his chair, fingers laced together over a comfortable paunch, smiling on the others like an aging hippie, still stoned after all these years. "We can't possibly accept the Dante Protocols as the basis for inter-realm transcorporation," the unknown man insisted. "Its provenance is riddled with flaws. Flaws and outright deception." The high priestess threw up both hands. "Then where do we start? Because we have to make a start. Xavier…" She turned to Dr. Fagin. "We have company," the professor said mildly. Sherry blinked, then smiled at them. "Sorry. We get intense. Since you're Lily," she said, her gaze flicking between them, "you must be Rule." He gave her back a smile. "I am. And you must be Sherry O'Shaunessy. Though we haven't met, I've heard of your beauty." Rule could get away with saying things like that because he meant them. Lily wasn't sure what his standards for beauty were, but they didn't match with the usual ones. Maybe he just found women beautiful, period. Dr. Fagin unlaced his lingers and pushed to his feet, holding out a hand. "Rule Turner? Pleased to meet you, sir, and glad you survived last night's encounter. I'm Xavier Fagin." The older man kept right on talking as they shook. "One of our members is absent—Archbishop Brown—but he should rejoin us shortly. You've now met Sherry, who insists on calling me by my first name when everyone else calls me Fagin… among other, less repeatable things. Sherry's co-combatant is Hikaru Ito. Ms. Yu, you won't have met him, either. He arrived this afternoon." The name was Japanese, as were his features—second generation, probably. No accent, but a traditional first name. Rule turned to Ito, smiling. "I've read your book on substitu-tionary symbology." Ito was still simmering over inter-realm transcorporation, but he made an effort ta be civil. "Have you, now. And what did you think?" "That it was way over my head. I passed it to a friend of mine who understands the lingo." "And did he offer an opinion?" Ito's tone made it clear he doubted that anyone Rule knew could have understood his work.

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"He called you brilliant but misguided." Ito snorted. "That's better than many of my critics will concede. Fagin thinks I'm—" "Brilliant but misguided," Fagin said, chuckling. "About the Pythagorean linkage, that is. Liked what you did with Hambly's translation. Neat. Very neat. Dr. Ito," he added with a sleepy smile aimed in Lily's direction, "is a symbolist, specializing in prophecies." Lily had no intention of letting the handshaking part of the introductions lag. Several people had summoned demons. It would be a bitch if one of the perps turned out to be on the task force. She held out her hand. "Pleased to met you, Dr. Ito. You've worked on Nostradamus's prophecies as well, I think?" He looked surprised but accepted her hand. "My one and only attempt at writing for the popular market. Didn't sell well, I'm afraid." The tingle of magic was very faint, almost nonexistent. Lily dropped his hand and turned to Sherry, smiling. "We didn't exactly meet earlier. I'm glad you're here." She extended her hand. Sherry's eyebrows lifted. "Checking us out?" "Any reason I shouldn't?" "You sound like a cop." But that was observation, not complaint. Sherry took Lily's hand. Good grip; the magic was strong, cool, flowing—a major water Gift. No trace of the demonic. Lily released the woman's hand just as the door opened. It was Archbishop Brown, looking intense. Lily suspected that was his usual expression. "I've cleared my calendar for two days," he said abruptly. "That's as much as I can… oh. Hello, Ms., ah… sorry. I've forgotten your last name." "Lily Yu," she said, moving forward and holding out her hand. "And this is Rule Turner. Rule, Archbishop Brown." "Call me Patrick." The cleric's grip was firm, his palm dry. No magic. He gave Rule a sharp glance. "You're the Nokolai prince." "Heir," Rule said mildly. " 'Prince' is the press's term, and not particularly apt." He nodded once. "The press gets most things wrong. I've some questions for you about the demon you encountered." "I have questions for you, too," Lily said. The archbishop was possibly the foremost demonologist in the Catholic Church. "Dr. Fagin?" She held out her hand again. "Clean sweep, eh?" He wiggled his eyebrows as if she'd suggested something naughty. "Why not?" His palm was wide, the knuckles prominent. There was enough coarse hair on the back of his hand and fingers to have gotten him in trouble fifty years ago, when people still believed werewolves sprouted extra hair, even in human form.

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She took it. For a split second she felt nothing, then magic itched along her palm. Which was weird. She'd never had any sort of delayed read before. What— Dr. Fagin's eyes rolled back in his head. He toppled slowly, like an old elm. EIGHTEEN RULE grabbed Fagin on the way down, easing him to the floor. He looked over his shoulder at Lily. "You're—?" "Fine." She knelt beside the fallen man, reaching for his neck to check the pulse. Sherry grabbed Lily's arm, aborting the gesture. "Don't. He collapsed when you touched him." Lily frowned over her shoulder at the woman. "It wasn't me. Sensitives can't do magic—black, benign, or anywhere in between." Ito fidgeted beside Rule. "We should call someone. Call for help." "No… no need." Fagin blinked up at them. "My. I'd wondered if that would happen." "What?" Lily snapped. Anxiety tended to piss her off. "Yes, Xavier," Sherry said. "What did happen?" "Backlash. I'm a sensitive, too, you see." After a beat of silence, Lily said quietly, "I've never met another sensitive." "We are rare, aren't we?" He sat up, brushing aside the archbishop's protests. "No, no, I took no harm at all, thanks to Mr. Turner's quick action. Fascinating!" He sounded as pleased as a kid with a new video game. "I remained aware, you see, merely stunned, rather like having my breath knocked out. Ms. Yu, perhaps we could touch again, see how long it takes for the dissonance to—" "No," Rule said. "I don't think so," Lily said. Ito frowned. "Is this appropriate? Our time is—" "Fagin!" the archbishop snapped. "Pay attention! You can play with dissonance when the fate of the world isn't hanging in the balance." "Of course." He looked sheepish. Sherry spoke quietly. "We've known each other for years, yet you never told me you were a sensitive." "No one knows," he said simply. "Lily understands, I'm sure. It's so tempting to put us to use. Not that I think you would have done so," he said kindly to Sherry. "But silence becomes a habit. Would someone give me a hand up?"

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Rule did that. The old man's scent made him think of soda crackers and cream cheese: sweet and salty mixed. No whiff of fear. "Well." Fagin smiled vaguely at them. "I believe this is my coming-out party. I should have warned you, but I do love a surprise, and I wished to test my theory. I didn't realize how dramatic the results would be." Rule was not happy, "Lily could have ended up on the floor instead of you." "Oh, no. Evidence—anecdotal, but sufficient—indicated hers was the greater Gift, though I didn't realize how much greater. You are quite amazing, my dear." Lily didn't look flattered. "So what happened?" "Why, our Gifts duked it out, and yours won." "Is that supposed to be an explanation?" Sherry asked dryly. "Come, Sherry, you aren't thinking. You know what makes the sensitive Gift unique, don't you? It cannot be controlled in any way." "Telepaths can't control their Gift, either," Ito said. "Or they wouldn't go insane so often." "Fernando Baccardi, Ito?" Fagin's eyebrows bounced up and down. "Yes, I see you know what I mean. Baccardi was a telepath in the last century," he explained to the others, "who remained stable well into his forties because he could dial his Gift down. His ability supports my thesis that, before the Codex Arcanum was lost, it was possible to erect psychic blocks or shields." "Actually," Lily said, "that's still possible." "Is it? Is it, indeed?" His expression was all astonishment, but the eyes beneath those bushy eyebrows turned sharp. "I hope you'll tell me more about that later. For now, I attempt to cling to the subject at hand. As I was saying, my Gift and Lily's cannot be controlled—not consciously or unconsciously, not by ourselves or any outside agency. Intriguing, isn't it? In addition, sensitives are said to be completely impervious to magic. That's obviously not true, sen—" Lily broke in. "Wait a minute. What do you mean?" "We know when we touch magic, don't we? We may even know what kind of magic we're touching—you do, I suspect… yes?" He was pleased by her nod. "I can't always tell, myself. Still, this makes it clear there is some slight interaction between what we touch and our own magic, yet we remain untouched ourselves, so to speak. I've devised two models to explain this. First, we may possess a sort of permeable film of magic overlying an impenetrable core. The interaction would take place in that film. Second, we might be absorbing a tiny bit of power from whatever we touch and transmuting it, making it purely ours." Lily frowned. "Transmuting it, not blocking it?" "You see the difference, don't you? I'll confess I'd favored the first model, but my reaction today tends to support the second one."

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The archbishop shook his head. "Fagin, try to remember that not all of us are familiar with your field." "Of course. Sorry. If the transmutation model is accurate, when I touch someone who possesses a fire Gift I suck up a tiny bit of fire magic and turn it into my own type of magic. I affect it—it doesn't affect me. You can see why I preferred the other model." "This one raises as many questions as it answers." "Just so. Yet when I touched Lily, it seemed that my Gift tried to take in a bit of hers and couldn't, because hers is so much stronger. My power snapped back at me like a rubber band." He beamed at her. "What was it like for you?" Rule bent his head closer to hers to murmur, "It was good for me. Was it—" The quick pinch on his ass stopped him, as she'd meant it to. It also made him grin. She pretended not to notice. "Static. As if music was playing, but I couldn't get the station tuned in." "Ah! So my—but no. I'm so easily moved to digressions! Let us sit down, and perhaps you will tolerate a few questions." There were more than a few questions, and they ranged all over the place. Had either of them experienced any unusual sensations or thoughts during the demon's attack? What did the demon's poison feel like now? How much holy water had Cynna used? How strong would Lily rate the power wind? Did she associate it with a color? A sound? Had Rule smelled anything when it hit? Why did the lupi not name this so-called goddess? What kind of powers were attributed to Her? How did they know Her avatar had been eaten by a demon prince? Some answers were simple. They didn't name the goddess because names held power, and She might be drawn to the namer. Cynna had used about six ounces of holy water. The demon's poison felt, to Lily's touch, like a rotted orange. Other answers took longer, and some they simply couldn't give. When the others weren't asking questions, they were arguing about what the answers meant. At least, three out of four of them argued; Fagin looked on, a dreamy Buddha contemplating the is-ness of being, or maybe a nap. Rule grew twitchy as the discussion dragged on. The wolf was bored, and his hip hurt. Not with the sharp pain of a fresh wound, but a tired sort of ache, as if the muscle were weary of the battle going on inside it. He was getting hungry, too; healing burned calories like crazy. The wolf didn't see the humans as food—only the feral or the very newly Changed lost their humanity to that extent—but he wanted to explore, even if he couldn't hunt. Rule glanced at the door for the second or third time. "Uh-uh," Lily whispered, leaning close. "If I can't escape, neither can you. Kind of like being around triplet Cullens, isn't it?" "At least none of them are burning anything," he murmured.

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The human in him recognized the method beneath the apparent disorder, however. Fagin might claim to be prone to digression, but he let the others have only enough time to see if a debate was going anywhere productive, then sighed and, professing regret at the necessity, pulled them back on topic. Which apparentlywas the fate of the world. When Lily asked, it turned out that all four of them did agree on one thing: the world teetered on the cusp of great change. Ito saw that change in terms of various prophecies; Sherry spoke of a trembling in her bones and a vision experienced by a member of her coven. The archbishop simply agreed that if the power winds continued, the level of magic in the world would rise. And that could change everything. Fagin grounded his explanation in his own specialty. "There are two schools of thought concerning pre-Purge history. The first school, accepted by the majority of the Western world, holds that early accounts of great magical events and abilities were the product of propaganda, exaggeration, hysteria, and superstition. Yet many of those accounts come from men who were hardly charlatans or credulous fools." "It's the winners who write history," Sherry said. He awarded her a delighted smile. "Precisely. Those who conducted the Purge were the winners, and their view is enshrined in our culture. We teach it to middle school students and expound upon it in countless doctoral theses." Ito snorted. "It's not the first time a lot of crap has been taught at Harvard." Sherry's eyes twinkled. "Hikaru, don't you teach at Harvard?" "That's how I know." Fagin nodded at Lily. "You've undoubtedly guessed that some of us do not share the accepted view. We believe there was once much more magic in the world, and that the failure of magic to deliver as it once had caused the Purge." "You're right," Rule said quietly. "Ah!" The bushy brows drew down in the first frown Rule had seen on the man's face. "I've heard that your people have a particularly vital oral history. One you don't share with outsiders." "True on both counts." Fagin regarded him a moment. "I may attempt to change your mind about that, but later. Interesting, isn't it, that your Mr. Brooks assembled his task force from academics and practitioners who don't subscribe to the conventional wisdom about the Purge?" Lily leaned forward. "So what do you unconventional thinkers think?" "Basically that during the sixteenth century the quantity of available magic began to decline. Perhaps people depleted it, just as any natural resource may be depleted. Perhaps the decline was part of a purely natural cycle, an ebb and flow of magic that produces occasional barren periods, just as the

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cyclical nature of global temperatures results in periodic ice ages. That is my own theory." "Or perhaps," Ito said, "when the Codex Arcanum was lost or destroyed, it took much of the world's magic with it." Fagin smiled. "And that is Ito's theory, based on his interpretation of Nostradamus. In any case, what we are seeing now suggests that our magical ice age is drawing to an end." For a moment no one spoke. Rule thought about the power grid, the stock market, the banking system… air traffic control. The Internet. Cars. Buses. Medical technology. Laboratories. All of them vulnerable to sudden surges of magic. "How well does silk insulate against magic?" It was Sherry who answered, her voice soft. "Not well enough." No one spoke for a moment. Then Ito scraped his chair back. "I'm sorry to leave, but my wife is flying here to join me, and I need to pick her up." Lily checked her watch. "It's later than I thought. If you're through with me for now, I'd like to see if Ruben's still here. I need some help prying information out of the Secret Service." "I don't think he goes home much." Fagin pushed his chair out. "I'd like a word with him myself. Shall we hunt him up? We can compare notes on our mutual Gift on the way." She looked at Rule. She didn't say a word. He knew what she wanted. He sighed. "About the poison…" "Yes." Sherry's frown was sharp. "We need to talk about that. Patrick?" Lily touched Rule's shoulder lightly, then rose. "Have you ever touched a magic that seemed—well, evil?" she was asking Fagin as the door closed behind them. Rule soon decided he might as well have left with Lily. Sherry and the archbishop didn't seem to require his presence. Patrick Brown paced, paused, threw up his hands. He spoke of souls, demonic intrusion, and quasi-magical energies, while Sherry just kept talking, wearing away at the man's arguments the way water wears away stone. After five or ten minutes of that, Rule agreed with his wolf. He'd sat here long enough. Abruptly he stood. "I'm going in search of vending machine calories and some of the sludge they call coffee here. Would either of you care to risk your stomach lining on a cup?" Sherry chuckled. "I don't heal as well as you do. No, thanks." The churchman stopped moving and grimaced. "We've ignored you. Sorry. I get caught up… but I have a question for you. You said the holy water caused pain. How much?" "Like cauterizing a wound." His eyebrows shot up. "Have you experienced that? Never mind—none of my business. A high level of pain, then." He didn't look happy about that. His eyes flicked to Sherry. "How quickly can you call a coven?"

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"Maybe by tonight. Tomorrow night at the latest. We won't need to work full-coven, and my healer is a local." He nodded reluctantly. "Then I'll defer to your technique. We'll try my method if yours doesn't work as well as you expect." "That's what I've been saying." She was brisk as she reached into the large purse by her chair and pulled out her phone. "I'll start calling." "Wait a minute," Rule said. "You're calling a coven? Isn't that overkill?" Her gaze lifted to him. "It may have sounded like Patrick and I can't agree on the color of the sky, but we do agree about one thing. It is vitally important to get that poison out of you as soon as possible." "Most of it's already gone, and more holy water—" "Is unlikely to work on its own," the archbishop said. "I'm surprised it worked at all, frankly. You must have a great deal of trust in the woman who used it, and she must possess a great deal of faith." "Cynna?" Rule hoped he didn't sound as incredulous as he felt. "Holy water does have some intrinsic power, but it's slight. Mostly it acts as a conduit for faith. Since you aren't Catholic, her faith would have to be unusually strong for the holy water to affect the poison." Rule hadn't really adjusted to the idea of Cynna being Catholic. That she might be truly fervent unsettled him. "Why wouldn't more holy water eliminate the poison entirely?" Not that he was crazy about the technique. He'd probably have to be held down—a humiliating prospect—and that required lupus strength, which meant a delay until his bodyguards arrived. But at least it would be quick. "It's complicated." The man frowned, tapping his fingers against his thigh. "We've been calling the substance in your wound poison, but that's misleading. It's actually a bit of the demon itself—a demonic artifact, or intrusion." "That's why it's important to remove it as soon as possible," Sherry said, holding her phone to her ear. Rule could hear it ringing on the other end. "You may not be losing much blood now, but… Oh, Linda, hi. This is Sherry." Patrick Brown took it from there as Sherry spoke to one of her coven members. "But there are potentially other problems. As I understand it, magic permeates your physical being. Yes?" "Basically." "You have demon magic lodged in your body, interfering with your innate magic to prevent your healing. That much we know. It's also quite possible that it's interfering in other ways we're unable to detect. Any such other effects could be negligible or serious. You might grow horns or tentacles, begin to crave blood, or fall down dead. We simply don't know. But the longer the demon stuff stays in your body, the greater the chance of additional adverse effects." Rule was glad Lily had left the room. She was already worried about him. "All right, I'm picking up on the urgency. I still don't see why you won't try holy water again."

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Brown sighed. "It seems you're strongly attached to your guilt." "What?" His scalp twitched, trying to flatten ears that didn't lay down in this form. "That wasn't an accusation. Being human means being subject to the ills of guilt and temptation. I assume that is true for a lupus, also." Rule gave a tense nod. "Demons lack souls, yet they can have a terrible effect on ours. Demonic intrusions act on us through magic but bind to us through spirit. The binding agents are temptation, guilt, or both." "You're saying that I'm holding on to the poison myself." "More that guilt creates a sticky place for it to adhere. If you were of my faith, I'd advise you to attend confession. Since you aren't, I suggest you search your conscience. If you can make peace with yourself and the Creator, however you think of Him—" "Her." The wolf wanted to bare its teeth. He had no great sins on his conscience. "We worship the female aspect of the One." "So do we," Sherry said, punching in more numbers on her phone. "Male and female both, actually. Our healer wants to check you out first, but if she gives the go-ahead we'll hold the ritual at midnight." "Midnight." "Tradition has its… hello, Stephen. I need to know if…" Patrick Brown was looking at Rule with a damnable degree of sympathy. "Guilt doesn't always exist for rational reasons, you know. We may feel terrible guilt for events beyond our control. Survivor's guilt, for example." "This all has something to do with holy water, I presume." "Through a mechanism involving guilt, your body has been fooled into accepting the demon's substance as part of it, rather the way a human body is fooled into feeding cancer cells. Holy water affects the demonic, but it would affect your body, too, because of this misidentification. If it worked at all, it could cause lasting damage. I'm surprised it didn't the first time." Rule's hip throbbed quietly. After a moment he said, "There's a scar." A scar was nothing in itself, but was there other, less visible damage? Sherry thanked someone, disconnected, and immediately punched in another number. Rule felt Lily drawing nearer. A moment later, he heard her and Fagin talking on the other side of the wall. At first their words were indistinct; then Lily's voice rose, incredulous. "You've got to be kidding." Fagin's low rumble was soothing. "… just a theory… my family… old stories and folklore." "But that's not—it isn't—it can't be physically possible. A dragon?" She was at the door. The knob turned.

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Rule's left foot landed on gray carpet. Vertigo struck. He staggered, righted himself, and looked around wildly. He—he was in a hall, one of the many hallways of the FBI building. He heard a copy machine humming, voices behind him and in the office to his left, the chime of the elevator up ahead as it stopped on this floor. This floor? Which one? Where was he? Lily grabbed his arm. "Rule? What is it? What's wrong?" "We…" He turned carefully, looking back down the hall. Back the way he must have come. It was the same floor, he realized. The conference room was just around that bend. Lily didn't seem to notice anything wrong, other than the way he was acting. Whatever had happened, it happened to him, not both of them. "I was in the conference room with Sherry and the archbishop. You and Fagin were about to enter. You'd just turned the doorknob. Then… then I was here." Her eyes were wide with distress, her voice level. "You've been with me since I walked back into the conference room." "What happened?" What could possibly have happened to rob him of himself for… how long? How much time had he lost? Lily took the question literally. "Fagin and I came in. Archbishop Brown explained about the problem with holy water. He said Sherry's healer will have a look at you, then her coven will perform some sort of ritual. You didn't say much, but you were there. Present.Ifelt you as clearly as I feel you now. Then Cullen called, and—" "Cullen called?" "You spoke to him." The distress leaked into her voice. "He called on my phone to let me know what happened with the demon. It had possessed someone. They dispatched it, but Cynna was hurt. Then he talked to you—something about, uh,heres va-lus . Clan stuff. You—you were going to explain that, but wanted to wait until we were private." "Cynna—" "She'll be okay." Would he? Rule knew he couldn't be possessed, and yet… "Are you sure it was me?" "You sounded like yourself. I felt you there, beside me. You…" She stopped, swallowed. "I touched you. I didn't feel anything, no spell, no…" "Demon." He searched for a scrap, a hint, any shred of memory that something had occurred between the moment he'd watched the doorknob turn and the one when he found himself in midstride on this hall. Nothing. "I don't remember. I don't remember any of it." Instinctively she reached for his arm. Her eyes widened—then narrowed. She stared at her hand, then

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deliberately reached up and touched the bare skin of his face. "Well, shit," she said. NINETEEN SOMEONEwas messing with her foot. It hurt. She jerked it away. "Hold still." That was Cullen's voice. He sounded peevish. Someone— Cullen?—yanked her foot back onto the warm place it had been resting and wiped it with the stinging stuff again. "Ow!" Cynna's eyes popped open. "Don't be a sissy. It's not much of a cut." She blinked as memory seeped back in. She was lying on her back in a bed—pretty decent bed, too. Soft. The ceiling was white, and somewhere that longhair music was still playing. So she was still in Victor Frey's house, and not too much time had passed. What had happened after things went black? Was the demon…Check, fool . She did a quick cast. Okay, good. She was badly drained, but she was sure the demon wasn't nearby. And Cullen was all right. What about Merilee and Frey and Timms and the lupus guards? Had they come through okay? She propped herself up on one elbow. Hey. Her head didn't hurt. She was in a small bedroom with faded wallpaper and maple furniture. Very tidy, like the rest of the house. Cullen sat on the bed with her right foot in his lap. His hair was mussed, and his shirt was ripped and bloody. "You're hurt." "No, dummy, you are." He finished what he'd been doing with the washrag and picked up a tube of antibiotic ointment. "I guess I stepped on something." She didn't remember cutting her foot, but in all the excitement she might not have noticed. A dozen questions jockeyed for position. She plucked the simplest and asked it. "What happened?" "You pissed off a demon." His voice was funny. He squirted ointment on her foot and smeared it around. "Remember that part?" "Yeah. She clobbered me." "She cracked your skull." Now he looked up, and she knew why he'd sounded odd. She'd never heard him flat-out furious before. "Of all the lamebrained, stupid-ass stunts—" "Did it work?" He shoved her foot off his lap and sprang to his feet. "I'm not believing this. Two humans and three lupi

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go after a demon. Do the humans let the lupi deal with the hand-to-hand? No, since you lack the common sense of a dung beetle, you—" "Two humans? Is Timms okay?" The door opened. A handsome woman with broad hips and shoulders and hot-cocoa skin came in. "Banged up some, but he'll mend. They're loading him into the ambulance now. He wouldn't let me set his arm—said he wanted a real doctor." She looked at Cullen. "Quit yelling at my patient." She was a patient? Cynna gave her head a shake. Nothing rattled. "I'm fine. What happened with Frey and Merilee and the demon? Anyone else hurt?" The woman turned a solemn face on her. She looked somewhere over forty but still downwind of old age; beyond that, it was hard to guess. "The Rho's well enough to heal on his own, thanks to you. Merilee…" She sighed. "Ah don't know about her. Her body's not hurt aside from a couple bruises, and the baby's fine, praise the Lord. But the poor child's mind is a mess." Possession could do that to you. "Then the demon's not in her anymore." The full lips tightened. "Ah got rid of it." "You did? Oh—excuse me. It would be nice if Mr. Gorgeous got over his snit long enough to introduce us, but I'm not holding my breath. I'm Cynna Weaver." A laugh rolled up from the woman's comfortable middle. She glanced at Cullen, who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, scowling at both of them. "Ah think maybe I like you, Cynna Weaver. I'm the Leidolf Rhej, and I'm a healer, which is why you ain't in that ambulance with the other one." Cynna knew the clans' holy women didn't usually offer their names, so she didn't ask. "You're also an exorcist, I take it." "Not till today, but the Lady don't put up with demons messing with her people. Good thing someone had the sense to send for me. Ah had a few minutes to call up the right memory for the job." "That was you," Cynna said to Cullen. "You had Boss Guard send someone to get her, didn't you?" He just kept scowling. He didn't like Rhejes, she knew. Or maybegrudge was a better word thandislike —a grudge connected to the time he'd spent clanless. Which he didn't talk about, so she didn't know what the connection was, but maybe that was what was making him act like a ten-year-old who'd had his TV privileges taken away. "He did," the woman said, " since it didn't occur to my bone-head brother to fetch me. That was a right mess I walked into— you an' the other human sprawled out like the dead, my brother and that David tryin' to hold down Merilee. She was pretty lively, too." "Timms couldn't get a dart in her?" Cullen condescended to speak. "Oh, he darted her. The tran-quilizer didn't exactly make her tranquil, though, so he rushed her with the others. Idiot." "The drug had some effect," the Rhej said judiciously. "Or else Alex and David couldn't've held her

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down at all. She did toss David off once—that's when she tried to rip open your Mr. Gor-geous's throat. Good thing she just had fingernails to work with, not claws." Cynna's head swung toward Cullen. "That's your blood," she said accusingly. "The cut's not deep. Be healed by tomorrow, which is more than you can say about your head." He was wrong there. The Rhej must be one hell of a healer. "Did you use the charm? Did it work?" Cullen shot her a withering look. "Of course it did." "Still is," the Rhej said, her face creasing into trouble lines. "I didn't know what to do for Merilee after I got rid of that demon. When she came around, she was… well, I had Cullen use his charm to keep her asleep for now. Couldn't do it myself—putting your head back together took everything I dared tap, but we owed you that." She gave a nod. "Victor'd be dead if you hadn't jumped that demon. He may be an ass, but he's our ass. We need him." There was plain speaking. Maybe a Rhej didn't have to be as respectful of the Rho as the rest of the clan. Cynna swung her feet off the bed. "Maybe I can help Merilee. I—" "Hey!" For a big woman, the Rhej moved fast. She grabbed Cynna's shoulders and held her down. "I'm good, but I'm not that good. You don't need to be bouncin' around yet." "I'm fine." Her eyes narrowed. She placed her big hands on either side of Cynna's head and hummed quietly as her eyes lost their focus. Her palms grew warm. Very warm. Cynna began to feel sleepy. All at once she dropped her hands and frowned. "What have you done to yourself? Something's stopped up inside you—some kind of spell, an' the tangle it's made is full to burstin' with your magic." "I don't… oh, shit." The pain-block spell. She closed her eyes and mentally traced thekilingo for the spell. Yep, way too much power going into it. How did that happen? Figure that out later. She turned it off… and nearly toppled off the bed. "Owww… oh, man. That hurts." Cullen's scowl was back. "A depressed skull fracture is supposed to hurt." Depressed skull fracture. Cynna felt cold and dizzy thinking about it… or maybe just thinking did that. Her head was throbbing like a bad tooth. "Now, don't let him scare you," the woman said. "Your head was a big job, but Ah fixed it. Lifted up that bit of broken skull, got rid of the fluid, knit up the torn whatchamacallit—that stuff right under the skull—drained the blood clot an' healed the bruisin' on the brain. Got the skull started knitting, too, enough to hold, but I couldn't do it all in one whack. Your head's gonna ache for a couple days. But what was stopping up the pain before?" Blood clot? Torn whatchamacallit? Bruising on the brain? "Ah… this spell I've got blocks pain, but it shouldn't have… I had a trickle of power going into it before, see. Somehow it got turned up on high while I was unconscious."

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"How?" Cullen demanded. "No idea." She might care about that later. Right now… "Any reason I can't use the spell? Not on full power, but enough to take the edge off." "Sugah, that spell had your body thinking it wasn't hurt at all. It had quit healing." Sounded like the answer was no. Cynna grimaced. "I'd like to learn that spell, though," the Rhej went on. "See if it can be tinkered with, made to work so's it don't block the healing." "It only works on me." Cynna rested the uncracked side of her head in her hand. "I've tried to modify it so it could be used on others, but nothing works." "I'd like to take a look at it," Cullen said in a neutral voice. "With your permission." She looked at him out of pain-narrowed eyes. Sorcerers had a real edge when it came to altering a spell. He'd be able to see it, see exactly how it worked. "Later, maybe. I'm—" "Well, well, well." Brady stood in the doorway, blue eyes bright with pleasure. "Fancy meeting you again, Seabourne. I like the way your blood looks. Pity there isn't more of it showing." The Rhej turned to face him. Cynna couldn't read her expression—she had the woman's profile—but her body language said,watch out . "What are you doin' in the house, Brady? Alex didn't let you in." "My father's hurt. I wanted to see him." "You aren't supposed to be here till after the naming. You know that. An' your father ain't in this room." "You sure? Maybe I should check." He moved into the room, graceful as a snake. "Could be under the bed. I'll have a peek." The Rhej stepped in front of him. "Don't you try to play your games with me, Brady Gunning." "Better call your brother." He raised his voice in a falsetto. "Help, Alex! Brady's picking on me!" Brady wasn't here to needle Cullen, Cynna realized with a jolt. It was the Rhej he was after. Cullen uncoiled himself from his snit, straightening to stand with his arms loose at his sides. "Now that's interesting. She can't smell your fear, Brady, but I can." "Fear?" Brady laughed, but it didn't come out right. "You think I'm afraid of a female too old to breed?" He looked over at the Rhej. "More like the other way around, isn't it? At least it should be." Cullen moved—not too fast to see this time, but fast enough. He put himself between the Rhej and Brady. "You still scared of fire?" Brady snarled. "This is Leidolf business. Stay out."

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Cynna had never seen Cullen's face wiped so clean of whimsy or mockery. "You threatened the Lady's Voice. You'll beg her forgiveness." The Rhej started to say something, but Brady spoke right over her. "Beg? Of afemaleT' He made the word sound like something nasty that had gotten stuck in his teeth. Cullen flicked his fingertips. Sparks danced in the air. "Beg or burn. Your choice." "Hey!" Cynna said. "FBI agent here. I hate to point this out, but burning people's illegal." "Brady." Alex, aka Boss Guard, filled the doorway like a quiet mountain. Brady turned slowly. "Yeah?" "You'll leave now. You won't come back in the house until the naming." The two men locked gazes. Cynna held her breath. Brady wanted to attack. No, he wanted to kill. He vibrated with that need, probably stank of it to the other lupi. But some thread of sanity or self-preservation prevailed. His posture changed subtly as the challenge went out of him. He dropped his eyes and nodded once. Cullen spoke. "He threatened your Rhej." The big man exchanged a look with his sister. "If that's so—" "I meant no threat." Brady smiled as if he hadn't been a breath away from killing a moment ago. "If my words seemed a threat, I didn't mean them so." Her face was stony. She gave a small nod. Cullen didn't like it. "That's not—" "It's enough," the Rhej said firmly. "I require no more… at this time." She gave Brady a look that ought to have had him tucking his tail between his legs. Instead he smirked, offered a mocking bow, and walked up to the mountain, eyebrow cocked. Alex looked to his right and gave a small nod to someone out of sight in the hall, then stepped aside. Brady—thank God—left. A large gray wolf trotted after him. An escort, Cynna guessed, to make sure he did leave. Alex watched him go, then turned to the Rhej. "Sister…" "I know." She rubbed her temple, looking about ten years older than she had at first. "But this is a bad time for it. They'd say I was interfering in the naming." Cullen looked like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You can't let him get away with that, naming or no naming. Which is going to involve you anyway. The Lady's approval—" "This is Leidolf."

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Apparently that answered Cullen, who sighed. "He means you ill." "You think I'm a fool? I know that. But the founder's line is thin." "Sister." Alex specialized in one-word comments. This time his voice was heavy with disapproval. She snorted. "You think Nokolai and the other clans don't know exactly who carries the bloodline?" "She's right." Cullen tried to look apologetic. He wasn't good at it. "Not counting Brady—who, sadly, is a sure thing from this standpoint—you've got two from a collateral line who can almost certainly carry the mantle. Two others stand a fair chance. The rest are long shots." "So we're thin," she said. "If Brady sires a child—" "You wantthat to breed?" Cynna said, appalled. "Don't judge what you don't understand." She straightened her shoulders. "And don't be playing with that spell of yours till you're mended. I'll check back with you in the morning, see how you're doing. Anything you need tonight, let Sabra know. You'd best stay in the room," she added to Cullen. "It's poor hospitality, but—" Cullen broke in, polite but firm. "Serra, I've already called Rule." She stared at him, then looked at her brother, who nodded. He didn't look happy about it. She sighed. "So I'll not stretch your hospitality at such a difficult time," Cullen went on. "And Cynna wants—" "Cynna," Cynna said firmly, "wants to speak for herself. I appreciate the offer," she told the Rhej, "but I need to check on Timms." The older woman shook her head. "He wasn't hurt near so bad as you. What you have to do, girl, is rest." "I will, but after I see about Timms. I was in charge. He got hurt. I have to go to the hospital and see how he's doing, if he needs anything." "She's right," Alex said unexpectedly. "Unless it will cause her grave injury, she must see to her man." His sister rolled her eyes. "Lord help me. I expect macho bullshit from you—now I'm gettin' it from another woman. All right, honey, you do what you're gonna do, but come back tomorrow and let me see how your head's doing. We need to keep the inflammation down. Then, if you're up to it, maybe we'll talk a bit. Adriane—she's my apprentice—will want to meet you, and I'm a mite curious myself. Till now, I was the only Rhej who was out-clan before the Lady spoke." "But… I'm sorry. Cullen has given you the wrong impression. I can't become a Rhej. I'm Catholic." The woman smiled. "And I'm Baptist. Don't go to services as often as I ought to, but I still go. It don't matter, sugar. Didn't our Lord say it? 'In my Father's house are many rooms.' You an' me, we started out in one room, then it turned out we were needed in another one." TWENTY

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CULLEN carried her out of the house. Cynna protested, of course. Maybe she'd gone a bit dizzy when she stood up—didn't mean she wasn't perfectly capable of walking. "This is ridiculous. Didn't I tell you to—" "Shut up." "Oh, like that's going to happen." It felt weird, being carried. Embarrassing, too, but he was really warm, and firm in all the places a man ought to be firm… though she was just guessing about one spot. That might or might not be firming up. She couldn't tell without groping him, which would be way tacky. Especially since they had an escort. Alex had sent the big, reddish wolf with them—either making sure they didn't steal the silver, or that no one bothered them on their way out. Like Brady. She felt the flex of his muscles as he started down the stairs, trailing the wolf. This was interesting enough that she decided to let the uncracked side of her head rest on his shoulder. He smelled good, too. She probably didn't, but there wasn't much she could do about that. She'd hooked her tote on her left arm, which was curled around his neck. It thumped gently against his back as they descended. "So why did you try to make Brady apologize to the Rhej?" "I thought I told you to shut up." Rude as hell. Still pissed, too. But he was taking the stairs so carefully it didn't jar her head at all. That was as interesting as the hard chest she rested against. "You don't like Rhejes, but you wanted to burn Brady. I can see why you might, but why don't you like Rhejes?" "None of your business." True, but that didn't do a thing to ease her curiosity. Maybe he didn't want the wolf to hear, though. "Did you see the demon possessing Merilee, like you thought you would?" "Yes.". He'd answered. Hallelujah. She dug into her question hoard for some that couldn't be answered yes or no. "You said another demon chased you. When? And where were you? How did you get away?" "I burned it. In Mexico. Yesterday. And I didn't stop to ask for names, but your old friend was riding it in astral form." "Jiri?" He nodded. Shit. "How'd you know it was her?" "Lily has a description, remember? I saw a tall woman, African heritage, no boobs, strong shoulders. Good with demons. Oh, and her eyes glowed red. Sound familiar?" They'd reached the bottom of the stairs. Three men—lupi, she supposed, but in human form—were in the living room. They watched, silent and unfriendly, as their wolf escort stopped at the door.

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Cullen stopped there, too. "Someone want to open this? Or I could just drop her and get it myself." "Let me." She stretched her free hand down and turned the knob. It was fully dark now. Creepy-dark once the door shut behind them. She couldn't see the wolf anymore, but heard his claws on the porch. "Don't lupi believe in porch lights?" "I can see." He proved it by stepping off the porch. There must have been clouds overhead, because only a few stars were showing off their twinkles. It never got this black in a city. "How long was I out?" "About forty minutes. Putting you down now," he said as they reached the car, suiting action to words. As soon as she heard the lock click, she opened the door, and in the spill of light saw not one, but three wolves sitting on the porch, watching. She climbed in. Her heartbeat was making the kettledrum in her head act up. You'd think she'd raced across the yard instead of traveling in a beautiful man's arms, but her pulse rate might have something to do with those three pony-size wolves staring at them. She slammed the door. "I need to call Lily." He was already behind the wheel. "I called Rule, remember?" "Rule isn't my boss. And what was that about, anyway? They acted funny when you said you'd called him." "They'd rather no one knew about Victor's condition." He started the engine. "And that explains something?" He sighed. "Got to have it all spelled out, do you? Okay. You, they can't kill. Me, they might, though not here, since Victor made me guest. Once I leave their land, that doesn't apply." "Yet here we are, leaving." He pulled the car around in a wide circle, heading them back the way they'd come in. "If I don't leave now, they're apt to hold on to me until after the naming." "Maybe they haven't heard? Kidnapping's illegal." He shrugged. "We don't tattle on each other to the authorities." "I am the authorities." Weird as it still seemed. "Which is one reason they're not stopping us. The other is that I've already spoken to Rule. They aren't sure what I told him and might like to keep me around to find out, but they probably won't try anything with you by my side." He flashed her a grin, almost unseen in the darkness. "My bodyguard." Lupus politics would have made her head hurt even without a half-healed skull fracture. "I still have to

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report." "No, you don't. I spoke to Lily, too. She knows we found the demon and got rid of it. The rest can wait until tomorrow." Or until they reached the hospital, anyway. She leaned her head against the headrest and gave the kettledrum a chance to settle down. They left the clearing behind, and the trees loomed over them, twisty black hulks holding hands overhead. It was dusk here, with the belly of the sky hanging low and rain clouds dimming the day. There was no way to make the dirt road anything but bumpy, and Cullen liked to drive fast. She gritted her teeth on a couple bumps, but that hurt, too, so she tried to Zen out on watching the headlights bounce over the rutted road. She wasn't good at Zen but did start feeling kind of spacey. And tired. Really tired. She let her eyes drift closed, shutting out the spooky trees, but she was still awake when they turned onto the smoother surface of the highway. "Where's your hotel?" he asked, all curt. "Harrisonburg, but I have to go to the hospital first, remember." "The mental hospital, maybe?" "What are you so mad about, anyway?" "Why the hell do you think?" he snapped. "I started liking you. I don't like many people, so it pisses me off if one of them tries to get herself killed." "Oh."Friendship potential , she thought. Hadn't she decided Cullen had that much going for him? The tires hummed on the pavement. He didn't turn the radio on or put in a CD, and she wondered why. Lupi were nuts for music. A few moments later, the shushing sound of rain swept over them.That's better than any CD , she thought as a few more muscles quit bracing themselves against what-might-be and relaxed. Maybe he liked the sound of rain, too. She listened to wet sheets of it rushing at the car and tried to remember… Why wasn't she supposed to be interested in Cullen, anyway? Oh, yeah. Hormones. Jerk. Lousy track record. Those were good reasons, but her hormones weren't putting in a vote now… or if they were, it was drowned out by all the pain signals. Friendship. She could work with that. "So, you want to have sex after my head quits hurting?" "Hell, yes. You going to be mad when I remind you that you asked?" Eyes closed, head throbbing, she felt her lips curve up. "Probably." TWENTY-ONE WHEN they arrived at the ER, the doctor was showing Timms X-rays of his arm—which, Cullen had

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said, Merilee had snapped over her knee like a stick. He'd lucked out. The bone was broken in two places, but they were clean breaks. No need for surgery or a hospital stay. Timms was glad to see them. Even Cullen. Either the men had bonded during battle, or he was a lot friendlier with enough of Percodan zipping around his system. Then he opened his big mouth, asking about her head, and shouldn't she get that checked out? The doctor—a young guy, real short hair, pierced ears but not wearing anything in them at the moment—wanted to do a CT scan. She explained that a healer had taken care of the injuryThis didn't soothe him at all. But Cullen did. He assured the doctor he'd monitored the procedure, tossing out phrases like "frontoparietal region." "shear force," and "subdural hematoma." He didn't actually claim to be a doctor, but he sure talked the talk. It would have worked, too, if Timms hadn't stared at him more in confusion than suspicion. "I thought you were a stripper." Cullen widened his eyes. "Medical school is expensive." It was a slow night at the ER. The young doctor decided she really needed that CT scan and would not let up, apparently willing to wait indefinitely before setting Timms's arm if that's what it took to get her to agree. Cynna lost her temper. Another doctor—this one older, blacker, and a lot more tired—followed the sound of her raised voice. "That's some fine cussing," he told her, "and you may be right about Dr. Farley's lineage, but there are other patients here. Keep it down." She sighed and agreed, and he went on, "You were injured out at Victor's. Is that where the healing took place, too?" She nodded, hoping he wouldn't ask who'd done it. He turned to the younger one. "That'll be Leah's work, then. Don't worry about it. Set the man's arm." Leah, huh? Cynna filed the name away. She wouldn't use it without permission. Cynna adjourned to the waiting room while the doctor set and casted Timms's arm. Cullen headed for the men's room. She sank into an empty chair with relief. Eyes closed, she amused herself by matching the sounds and voices to the others in the room. The wailing baby was easy. It belonged to the heavyset woman across the room, as did the little-girl whine—a toddler with many braids. The sharp-voiced complaints came from a skinny grandma trying to straighten out something to do with insurance, and the sneeze was from the old guy at the end of her row of chairs. She was contemplating summoning the energy to get herself a Coke when someone sat beside her. She cranked her eyelids up, cut her eyes that way, and closed them again. "Medical school?" "Very expensive," Cullen said. "Here." She frowned at the Styrofoam cup he held. "I'm not a coffee drinker."

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"Caffeine's a mild analgesic. Good for headaches." She sighed and straightened and took the cup, frowning at the murky liquid. "Ibuprofin works better and doesn't taste nasty." "You already took some. I dumped three packets of sugar in." That might make it bearable. And if it would blunt this headache... She took a sip, grimaced. "People drink this stuff on purpose." "Elixir of the gods." Cullen sipped from his own cup. "Though this particular brew might be for minor deities. Very minor. About that healing spell—" "For chrissake, Cullen, not now." "I might learn something from it that would help understand the demon poison in Rule." "Huh?" she said cleverly. "Rule's wound won't heal. Your spell blocks healing along with pain. It's worth checking out." She thought about it, or tried to. The caffeine hadn't done much for her yet. "You're thinking you can reverse the spell and use it to restart his healing?" "Maybe. Or just understand the action of the poison better by seeing how your spell works. May I see thekilingo for the spell?" Hardly anyone knew the correct terms for Msaidizi magic, but he did. He knew she'd been ashetanni rakibu , a demon rider, too, and he had a pretty good idea what that meant. She wanted him to go away. "I'm not supposed to use the spell, remember? You won't be able to see anything while it's inactive." "The Rhej didn't know the spell was there when she was healing you, so its effect must be very minimal unless the power's turned up. Trickle just enough juice into it for me to see how it works." She bit her lip. She wanted to help Rule, but this felt oddly intimate. "Okay, but try not to be overwhelmed with passion. I have to lift up my sweater." ' "Goody," he murmured. She was sure that was an automatic response. Lupi felt obligated to flirt with females—it was like please and thank you for them, a basic courtesy. Cullen might like the idea of having sex with her, but his real passion was magic. "It's on my stomach. Here… this area above my belly button." She showed him the outline of the spell, mentally adding a trickle of power to her moving finger. Ah, that felt better. Even set on low, the spell worked great. He bent, tilting his head as he studied her stomach. "This part"—he traced the skin of her belly with a fingertip—"looks promising. I take it you converted a spell that originally used physical components?"

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"Yeah." Whoa. With her headache turned off, her hormones were rioting, and happy about it. His touch left heat behind. Actual heat, not just the sexual sort. Wait a minute. Her headachewas gone, wasn't it? Completely. "That looks like thesigna for marjoram." "It is." She'd barely tapped into her power. Could a spell get better with use? Adjust itself somehow? "The spell's got four stages, moon-sequenced. Takes a month to set up. I just finished it last month." "Hmm." He pulled his hand back, and she let her sweater fall down to cover her oddly warm skin. Then he looked in her eyes and smiled, and the heat was there, too. "I'm good with fire," he said softly. "Which means I can bring its gentler cousin to life, too. With a touch." Was he saying he could… oh, yeah, he was. "Magic hands?" "Pity I can't show you exactly what I mean, but…" He took her hand and put it in his lap, which was interesting all by itself. Then he drew a lazy circle on her palm with the tip of one finger… and heat. "This is a sample," he said, his smile turning wicked. He was thinking about other spots he could touch with that heat. So was she. He made more slow circles. Unlike most of her body, her palms were naked, unmarked. She hadn't thought of that as erotic until this moment. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. "Endorphins." "Endorphins?" His voice was husky. She nodded. "Better than caffeine." "We could make lovely endorphins together." He sighed and closed her fingers up around the lingering warmth in her palm. "But not tonight. You need to turn that spell off again, and the Rhej told me in no uncertain terms that I wasn't to pester you for sex yet." She was surprised. She'd once seen him obey the Nokolai Rhej, which had been pretty amazing. But this Rhej wasn't even of his clan. "You going to do like she says?" "She threatened one of my favorite body parts. Besides, she's right. You need rest more than endorphins right now." She needed to shut down the spell, too. With a sigh, Cynna closed her eyes and paid attention. "Hey." Her eyes popped open. "It's grabbing power." "The spell?" "Yeah. It… even in that little bit of time, it started pulling more power without my permission. I… ow. Shit." The second she shut down the flow of magic, the pain returned with a vengeance. He was fascinated. "Where did you get this spell?" "A Vodun priestess."

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"For God's sake! Vbdun magic is based on their pantheon. You can't strip the invocation and expect—" "I'm not an idiot! Why do you always assume I'm an idiot? This is aspell , not one of their rites or incantations. No deities involved. She got it from her granny, who got it from her granny, and on back. She uses it herself." "Any graveyard dust involved? Bones?" "No and no." "Blood magic?" "Well, yes, but my own blood. Jesus, Cullen! Every tradition on the planet uses some blood spells." "I'm not an idiot, either," he snapped. "I use blood spells myself. But using your own blood tied it to you. I don't know the process for transcribing a spell onto your skin—yes, yes, do close your mouth. I realize you aren't going to tell me—oath of secrecy and all that rot. But it must be similar to making a charm, only more personal, since it's inscribed on your body, not an inanimate object. The spell may be tied to you twice—through blood in the initial casting, and again when you absorbed it." He brooded on that a moment. "I need to see it. I need to watch what happens when it starts grabbing power." Her head throbbed along with her heartbeat. "Not today, you aren't." "No." He sounded regretful. "Tell me. Can you transcribe the spell onto someone else?" "I… yeah, that's how I was taught, by having the first spell inscribed on me. I've never done it myself, but I think I could." "That's what I hoped. We—lupi—need that spell. We can't be anesthetized for surgery, which increases the risk of shock." She hadn't thought of that. "It's risky. Since the spell gobbles power, it could slow healing. But we'll look into it, okay? Just not tonight." She rubbed her head gingerly. "Speaking of healing, I don't see how I could have had a depressed skull fracture. Healers can help the body mend quicker, but they can't go lifting bits of skull. Is that a Rhej thing?" He was sitting with his knees sprawled, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs. He tilted his head to give her an odd look. "You were there when we opened the hellgate." She glanced around. The crying baby two chairs over probably drowned out anything they said, but still… "Let's not talk about that." He straightened. "Did you really think three women and one sorcerer had the power to do that on our own?" "That's what the node was for. It was small, but so was the gate." His foot started tapping restlessly. "You've got a good brain. I don't know why you don't use it more often. Power to power, Cynna. It takes power to use power, and we didn't have enough on our own to open the node. The Rhejes drew on the power of their clans."

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She was appalled. "They can do that? Pull the magic from others and use it?" "They generally don't, but they can. When the Leidolf Rhej talked about your healing she said 'we' owed it to you. We, not I. She used some of the clanpower to knit you back together." Cynna didn't know if anyone ought to be able to use other people's magic without their permission. She was damned sure she shouldn't be given that kind of power. The tapping foot stilled. "Did we ever eat?" "Eat?" "Supper. No," he decided, springing to his feet. "We didn't. There must be a cafeteria or something here." He looked around as if it might be tucked into a corner of the waiting room. "What pushed your button?" "Hunger. It's a wolf thing. We're all about five'years old when it comes to mealtimes. Do you—never mind. You need to eat whether you feel like it or not." No, she didn't. "Your phone's ringing." He glanced down at the phone clipped to his belt, annoyed. "I thought I turned that off." "You going to answer it?" He grimaced but unhooked it and held it to his face. "I'm here, but I'm hungry. Can we keep this short?" "Who is it?" "Lily. No," he said into the phone, "I was answering Cynna. Yeah, aside from a helluva headache and her usual lunacy, she's fine. What about…" His voice drifted off into a frown. A dark-skinned nurse wheeled Timms out of the treatment area. Cynna's eyebrows climbed. Timms had depths she'd never have dreamed of. He wore a brand-new sling and a brand-new cast… in flamingo pink. He was going to be pissed once the painkiller wore off. She grinned as she pushed to her feet and waved at the two of them. "Over here." There were a few moments of everyone talking at once. Timms was soaring on Percodan and chatty; he wanted to talk about demon tranquilizers. The nurse was upset about Cullen's cell phone, so he went outside. Then she nabbed Cynna, determined to explain to someone about Timms's care. Apparently he'd sprained his ankle, which explained the wheelchair. Cynna persuaded Timms they'd go over their demon drug strategy later, listened to the nurse, and pocketed scrips for painkillers and crutches and a list of care instructions. They could fill the prescription at the hospital but wouldn't be able to get the crutches until tomorrow when a medical supply place opened up. She was wondering if he'd mind sharing one of his pain pills when Cullen came back in.

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The nurse, the cranky granny, and the weary mother all forgot their troubles for a moment to watch. Cullen was great eye candy when he was still; in motion, he was music given form. An up-tempo tune at the moment. He moved like he needed to be somewhere else, and stopped in front of her, his face tight with trouble. "Rule's worse. I'm heading straight back to D.C. Where should I leave you?" "Dumb question. I'm going with you." "You need rest." "Buy me a pillow. I'll sleep on the way." He didn't argue, which worried her. "What about him?" Timms blinked up at them fuzzily. "You've got my guns. I'd better go, too." Clearly Percodan didn't affect the man's priorities. "Dibs on the backseat," she said. TWENTY-TWO RAIN had settled over eastern Maryland and Virginia like a broody hen. The storm didn't bother with thunder or lightning; it squatted patiently over the land, incubating grass, trees, and traffic accidents. Cullen made good time on I-81 and I-66 in spite of his sedate pace—he'd held it under ninety pretty much the whole way. Too many humans cluttered the interstates, and they did the damnedest things behind the wheel. But D.C.'s traffic was constipated, as usual; once he hit the Parkway, it was more like an impacted bowel. Nothing was moving. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, scowling at the cars ahead. He'd turned on the radio long enough to listen to the eye-in-the-sky traffic report; apparently some numbnuts had skidded his car across two lanes, causing a pileup. Humans should not be allowed to drive when it rained. He ought to be tired. He'd shorted himself on sleep for over a week now, and it was bound to catch up with him. But he was twitchy, wanting a run more than a rest—preferably four-footed. He'd been cooped up in a plane or a car for most of the past twenty-four hours. "AK-47," Timms said suddenly. "Few bursts from that would make 'em move." Cullen glanced at the man in the passenger seat, his lips quirking. Timms had drifted in and out of a narcotic doze for most of the trip, but whenever he hit more-or-less awake, his comments were unabashedly bloodthirsty. "You might inspire the drivers, but when you kill cars, they don't get out of your way." "True." Timms sighed heavily. "Couldn't shoot it with this damned arm, anyway." There was a rustling in the backseat. "Shoot what?" Cynna asked. "Timms is indulging in wishful thinking." Cullen felt a disproportionate sense of relief. She'd conked out

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after eating half of a hamburger and slept the whole way. He'd kept the radio turned off so he could listen to her breathing and heart rate, but medical school was a long time ago, and he hadn't paid attention to the parts that didn't interest him… which included much of the actual medicine. He hadn't attended with the intention of healing the sick. Only one of the sick, and he'd failed dismally there. So he hadn't been sure if he should wake her or let her sleep, and he wasn't used to uncertainty. Or worrying. It was all damned annoying. "What time is it?" she asked. "Ten thirty. On the off chance we don't spend the night in this damned traffic jam, can I bunk at your place after we see what's up with Rule? Nokolai's house is running out of beds." "Sorry. I don't have a place." "You sleep in ditches?" The cars ahead finally eased forward, so Cullen did, too. Ten miles an hour was better than standing still. "At a hotel. I'm on the go so much with my job—" "You live in hotel rooms? All the time?" "I had an apartment." She was defensive. "When it went condo I didn't want to buy, so I moved my junk into storage. I just haven't gotten around to finding another place, is all. Rent's crazy here." "How long ago did your apartment go condo?" "None of your business." And he thought he lived a footloose life. She couldn't even commit to a rental contract. "I'd ask if your hotel room has a couch, but I don't trust me that much. I wouldn't stay on the couch." He sighed. "Maybe Rule has a sleeping bag." "Rule's the one with demon stuff in him, right?" Timms said, frowning. "You sure you want to stay there? I don't have a spare room, but you could have the couch." Amused, Cullen shot him a glance. "Thanks. I may take you up on that." Cynna spoke. "Shouldn't we drop Timms off first?" "He took one of his painkillers, which he seems to have a strong reaction to. He's flying. I don't think he'll mind waiting a little longer to go home." And he probably shouldn't be left alone until the medication wore off. He might shoot his neighbor's cat. Or his neighbor. "But—" "I'm okay," Timms said. "Uh… where are we going, again?" Cullen explained one more time. You'd think the head injury victim would be the one with a short-term memory deficit, but Cynna remembered everything—including any number of questions she was forced to sit on with Timms around. She'd pointed that out during a brief period when Timms was asleep and

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she wasn't. She'd also pointed out that Rule wouldn't want to discuss clan stuff in front of Timms. "I thought you felt responsible for him," he'd said. "What with him being wounded under your command." That had pissed her off. He gave her points for knowing when he was dancing around the truth, but she jumped to the wrong conclusion. She thought he was using Timms to avoid her questions, but he didn't need the man around for that. He never answered questions he didn't want to. It was five minutes after eleven when they finally parked on the street just down from the Nokolai house. Cullen helped his two wounded out of the car—at least, he tried to. Timms was wobbly, but not feeling any pain. Cynna insisted her nap in the car had done wonders for her headache. "You think they're in bed?" she asked as they approached. "The porch light's off." "Rule's bodyguards arrived. The ones outside won't want their night vision messed up." "I don't see anyone." "You wouldn't." Cullen had amused himself by using his other vision, so he knew his assumption was correct. The unmistakable aura of a lupus hovered faintly over the front seat of the two-year-old Mercury parked in front of the house. He was surprised, though, at who opened the door. Surprised enough to stare. The man facing him filled the doorway. His black hair was short and shot through with silver; his hands were the size of dinner plates. He had his mother's dark eyes and coppery skin, and he almost never left Clanhome. "You coming in?" Benedict said. "That's the idea." Cullen waved Cynna through. "Cynna Weaver, this is Rule's brother, Benedict. Rumor has it he does have a last name, but, like Madonna, he doesn't use it." Rumor—or at least Rule—also claimed Benedict had a sense of humor, but Cullen had never seen evidence of it. He didn't tonight, either. "Come in, then. I don't want to leave the door open." "She's a little slow tonight," Cullen said, using one hand to urge Cynna through the door. "It may be the depressed skull fracture. It may be your chest. Did you know that people in cities usually wear shirts?" Benedict, of course, ignored the irrelevancies. It was as impossible to insult the man as it was to joke with him. He looked at Cynna. "Lily said the Leidolf Rhej performed a healing." Cynna recovered from her startlement, which had probably been caused as much by what Benedict did wear as what he didn't. Benedict liked sharp objects. Twin knives were sheathed on his forearms, and a sword rode in its scabbard on his back. She shot Cullen an annoyed glance. "She did. I'm fine, aside from a bit of a headache." Bit of a headache. Ha. "Who's watching over Isen?" he asked as Benedict secured the door. "A number of people." Benedict turned to Timms. "I don't allow weapons in the Lu Nuncio's presence."

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Cullen shook his head. "You won't part him from his gun, but I'll vouch for him." He looked at Timms. "No shooting my friend." "That must be Timms," Rule said, entering the little hall from the rear. "I understand his arm was broken while fighting the demon-possessed. I'm not sure why…" He let that trail off, cocking an eyebrow at Cullen. But it was Timms who answered. "Saved my life." "I beg your pardon?" "He did. Your friend." Timms nodded several times for empha-sif, "I tranked her. Made her mad. The other two froze. Woman's body, you know? Threw them for a second. Seaboard didn't freeze. Pulled her off when she got hold of me. You're Rule Turner?" "I am." Rule looked fascinated. "Got demon stuff in you. Not your fault, but… thought I'd better come along, keep an eye out." "I see." Rule was amused but hid it well. He crossed to Cynna—not limping, Cullen noticed—and took her hands in his. "How are you, really?" That intent, caring gaze had flustered women more confident than Cynna. She didn't quite stammer. "I'm okay. Really. My head hurts, but it's no biggie. But are you okay?" He grimaced and dropped her hands. "Let's adjourn to the kitchen. Lily's there." Benedict didn't like it. "He's got a weapon." "Cullen will see to it he doesn't shoot me." Rule waved them on, waiting until Cullen passed him to murmur, "Collecting strays again?" Cullen felt the tips of his ears heat, dammit. "I always say you can never have too many FBI agents around." Rule chuckled. "I'm not keeping this one for you." The way the house was laid out they had to go through the parlor and dining room to get to the kitchen; Rule was still grinning as they reached it. Lily was pacing, her cell phone held to her ear. Her eyes flashed up. She grimaced. "I know, but… no, I didn't. I didn't say that. Look, I'm sorry, but I have to go." She disconnected. Rule cocked an eyebrow at her. She gave a tiny shake of her head, then said to the rest of them, "My sister. Myolder sister," she added with a grimace, as if that explained something. "Problems?" Cynna said, pulling out one of the chairs at the big, round table. "Family. Problems." Lily flipped her hand once. "Two sides of the same coin, aren't they?"

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Cullen watched Cynna's face. Nothing showed, but he wondered what she was thinking. He'd never heard her mention any family and suspected she didn't have one. "Lily, this is Agent Timms. Timms, Lily hangs out on your side of reality most of the time—her aka is Agent Yu of MCD." "We've spoken," Lily started to hold out her hand, then realized the cast was on his right arm. She settled for a nod and gave Cullen a questioning look. "Cullen vouches for him," Rule said dryly. He moved to the coffeepot. "Anyone care for a cup?" Timms was the only taker—seems he thought the pain meds had his mind a bit fuzzy. "Oh." Lily reached for a folder on the table. "This is a copy of that report you wanted." She handed it to Cullen. Cullen's hand closed tightly on it. He needed to read it right now, needed to find the one who'd tampered with his mind. Instinctively, he hid the strength of that need, saying the first thing that came to mind. "What's Benedict doing here?" Rule handed Timms a mug. "Isen believes I'm in more danger than he is right now." Benedict spoke. "He also believes you won't argue with me. Hard to get one of my people to guard Rule properly," he added to the rest of them. "They have a bad habit of obeying him." "Not a flaw you're prone to," Cullen said. "Tends to run the other way with you." Lily hadn't said a word about what was in the report. Was it useless? Or did she not want to comment in front of Timms? "I'm sorry you raced back this way," Rule said, apparently addressing the coffeepot as he poured his own coffee. "I told Lily there was no point." Cullen spoke sharply. "Don't give her grief about this. Rule, I can see it now." Rule's head jerked up. He scowled at Cullen. "It's in your aura. The change is slight, small enough that I wouldn't notice if I didn't know you so well. But it's there." "I don't want to be pushy," Cynna said, "but what are you talking about? Cullen said you were worse, Rule—that something went wacky with your memory. But even he couldn'tsee that." Lily answered, her voice low. "The demon poison. It's metas-tasized, or something like that. I knew it the second I touched him." "What?" Cynna demanded. "What did you feel?" "It didn't stay in the wound. It's spread throughout his body." TWENTY-THREE "WOULD you slow it down?" Cynna said.

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"No." Cullen knew he was driving too fast. He didn't care. He was back in the Mother-damned car when heneeded to run. The Wiccan healer—one of Sherry's people, so she was among the best—had checked Rule out earlier that evening. She couldn't do anything, with or without the coven's backing. It wasn't a matter of power, but knowledge. They had a Catholic archbishop in their task force. He couldn't do a damned thing, either. Whatever was happening to Rule, it wasn't possession. It wasn't anything anyone knew a goddamned thing about. Including him. They rocketed around a corner, tires squealing. "Deja vu all over again. Every time I let a man behind the wheel today, he goes too fast. Slow down, Cullen. Now." He glanced at her—and yelped. "You pulled a damned gun on me!" The barrel of a snub-nosed revolver stared at him. So did a pair of tired but determined brown eyes. "I'm not in the mood to splatter all over the pavement tonight. I'm not in the mood for stupid men who won't listen. And I am so not in the mood to argue. Slow down." He gave a quick bark of laughter and eased off on the accelerator until they were going a sedate forty. "Better?" he asked mildly. "Much." She holstered her weapon. "Ah… you're pretty cheerful about being drawn on." "I needed a good laugh." "You find it funny to have people point guns at you?" "You weren't going to use it. Shooting the driver at seventy miles an hour is a tad risky, even for you." He grinned. "Silliest thing I've seen in years. Got to love a woman who knows how to overreact." "Glad I could improve your mood. Want me to brighten things even more and put a bullet in your leg?" He chuckled. "You're pissed." "You're just full of insight. That's my hotel." "Right." He slowed further and pulled into the parking lot. "Where now?" "Use the side entry—it's closer to my room." She twisted to check on his other passenger. "Sleeping Beauty still out cold?" She nodded. Cynna had the front seat this time, Timms the back. He'd fallen asleep the moment he curled up back there and didn't seem likely to wake for anything short of the last trumpet. Cullen marveled at his ability to sleep so soundly with a freshly broken bone, having experienced a few breaks in his time. Maybe the man had fewer pain receptors than most people. Of course, Timms's body didn't flush out painkillers within minutes the way Cullen's did. There were

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advantages to being human, Cullen conceded. Not many, but a few. He pulled to a stop near the side entry and shut off the engine. "Cullen." Her. hand on his arm was almost as big a surprise as the gun had been. "We're going to fix Rule. Just because we don't know how yet doesn't mean we can't do it." "Right." He took a deep breath, let it out. He was too old to believe in fairy tales. Right didn't make might, bad things did happen to good people, and determination didn't always win the day. But you didn't get far without it. "Right," he said again, meaning it this time, and opened his door. "For crying out loud. I make it safely inside all the time, you know." "I'm going to kiss you. I could do it here, but—" "If you get any mushier I'm going to tear up." But she didn't object to the idea. She didn't object when he took her hand, either. Weird. They were holding hands. He might wonder if he was going through a second adolescence, but he hadn't been much for holding hands in the first one. He wasn't even going to go to bed with the woman—yet. He just wanted a little taste. A kiss. How long had it been since he stopped at kissing? But it felt good to hold her hand. He'd forgotten how good a simple touch could be. He'd trained himself not to need it; a clan-less wolf couldn't afford that need, because humans didn't understand. If you touched one of them, male or female, they thought it meant sex. Or, in his case, they hoped it did. His lips quirked. She dropped his hand to dig out her key card, which she needed to unlock the side door at this hour. "How can you afford to stay here?" he asked. "Hey, I negotiated. I get off-season rates year-round, and only pay for the nights I'm actually here, which averages about ten a month." She located the card and stuck it in. "There's a lot of demand for a good Finder. I fly all over the country, then when I come back, I get maid service, room service, laundry facilities, a gym, a pool, cable, Internet—" "I get it. You like staying here." "What's not to like? I guess someone who's into owning stuff wouldn't be happy, but it works for me." The lock snicked. He leaned around her to open the door and hold it for her. She gave him a funny look. "I've got manners. I don't always bother with them, but they're around when I want them." His position put him close to her, close enough for her scent to stir him. Heady, familiar, and welcome, arousal began tightening his body.

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It had been a long time since he took the time to anticipate going to bed with a woman instead of just doing it. He decided he liked it. He trailed his free hand down the side of her neck. "Besides, ladies first has always been my motto." He wasn't referring to doors. She got that. Her eyes smiled at him—pretty eyes, he thought. The color of whiskey. The rest of her face stayed solemn. "Good motto, but some ladies like to go second and third, too." "Greedy, aren't you?" "When my head isn't hurting." She walked through the door, and he let it close behind them. "I guess you do know how to flirt." "Meaning?" She gave a one-shoulder shrug. "I didn't think you were interested. Until I asked about sex, you didn't flirt, didn't give me any looks… you know." He'd hurt her feelings. Cullen considered that as they headed down a hall—hotel standard, with beige carpet, beige walls. Did she prefer to live someplace where nothing of her showed? "You're going to accuse me of being an arrogant ass." "I already have, lots of times. Not always when you were around." "Been thinking about me, huh?" He flashed her a grin. "Lots of women do." "We're getting to the arrogant part already, I see." He shrugged. He knew what he looked like. That Was reality, not arrogance. "My looks tip the scales too much in my favor, so I have a rule. No-flirting, no seducing, no come-ons unless a woman gives me the green light." She stopped. "You're saying you're chivalrous?" "Hell, no. Chivalry is sick—men pretending to moon chastely after ladies, when we all know there's no such thing as a chaste moon." "Your own, twisted version of chivalry, then." She was delighted. "Is that why you're letting Timms hang around?" "I can promise you he doesn't have designs on my body. Or vice versa." She waved that off. "No, I mean he's like a feral puppy trotting around after you. I can't get over it. He couldn't stand you before." "Timms doesn't know it, but he's looking for a pack. He's accepted me as dominant—not that he thinks of it that way, but he's not able to deal with other men as equals. He'll bully those beneath him and think of those above as his friends." They'd reached her door, apparently, because she stopped in front of it—1014. She snorted. "He's not a lupus."

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"Humans need packs, but you think you aren't supposed to, which is why you're all so confused—the XY half of you, especially. Drink, drugs, gangs, outdoing the Joneses—all symptoms of the need for a pack, and a defined status within the pack. The American cult of rugged individualism makes human men think thty're all supposed to be alphas, but it doesn't work that way." She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms and hiking her eyebrows. So skeptical. It made him smile. "Cult of rugged individualism?" "Sure. It's a myth, a story people tell each other to make modern isolation more tolerable. America wasn't founded by rugged individualists but by people who didn't like the packs back home and wanted to form their own—religious packs in the northern colonies, wealth-based packs down South. They weren't a bunch of loners. They couldn't be—they needed each other to survive." "What about all those rugged Westerners? Cowboys, wagon trains, frontiersmen—" "The settlers relied on each other to survive, too. As for cowboys—rugged individualists, my ass. They're a perfect example of human-style packs. Ranch hands were sometimes misfits, but there were no real loners on a ranch. They banded together beneath a strong leader to tend cattle, care for horses and gear, and fight." "Gunfighters—" "Were outcasts, but still sought status, which is another way of saying they needed a place within the pack, even if it was based on fear. Trappers were the one exception. Some went native, living with one tribe or another, but others did live completely alone . for months at a time. And they were often a little nuts." He shook his head. "Humans aren't loners by nature." "Neither are lupi." She tilted her head. Her eyes met his. The cool curiosity he saw there was less abrasive than sympathy would have been. That didn't make it welcome. "You lived like that for a while, though, didn't you? As a lone wolf." "Shut up, Cynna." She gave that wry, one-sided smile, neither offended nor, he felt sure, accepting his suggestion to avoid the topic. He took her face in his two hands, running his thumb along the sensitive hollow just beneath the jawbone. Her skin was a soft surprise. The filigree covering it, so obvious to the eye, was invisible to the touch. He lowered his head slowly, enjoying the droop of her eyelids as her body consented to the kiss. Her musky scent pleased him, though her hair products did not; a whiff of bleach clung to the short, spiky strands, its smell masked by that of industrial-strength gel. And another scent… Blood. Close up, he saw flecks of rusty red at the tips of some of those spiky strands. Not her blood, since her skin hadn't broken when her skull did, but there wasn't enough for him to sniff out the original owner, not in this form. Still, the reminder helped. She was injured. And while he might have decided anticipation was intriguing, he was unaccustomed to waiting. Their breaths mingled. Their mouths met.

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Cullen meant it to be a quiet kiss—a taste, a sampling, letting fire brush without burning. Nothing that pushed either of them. He'd forgotten how badly he needed to run. The first skimming touch of lips made him smile..His tongue asked to be let in, and she did, and she tasted even better than she smelled. She put her hands on his waist and clamped her teeth on his tongue. He pressed her back against the door. She was a tall woman, and he liked that. He could feel that strong-soft body all along his, the warmth and pressure delicious to him. Then she sank his good intentions. She cupped his butt, holding him firmly against her as she rolled her hips. Wildness roared up and swallowed his brain. He forgot about asking and anticipation and all that rot. She was here and she wanted him. He dove in. His hands needed to learn the feel of her—the curve of her hip, the welcoming fullness of her breast, the heat between her legs. His mouth wanted the taste of her throat, her jaw. And the rest of him— But her hand was pushing at him. Pushing his hand away from the zipper on her jeans. She got her mouth free. "The hall, Cullen. We're in the hall." "Right." Slowly he pulled away. He expected to see smugness. It would be mixed with pleasure, because she'd been right there with him, but she'd drowned him, purely drowned him, and she knew it. "Sorry. I mean… your head. How's your head?" "My head?" She blinked at him, her eyes dazed… with pleasure or pain? "Oh. It hurts, but…" But she hadn't cared. For a few moments there, she'd forgotten or hadn't noticed. His smile started small and spread. "Oh, we are going to have us one hell of a good time,shetanni rakibu ." He brushed her jaw with his knuckles. "Soon. But right now…" He took a deep breath and straightened. His jeans were much too tight. Hell, his skin was too tight. "Sleep well," he said, giving her cheek a last touch. She licked her lips. "You, too." Not likely—not right away, at least. He badly wanted to read the report Lily had gotten him, but first things first. As soon as he got his feral puppy settled, he was going running. "I told you earlier that I could be patient when I have to," he said, releasing her. "I lied. I'm not a patient man." TWENTY-FOUR SHETANNI rakibu. Demon rider. Cullen knew. He knew and apparently didn't care what that meant. Butshe cared, and the reminder had splashed cold water all over Cynna's hormones, so she didn't need to turn the faucet to chilly when she showered. She got into bed with her hair still wet, her head pounding, and her body dissatisfied. She didn't expect to fall asleep within moments of cuddling her sore head into the pillow, but she did.

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She did not sleep well. "…too far for a little one like you to go alone ," Mrs. Johnson said. "Specially round here. Better you stay home an' hep your mama." "Amy Garcia's going with me and Sarita," she promised and hurried away before her neighbor could tell her more things she should or shouldn't do. Grown-ups were so full of shoulds and shouldn'ts. It made her glad she was a kid. The air was chilly, and her last-year's jacket was missing some buttons and didn't go all the way down her arms anymore. Mama said they'd get her a new one real soon, but "real soon" didn't mean much. So she walked fast to stay warm. She knew uhe way. Even if she hadn't been able to Find the park, she'd kuow the way. Cynna wasn't going there to swing or go down the slide. She wanted the leaves—dead leaves, brown and crisp, that crunched when you walked through them. She loved that sound. "Hey, Cynna!" Sarita called. "Wait up!" Cynna waited, shifting from foot to foot, as a girl her age but shorter, darker, and plumper hurried across the street. "Are you ready?" she demanded. "Where's your sister?" "Amy can't go. Won't go," Sarita corrected, making a face. "She's coloring her hair, and when Mama gets home from work she's going to be so grounded. Mama told her she couldn't dye her hair till she was sixteen, but she bought it anyway. Miss Clairo! Sunset Red. So I can't go, not without Amy." "But we have to gotoday" There was only a little time when the leaves crunched. After a while they'd get all soppy, and they weren't fun anymore. Sarita rolled her eyes. "You don't ever want to wait. Amy said she'd take us Saturday. That's only two days." "But if she's grounded—" "Mama never keeps her grounded all that long. She cries at her, and Mama gets mad, but then she ungrounds her." But Amy might not be ungrounded in time. It could rain, couldn't it? If it rained, the leaves wouldn't be any good anymore. …no, don't. Don't go to the park. Not this time . Like a swimmer running out of air, Cynna forced herself up, fighting to break the surface.Open your eyes, dammit . But it was hard… so tired… The light turned green. She shot out into the street, dodging around the grown-ups. She liked running. She was fast, too. Her legs were long, and she could beat most of the kids in her class. Sometimes it really helped, being able to run fast.

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Sarita's big sister was going with Tom-Tom, so it would be safer to go with her, but she could take care of herself. She had to, didn't she? Mama wasn't well enough to take her to the park like she used to. Mama wasn't well enough to do much at all anymore. The sky was gray all over, like it might rain or even snow. She really needed to get to the park today. Grown-ups talked about how great spring was with its new grass and flowers, but no one where she lived had grass, and the only flowers were in plastic pots at Thompson's up the street, where they went for groceries. Food stamps wouldn't pay for flowers, so they never got any of those. Cynna liked fall. School started then, and school was almost safe. You had to watch out for some of the big kids, but she could hold her own with the ones her age. The days got cooler, too, and after a long summer with no air-conditioning those first cool evenings were heaven. Most of all, she liked when the leaves fell. After hanging on way overhead all summer, they turned loose and joined her on the ground. For sure it was better to go to the park today than stay at home. Mama was passed out again. Her mama was sick. She couldn't help herself. That's what Mrs. Johnson said, and maybe she was right, but Cynna couldn't help her, either. She'd tried and tried, but she couldn't. She used to think she could—that if she took better care of her she'd get her real Mama back, the one who used to read to her and fix supper every night and take her to the park and push her in the swing. When she got home from school today Mama had been sprawled on the couch, out cold and stinking of Jim Beam. She'd been so mad. All-over mad. She'd shaked her and shaked her, but Mama wouldn't wake up. Cynna had wanted to hit her. Mama wouldn't even know. She could punch her right in her stomach, and Mama wouldn't know. It made her own stomach knot up to feel like that. Better to go to the park and kick around the dead leaves. The problem with the park wasn't the number of blocks you had to walk. It was the big kids who hung out there. Kids who'd started wearing colors, like Tom-Tom and Raphael and Derek. The park was their turf, and you had to pay a toll. Cynna didn't have any money of her own, so she stole a five and three ones from the coffee can where Mama kept her cash. Might as well. Mama'd just drink it or smoke it. The five could go for supper, 'cause the refrigerator was empty except for some mayonnaise and pickles and something in an old butter bowl that was green on top. The ones were for her toll. If she was lucky, Derek wouldn't be there. Tom-Tom was okay, and Raphael wasn't too bad. But Derek scared her. He got bored easy, and he liked to pick on whoever he could when he was bored. Unless he was using. Then he just got mean. If Amy had been with her to get kissy with Tom-Tom, she wouldn't have needed a toll, but she wasn't. Cynna did not know why Amy liked to kiss Tom-Tom… Wait, wait. I do know. I like kissing now. I just kissed someone. Cullen. Yes. He fried me but good, and I'm… I'm… This time she got her eyes open. Dark. It was very dark, but there was a sliver of light… drapes, yeah,

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the drapes weren't closed tight. She was in a hotel. Which one? Where? She tried to care, but she was so tired. The dream pulled at her, dragging her back down. She didn't want to go there. Not again. But her eyes wouldn't stay open, wouldn't… …she waved her arms and. the leaves crackled and crunched all around her. She was lying right in them, in the pile she'd made. Usually there weren't enough for a pile, but today … Had there been a pile of leaves that day? She stopped, confused. That part was different, but the rest was the same. Something bad was going to happen—had happened, was happening again… A pair of black high-tops stopped near her face. "What you doin' on Angel turf, little girl?" Derek's voice. Derek's sneakers. Her heart thudded in fear. "I paid the toll." She started to scramble to her feet, but one of those great, huge shoes landed on her belly, holding her down. "Didn't pay me." "I paid Raphael." Suddenly there was something wet in her ear. A tongue. "Miss me?" a woman's voice said. "You're a cute little thing with your skin all bare." Jiri? No, it couldn't be. Not here, not now. Jiri was… Hunkered down beside her, grinning that wide grin. She had big, flat teeth, very white and straight. Her skin was so dark, like she'd been dipped in night. Her hair was super-short but her head wasn't shaved, so this was an early Jiri, before… before… "Hey, I can show up however I want to. It's your dream, but it's my body, isn't it? More or less. Watch out. He's about to—" The big foot slammed into her side. She cried out and curled around it, pain blocking everything else—sight, sound, and Jiri. Who couldn't be here. She didn't meet Jiri until… The big foot landed in her side again. Again. Pain exploded.No! This isn't how it happened! He kicked me, but then I got away . "That was then," Jiri said. "This is now. This time you didn't get away." Iwill. She twisted away from the sneaker and pushed to her feet, and she was her right size—an adult, not a little girl. Her own foot flashed out in a sideways kick, and she broke Derek's kneecap. Derek howled and fell to the ground. "Listen to that pop," Jiri said, straightening to her full height, which was almost exactly Cynna's height now. "You really want this to end the way it did before?" No. No, she didn't. "What are you doing here?" "You can change it, you know."

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Can't change the past. "But this isn't the past. This is now, and you're dreaming. Dreams can change." Dreaming. Yes, she was—but Jiri was really here. That was wrong. There was something terrible that could come of talking to Jiri in her dreams. She couldn't remember what, but she began to fight, willing herself to wake up. Wake up. "God, you're stubborn," Jiri said, and grabbed her arm. Cynna tried to pull free, but it was one of those molasses moments, when all the will in the world didn't affect your dream body, and you couldn't move. "Keep this for me." Jiri pressed something in her palm. Cynna looked down. A dead leaf. Jiri had given her a dead, brown leaf. She clenched her fist around it, crunching it into scratchy specks, and yanked her arm free, and she was— Opening her eyes on darkness. Her head ached, and so did her side, and in the first, nauseous confusion, it wasn't clear which was real and which was a hangover from the dream. She shoved the covers back and swung her legs off the bed, then just sat, leaning her forehead into the cradle of her palms. God. Hadn't had that one for a while. At least she'd managed to wake before the final sequence… hurrying back to her apartment with her side hurting, wondering if something was broken inside. Finding the ambulance out front. Watching them carry her mama out on a stretcher. Cynna stood. Her head wasn't happy, but her side didn't hurt. That had been memory, of course, and her head wasn't as bad as she'd expected. The Rhej had done quite a job on her, and if she was still uneasy at the idea of stolen or borrowed magic, she couldn't argue with the results. A couple ibuprofin ought to fix her up pretty well. The light leaking through the imperfectly closed drapes was dingy gray. Either it was really early still, or the day had woken up in the same mood as her. Either way, she might as well stay up. She padded over to the window and peeked out. Daylight, but not enough of it. Looked like it would be one of those grizzled days when Mother Nature was feeling the ache in her knees and was pissy about it. Another discomfort made itself felt and she headed for the bathroom, unclothed but not feeling bare. Magic coated her skin like invisible fur, and the intricate patterns holding it there were a shield of sorts, too. She didn't bother with a light, knowing her small space too well to need one. She emptied her bladder and washed her hands, then splashed water on her face. It didn't help. The dream clung like cobwebs, sticky strands of memory and emotion. The more things change… No one got away with kicking her these days, but the adult Cynna still lashed out too quick, too hard, trying to stop a beating that had taken place twenty-five years ago. And she hadn't been able to save her mother. After a couple years of meetings she'd accepted that it hadn't been her job, but the anger still slunk back at times, growling.

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Old news, all of it. She didn't know why she kept revisiting it. As for Jiri… her unconscious wasn't exactly subtle. She was scared of her former teacher, but she was going to have to suck it up and go after Jiri anyway. No surprise if her dream jumbled those fears together with even older ones. What time was it, anyway? She was heading back to her bed and the clock beside it when her phone chirped. She veered, bending to dig into the tote she'd dropped at the foot of the bed. It was buried under the clothes she'd stripped off before falling into bed last night. Caller ID told her who was calling. "Hi," she said. "Listen, if I'm late I'm sorry, but—" "It's 8:42 on Saturday. I was afraid I'd wake you," Lily said. "Oh. No, I'm up. Not exactly wide-awake yet, but I'm up." Three steps took her to the bedside table. She clicked on the lamp and stood blinking in the sudden light. "How's your head? Are you up to driving? Grandmother has something she wants to tell us." Cynna frowned. She was still groggy, but… "You called because you want me to meet your grandmother?" "Sorry. I forgot that you haven't met her, so that sounds peculiar, but Grandmother is hard to explain. If she says she has something we need to hear, though, we'd better listen. I've briefed her on what's been happening, and—" "You briefed your grandmother." "Ruben won't object. Grandmother has worked with the Unit before, unofficially. She… ah, she stays below the radar. Can you be here in an hour or so?" "Sure, I suppose." Cynna's jaw cracked in a huge yawn. Curiosity was beginning to rouse a few brain cells. "My head's a lot better, so I could drive, but I'm without a car. Cullen's got yours." "He didn't stay there? Somehow I got the impression…" Lily let that trail off delicately. "We're working our way up to that." "I'll have him pick you up, then. Oh—Rule says not to worry about breakfast. He's doing something with eggs. We've so many to feed already that a couple more won't make a difference." They told each goodbye and disconnected. Cynna put the phone down, wondering about this grandmother who was hard to explain but worked with the Unit unofficially. She reached up with her other hand to scrub her face. And froze, staring at her palm. Her naked palm—or it should have been. But it wasn't. Scrolled across the fleshy mound at the base of her thumb was a newkilingo , a delicate tracery that looked like the veins of a dried leaf.

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One she hadn't put there. Jiri had. TWENTY-FIVE THE kitchen smelled of onion, parsley, paprika, and people— people Rule knew and loved, people who mattered. Lily was chopping the potatoes she'd peeled; Benedict leaned against the wall near the door, watching; and Toby sat at the round table, reading. Rain drizzled down outside as it had, off and on, all night. Rule was happy. "What did you say this was called again?" Lily asked. "A frittata." Rule looked over his shoulder. At Lily's insistence, he'd begun teaching her basic kitchen skills. It wasn't that she'd developed an interest in cooking. She just got twitchy if he did all the work. At the moment she was dicing potatoes… slowly. Meal preparation took longer with her help than without it, though he had hopes she'd pick up speed eventually. "Would you like a measuring tape?" he asked politely as he whisked the eggs. "That's sarcasm," she observed without looking up. Another careful slice. "You said you wanted a half-inch dice." "It's okay to be off a millimeter here and there." Toby looked up from his book. "Is it almost ready?" "No. You can get out the bread and slice it, however. We'll use the two round loaves in the pantry." "But I'm—" "Toby." His son sighed heavily, turned the book facedown, and went to the pantry. Lily's contribution to the influx of relatives were in the front room. Lily said that Li Qin would happily help out if asked, but she wouldn't offer. To offer would be rude, implying that her hosts weren't able to handle things without her. She hadn't had to explain that her grandmother was incapable of helping. Madam Yu could take over. She couldn't assist. The two older women had gone to bed very early iast night, so they'd been up early. Li Qin had come down to the kitchen to prepare tea for the two of them and asked that Lily attend her grandmother. Rule hadn't been present for that conference, but he assumed Lily had told Madam Yu everything. The exchange hadn't been mutual. Madam Yu wanted a larger audience for her explanations, whatever they might be. Lily brought the cutting board over, piled high with precisely cubed potatoes. Voice low, she said, "Are you sure he ought to do that? He doesn't have super-duper healing yet."

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"He'll do fine. The bread knife is serrated, and he'll saw with it, not slice. It takes a remarkable degree of inattention to saw through your own finger." "If you say so." She tucked her hair behind one ear and gave Toby a quick glance—checking for blood, probably. "What next?" "You could grate the cheese." "How much?" He had no idea. He cooked by guess, based on experience. But she needed to measure everything, or she wouldn't know if she'd done it right, so he gave her a firm number. "Three cups." "Okay." She went to the refrigerator. He carried the potatoes to the range, turned the burner on under the skillet, and added a healthy chunk of butter. He looked at her for the sheer pleasure of being able to do so. Yearning twisted through him. Ah, hell. Damned, spoilsport wolf. He'd begun his penance that morning at six a.m. He'd expected Changing back after only ten minutes to be difficult, and not only because of the magical strain. Wolves had little use for clocks. For them, the time was always now. So he'd fixed in his mind an image of the clock reading six ten, and reminded himself of the Lady's wishes. The Change hurt. It always did, but it hurt more when he wasn't grounded, and he'd chosen to Change in their bedroom on the second floor, where he could see the clock. And Lily. As wolf he'd lain on the wooden floor and watched her sleep. And even as he'd looked at her, breathing in their mingled scents, he'd grieved. Foolish wolf. He scraped potatoes into the hot skillet. The Lily who had been with him in Dis wasn't gone. She lived on in this Lily… though this Lily didn't remember. She didn't know what the sky looked like in Dis, or the beauty of dragonsong, or what she'd done when she first woke, naked and frightened, sundered from memory and alone in a terrible place… alone but for a demon and a wolf. She'd reached for him, burying her fingers in his fur. She'd known him. When she hadn't known herself, she'd known him. Rule shook his head and grabbed the onion he'd gotten out earlier, and a knife. The wolf didn't understand, but he wasn't only wolf. He could remember for both of them, and Lily was here, right here with him. He hadn't lost her. He began slicing the onion, his knife working a great deal faster than hers had. He opened the oven and heat rolled out, parching his face. Rule froze. Then, carefully, he slid the pan onto the rack inside the oven. He straightened, closed the oven door, and set the timer. It had happened again.

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"The bread's all sliced," Toby announced. He found a smile and turned. "Very good." Had Lily helped the boy? She was getting plates down now, but she might have assisted him earlier. The slices were unnaturally even. He didn't know. Apparently he'd finished assembling the frit-tata, but he had no memory of it. Better not comment on the bread, or… or she'd know what had happened. That was when he realized he wasn't going to tell her. Not this time. The doorbell rang. "I'll get it." Benedict straightened away from the wall. Rule shot him an annoyed glance and received a bland one in return. He wouldn't be answering the door on his own—or eating, sleeping, or pissing, he thought. A large, silent, older-brother shadow trailed him through :he dining room. He did his best to ignore that. He couldn't have lost much time. He'd been slicing the onions; the green peppers would have been next. Five minutes. When the potatoes finished browning he would have… "Your food arrives slowly," Li Lei Yu announced from her temporary throne in the front room, an armchair that could have held two of her. She wore western clothes today, black slacks with a severe gold shirt buttoned firmly at the throat. Both were silk. "I've had help." Li Qin looked up from the magazine she was reading and smiled. Harry was sprawled across her lap, purring. "Good morning again." Benedict gave her a nod and a smile. Rule smiled, too. One couldn't help smiling at Li Qin. Even the bloody cat liked her. "Excuse me a moment, ladies. I need to get the door." "Your well-armed brother will answer the door," Madam Yu told him, and, to his surprise, slid off the chair and stood. "You will come here." Rule kept his voice polite. "Madam, I adore you, but sometimes I'm at a loss to know why." "You do not like being—what is it? Ah—bossed around." Her rare smile flashed, and for a moment a much younger woman peeped out. "I do not like it, either. But I am much older, so you will indulge me." "I think a great many people have indulged you over the years." But he gave Benedict a nod, and while his brother went to the door, he crossed to the old woman. He lifted his eyebrows:Here I am. Now what ? She wasn't smiling anymore, but neither did she wear the imperious mask she so enjoyed. Solemn and assured, she stretched up both hands and placed them on his cheeks. "Li Lei!" Li Qin's startled exclamation had Rule turning his head. The other woman had dropped her magazine

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and looked distressed. "Hush," Madam said, but her voice was gentle. Firmly she turned Rule's face back toward her. He frowned. "What are you up to?" "Nothing that can hurt you." Her eyes were that extraordinary dark brown that looks black, the whites almost invisible. He found himself staring at that darkness, fascinated. Her palms grew warm. Very warm. He heard Cullen's voice, and Cynna's, and the timer going off. None of it seemed to matter. He floated… Her hands fell away. He blinked. "Madam." Li Qin's voice reproached her. "What did you do?" Cullen demanded. He stood a few feet away, glaring at the old woman. Cynna was beside him, a frown tucked between her eyebrows. "I cannot fix it." Her voice was crisp on top, but underneath he heard sadness. Rule shook his head, dispelling the traces of whatever she'd done to him—but not the anger. He'd been taken over in some fashion, and he didn't like it. "If you're talking about the demon poison, neither can a Wiccan high priestess nor a Catholic archbishop, among others." "Bishops, monks, priestesses—bah. They are good with questions, not so good with doing." With that opaque comment, she reseated herself. "You may introduce me. Cullen, I know. This other—" Li Qin, amazingly, interrupted her. "You risked much." The old woman gave a small shrug. "Some secrets will not remain secret so much longer, I think." "That is not what I meant." "I want to know what you did," Cullen said. "And what you tried to do." "So do I," Lily said from the arched entry to the dining room, her face pale. Rule couldn't tell what had drained her color— anger or fear. Madam Yu's eyebrows rose imperiously. "We do not always get what we want." Li Qin folded her hands in her lap, placid once more. "I am sorry. In my distress, I brought confusion. The risk was not to Rule, but to Madam. She attempted—" "Li Qin," Grandmother snapped. "—to absorb the poison into herself," Li Qin finished, untroubled by the scowl directed at her. "At times, she mistakes herself for indestructible." "Bah." Madam Yu rose. "I am hungry. We will eat now."

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LI LEI YU didn't often indulge in sentimentality, but as she looked around the dining table she felt quite tender. Her granddaughter and namesake had assembled an interesting family for herself. Rule Turner sat at the head of the table, as was proper. Me wasn't entirely over his anger, of course. Cage a wolf—or a strong man—and you could expect snapping teeth. He owed none of his current cage to her, but she had suppressed his will, however briefly and benevolently. He was wary of her. She didn't object. It was well for the strong to respect the strong. Li Lei approved of Rule Turner. Her daughter-in-law did not. While bewailing Lily's choice of mate, Julia Yu had shown enough sense not to harp on the man's ability to turn wolf, since shapeshift-ing was hardly a flaw in Li Lei's eyes. Instead she'd made much of the fact that the man wasn't Chinese. Julia was prone to shallow thinking. Li Lei had pointed out tartly that if she'd wanted her children and grandchildren to marry only Chinese, she would not have left China. Cullen Seabourne looked up from his plate, which he'd cleaned without, she suspected, at all noticing what he ate. He saw her looking and winked. Cheeky. She shook her head at him, but he would know she was not offended. She had a soft spot in her heart for a beautiful rogue. What woman did not? She did not allow this to blind her. Cullen was a dangerous man. He possessed both power and obsession, and if those had helped preserve him during his years as a lone wolf, that existence had also driven great cracks through him. She liked him very much. Li Lei took another bite of the frit-tata, which was excellent. She was glad her granddaughter's lover was teaching her how to cook. Her mother had certainly failed in the attempt. Cullen was flanked by two she did not know. Lupus bodyguards. They would eat quickly, then replace the other two guards, who were still outside, so they could eat. It was sensible for Rule Turner to be guarded, though she knew he experienced their presence as part of his cage. At the moment, Rule Turner was more dangerous than his sor-cerous friend because his own danger was so much greater. Li Lei wished her attempt to help him had not failed. She frowned. Li Qin should not have spoken as she had. The risk had not been great. Li Lei's body would have thrown off the poison. Probably. Of course, Li Qin also disapproved of her using her gaze as she had. It had been years since she had done so, at least to that extent. But she did not regret using it today. Why ask for what you knew would be denied? Rule Turner would not have agreed to let her try to take his poison into herself. On Rule's right, his warrior brother ate quickly and efficiently. She had great respect for Benedict. He'd made of tragedy a forge, attaining the purity of a weapon. Not that she knew the nature of his tragedy—one did not poke into the painful places of a man one respected—but she recognized its effects. She knew tragedy. And survival. Benedict turned to smile at Toby, seated on his other side and chattering away. Li Lei's heart filled. Children were life's greatest gift. They were not, as many silly people claimed, the hope for the future.

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True, they carried the future around as if it held everything yet weighed nothing, but that was their own gift from the Creator, not one they could share. Nor was it the easy love they offered that made them precious; like most sweets, that was a keen but fleeting pleasure. Their true blessing lay in the way they opened numb or embattled hearts. This boy shone brightly. It spoke well for Rule Turner that his son possessed both courtesy and curiosity, along with a fierce and brimming well of intention, as yet largely unrealized. A pang stroked through her. She missed her own son. Edward's passion for the ordinary had been a frustration, even a disappointment at times, but she understood that it arose from his own disappointment. The magic in her blood had passed him by, choosing instead to alight in his middle daughter. Who sat now on Rule Turner's other side, doing an excellent job of hiding her fear. She'd eaten very little, but aside from that was carrying on well. Lily hadn't asked her grandmother to help her lover. She hadn't fluttered over her, either, after Li Qin's ill-judged revelation. Lily did not flutter. She'd offered neither reproaches nor questions, a restraint that earned her many points. She'd simply kissed her grandmother on the cheek and looked into her eyes. Spoken thank-yous were all very well, but Li Lei preferred the unspoken sort. She was very proud of her granddaughter. If the fear was great, also… ah, well. She had yet to learn the trick of living without fear. Li Lei's gaze moved to the last person at the table. Cynnai Weaver sat at the foot, which was not proper, but Lily needed to be near Rule. Her hair was absurd: a stiff, bleached mane cropped too short for any grace or beauty. Her skin was extraordinary. Quite beautiful, if considered without bias. But to wear one's isolation so flagrantly… that spoke of great strength, great anger, or great pain. Not that the three didn't often travel together. Cynna's accent and clothes—she wore a hideous gray suit—spoke of her origins from the lowest rung of society. Li Lei did not hold that against her, but she was not an egalitarian. The poor were not the same as the rich—for which one should thank God, since the rich were often boring, their minds and souls stultified by privilege. But poverty was more likely to birth meanness of spirit than nobility. Lily had told her that Cynna Weaver went to Dis with her and Cullen to save Rule. Lily trusted the woman. Li Lei reserved judgment but thought that, of all those present, Cynna was most like Benedict. But Benedict had passed through his fire. The flames still licked at Cynna; many of her choices still lay ahead. Cynna was stiff and worried now, watching the others or her plate, speaking little. She'd shown them the new mark on her hand, which she believed came from her old teacher. None of them—not even the sorcerer—could tell what the mark was meant to do, but Cynna was certain she would know if the spell became active. Li Lei was extremely curious about Cynna Weaver. Some of what Lily had disclosed earlier had come as a shock. A blow, even, she thought, sipping her cooling tea. Her granddaughter had been in acute peril, her soul sundered, half of her trapped in a hostile realm. And Li Lei hadn't known, being on the other side of the world, seeking ghosts. She should have known better. She did know better. Ghosts were never the least help to anyone.

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Oh, her son had called to inform her of the externals, the parts of the story visible to everyone. Edward was not so foolish as to try to keep such things from her. But neither he nor Julia knew exactly what had happened to Lily—only that she'd been wounded, that her Gift and her lover had been missing for a time… and that she had somehow brought dragons back to the world. Emotion clutched her so tight and fierce it tore her breath jway for a moment. But only for a moment. So much had cfianged… So much was changing, and would continue to change. She looked at Li Qin seated next to her and obeyed a rare impulse. She reached for the other woman's hand and squeezed it. Li Qin looked up, surprised. Her cheeks flushed faintly with pleasure. She gave Li Lei that sweet, serene smile. Love arrived in so many guises. Though it had taken her years, Li Lei had learned not to spurn any of them. She nodded at Li Qin and released her hand. It was time. "I will speak now." TWENTY-SIX "I cannot fix it." Until Grandmother spoke those words, Lily hadn't realized how much part of her clung to the idea that Grandmother could, indeed, fix anything. That she would know what to do for Rule. Childish. If her fear had redoubled after that failed effort, it was her own fault. She'd hidden her hope from herself and was paying the price. Add guilt to that for the way Grandmother had risked herself, and what little she'd been able to eat rested unhappily in her middle. "By all means," Rule said, "speak." Grandmother was amused by Rule's sharp tone, but she didn't stop to fence with him. "I wish your word that what I say does not go beyond this room, save for whatever you choose to tell your father. Your pledge will bind the lupi here." Rule considered that a moment, then nodded. Grandmother looked at Lily. "You will feel it your duty to report to your FBI. I ask only that you speak of this to no one except Ruben Brooks and those on this—what is the silly name? Task force. Yes. You may tell them." She looked at Cynna. "I do not know you. I do not know what moves you, what your word means to you." Cynna stared back at her. "I'm not the one who tried to ensor-cell someone." Grandmother snorted. "I did not try. In that much, I succeeded. Do I have your word you won't repeat this except to your FBI people?" "Yeah. Sure."

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If Grandmother objected to the casual phrasing, she didn't say so. She looked them all over one more time, then began. "I tell you a tale I believe is true. It was told to me by one who knows, and it begins in times so ancient the suns have since changed. I will skip most of that beginning," she added dryly. "Or we would be here a very long time. The part that matters today concerns those you call Old Ones." "Like the goddess?" Lily asked. "The one we don't name?" "Her, and others. Many others. We call them gods, angels, devils—they are none of these, and all. Their true nature is beyond us. Many of them… call them guardians, though what they guard is hard to say. Reality, perhaps. They are those who remained when the last Great Cycle ended and the universe died and was reborn." Rule made a small noise. "Tell me you aren't talking about the big bang." "Scientists name it that." She shrugged. "I tell you only that some from the last Cycle lingered into this one, though whether they stayed from duty or love, avarice or failure, karma or choice, I do not say. Perhaps only part of them stayed behind. Our words do not stretch to encompass such as they. Some of them took as their purpose the balance between the realms." She paused to sip her tea and made a face. "Cold tea," she announced, "is an abomination. Perhaps three thousand years ago, those who tend the balance saw it was in danger. Others disagreed. There was much conflict, much devastation." "The Great War," Rule said slowly. "You're speaking of the Great War." She nodded once. "It touched our realm but was fought in many. Your Lady played a part, as did your people. In the end, those concerned with balance won. They… moved things." Lily licked dry lips. "Uh… the realms?" "Yes. Such a feat is difficult, even for them. But enough of them chose to work together to do this much: our Earth was closed to most of the other realms. Magic here dwindled—slowly at first, so that for centuries little seemed different. Then faster. And they—even they—were forbidden to enter here or to meddle in our affairs." "That's why the Great Bitch can't cross?" Cullen said sharply. "Because she's forbidden by others of Her kind?" Li Lei shrugged again. "Forbiddenis a human word. I do not know what laws or bindings act on such as they." "The task force," Lily said suddenly. "Fagin, the guy in charge, believes that magic began dwindling about four hundred years ago, not three thousand." Grandmother looked at her, "His guess is not so bad. By then, the remaining magic was not enough to… hold things together. That is when the dragons left, and the last of the elves, and many others of the Blood, and their leaving made a hole. Magic poured out faster than ever. And the Book of All Magic—" "Was lost," Cullen broke in. "Or was it?" Grandmother fixed him with a severe stare. "You," she announced, "are going to be a problem." She

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folded her hands on the table. "The shift in the realms, the closing of ours from the others, was not meant to be forever. The story I know calls the moment when the realms return to their previous state the Turning. Two nights ago, I felt it happen." No one spoke for a long moment. It was Cynna who broke the silence. "Excuse me, but are we supposed to just, you know, believe that? We'd already figured out that the realms are shifting, but the rest of this… are you claiming that, of all the people on the planet,you felt this Turning and knew what it was?" For whatever reason, that made Grandmother smile, as if at a good joke. "Yes." "What you're saying," Lily said, leaning forward, "is that magic isn't going to return to the level of four hundred years ago. It will go back to what it was three thousand years ago." "Yes. Though not right away, I think." "And the Codex Arcanum?" Cullen demanded. "The Book of All Magic. You started to say something about it." She looked at him and sighed. "Yes. According to legend… theory… a good guess," she decided. "We will call it a good guess, made by the one who told me this tale. He believes that what you call the Codex was taken away and hidden when the magic failed. He believes it will return at the Turning, or be returned—or even that the Turning is a sign it has already returned. As do others," she finished grimly. "Including She we do not name. That is what She wants: the Codex Arcanum. The Book of All Magic." "Don't tell them," Cullen said. Lily stared at him. His eyes were glazed, his face tight with emotion. "What?" "Don't tell the FBI about the Codex. I'm not sure I trust me with the knowledge that it's back—that maybe it's back. I for damned sure don't trust anyone else." "I have to," she said. "They have to know." His eyes flashed with such anger she almost reached for her weapon. He shook his head sharply, thrust his chair back, stood, and strode for the door. Lily pushed to her feet. "Cullen—" Rule laid a hand on her arm. "Let him go. He'll come back when he's ready." TWENTY-SEVEN HE wasn't ready for three days. While Cullen was gone, Toby did indeed learn to play mah-jongg. So did Timms, who came to see Cullen the day after he took off, then returned at Madam Yu's regal invitation. Madam Yu also became a student, or perhaps collaborator was the better word. Or guinea pig. She received akilingo of Cynna's pain-blocking spell, and when she was able to make it work, Cynna imprinted the spell on two of the guards, who had less success. She didn't know if the spell lost potency

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from being copied or if the guards simply weren't able to work a spell of that sort. They decided to wait for Cullen's return before imprinting it on anyone else. Rule's wound healed completely, though the scar remained. And he continued to lose time. Early Tuesday morning, Cullen turned up at the door, unshaven and looking like he'd slept in his clothes. Which Rule assumed he had, for however little time he'd spent sleeping. "Have you eaten?" he asked, holding the door. "Yes." Cullen frowned. "Not lately, though, now that you mention it." "The kitchen, then." Rule headed that way. They met Lily winging through on her way to the back door. She wore one of her pretty suits, this one with a dark blue jacket and a black pencil skirt. The coat he'd given her wasn't back from the cleaners yet, so she was shrugging into the Lands' End jacket. Her face went blank. "Cullen." "Like the proverbial bad penny, here I am once more." He sank into one of the chairs, a subtle lessening in his usual grace telling Rule exhaustion rode him hard. "Miss me?" She scowled. "I was worried." "That I'd absconded with your secrets and gone off to pursue the you-know-what?" She rolled her eyes. "I've got to go," she told Rule, and came to him for a quick kiss… which didn't turn out to be so quick. He handed her the umbrella she kept forgetting. This was the third day of drizzle, but Lily hadn't adjusted to the notion of consistent wetness. She frowned at it, patted his arm, and sped out the door without looking back. Normal. They both worked at keeping things as normal as possible. Rule knew she was afraid for him—he smelled it on her—but they both pretended otherwise. It helped. Cullen was looking him up and down. "It's stronger. Not by much, but… stronger." Rule kept his expression even. "So Lily says, also. Do you want eggs or meat?" "Meat." Cullen propped his elbows on the table and leaned his head into his hands, scrubbing his face. "Where's Cynna?" "Albuquerque." They'd eaten deli food last night. Rule took what was left of the rotisserie chickens from the refrigerator. "She left last night." "Albuquerque?" Cullen straightened. "What the hell's she doing in Albuquerque?" "Did you think you could set her down, go away, and find her still where you put her when you came back?" Rule poured a glass of milk. "You know women better than that. Here." "I didn't think—" Cullen began indignantly, then broke off and grinned. "All right. I didn't think, and that's going to bite my tail, isn't it? But really—why Albuquerque?"

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"She's interviewing one of Jiri's former students. So is Lily, though her target lives much closer, in Baltimore." "Ah." Cullen lost interest. Lily—via Ruben—had pried open the Secret Service's files on those in Jiri's inner circle. One was in prison; three had vanished beyond the ability of the Secret Service to locate; two were dead. Of the remaining four, Lily had spoken with two, sent Cynna to talk to one, and was supposed to meet with the last one today. Fortunately, the mate bond was in one of its more elastic periods, and Baltimore was less than forty miles away. Even if her target lay on the far side of the city, it shouldn't be a problem. Cullen had gone back to scrubbing his face, probably trying to stay awake long enough to eat. Rule sliced off a drumstick and thigh, put it on a plate and set that, a fork, and the plastic tub of potato salad in front of his friend. "Eat," he said, and sat opposite him. Cullen needed no encouragement, tearing into the chicken as if it had been days since he's eaten. That was unlikely. He might delay sleep more than was wise, but he kept himself fueled. It was one of the few good habits he'd developed while clanless. Lone wolves couldn't afford to get too hungry. With the chicken reduced to bones, he started on the potato salad. "I wasn't off sulking, you know. At least, not the whole time." "I realize that. Lily, however, has known you during one of your more stable periods," Rule said calmly. "Her expectations are different." Cullen looked up, his eyes dark with anger—then gave a bark of laughter. "Women and expectations. Go together, don't they?" He sighed, pushed the empty container away, and picked up the glass of milk. "I'm feeling a tad volatile. You may have noticed. I should probably go burn something." Rule let his eyebrows express astonishment. "You mean you haven't?" Cullen's grin was easier this time, less edged. "No. Haven't been laid in far too long, either." He broke off to yawn hugely. "Lord, I'm tired. I did spend some time four-footed. Have you?" "Every day." Ten minutes, as he'd been set to do. "I don't mean penance. I mean running, being wolf as wolf is meant to be." Anger licked at Rule's insides. He suppressed it. "Nag later. Did you learn anything?" "Not much." Cullen slouched back in his chair. "I was in New Orleans. You'll be getting a Visa bill for the trip." Rule nodded, accepting that for the explanation it was. Cullen's financial morals were peculiar, but within their bounds he was quite straitlaced. If Cullen had billed the trip to him, it was clan business, which meant he'd gone in search of help for Rule's condition. "You went to see a Vodun priest or priestess?"

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"The one I hoped to consult hasn't been seen since the hurricane, but I talked to a couple others. One let me use her workshop." He lifted his butt enough to dig into his pocket and pulled out a small, silk-wrapped bundle. "Don't say I never gave you anything." Rule unfastened the black silk gingerly. The contents were unremarkable: a single white feather. It looked like it had come from a chicken. "I hope I'm not supposed to eat this." Cullen snorted. "No, you wear it next to your skin. Just a sec…" He dug into another pocket. "Here." He passed Rule a thin strip of leather. "This has been purified. Use it, not silver or gold. The original charm wards off evil spirits—not exactly your problem, but we tinkered with it." "We?" "The priestess whose workshop I used helped me work out some of the changes. The original charm was Vodun—got it from the guy who's missing—so I needed advice on the modifications. If it works, it'll stop the demon stuff from growing." "And if it doesn't?" Rule picked up the feather. There was a small silver cap on one end with a loop to run the leather strip through. "I suppose it could cause a rash." He grimaced. "Hell, Rule, I don't know. It's the strongest charm I could make. I think it will work, but I don't know. Even if it does, it won't last more than a week. Maybe less." Rule turned the charm between his fingers. It felt like just a feather, no zing or punch at all. He wondered what it would feel like to Lily. "Blood magic, Cullen?" Most Vodun magic involved blood, or so Cullen had once told him. And most blood magic came with an expiration date. Cullen scowled. "It's not black." But it was probably gray. Rule suspected that any moral penalties from the charm wouldn't redound to him but to his friend. It was probably too late to object. The charm was made. Refusing it wouldn't lessen any price Cullen had agreed to pay. But he didn't like it. He didn't like it at all. "Our friendship is getting unbalanced. You went to hell for me. Now you've taken on God knows what kind of burden to—" "Shove it. First, you were my friend when it cost you—and don't tell me it didn't. Second, you're now my Lu Nuncio. What happens to you affects the whole clan. I'm allowed to protect the clan." Rule turned away abruptly and grabbed the chicken carcass. He yanked open the refrigerator. "Do you have any idea what that's like? People guarding me, protecting me, paying for my safety with their lives—do you know what that's like?" He grabbed the milk, spun, and hurled it across the room. The carton splatted against the wall. Milk went everywhere. "Feel better?" Cullen said cheerfully. "No." What a mess. What a goddamned mess. "Funny. It usually brightens my day to break things. Oh, well." He shoved back his chair. "Let's get it

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cleaned up. Where's your brotherly shadow?" "You," Rule said, incredulous, "are going to help clean up?" "I'll hand you the sponge and point out any spots you miss." He looked around. "Whereis the sponge?" Rueful, Rule shook his head. "That's going to take more than a sponge." He went to the pantry and took out the mop. "Benedict's upstairs with Toby. I promised not to leave the house without him." "I'm surprised he agreed to put a whole floor between you." "The warden cut me a deal." His brother had probably heard everything—Rule's temper tantrum, much of their current conversation. Benedict's hearing was uncanny, even for a lupus. Rule picked up the burst carton. "Throw that away, will you? I'm supposed to spar with Freddie later." Methodically, he began mopping. "For some reason everyone thinks I'm strung a little tight." "If you start acting as erratic as me, we're in trouble." Cullen dumped the carton in the trash and added quietly, "You've had more… incidents, haven't you? Blackouts, I guess we could call them." "Four." He carried the mop to the sink, rinsed it, and brought it back to finish. Three times in the last two days his memory had simply ceased working. "The gaps are short—between ten and twenty minutes. So far, no other symptoms. Lily knows about one. I haven't told her about the other three, so don't mention them." "Jesus, Rule! And you accuse me of being an idiot with women!" "No, you're thoughtless, but when you bother to think, you're bright enough." Rule finished mopping and carried the mop back to the pantry. The wall still had to be washed. "Don't bother giving me advice. I'm not going to worry her more than I have to." Cullen shook his head. Another yawn hit. "You'd better get to bed. Take my room—the others are occupied." Cullen managed a tired grin. "Think Lily will object to my sleeping in her bed?" "No, but she'll hate the way you'll bring it up at whatever moment irritates her most." He retrieved the sponge Cullen had pretended not to see earlier. It was hiding on the shelf above the sink. "Couple of things I need to tell you before I crash, if I can keep enough brain cells operating to do it." Another yawn. "About Timms—" "I told you I wasn't keeping him for you." "I know that." Cullen was irritated. "I called him, told him I had to be out of town awhile. I…" He stopped, eyes narrowing. "You knew that." "He's come over every day. He's on medical leave because of his arm, so I guess he's at loose ends. Madam Yu," he said, "is teaching him mah-jongg." "Good God."

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And that, Rule thought as he stooped to wipe down the wall, was both typical and brand-new. Cullen hadn't called Rule after he vanished—typical. He'd expected Rule to understand. He also hadn't wanted to give Rule a chance to object to what he meant to do. He hadn't called Lily or Cynna because it hadn't occurred to him. But he'd called Timms. Cullen had always collected strays—often, though not always, human. People as hungry in their way for belonging as he was. But he'd never tended to them himself for long, instead finding someone else to assume responsibility. But he'd called Timms. "Might as well call him, tell him I'm back. Can't tell him everything, of course," Cullen said. "Especially about the Codex." He paused. "I suppose Lily has already passed that bit on." Rule finished the wall, straightened, and nodded. Cullen's fists clenched, then relaxed. "I guess the ones we most wish didn't know about it already do. I've an idea about the Codex. That's the other thing I wanted to tell you before I crash." "I'm listening." He put the sponge back and returned to the table, where he picked up the feather and the leather strip. He might as well wear the damned thing. Maybe it would help. He threaded the leather through the silver loop. "The report Lily gave me. Putting it together with what I can remember or reconstruct—does that make you as mad as it does me?" he asked suddenly. "Having your memory messed with?" Since he'd just finished cleaning up the evidence of his temper, Rule's voice was dry. "Yes. It does." Cullen nodded. "Anyway, the FBI detected what they call a nodal disturbance down in Galveston. Their reader's estimate was so high—in the neighborhood of sixty thousand fyllos—they assumed it was a glitch. That kind of nodal energy just doesn't happen, and if it did, there'd be other disturbances… kind of like what we've seen lately, as a matter of fact. But they sent someone to check it out anyway. Regular FBI guy from the local office, not the Unit, but he had some Wiccan training. He talked to several people who lived near the node. Including Molly Brown." Rule tied the leather around his neck and slipped the feather under his shirt. He didn't feel different. But then, he didn't feel different when he lost time, either. "Molly's your succubus friend." "Right. She had another friend with her—a woman named Erin DuBase. Registered Wiccan, rumored to be a priestess or high priestess. Also present was someone they claimed was Molly's nephew… named Michael." Rule saw where he was going. "The same first name as the sorcerer who visited you. The one you think tampered with your memory." Excitement burned off Cullen's exhaustion. He began to pace. "Next thing you know, there's an APB out for Molly and Michael, who've left Galveston—only no one knows who issued it. Molly calls me at some point, then she and Michael fly out to see me. We're together for hours. I don't remember it clearly at all, but it doesn't occur to me for a long time that there's anything wrong with my memory. Aversion spell," he said, stopping crisply. "I found the damned thing in my head."

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"Did you get rid of it, then?" Cullen's grin was fierce. "I did. Learned a few things in the process, too. But back to my story. My next clear memory is waking up with Molly and Michael gone. I'm not alone long. The Az£ come calling, looking for Michael, though they settle for me. "Lucky me. At some point before their arrival, I acquired shields. Shields so good no one, not even the telepathic Helen with that damned staff augmenting her power, can break through. We're talking the Rolls-Royce of shields, Rule, when no one on this planet today knows how to build a goddamned Model T." Rule felt cold. "But that sort of spell might well be in the Codex." Cullen licked his finger and drew aone in the air. "Your point, ace. Both the shields and the tampering with my memory took skills that haven't existed since the Codex vanished." When Cullen's fists clenched this time, he didn't relax them. "He's got it, Rule. The original power reading was no glitch—it takes ungodly amounts of power to open a gate. That's when the Codex returned. And the son of a bitch who messed with my mind has it." It made sense. It made too damned much sense. "You think this Michael tampered with your memory, then kindly equipped you with shields?" Cullen waved that away impatiently. "He needed something from me. I wish to God I could remember what, but it's gone. The shields were my payment—which suggests he's not a complete son of a bitch, or at least that Molly wouldn't let him kill me. But he forgot to take away one thing. I know what he looks like." And if Cullen had been hot to find the man before, now the need was burning him up. "Maybe," Rule said slowly, "we should let the Codex stay hidden." "Make like an ostrich, you mean? If we pretend nothing bad's coming, the boogieman won't get us." Cullen was disgusted. "She'safter it. How can we not do our damnedest to get hold of it first?" He was right, yet—"The Codex is the biggest Pandora's box the world has ever seen. If it contains the kind of knowledge you believe it does—" "ThatShe believes it does, too." "Then who can be trusted with it?" Cullen ran a hand over his hair. "If you're thinking I can't be, you're probably right. Oh, not that I want to set myself up as world ruler. I don't have time for that. But better to have it in Nokolai's hands than the government's." The government. Lily. "What are you saying?" Rule snapped. "Don't tell Lily. Not yet. She'll been dead-set on telling that damned task force, and—" "I have to tell her. The last time I kept things from her—" Rule gave a quick, harsh bark of laughter. "That's when she ended up in hell. So did I."

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Cullen shook his head. "What you withheld was clan business and had nothing to do with what happened to the two of you." "I can't hold back on her." "You already are."

LlLY grabbed her purse and her computer, slammed the car door, and headed out of the garage at a good clip. Automatically she scanned the backyard, but she couldn't spot the guard. It gave her the willies, frankly. She was glad the guards were there, but she didn't like the idea of anyone being so well-hidden. The back door opened just as she reached for it. She jumped, then stepped through. "That's damned disconcerting," she told Benedict, who was holding the door for her. He smiled. Benedict was a man of few words—often no words. "Rule!" she called, setting her laptop on the table, then digging her phone out of her purse before tossing the purse there, too. She hit the speed dial for Cynna's cell. "Things are popping," she said, glancing at her watch as Rule came into the kitchen. "Come on, Cynna, pick up," she told the ringing phone, continuing to Rule without a pause, "I've got a lead. I'm going to have to go to Chicago, so I guess some of the guards will—damn." Cynna's voice mail invited her to leave a message. She did, telling her to call back ASAP, then explaining to Rule as she slipped off her bulky jacket. "The woman I talked to in Baltimore was scared—Jiri's done quite a number on her followers—but she finally gave me a name. This one's new—the Secret Service didn't have it. Hamid Franklin joined the movement well after Cynna left. Apparently he was one of Jiri's favorites, so…" His stillness and lack of expression finally sank in. "What is it? What's wrong?" Dumb question, when so much was wrong— but there could always be more. There was. "I can't go to Chicago," he told her. "Paul's body is being released to me today." TWENTY-EIGHT THE hearse ahead of them was black and shiny in the late afternoon sun. For this, the sun had finally deigned to come out. That just pissed her off. Lily was hungry, tired, worried… all right, not worried. Scared. She was scared on so many levels it was hard to keep track of them all. Rule was infected with demon stuff. Her mother wasn't speaking to her. Her older sister was, unfortunately. The world was set up to be blasted with repeated doses of magic, changing everything, probably killing people. Demons were popping up all over, and an Old One who'd been around since before the big bang wanted to destroy the lupi, seize the Book of All Magic,

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and rule the world. Her feet hurt. She'd found Alexia Morgan, but she'd had to walk over half of Baltimore to do it. The woman hadn't been at home, at work, or at her favorite bar. Lily had finally tracked her to a laundry center. But she'd struck gold once she found her, and now… Now Cynna was handling the Chicago trip, she reminded herself. Cynna was perfectly capable of doing mat while she, Rule, his brawny brother, and his sorcerous buddy followed a damned hearse whose driver thought it respectful to go fifty in a seventy-miles-per-hour zone. Rule had just finished telling her Cullen's theory. "You waited on purpose." She tried to keep her voice low. She really did. "You didn't tell me about this Michael character and his possible connection to the Codex until we left. You wanted to keep me from telling Ruben or the task force." This couldn't be reported over the phone. No line was sufficiently secure to discuss the Codex Arcanum. He didn't deny it, which did nothing for her temper. "Goddammit, Rule, we can't just sit on this! Admittedly it's only a theory, but it fits. I have to—" "Think," he said coolly. "You need to stop and think before you do anything, which is why I waited. I wanted you to have time to chew over the options." She threw up her hands. "I'm an FBI agent. Myoption is to tell Ruben." "That's one of them. He'll have to tell the president, of course, who will need to speak of this with a few trusted advisers. Who will all advise her to get her hands on the Codex without delay." "And your point is?" "What might the Pentagon do with the Book of All Magic?" That stopped her for a moment. "What else can we do? Assuming it is here, and that we find it—pretty big assumptions, but let's go with them for now. It isn't up to us to decide." "Passing on what we know is a decision, and makes us culpable, in part, for what happens later… if your faith in the authorities turns out to be misplaced." "I trust Ruben." He thought that over, then nodded. "I do, too. I might even be willing to trust him with the Codex, if he, in turn, were willing to tell no one he had it. But whoever possesses it must be not only honorable but able to defend it against everyone who wants it. Which will include much of the rest of the world, once word gets out." "Other worlds, too," Cullen put in from the backseat. She drummed her fingers on her thigh, counted to ten, and said to Rule, "Why don't you yell when you get mad?"

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"I prefer to throw things," he said dryly. Cullen snorted. She turned to glare at him. "And why are you here, anyway? I understand why Benedict's with us." And was damned glad of it. Benedict had agreed to leave the other bodyguards at the house— Toby needed protection, too—but he'd flatly refused to let Rule travel to Leidolf territory without him. "But you don't serve any purpose on this little outing." That amused him. "Sure I do. Decoration. I may be useless, but I'm pretty." "You're not useless. Annoying, infuriating, arrogant, but not useless. But I don't see why it's okay for you to accompany Rule if other Nokolai can't." He shrugged. "Leidolf may object, but I'm not seen as a threat. They'll probably shrug and let me in." "But they know you're a sorcerer." "Most lupi disdain magic, aside from the Change." Benedict's deep voice came as a surprise. It often did, both because of the bass rumble of it and because he so seldom spoke. "Cullen will try to learn the extent of Victor's illness." "You sound like you already know what his illness is." "There aren't many possibilities," Rule said, slowing as the hearse did. They were nearing the turn-off for Nutley. "Cancer is the most likely." "Cancer? But I thought lupi healed malignant cells along with everything else." "Normal malignancies, yes," Cullen said. "But there's a form of cancer peculiar to our species. It only occurs at two points— early adolescence, when puberty and the first Change make wild alterations in the body, or in old age." Adolescence? She thought of Toby, and glanced at Rule. He was watching the road or the hearse or maybe listening to his own thoughts, but he must have felt her looking at him. "It's much more rare in adolescence than old age, fortunately. Nettie says that at the first Change our magic seeks a balance between rapid healing and cellular immortality. Since the only truly immortal cells are cancerous—" "Cancer is immortal?" "On a cellular level, yes," Cullen said. "Do you want the geneticist's explanation, or the simple one?" "Simple, by all means." "Cells replace themselves through division. Cellular senescence—old age—is basically the loss of information needed for the cell to divide. Normal cells have what's called a Hayflick limit. That's the number of times they can divide to reproduce themselves, and it more or less determines how long an

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organism can live. Cancer cells duck this limit through an enzyme called telomerase. Telomerase keeps adding six-letter units to the telomeres—that's the bit at the end of the chromosomal chain— so the cell can continue dividing, which means—" "You're sure this is the simple explanation." "Simplified to the point of absurdity. I haven't even mentioned cross-linked proteins, AGEs—" "Don't." "Okay, okay. The point is that cancerous cells can divide indefinitely; regular cells can't. We can't study lupus cells in the lab to determine how they manage to duck the Hayflick limit, of course." "Cells from those of the Blood produce wacky test results." "Right. Separated from its organizing principle, our magic reverts to chaos. So, with no clinical tests possible, all we can do is theorize, but the most likely theory is that magic does what the telomerase enzyme does. It allows our cells to divide without losing information." Lily thought she followed his reasoning. "And that's what you said cancer does, only it uses this enzyme instead of magic. So if something's a little off with the magic, you get cancer instead of mega-healing." "Bet your teachers loved you. Yep, our magic works great as long as it conforms to its organizing principle. When it doesn't, we sprout cancers. Multiple, systemic cancers." She considered that as they followed the hearse in a stately procession. "There seem to be a lot of cars headed for Nutley." "I noticed," Rule said grimly. "I think we're arriving with half of Leidolf. Randall's memorial will follow Paul's tomorrow. The clan is coming for that, both out of respect and because Victor will call the naming then." "You mean he'll name the new heir tomorrow?" "No, that's when he sets the date for the ceremony. Traditionally the Rho calls the naming, then speaks the names of those of the blood—the ones who potentially could carry the mantle." "But it always goes to a son of the Rho." "Almost always," he corrected. "The blood is strongest in a son of the Rho, but others in the clan will have founder's blood, too. We're hoping like hell Victor breaks with that particular tradition." "But could he name Brady? I thought the heir had to have at least one son." "Brady sired twin sons several years ago. One was stillborn, but the other lived a few days. Technically, that qualifies him, but the clan won't like it. I'm not sure they'd accept him." "Do they have a choice?" "There's the testing. It's part of the ceremony. Victor names his heir, then he's tested."

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"Challenged, he means," Cullen put in. "That's one of the reasons for the wait between calling the naming and holding it. It gives the clan time to talk over who will handle the Challenge. When Rule was named, of course, there wasn't any question about that. Benedict Challenged." "What?" She swung around to stare at the big man. "You Challenged Rule? Fought him?" It was Rule who answered her. "If the heir can't command the most powerful fighter in the clan, he can't be Rho. I wouldn't call Benedict's Challenge a formality," he added with a thread of amusement, very dry. "He made me work. But if he hadn't been willing to have me as heir, I wouldn't have won." "There's always at least one Challenger," Cullen said. "No matter how popular the choice of heir. But there can be more. If Brady is named, I'm betting there will be plenty." "Is he likely to win a Challenge? Is he a good fighter?" Cullen sighed. "He's good. Rule could take him. So could Benedict, but that goes without saying. I'm not sure who within Leidolf—" Benedict spoke in his deep, quiet voice. "Victor will not name Brady unless he wishes his son dead. Alex Thibodaux is a good fighter, and he has honor. If Brady is named, Alex will Challenge and kill him." That notion seemed to brighten everyone's day.

THE little town of Nutley looked worn but not worn out—lived-in, Lily decided, mentally comparing the streets they passed to the map she'd studied. She liked to know where things were, just in case. They were second in a small line of vehicles behind the hearse, whose driver held to his principles and drove below the speed limit. She returned to the cancer question, turning her head to ask Cullen, "What's this organizing principle you mentioned?" "If you figure that out, let me know." Benedict spoke quietly. "Some say it's purely physical, that the magic takes its template from our bodies. Some say our will or intent shapes it. And some believe the Lady creates a pattern for each of us." She twisted further to look at him, sitting directly behind her. "Which do you believe?" "If it came from the Lady, it would work all the time. No one would develop cancer. If it came from our bodies, we'd all be; about thirteen years old, physically—the age of our first Change, ! when the magic arrives. If will or intent formed it, old bastards like Victor would live forever. He's got the will for it." He'd just eliminated every theory he'd mentioned. "But what doyou believe?" "That the adolescent cancer arises when a lupus's body tries to reject the magic, and the two battle

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instead of melding. That we live to a certain age because we're supposed to. That some suffer cancer in old age because sin has twisted their magic." "Sin?" she repeated, startled. It was the last thing she'd expected from Benedict. "That's… very biblical of you." And it was all he intended to say, apparently. He didn't respond. "Benedict can be downright Old Testament at times," Rule said, "for someone who was raised to follow traditional Navajo beliefs." They were climbing now, leaving Nutley behind. Lily tried to set her mind on the case, on what their options would be if the Chicago lead didn't pan out. But she was so damned aware of Rule she couldn't concentrate. It still hit her at times, this physical draw. Mate bond or love? She wasn't sure—was no longer sure it mattered. But it embarrassed her to feel this physical acuity with others present. It wasn't arousal, precisely, but it led that way. Still, she found herself watching him. Warm afternoon light slid over his face, marking the strong cheekbones. She loved his eyebrows, those winged slashes so much more expressive than her own. His hands on the wheel drew her gaze. Strong hands, long fingers… gold glinted at his wrist. He'd worn a watch today; he'd didn't always. The cuffs of his dress shirt looked very white against his skin and the dark wool of his suit jacket. Like most of the Western world, lupi wore dark colors for funerals. But they wore them for all important ceremonies, also. Black, deepest blue, and charcoal represented the depths through which the moon moved. At least, that's what they wore when they wore anything at all. Lily was glad this wasn't one of the skin-only ceremonies. Not that she'd have had to strip—nudity was required only of those who might Change. But where do you look in a crowd of naked men? She was pretty sure where her eyes would be drawn. Since nudity was, thankfully, not called for, Lily had packed * her best black slacks and jacket; she'd wear a dark blue shell beneath. Funeral colors weren't necessary until the memorial tomorrow. Though Paul would be buried tonight, only his closest kin would be present for that. Lupi considered burial a private business. The coat Rule had given her was slung over the back of the seat. The cleaners had delivered it just before they left. She wished they'd been a few hours slower. Paul had bled into that coat. The hearse was slowing. Its turn signal came on. Nearly showtime, she thought as they, too, slowed for the turn. The hearse bumped off down a dirt road. They turned—and stopped abruptly. Three men wearing blades much like Benedict's had stepped in front of their car. Lily glanced at the others. They seemed calm, as if they'd expected mis.

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One of the men stepped up to the window, which Rule opened. "Nokolai isn't welcome here." "I'm accompanying the body of Paul Chernowich—as you know." "He isn't." The guard jerked his chin toward Benedict in the backseat. "If there is a ceremony, Nokolai must witness it as well as Lei-dolf. My brother accompanies me for that and because of the threat of demon attack, not from any lack of respect for Leidolf. My Chosen is with me," Rule added. "It would be odd if I—or Leidolf—refused her the protection my brother can provide." The guards discussed it among themselves, then consulted someone via cell phone while four cars behind them waited. The hearse waited up ahead, too, its driver having realized his escort was detained. Eventually the guards announced that Benedict would be allowed onto Leidolf land if he surrendered his right to Challenge. Benedict refused. He made a counteroffer: he would avoid all Challenges if possible and would bind himself not to Challenge someone named Alex. "That's his counterpart," Cullen explained while the guards consulted some more. "Head of their security, and their best fighter. He'd have to accept a Challenge if Benedict issued one." "The others wouldn't?" Rule took up the explanation. "Benedict's reputation makes it unlikely that anyone but a young fool would accept a Challenge from him. It would be an embarrassment to refuse a Challenge, but no real loss of status in this case. Everyone knows Benedict would win. But Alex's position makes him a sort of placeholder for the Lu Nuncio the clan currently lacks. His refusal of a Challenge would reflect upon the entire clan. If Benedict Challenged, Alex would have to accept." "So they aren't just being pissy with their conditions." Cullen snorted. "Oh, they're being pissy. If Benedict gave up his Challenge right, they'd feel free to offer insult." "Our notion of insult," Rule added dryly, "might strike you as a trifle violent." The guards came back, having obtained agreement from someone to Benedict's terms, which he then had to state for the record. There was one more brief delay. They wanted to search the car and remove all guns. Apparently Benedict's blades were acceptable; firearms were not. Lily was fed up. "There are several weapons in the trunk," she said coolly, addressing the guards herself for the first time. "They're mine. I'm an FBI agent, as I imagine you know, investigating the demon attacks on lupus heirs. I'm not handing them over." They didn't believe her. In their world, little bitty women didn't shoot AK-47s. Lily got out, marched around to the back of the car, pulled out the weapon, set her feet, and shouldered it. "Anyone in those trees?" She nodded at a thick stand of oak. "I—no," the tallest guard said. She fired a blast, decimating several innocent branches. "Good stopping power, even on demons," she

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announced, unable to hear herself speak. Served her right, she supposed, for showing off. She knew from experience her hearing would return in a moment. They let her keep the guns. When they pulled away from the checkpoint at last, she asked Rule to tell her about Leidolf. "What do you want to know?" Rule asked. "You said I wouldn't like some of their ways. Do their ways have anything to do with what Cynna told us? Their Rho apparently thought it was okay to hump the barely legal mother of his late son's child in the hall of his home." "Nokolai and some of the other clans don't like the way Leidolf treats its female clan. They haven't exactly come into this century where women are concerned." Cullen snorted. "They had to be dragged, screaming and kicking, into the last century, and I'm not sure they ever made it. Victor and his merry band believe women really do only have one purpose, and that's what they teach their female clan." Lily's lip curled. "They want them barefoot and pregnant?" "Or on their knees, their backs—whatever. Which is why Rule's great-granny extricated herself and ten others from the clan." "What?" She swiveled, staring first at Cullen, then at Rule. "Your great-grandmother was Leidolf?" He nodded but didn't answer right away. Rain plus all the recent traffic hadn't been good for the dirt road; the ruts were deep, the potholes deeper. "You should know the story," he said at last. "It's a large part of the reason for Leidolf's hatred of Nokolai. Iselda sought out my great-grandfather at an All-Clan. That's not unusual—a lot of trysting goes on at an All-Clan, and Rhos are— ah, an attractive partner to many women. This was especially true when the mores of the external culture were so repressive. When clan of either sex had the chance—" "They snuck off into the bushes with like-minded souls. I can see how that would happen, but weren't your clans enemies?" "Nokolai and Leidolf have never been friends, but there wasn't open enmity back then. More like residual distrust. Some of that came from events very long ago, but those might have been forgotten if not for a regrettable nationalism. Before the clans emigrated, Leidolf was German, Nokolai French." "So you had a history of not getting along, but you weren't yet the Hatfields and McCoys. Did Leidolf get mad because Iselda snuck off with a Nokolai man?" "No, that sort of thing was expected. But Iselda conceived." "That must have been a shock." A small smile touched his lips. "I'm told she claimed she'd planned it—though how anyone can plan conception, when it's so rare—"

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"Not as rare with interclan couplings," Cullen put in, "as within a clan." "Still, it would be like walking through the desert counting on rain for your water supply. We might say Iselda took her stroll during the rainy season, but the odds were against her. At any rate, her tryst shocked no one, and her pregnancy would have been a matter for rejoicing throughout her clan—if she'd remained Leidolf." "But she didn't." "No. She chose to leave the All-Clan with my greatgrandfather and be adopted into Nokolai, making her child Noko-lai. Leidolf's Rho—the whole clan, really—was furious. Still, had matters stopped there, Leidolf might have forgiven." "What happened?" "She bore my great-grandfather a son. My grandfather. As a boon, she asked him to free ten women of her former clan. He agreed." "Free them? But—they weren't slaves. They could have left if they wanted to. Even back then—" "Actually," Rule said, "they were slaves." "What?" "This happened in 1848. Slavery was still legal in the South." Right. She'd tripped over assumptions based on human life spans. Rule's father looked a hale sixty, but he'd been born nearly a century ago. "But Leidolf was German. Though I guess if they got slave women pregnant—" "That happened, too, but Leidolf took it a step further. In most of the old South, possessing any trace of African blood legally rendered you black. Leidolf…" Rule's lips tightened. So did his hands on the steering wheel. "Leidolf arranged to have some of its female clan declared black whether or not they had African blood. Legal trickery, arranged through a corrupt judge, that allowed them to own their women outright." "Sick. That is…" She didn't have words for it. "Sick. But why go to such extremes? Women were pretty much chattel anyway back then." "Compared to slaves, women had many rights. Slaves couldn't own anything. They had no rights to their children or their bodies, and they couldn't marry. That was Leidolf's main goal, according to Iselda. Leidolf didn't simply disapprove of marriage—they considered it an abomination." "Your great-grandmother left. She wasn't forcibly returned to her owners." "Not all of their female clan were declared slaves, only those whose ancestry could be sufficiently muddled. Those with brothers near their age were usually safe, since they couldn't take a chance on the males being suspected of having African blood. Iselda had a younger brother. Victor Frey." "It's a family name?" she asked.

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Rule just looked at her. "It's not the same man. It… he…" Oh, Lord. Rule's expression made it clear that the Victor Frey she would soon meet really was the younger brother of a woman who'd lived in 1848. Lily did the math, did it again—and still couldn't believe it. "You're saying that Victor Frey is your great-uncle, and he's—" "About to hit the big one-six-oh," Cullen said cheerfully. TWENTY-NINE THEY didn't meet Victor Frey that day, after all. Leidolf Clanhome was bursting at the seams. The large, dormitory-style building across the clearing from Frey's frame house was full, and the ground had sprouted tents everywhere except the central field. Nokolai Clanhome had a similar field, used for important ceremonies. Not that the entire clan was present. Though Leidolf was concentrated in Virginia, West Virginia, and North Carolina, it had members in other parts of the country, too. And some clan were staying at hotels in Harrisonburg, but the vast majority of those who would attend tomorrow's ceremonies had crammed themselves onto their clanhome however they could. Benedict's counterpart, Alex, met them at the house. He and Benedict stared at each other for a moment, then each gave a small nod, and Alex vanished into the house. He was replaced by a middle-aged woman in a brown dress—Sabra Ewings, Victor's daughter. Sabra invited them in, told them their car would be moved to a parking area once they'd gotten their things from it, and apologized for having only a single room for the four of them. "We weren't expecting to need more, you see, and with the memorial and the naming, we have no empty rooms." She managed a strained smile. "Victor isn't up to leaving his room yet, I'm afraid, but he bids you welcome." Lily thought they should turn around and head for Harrison-burg, where there were hotels. That, apparently, would be a major insult. "They can try to kill your father, but you're not supposed to insult them?" Lily said dryly when they reached the privacy of their single, cramped room. Rule set their suitcase on the bed. "From this point on, it's wise to assume that anything we say is overheard." Lupus hearing. Great. They had to be diplomatic in private, too. Pity she didn't have his hearing. They could have insulted their hosts by subvocalizing—speaking under the tongue, they called it. They did it without moving their lips, speaking so softly only another nearby lupus could hear. At one point, she'd been able to hear it. The mate bond had briefly blurred the lines between his Gifts and hers, but it hadn't lasted. Nor had it happened again. Rule thought it might have been a one-time deal; the bond had been brand-new, and a new mate bond was powerful. Lily looked around the room. They lacked privacy visually as well. The single window had lace curtains, no shades. The bed was a four-poster covered by a faded chenille spread; there was a small chest of drawers but no nightstand. Though the furniture was minimal, so was the room. There was barely enough floor space on either side of the bed for a pair of sleeping bags. If they'd had them. "You didn't bring sleeping bags, did you?"

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"Lily." Cullen's voice was reproachful. "Are you saying you won't share? And after I spent most of the day in your bed, too." "What the hell are you—" But he was grinning, pleased with himself for having gotten a rise out her. So she stopped talking and threw a pillow at him. He fended it off and plopped down on the bed, still grinning. "Get your feet off the bed," she told him. Rule was more direct, swiping Cullen's feet to one side. "Don't get comfortable yet. We still have to unload Lily's arsenal." "I feel sure the rest of you can…" Cullen's voice trailed off. Everyone but Lily looked at the door. A few seconds later, someone knocked on it. Rule gave Benedict a nod, and he opened it. "I came to see him. I'm Roland Miller, Paul's father, and I came to see him." Benedict stood aside. The man who entered was smaller than anyone in the room except Lily. His hair was black, his eyes dark brown; he wore the ubiquitous lupus uniform of jeans, but he'd dressed them up with a faded blue work shirt. He held himself stiffly. He looked very much like Paul—older and weary with his grief, but much like Paul. Impulsively, Lily moved forward. "Mr. Miller, I'm so sorry. Paul was very brave. I don't know if that's any consolation, but…" Her voice trailed away. He was looking right past her. She might have been a mosquito buzzing in his ear for all he noticed. No, he might have swatted at a mosquito. His attention was all for Rule. "You submitted to my son." "I did, to save him from being shot by an overly zealous police officer." "Didn't save him for long, did you?" He looked Rule up and down. "I'll accept a son's duty from you tomorrow. Eight o'clock, in the meeting field, north end." With that he turned and left, closing the door behind him. "Did he ignore me because he's grieving?" Lily asked the room in general. "Or because I'm female?" "Got it in two, luv," Cullen said from his sprawl on the bed. "You'll find that most male Leidolf ignore you unless you badge 'em. Or unless they're propositioning you." "They'll be polite," Benedict said. He'd taken off his suit jacket and was hanging it in the tiny closet. "I'll be there. Rule will be there. They'll be polite." But they wouldn't see anything wrong in hitting on her with Rule standing right beside her, and they'd ignore her otherwise. "Paul wasn't like that."

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"You met Paul in the outside world. You're in their clanhome now," Rule said. "Consciously or not, many of them will fall into the old ways." . "Are they going to expect me to eat in the kitchen with the womenfolk?" The total silence that met her made her jaw drop. "You're kidding," she said. "Tell me you're kidding." "You won't have to accept," Rule said. "But Sabra will invite you to join her and a few of the women… ah, in the kitchen." Oh, this was going to be fun. She could hardly wait to see what tomorrow would bring.

DAWN broke cold and clear. Lily learned that by twitching aside the bedspread Rule had draped over the curtain rod for privacy. The window was cold to the touch; the sky was wiped clean of the clouds that had drizzled on them for days. It was also quiet, for which she thanked any gods who might be listening. They'd ended up eating in their room. If that offended Sabra, Lily figured she could live with it. She'd had this irrational certainty that she shouldn't let Rule out of her sight, and maybe he'd felt the same way, because he hadn't argued. After dinner, Cullen had taken off—planning to listen to gossip, he said. Needing to get rid of the fidgets, she thought. The rest of them had played poker. Neither of the men had been concentrating on the game. She was up $10.75 and Cullen was still gone when they turned out the lights. She hadn't slept well. Cuddling with Rule generally soothed her, but generally they cuddled after making love. That hadn't been an option with his brother sleeping on the floor beside the bed, and her body hadn't appreciated the neglect. Funny how fast her body had turned greedy on her. Not long ago it was entirely used to that sort of neglect. She'd given it a stern lecture and done her best to relax. The lupi camped outside had other ideas about how to relax. For them it was party time. Oh, not with alcohol. It was possible, Rule said, for a lupus to get drunk if he really worked at it, but since the effects wouldn't last more than ten or fifteen minutes, it wasn't worth the effort. But the clan had been glad to get together, and they'd expressed that loudly—fighting, singing, yelling, laughing, dancing around a huge bonfire… Yipping. Howling. Cullen had returned about two a.m. She'd still been awake. Hygiene got a bit of a pass that morning; people, people, everywhere, and only two bathrooms in the house. She and Rule dressed first. Beneath jacket and shirt, he wore the charm Cullen had made for him. It may have been working. He hadn't had a blackout since putting it on. She went into the hall so Benedict and Cullen could dress. Not that any of the men would object to her

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remaining, but she felt better not knowing what Rule's brother looked like naked. Rule chose to wait out there with her, mostly so he could offer an opinion on whether she should leave her weapon in the room. It was a short discussion. No way in hell was she stirring out of their room unarmed. She slid her phone in her jacket pocket and changed the subject. "Is that charm Cullen made helping?" He gave her a sharp look. "I didn't tell you about the charm." "You didn't tell me about your other blackouts, either, but I'm a detective. I detected them. And you don't usually wear a chicken feather around your neck, so I deduced that it came from Cullen." He was silent a moment. "No memory gaps. Not since I put on the charm. I, ah, expected you to be angry that I didn't tell you about the blackouts." "It was stupid, but I understood. You need to protect me just like I need to protect you." "You make me feel better and worse at the same time." She smiled. "Good." Benedict came out, looking like a well-dressed mountain in new jeans and a midnight blue shirt with a gray sports jacket. Then Cullen emerged. She'd been surprised to learn that Cullen owned a suit. She'd never seen him make any effort with clothes, and God knew he didn't have to—he was eye candy in his usual ratty jeans and T-shirts. Even so, once she knew he was going to dress like an adult, she should have been prepared. Or maybe not. Maybe the sight of Cullen Seabourne in a black, custom-tailored suit with a black tuxedo shirt was more than any woman with a functioning heartbeat could prepare herself for. It was just as well Cynna wasn't here to see him. She'd trip him and beat him to the ground, and Lily was far from sure the tangle those two were headed for would end well. He grinned. "What do you think?" Her dumbfounded stare had already told him, which she thought was more than enough ego food for the man. She opted for damning with faint praise. "Nice. Sort of Johnny Depp meets Johnny Cash." "Johnny who? Cash I've heard of, but the other guy…" She rolled her eyes, put on her coat, and they set off for the field. The sky was pinking up in the east. Dawn looked different on this side of the continent, less prone to the vivid hues she was used to. Pretty in its way, but she preferred the desert. There, beauty wore barbs so you'd know where to step. Their destination was obvious. No one else seemed to be awake yet, save for the small cluster of people—all male—at the north end of the field. They headed that way. The grass was wet, the dampness promising to soak through the thin leather of her shoes. The air was cold enough to make her glad she wore a coat… she just wished it wasn'tthis one.

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They weren't quite the only ones up. As they started across the field, so did a woman in a long white dress. She came from the south end, where the chimney of a small stone house leaked a thin plume of smoke. White meant that was the Rhej, the only one who would wear the moon's color today. Not a dress, Lily realized after a second look—a long white robe that seemed to glow in the early light. "The Rhej is part of the ritual?" she asked. Her breath puffed white in the still air. "She'll observe, not participate. She's the clan's memory. Her presence at the ritual is rather like recording a document at the courthouse." Lily nodded at the men waiting at the far end. "Are any of them Victor?" "No, and I'd expected him to be present for this. He's not needed, strictly speaking, but it's the sort of thing a Rho generally attends. Either he was hurt worse than the Rhej indicated, or he's avoiding us." "Didn't smell right," Benedict put in briefly. "Meaning?" Cullen picked up the explanation. "I didn't smell illness on him before. Admittedly, he took care not to come too close, but I'd have picked up the scent if the disease was out of its earliest phase." "He was injured," Rule said, "which means his body kicked into healing mode. That can accelerate the course of the disease." "And this matters to Nokolai because… ?" "With a healer like the Rhej on call, the disease can sometimes be arrested for years in its earliest phase. No scent then. Once it crosses into the next phase, though, little can be done. If that has happened, Victor has a year at most." Cullen added, "Many don't care to hang around once the disease goes into that phase. The magic is no longer following its organizing principle, and the results aren't pretty. Multiple tumors, bizarre growths—" "Brain tumors," Benedict said. "Uncontrollable rage. Hallucinations." All of which would be very bad news for Leidolf. For Nokolai… "I guess you need to know what's going on with your enemy." Rule nodded, but lowered his voice even more. "We're getting too close to discuss this further." Lily squelched the question quivering at the edge of her tongue. She could see why they couldn't talk about Victor's illness when members of Leidolf might overhear, but there were things she needed to know. What did Cullen hope to learn from seeing Frey that he hadn't been able to see a few days ago? As they drew near, the waiting men—there were five of them—turned to watch them approach. Lily saw faces for the first time. She recognized Paul's father but none of the others. "Shit," Cullen said. "That's Brady." Rule was calm. "With the Rho not attending, it makes sense for his son to be here."

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"Let's hope he's in a sane mood today." "Hush," Rule said softly. When they reached the others, no one spoke. Lily took her cue from Rule, but the thick, nervy silence bugged her. She occupied herself studying the others, especially Gunning. Brady Gunning was all angles, as if he'd never filled out after his last growth spurt. His dark blond hair made her think of her mother's old stove—harvest gold, that's what they called it. His face was narrow, with a long nose and a short forehead, and his pretty blue eyes were watching her study him. He didn't look like a sociopath. Neither had the guy she'd arrested a couple years ago for killing his neighbor over some daylilies. The Rhej arrived, and still no one spoke. Silently they formed up in two rough semicircles.Them versus us , she thought, standing between Rule and Cullen, with Benedict on Rule's other side. They faced the Leidolf clan members while the Rhej stood apart, her dark face expressionless. "Leidolf," Brady said suddenly. "Brady Gunning." "Leidolf," said the man on his right. "John Ellis." And so it went, with each of them naming his clan, then himself. Rule kicked it off on their side; Benedict spoke next, and that's when she learned his surname: Two Horses, the same as his daughter. Which sparked a flash of curiosity. He wouldn't have been married to Nettie's mother, so how did they come to share a name? One more question she couldn't ask. She spoke her part: "Nokolai. Lily Yu." Then Cullen spoke his. The ritual itself was brief. That seemed to be the case with most lupus ceremonies. Roland Miller walked to the center of their not-quite circle and spoke in a quiet but clear voice. "I am Roland, father of Paul. Those with me know this to be true. Let the one who wasen susmissio to my son when he died meet me." Rule moved to stand in front of Paul's father. He was a full head taller than the older man, strong and straight. "I wasen sus-mussio to Paul and was present when he was killed. I failed to protect him. I offer you a son's duty." Lily waited, her breath catching in her throat. Rule thought it quite possible the older man would refuse the offer—likely, even, since it made a tie between Leidolf and Nokolai that neither clan wanted. Roland Miller inhaled suddenly, loudly, as if he, too, had forgotten to breathe. His voice was louder than before. "I accept." If Rule was startled, he didn't show it. Swiftly he flowed to one knee, bowing his head. This was conditional submission, she'd learned. Rule's bared nape indicated respect, not personal submission, as well as his willingness to be bound by what was said next. Not that she understood what was said next. Roland Miller spoke, then Rule, but they used the Latin that lupi had been using for centuries as a common tongue among the clans. Kind of like the Catholic

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Church had done during the same period, uniting its many parts through a single tongue. She knew the gist of it, though. To receive a son's duties, Roland had to offer a father's duties in return: financial support, if needed; advice, if requested. Rule would promise much the same: financial support, if needed; attendance at certain clan functions, if requested. Listening to the formal cadence, since the words meant nothing to her, she looked at the men opposite them. And caught an expression on Brady Gunning's face that worried her. The hate she understood, based on what she'd been told about the man. But why was the Leidolf Rho's crazy son so damned happy? THIRTY CYNNA supposed this was one of God's little jokes. How else to explain the way the investigation had brought her here? The deli was gone, she noted, striding down the cracked sidewalk, her heavy trench coat flapping around her ankles. A Vietnamese take-out joint had replaced it. But the laundry was still there, and the buildings looked the same—old, dingy, gray. Everything on this street was gray. When you spoke of color here you meant skin or gangs. There were more white faces than there had been in her youth—integration coming to the ghetto at last; she'd really stood out as a kid. But most were some shade of brown. The street had changed, Cynna decided, but not enough. She hoped the same wasn't true of her. The weather was bitter as only a Chicago winter could be. Funny, that, because she'd been in colder places, but something about Chicago in December went right to the bone. Mounds of filthy slush made crossing the street an adventure. Cynna survived that, keeping her gloved hands jammed in her pockets for warmth… and to keep from worrying at the mysteriouskilingo Jiri had placed on one of them. It hadn't woken yet, but it would. Jiri hadn't planted it for laughs. She needed to get it off. For that she could use some help, she admitted. Cullen's vision, to be specific. Removing a spell she knew, one she'd placed on her skin herself, was tricky. She didn't know how to get rid of a mystery spell. She'd have to let a whisper of power slip into the spell for him to see it. That ought to be safe enough; a spell as complex as this one looked was bound to need more than a whisper to work. He'd be able to see how the magic moved through it, and the two of them could figure out how to undo it. Once he deigned to show up. When he first took off she'd been pissed. She admitted that. Rule said that cutting out was a survival skill Culler, acquired when he was a lone wolf. When his temper flared too high, he left—right that second, no discussion. He was out of there until he cooled down. Now that he was Nokolai he probably didn't have to do that anymore—being clan moderated things somehow—but the habit was ingrained. When he got mad, he walked out. Apparently he'd stayed mad. As for her, she'd gotten over it. She should have known better than to get

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bent out of shape in the first place. Yeah, they were working up to doing the wild thing, but what did that mean? Sex could happen quick. It hadn't happened for them yet because life kept interfering, but it would. But friendship was a slow build. You started out with some reason to like each other, you got some respect going, then you let it simmer until you'd brewed up some trust. It might take a lot of simmering for either her or Cullen to hit trust. She headed across the street. A car shot through the yellow, splashing her with icy slush. Automatically she offered the traditional one-finger salute… Huh. The driver was Chinese. No, probably Vietnamese—a cluster of immigrants from that country were turning a pocket of former slum into a decent area a few blocks east of here. That made her think of Lily. Wonder what she'd make of Chicago weather? She seemed to think it was cold in D.C. Cynna snorted, but thinking about Lily while she moved down this street depressed her. The China doll might have patrolled in hoods like this, but she hadn't lived in one. She'd grown up clean. Cullen, now… she had a feeling he knew the bad spots in every city he'd ever lived in. He'd knocked around a lot while he was clanless. But she was pretty sure he hadn't grown up in this kind of place. Lupi didn't let their kids grow up poor and desperate. Cynna glanced to her left.Three blocks over , she thought. If she walked three blocks west and two north, she could see the place she'd grown up. Fat chance. The address Lily had given her belonged to an ancient apartment building that seemed to lean tiredly into its neighbors. She checked the scraps of cardboard that passed for nameplates in the tiny vestibule. H. Franklin was on the fifth floor. Figured. The building didn't aspire to anything like a security system, so she started up the stairs. The lights were forty-watt, bare bulb, which was just as well. No one wanted to see what they were stepping on here. Trash collected in corners of the stairwell, and the treads were sticky. And the smell—the smell hit her right in the snake brain. Cabbage, piss, burnt meat, onions. A whiff of pot as she passed the second floor. You didn't notice the smells so much when you lived here, she reflected, shoving her coat back so she'd have quick access to her weapon. Familiarity deadened the senses. It was nice, in a way, to know her nose wasn't numb to the stink. People were arguing in shrill Spanish on the third floor. On the fourth, a screaming baby competed with rap on one side, the drone of a television on the other. She was halfway up the last flight when the clatter of footsteps said someone was headed down, fast. Quick, heavy steps—a man, probably. Definitely not a kid. She readied her stun spell. He stopped when he saw her—a man about forty with medium brown skin and curly hair. Probably some Latin and Caucasian in the mix, but he'd call himself black. He wore a do-rag, jeans way too big for his skinny butt, and a scarred leather jacket over a dirty T-shirt. Everything was black or gray. No colors, gang-related or otherwise.

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His eyes widened. That's what tipped her. He saw her face with its tattoos, and he was afraid. "Hamid Franklin?" she said, coming up a step. "I'm dead," he said in a thin voice. "Oh, God. I'm a dead man." "Cynna Weaver." She reached into her pocket and pulled out her shield. "I'm with the FBI." He didn't bother to look at her ID, shaking his head. "You're FBI? Yeah, sister, an' I'm with the Pentagon. Listen." He came a step down, his hands held out to show they were empty. "I din't talk. I don't care who say so, I din't say a word, ever. Jus' give me a chance. You can spell me, find out for sure I'm tellin' the truth." "I'm not with Jiri," she said quietly. "Not anymore. I'm with the FBI, like I said. Listen, man, if Jiri wanted you dead, she wouldn't senda person to do it. You've got to know that." He was still a moment, then his head bobbed. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. It'd be one of her pets, wouldn't it? But you—wait a minute. What you say your name was? Cynna? I heard of you." He looked around, as if someone might be lurking in the narrow stairwell. "You was her favorite, yeah, long time ago. You walked." "Not her favorite. Her apprentice. But I walked, yeah." Truculence crept in as fear receded. "What d'you want?" "We'll talk in your place. You don't want anyone listening in." It took some persuading, but she got him back upstairs and into his apartment. It was about what she'd expected—a mattress on the floor in one corner, food wrappers scattered around, a couple chairs. He didn't invite her to sit, which was just as well. No telling what substances had left the stains on those chairs, or what might be living in their sagging cushions. He was jittery as hell. Coming down off something, probably. His most common drug of choice, however, was tobacco. The place reeked of cigarettes, and he lit one as soon as he got inside. "I don't know nothin,'" he said, inhaling some degree of courage along with the smoke. "A minute ago you were claiming you hadn't talked. What's to talk about if you don't know anything?" "So I'm paranoid." He exhaled quick so he could draw in another drag. "I see you, I think Jiri's decided I know somethin', but I don't." She eyed him. He might be using, he might be none too clean, but he kept himself up—the shoulders and chest said he worked out regularly. A hardbody, she thought, with a face that used to be pretty before it got so used up. Jiri's type, all right, and not for spellwork. Lily hadn't gotten much in the way of facts from her contact—just this guy's name, that he'd been tight with Jiri, and roughly when he left the movement. Cynna made a guess and went with it. "I'm told you do know things. A lot of things. You were her favorite, weren't you?"

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"For a while." He puffed like he couldn't suck the cigarette down fast enough. "You know Jiri. She do love variety." "She kept you around for a couple years, though. Right up till she did her last fade. No one's seen her since." "Who told you? Who told you that?" "The way it Works is, I ask. You answer. Did you get mad when she nudged you out of bed for someone else?" "Hunh. You forget what it's like? She don't mind having more'n one in bed, when she's in the mood." "But she kicked you out. You didn't leave because you were ready. What's the matter? Did she wring you so dry you couldn't get it up anymore?" "Bitch." He said that without rancor. She needed him mad or scared or both. Hadn't pushed the right button yet. "Who'd she put in your place?" A twitch—small, but she caught it—under his eye. Like a nervous tic. "How'd I know? I was gone." Cynna pressed him on it, but he knew better than to spill. So she switched tacks, wandering idly around the filthy room. "Guess you won't miss this place too much. You given any thought to where you'll go?" He glowered at her. "Whatcha mean? I ain't going nowhere." "No?" She stopped, turning to face him in surprise. "And here I thought you were a survivor. You just going to hang here, wait for her to send one of her pets?" "She ain't gonna do that. I ain't' told you nothing—'cause I don't have nothing to tell." "Wonder if that's what she'll think? I mean, she's going to hear that I came around. My face is kind of hard to mistake. People saw me headed here, so—" "I din't tell you nothing," he insisted. "Yeah, and we both know how she likes to give the benefit of the doubt, don't we?" She came closer and looked him in the eye. They were almost exactly the same height. "See, the mistake you're making, Hamid, is you're looking so hard at Jiri and what she might do that you can't see what's right in front of you." "Like what?" His lip curled. "You? You ran off. Things got too mean and scary, and you took off." She flipped her left hand over, and the Burger King wrapper near his foot burst into flame. She watched, pleased, as he yelped and grabbed a half-empty liter of Coke, upending it over the flames. She'd been practicing that. She couldn't call fire directly the way Cullen did—even a few poky little flames drew down her power too much to be practical, and she had to use a spell. But fire did impress

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people. Hamid rounded on her. "Crazy bitch! You crazy!" He was mad, but he was sweating now. She sauntered up and put her face near his. "I wasn't her favorite, Hamid, like you were. Sex doesn't mean that much to her. Power does, and she shared some of that with me. She taught me things she didn't teach anyone else. You're right that I'm not as scary as she is… but I'm here. She isn't. You want to keep me happy." "Christ on a crutch! You know what she'll do if I tell you anything!" "You might as well, because she'll assume you did. She knows me. She knows you. She'll know which of us came out on top here." When she left the dirty room, Hamid was scurrying around, snatching up his few belongings. He was scared enough to use the money she'd given him to relocate instead of squirting it up his nose. Out on the sidewalk she took a deep breath. Car exhausts smelled great after that place. She hadn't crossed any lines, she assured herself as she started back the way she'd come. Burning people was a big no-no, but intimidation was okay. And she'd gotten what she needed, hadn't she? According to Hamid, Tommy Cordoba had started out in Jiri's bed, but he'd gone on to join a much more exclusive club. She'd made him her apprentice. It was possible Jiri wasn't behind the murders, after all. If Cordoba had learned enough… not likely, she reminded herself. Jiri didn't share well. Cordoba would have had a hard time learning everything he'd need to know to pull off multiple bindings. It was more likely Jiri had reached a point where she needed an apprentice to handle some of the lower-level demons for her. But Cynna's step was lighter as she left the old neighborhood. The air had the heavy, wet feel of snow on the way, so she lengthened her stride. She made it to the Hampstead intersection before the first big flakes started drifting down. She was trying to flag a cab when her palm started itching. Absently she pulled her hands out of her pocket, scratching at one through the glove— God, you idiot! Her palm—the one with Jiri's spell! Cynna tried to run a protective spell, but it was too late. A swirl of red misted up over her eyes. Then she wasn't there at all anymore.

"MUST be close to a thousand people here," Lily whispered. "Something like that." Rule wasn't usually bothered by crowds, but this wasn't a comfortable crowd for a Nokolai. Especially for the Nokolai heir. Especially when, according to Lily, Brady had been so pleased when Rule took on a son's duty to Roland Miller… and the first duty Roland had required of him was attendance at the memorials for both his son and Victor's.

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Paul's memorial had been well attended, but not on this scale. It had been followed by a barbecue for which Rule, Lily, and Cullen had adjourned back to the house. Victor had apparently eaten in his room. Randall's memorial had begun at one. For that the field was crammed elbow to elbow with Leidolf. The smell of them made him stand very still. Lily whispered again. "Doesn't Leidolf have more female clan, though? There must be five lupi present for every woman I see." "The women are tending the children," he said dryly, his voice very low. Traditionally clans included all their members, even the children, in such ceremonies. Leidolf had abandoned that tradition by the early sixteenth century for more human behavior. In fact, much of what he disliked about Leidolf had been taken from the larger culture around them, yet now that human norms were changing, they clung to their male-centric ways. That could change. A clan took on some of the character of its Rho, and Victor had been Leidolf Rho for a very long time. Someone on the eastern edge of the field was recounting a story from Randall's childhood. That was a relief—it meant the memorial was finally nearing an end. Lupus memorials moved backward through the deceased's life; the first to speak were those present at the death. Rule hadn't been asked to speak of Paul's death. Lily had. That had been a calculated slap at Rule, but if it was the worst that happened today, he'd be pleased. And Lily had done well. After a moment's frozen horror—she was not used to speaking in front of so many people—she'd handled the situation with her usual good sense. It probably helped that the custom was for each to speak where he or she stood, since there was no platform or podium. Rule had suggested she pretend she was giving a report to a nearly deaf police captain. Maybe she had. Her account had been stark by lupus standards, but perhaps all the more moving for that. She'd finished by saying, "He acted with great courage. I will honor him always." Thunder rumbled off in the east, still distant. He glanced that way and saw big fists of clouds piling up, the knuckles puffy and bruised. As he watched, lightning stitched a line from sky to ground. He glanced at Lily and almost smiled. Back in San Diego, people got excited when it rained. They stopped working to look out the window, comment on their lawns, maybe claim credit for nature's behavior through the mysterious alchemy of car-washing. It hadn't taken long for that attitude to wear off for Lily. She was as affronted as her cat by so much rain. Behind him he heard Benedict's rumble, speaking under the tongue so softly the Leidolf man nearest them wouldn't be able to hear:Brady's headed this way. Coming up from your rear . Since Benedict, contrary to all accepted norms, had chosen to stand back-to-back with Rule, his rear was thoroughly covered.He see you ? Rule asked the same way. Yeah. Probably won't try anything, then. Cullen—

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Iheard, Cullen said.Hope he does try something . You're insane. Rule left it at that, but the last thing he needed was for Cullen and Brady to try to kill each other here. He'd wanted to leave Cullen in their room, actually, knowing that the crowd, the stillness, all would wear out his friend's small store of patience. But Cullen was determined to guard him. As if one man—even a lupus, even a sorcerer—could stop a thousand or so lupi if they decided Nokolai could do without its heir. And that was intolerably paranoid, not to mention stupid. The majority of Leidolf were honorable. He'd been granted guest status by their Rho, and his vows to Paul's father made himLeidolf ad litterafor the duration of this ceremony.Ad littera was a legal fiction, of course, like calling a corporation a person under the law, but he was a guest, andad littera for the next hour or so— this would surely end soon—and in danger only from those like Brady. The loose cannons, not the entire clan. The speaker finished. There was silence for a moment, then Victor's voice rang out. He stood in the center of the clearing, of course, with the Rhej and two of his councilors. "I thank all of you who shared my son's life with me. I thank those who today shared their memories of him. We remember." "We remember," a thousand voices echoed back. "We didn't only lose a friend, a son, a lover when Randall was killed," Victor went on. "We lost our Lu Nuncio and our heir. I call the naming." A female voice spoke—the Rhej. "When do you call the naming?" "Now." Rule went from bored and edgy to barely breathing. Everywhere people were exclaiming, talking, reacting. "Rule," Lily's voice was low, but no longer a whisper. "What's he up to? What does this mean?" Only two possibilities he could see. Either Victor hoped to slide Brady in immediately, with no time for a proper Challenge… or he was dying. Neither of which he could say aloud in this crowd. "I don't know. Let's start moving toward the edge of the crowd… just in case." Maybe it was his touch of claustrophobia, or maybe a genuine hunch, but he had a strong need to be elsewhere. He grabbed her hand, catching Cullen's gaze with his and giving a jerk of his head toward the road. "Rule," Benedict said. Rule stopped edging past the two men closest to him to look at his brother. Benedict jerked his head to one side, directing his attention that way. Brady stood ten feet away with only a couple people between them. His grin held triumph. His hand held a gun. "Don't leave now," he said. "Party's just starting."

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THIRTY-ONE SHE wasn't in Chicago anymore. She wasn't in her own body anymore. The disorientation was short but severe. It was like closing both eyes, then opening all four of them. Like having the axis of your body shift while gravity took up hip-hop. It was like riding. Exactly like riding. Long-unused reflexes took over, lining her up properly with the new body as he/she/they strode up the street. Big. That was her first clear thought. This was the biggest son of a bitch she'd ever ridden. She guessed that her/their eyes were about ten feet off the ground, but it was the sheer massiveness of him she felt most keenly. Out of his peripheral vision she saw houses on either side of him/them—houses in red, gold, pale gray, seen through eyes that processed color differently. Where were they? She turned her/their head—or tried to. The muscles didn't answer. Panic hit—real, yet oddly distant and quick to evaporate. Because he didn't feel it, she realized, and without a bodily response, her emotions thinned. His body responded to his feelings, though. She knew what he felt. Eager. Hungry. And if she felt him and he didn't feel her—if his muscles wouldn't answer to her—she was purely a passenger, not a rider, which shouldn't be possible, but she was here. She had to get out, get back to herself. Mentally she shouted words that should have sent her back. Nothing. Those words were meant to be spoken, and this throat, these lips wouldn't respond to her. But intent—she had that, and some knowledge. Desperately she tried to wrench herself out. Nothing happened. Trapped. She was trapped. Part of her felt as if she were panting from fear and effort. Part of her—no, it was the demon who felt that lick of excitement as he observed the houses around him, watching with a sense no human has. Demons called ituther . Cynna thought of it as their life sense, for that's what it picked up. The demon sensed the lives around him—most clearly the one in the shrubbery, thin but tasty; more dimly because of walls and distance, the thicker lives inside those homes… He couldn't eat them. Wouldn't. She reminded herself of that. Demons ate almost anything living, except humans. They consumed something of the life along with the flesh, and souls drove them mad. That's what they believed, or remembered—demon memory being enough to drive a human crazy, because they also ate each other and retained something of the consumed within their own consciousness… Oh, God. Had she been eaten? Was that why she couldn't make the body respond, or escape back to her own body? This time the fear was so great it swallowed her, embodied or not. She sank into it, into a vortex of fear and flailing—

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And the demon stopped. And spoke. "Cynna. Be still. You can't get out until I release you, and you must pay attention. You'll want to take control from me. You can't, but you won't even be able to try unless you know the body. Pay attention." The demon's voice was an impossibly deep bass. It sounded… vexed. That yanked her out of her panic long enough for her to start thinking again. It hadn't been the demon who spoke to her, but Jiri. Jiri who rode, Jiri who'd made her a passenger. She'd been forced into his body, but she hadn't been consumed. And Jiri was right, damn her eyes and every other stinking part of her. Cynna had to pay attention. If she were to have any chance of gaining control of the demon… and she didn't need all of his body. The throat and mouth, that's what she needed, to speak the words of release. But she had to learn his body first, know how to operate it. He was too different from any she'd ridden back in her bad old days. They traveled another block, with Cynna paying close attention to his/her center of gravity, the kinesthetic knowledge of his/their muscles as they strode silently down the street. The peculiar colors of demon vision were a distraction; the area looked familiar, yet so distorted in the glimpses she caught that she couldn't place it. He was a safety-conscious demon, watching out for cars, avoiding those that cruised by—the drivers never saw him, of course, but dogs barked frantically as they passed, not looking closely at the houses. What she glimpsed, what she heard, said city. And familiar. She'd been down this street, or one much like it. He was older than any demon she'd ever ridden. Older by far. The mass told her that, an indescribable sense of heaviness, density… he'd been eating lives a long, long time. Old meant strong, powerful—that scared her enough that it took a second for her to catch on to the pronoun she'd automatically been using.He ? Yes, she realized as massive legs carried him/her/them along the cold pavement. Definitely this one was male. Though most of the demons she'd ridden in her misspent youth had been hermaphrodites, she'd hitched on an incubus once, so she knew: male felt different. It wasn't just the lack of breasts, or the sensation of an extra organ at the crotch—the younger demons came equipped with both kinds of genitals. And strength damn sure wasn't a sex-based characteristic, not with a demon. But male felt different. He stopped. He was looking at one house, a house she knew, even painted as it was in the lilac and beige of demon vision. Washington. They were in Washington, D.C., and he/she/they were looking at Rule's house.

RULE hadn't taken his eyes off Brady. The man had obviously expected Victor's announcement, which gave weight to the "slide Brady in quickly" theory. But what did he hope to achieve by holding Rule here at gunpoint? "Brady." Lily raised her voice. "Unless you're planning to shoot all three of us, you'd better put that up.

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I'm a cop. I don't take it well when someone draws on me." "Draws what?" Brady's eyebrows flew up in a parody of innocent confusion. "I didn't draw anything. Did I?" He looked around, grinning. Most of those nearest were melting back, leaving a small open space between them—except for a knot of about ten clustered around Brady. "Been collecting a pack, Brady?" Cullen made sure that sounded like the insult it was. Rule took the smooth, deadly slide into combat mode, where wolf and man melded. His thoughts were crisp, his goals clear: keep the others alive, kill Brady. "He has backup," he observed dispassionately, "and the others, even the ones who hate him, won't act. Not during the naming." "I can take his toy away from him," Benedict said. "Little boys shouldn't be allowed to play with guns." "Best if none of you move at all," Brady said. "Don't wave to a friend or scratch your nose. I might mistake it for a threat." Rule switched to subvocal, pitching so low only Benedict and maybe Cullen could hear:Give me a second to get in front of Lily. If he gets a shot off — Lily seemed to be reading his mind. She edged back—and with his peripheral vision he saw her reach inside her jacket. "Uh, uh, uh!" Brady sighted down on Rule's forehead. "Unless you want to see how well your sweetie heals brain tissue." Benedict considered that, gave a tiny shake of his head.He'd get you before I could stop him. We need him distracted for a second. Seabourne — "Leidolf." Victor's voice rose over the clamor, addressing his clan. "If you wish to hear, be silent." Cullen's voice, barely audible even to Rule:I can't throw fire without a gesture . Victor cried out, "I name Alex Thibodaux as Lu Nuncio." A many-throated roar rose from the crowd. Rule noted it without looking away from Brady—who, damn it, wasn't distracted. So this, too, he'd expected—but it made no sense. Thibodaux didn't carry the blood, couldn't hold the mantle, so unless Victor had lost his mind— "Leidolf!" Victor shouted. "Silence! Alex is to be your new Lu Nuncio—not your heir." What the hell—? "I break with tradition, yes," Victor was saying. "But there is precedent. The heir does not have to be Lu Nuncio. I consulted our Rhej and my councilors. Etorri has no Lu Nuncio—" "We are not Etorri!" someone shouted. Others began chanting, "Leidolf! Leidolf!" Still others shouted names: Reese. Thomas. Max. Phillip.

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No one called out Brady's name. Why was he so damned smug? Victor had to shout to be heard. "Twice Leidolf has separated the positions—when the blood had grown thin and there was no suitable heir strong enough to act as Lu Nuncio. It was temporary! Temporary," he repeated., his voice dropping as they quieted. "The blood has grown thin, Leidolf. And I am dying." This time, he got silence. "You need a Lu Nuncio you trust. I give you Alex. If I still live after six months, I will call you here to invest the heir as Lu Nuncio. If not… you will need a Rho and a Lu Nuncio." They listened now, intent and unmoving. Rule knew what they were thinking as clearly as if he'd been suddenly gifted with telepathy: that Victor meant to name Brady heir and hoped to make him more palatable by denying him the Lu Nuncio's authority. If so, Victor's strategy had already failed. This was not the silence of assent, but that of a thousand hunters uncertain of their prey. "We have several who may be able to carry the mantle," Victor went on. "I know—it grieves me, but I know—some of you do not want to see it go to my son. My only living son." His voice caught briefly. "So I bring to you another tradition. Though we have not followed it for many years, it is an ancient and honorable path. Rather than naming my heir, I will loose the mantle and let it choose." That brought a buzzing of whispers and subvocalization. Leidolf was shocked, but this way, while very old indeed, was understandable to them. Though who would have thought Victor could surrender control to such a degree? All at once Rule knew. His mind didn't leap from fact to fact, connecting them; he simply knew what Victor meant to do. Calmly he said to Benedict,Get Lily out of here. Now . "Forget it," she said. "I'm not going anywhere." His head swung toward her. "You heard me?" "Of course I…" Her eyes widened. "Uh—you weren't talking out loud, were you?" "Let those of the blood," Victor called, "all those of the blood, for two and three generations back, come forward!" "That would be us," Brady said, grinning like a cat about to torment the mouse in its paws. "Cousin."

LI LEI had not been born patient, but she'd had sufficient lessons in patience that she understood waiting. Best to ignore it. Having done what was necessary, she now paid attention to the present, and the things that mattered. Such as winning. Toby looked very much like his father when he frowned that way. "You did well," she assured him. "You do not enjoy losing, but you played well. You may take the mah-jongg set upstairs now, to my room." He grimaced, but obediently he began to gather the tiles, though he slid her the kind of look she used to

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see on her own son's face… and still did, at times. "At my house we have a rule that the winner puts the game up." She didn't allow her mouth to smile, but knew her eyes were. She compensated by lifting both brows. "You are not in your house now, I believe." He grinned but didn't argue.A good boy , she thought as he sprinted for the stairs. Spirited enough to push a little, to test, as the young should. Strong enough within himself that he didn't have to push. "I almost had you," Steven Timms said. He leaned forward, careful of his cast, which was supported by a sling. "If I'd drawn—" "Very little is won on 'if.' You held on to the red dragon too long." Timms scowled. Like most men, he disliked being corrected. Li Qin said something soothing, so he turned to her and began telling her things she already knew about the game they'd just played. Not stupid things—simply unnecessary. Li Lei stopped listening. Steven Timms had come to play mah-jongg every day after the beautiful Cullen left. True, she had told him to return; mah-jongg was better with four. But that was her reason. He thought he was protecting them, and he wanted his new friend to return and appreciate this. On the surface, it was an odd bond. She had wondered if Timms were a man lover who had conceived a passion for the beautiful Cullen but soon decided he was simply lonely. He was one of those who are very bright, but people blind. Not in an evil way. True, he liked to shoot things—he was very boring on the subject—but he was not what Lily called a stone killer. He simply did not understand how to behave. He couldn't fathom the rules, how to be close to others instead of pushing them away. She had read somewhere that doctors had a name for this problem. Doctors always felt better once they'd named things; it was an obsession with them. Li Lei couldn't recall the name, and didn't care. Neither did Timms interest her greatly, but Cullen Seabourne did, and he— An orange blur skidded into the kitchen, claws scrabbling for purchase on the wooden floor. Dirty Harry raced to the back door and yowled, demanding that it open. His bristled fur made him look like a tattered marigold. Li Lei sprang to her feet. "We are about to be attacked. Harry thinks the demon is out front. I trust his judgment. Li Qin, go with him. Tell the other guard to come innow , then get help. Telephone the police." Timms shoved his chair back and stood, closing his hand around Li Qin's arm. "Wait a minute. You can't think that cat knows—" "A great deal more than you," Li Lei snapped. Or her, in this instance. Cats were uncannily sensitive to demons. "Go. And hurry," she said to Li Qin, and removed Timms's hand. That startled him, of course. He had no idea of her strength. "Go upstairs and make sure Toby hides," she told him. "I'll—"

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"Calm down, calm down. If you think something's wrong, I'll check—though I think our werewolf guards would hear or smell a problem before I could see it." He gave her what he no doubt thought was a soothing smile and pulled his big gun from its holster, which he'd hung on the back of his chair. "Do as you're told. Toby will not want to hide, but he must." She drew hard on the energy in her gut. Fast. This one must be fast . Harry feared very little—not Rule Turner, German shepherds, or wolves. Not even her. For him to flee meant that what was coming was bad, very bad. Heat slapped through her body, vicious in its greed. She spoke the rest with difficulty. "You may come down and shoot things after the boy is hidden, but do not shoot me. I am going to Change." "Change what?" But she already was. And even as her cells burst and her body slid into otherness, she heard gunfire out front. To his credit, Timms didn't drop his gun—or fire it—when the Change finished and ten feet of tiger stood before him. Nor did he stand staring for more than a second when she leaped out of the kitchen, heading for the foot of the stairs. She took her position there, to guard the boy. A moment later, Timms raced past. He was halfway up the stairs when the guard out front screamed. Seconds later, the front door splintered.

IF there had been a moment she could have acted, Lily had missed it. She had no time to play Monday-morning quarterback over any possible missed opportunities, though, as she, Benedict, Cullen, and Rule were marched through the crowd, courtesy of one gun held by a madman and a dozen thugs. Lupus thugs. Her heartbeat was going crazy. "This is crazy," she muttered. "What do they hope to accomplish? I'm arresting all of them. They have to know I'll do that." Unless they planned to kill her—right after they killed Rule. "They believe the clan will speak as one," Benedict said calmly, "to discount your testimony." Rule's damned brother was always calm. He'd charged a dozen gang members with guns—calmly.After putting her forcibly out of the line of fire. "But why are they doing this? They don't want Rule to be heir." "Theydon't think he will be." Cullen's abbreviated gesture indicated the clan members parting for them as they headed toward the center of the field. "They think this is Brady's little joke on Nokolai, a way to humiliate Rule." Lily caught the glance Rule gave Cullen. The two of them knew or guessed more than they were saying. "It isn't a joke, but it doesn't make sense, either. Rule can't be Leidolf heir. He's Nokolai heir." "Technically," Benedict said, speaking very low but not sub-vocalizing, "it's legal for him to be both. One of his ancestors carried the Leidolf founder's blood, and he'sad littera clan." "But why would Brady do this?" "He wants to kill me," Rule said, as calm as his blasted brother.

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"Brady and Victor," Cullen said viciously. "Victor's behind this. We won't stop this without crisping the son of a—" "No," Rule said sharply. "Victor must live a bit longer. Death shock in such a crowd would send too many over the edge. You'd never get Lily out alive." Lily stopped moving. "Rule." She reached for him. "You are not getting me out without—" "Hush." He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, pressing kisses into her hair, which covered any movement of his lips as he said.You can hear me ? She nodded. The mantle. Victor isn't going to allow it to choose. He'll try to force the heir's portion on me, which would be… bad. Murder, most likely, but done in a way Nokolai couldn't claim as murder. But the mate bond is active. The last time this happened, I also gained. If your immunity to magic stretches to cover me, he won't be able to force the mantle on me. "Move along, now." Brady was all good cheer, but the thug at his side gave the two of them a rough shove. Rule spun, growling. "Be nice to the lady, Merrick," Brady said, gun raised to point at Lily's forehead. "Or I'll have to shoot her." "You're dead, you know," Cullen said. "Me?" He laughed. "Oh, no, I don't think I'm the walking dead man here."

HE/SHE/THEY studied the house. A life burned brightly in the car parked in front; no driver was visible, but the guard couldn't hide from the demon'stither sense. The lives inside the house were visible in the same way, their presence muffled by walls and distance, but the demonsaw them well enough for Cynna to count. Five lives were in that house. Five people she cared about. He/she lumbered toward the car, though. Not the house. Cynna screamed inside, trying desperately to seize just one bit of the demon, make a noise, something! But he/they reached the parked car, then reached inside in an indescribable way, bringing more of their mass into this realm. He/they punched through the car window. The guard reacted fast. He had his rifle ready and he fired point-blank. The bullets hit, too—three of them—hot stings that annoyed the demon as they reached inside and seized the man's shoulder. He screamed, which excited them. They dragged him out through a window too small for his body. The blood excited them even more.

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THE last few people parted in front of them, and Lily saw Victor Frey for the first time. He looked like hell. Cynna had described him as dapper and academic, looking about seventy. She saw a military martinet, not an academic—a very old martinet. He sat in an armchair, incongruous in its floral print on the winter-dead grass. He sat very erect, but his skin sagged in the runneled folds of very old age. How he'd summoned enough wind to outshout his clan earlier, she couldn't imagine. Behind him stood ten well-armed lupi. Four of them immediately surrounded Benedict; though they kept a healthy distance, the rifles they trained at his head would keep even him from acting. Two flanked Cullen, guns drawn. The Rhej stood beside Victor in her white robe, her face impassive. On his other side stood a man who must have been related to her—same eyes and skin tone, plus the proportions between their chins and mouths matched. "Alex," Benedict said. "Did he tell you that he'd name Brady heir if you didn't agree to be Lu Nuncio?" Victor turned cold eyes on him. "Nokolai is not welcome here. Be quiet or be muzzled." "Nokolai," Rule said dryly, "was brought here at gunpoint. Is this normal for those who guest with Leidolf ?" "But you aren't—entirely—Nokolai today, are you?" The twitch of those pale, desiccated lips was probably meant for a smile. "Today you are Leidolf as well. And by blood and my sister's great folly, you are also my great-nephew. How could we leave you out?" He gestured at the others as he raised his voice again. "Our candidates are assembled." Seven other men stood in front of their Rho. They were giving Rule the kind of looks a butcher might give a mongrel that's eyeing his roasts… or that a wolf might give another wolf intruding on its territory. A single wisp of magic, feathery light, tingled across Lily's face. A sorceri, she realized. Cullen had said there was a node in the central field. They often leaked a bit. She tried and failed to think of some way to take advantage of that. She still had one weapon. A SIG Sauer wasn't proof against a thousand lupi, but she need only train it on one. "You must be Victor Frey," she said, stepping forward. "I'm Lily Yu with the FBI's Magical Crimes Division. You're in a lot of—" "Stop her," Victor said. Whatever the mate bond had done for her hearing, it hadn't granted her lupus speed. She got her gun out, but it clattered uselessly to the ground when two guards grabbed her, one on each arm. Rule jolted but didn't move. "You're putting hands on a Chosen," he said softly, and looked at the Rhej. "She won't be hurt," the woman said. Though her face remained impassive, trouble edged her voice. "Will she, Victor?"

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"Of course not. But she can't be allowed to shoot me." He pushed to his feet and stood stick-straight, but it cost him. She saw the tremor in his hand, the way his face tightened. Yet he found that carrying voice again. "The candidates will kneel." The seven who'd given Rule such unfriendly looks dropped to their knees. So did Brady, she saw when she twisted in her captors' grip to check. Rule didn't. Victor smiled. It made his face a gargoyle's mask of wrinkles. "You will," he said softly, "before we are through." He closed his eyes and said something in Latin. He spoke the words three times. Lily waited, her heart trying to knock its way through her chest. They were gambling everything on the mate bond, the capricious, do-what-it-wants bond she'd never understood, much less controlled. "Lady," she whispered, "if you're around, if you're in charge of any of this, help him. Help him." The Rho held out his hands, palms forward as if he were pushing something. He swayed. One of the kneeling men made a small sound, maybe of astonishment. Another toppled over in a silent heap. And Rule… like the Rho, he swayed. His eyes were wide, unseeing, his hands limp at his sides. And the power wind blew in. THIRTY-TWO NOT a wind, Lily thought in the first split second as magic gusted across her face, prickled up her nose, and burned her hands. A gale. Stronger than the first one, horribly strong. Reality splintered. Here—here—here—everywhere the vortex of the Change seized men and spun them into other shapes. Screams sounded. One of Lily's guards dropped his hands or lost them to the Change. It was all she needed. Her elbow rocked into the other guard's ribs, distracting him from his battle with the Change. He howled and bent, and reality splintered even as she spun away, diving for a rifle dropped by one of Benedict's guards. She got her hands on the rifle, rolled, and flowed to her feet. Wolves. Wolves everywhere, with a scattering of women uncertainly upright in the sea of fur. None near her were two-legged except the Rhej, who stood motionless, her eyes closed and her lips moving; the Rho, equally unmoving where he lay on the ground, unconscious or dead, his skin blooming with dark lesions… and Rule. Rule was on his knees as Victor had wanted, his head thrown back, his face contorted. Screaming. And bleeding. Even as she stared, more blood sprang out in drops on his skin like sweat. She threw herself into motion only to jerk to a halt, nearly falling. Benedict's hand had closed over her arm and stopped her. She rounded on him and would have hit him—or tried to—if that hand had been free instead of full of rifle.

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That flashback to sanity brought with it a full-fledged thought: hishand had stopped her. Benedict wasn't wolf anymore, but he had been. His clothes were gone. How could he have Changed back so quickly? "No!" he shouted over the howling. "You can't touch him now. The mantle has him." The power wind still rushed over her skin, but silently. The howling came from lupus throats—a dozen, two dozen, more. As Rule fought some terrible internal battle, Leidolf howled. "Why doesn't he Change?" she cried. Benedict's voice was hoarse. "He can't." The Rhej moved. Only four steps, but each taken with such ponderous care she might have been treading quicksand or crossing a minefield. She knelt between Rule and the prostrate Rho, stretched out her arm, and seized Victor's hand. With her other hand she gripped Rule's shoulder. Lily jolted, instinctively wanting no one to touch Rule if she couldn't, but Benedict's grip held her fast. The Rhej's eyes rolled back. She held there, motionless in the dead grass, a white-robed bridge between the two men—one unconscious at best, the other… Rule stopped screaming. Slowly he straightened, swaying, though he remained on his knees. The blood drops began to dry on his skin. His eyes were open but it was obvious he saw nothing as tremors snaked up his spine in quick succession. The Rhej released him. Growls rumbled up from a throat far too close. Her head swung. Most of the wolves howled or watched the tableau of Rule, the Rhej, and their Rho, but two didn't. Two gray-black wolves the size of small ponies watched them, ears flat, heads lowered, hackles raised. Then another one moved, this one with reddish fur, and smaller—Great Dane instead of Shetland. She shouldered the rifle. "Don't shoot the little one," Benedict said, his own rifle ready. "It's Cullen." Suddenly the air lost its rush of power and was just air, cold and still. Then the magic returned, but quieter now, brushing her skin in an ebbing rhythm until it tickled her face like dandelion fluff. The howling died, but the growling increased as more wolves focused on her and Benedict and the red wolf standing between them and the rest. The ground was littered with clothing. Shoes, jeans, slacks, belts, shirts—all had fallen to the ground when the form they belonged to whistled into elsewhere and came back reshaped. Rule slumped forward suddenly, catching himself with one hand so that he didn't quite land on his face in the dirt. But that arm trembled, and his chest heaved as if he'd run for miles and miles. "Goddamn it." She couldn't go to him, not with wolves surrounding them, wolves with little that was human shining in their dark eyes. Dozens now watched her and Benedict with hackles raised, their growls a rumbling chorus. "Leidolf!Heliedtoyou!" A woman's voice, rich and loud: the Rhej. Lily spared her the barest flick of a glance. The woman had moved closer to Victor, rolling him onto his back. She held his hand in both of hers as she spoke. "Your Rho lied. He didn't let the mantle choose. He tried to force it on Rule Turner, and it cost him. Look at

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Victor. Smell him. Your Rho has the cancer, and he damn near killed himself tryin' to find a legal way to kill someone he'd granted guest rights. He'd die now, be dead in seconds, if I let go of him. And I will let go if you attack our guests. I will let go, and the Rho will die." Some of the growling faded. Not all. "Women," the Rhej called, "your brothers know you. Pet them, touch them, help them remember who they are." She looked at Lily, and her voice dropped. "Go to your man. Move slow, but go to him. Get him on his feet. He's got the heir's portion now. He was winnin' the fight till the node burst open and damn near the whole mantle was just sucked right up into him. I forced most of it back, but he's heir. Leidolf won't like that, but they have to feel it, smell it on him." Lily did fine on the "go to him" part, not so well on moving slowly. But she made it without inciting a lupus riot, knelt, and got her free arm around Rule. He raised his head to look at her, his eyes bleary with pain. Barely aware. Benedict moved to Rule's other side, and the red wolf posted himself in. Lily shifted, getting Rule's arm over her shoulder as Benedict did the same. They got him to his feet. He swayed, shook his head. "Lily." "Here. I'm right here." "You got to get out of here," the Rhej told them, her voice hoarse. "All of you. The ones that ain't back yet—you don't smell right to them. The ones that're coming back, they'll be thinking Challenge soon, as much as they think at all." One of the biggest wolves tipped his muzzle toward her, ears forward. His coloring reminded Lily of Rule's wolf form—black, barely tipped with silver. "That's right." The Rhej addressed the wolf as if it had spoken. "If they start in on the Challenges, he's dead." A jerk of her head indicated Rule. "And so is Leidolf, 'cause if they kill the heir the mantle will snap back into Victor. I'm barely holding life in him now—that mantle rebounds on him, he's dead. I need you two-footed, Alex. I need your voice with mine, and so do they. Try. You're Lu Nuncio now. For the Lady's sake and Leidolf's, try." The wolf whined unhappily and closed his eyes. Reality pleated itself, but slowly. For the first time Lily could almost follow the Change as it happened… almost, for some of it was simplyother , too far outside what the senses could report or her mind absorb. Fur folded into skin, legs kinked, lengthened; there blinked into not-there, into somewhere, into… a man, a big man, almost Benedict's size, naked, his dark skin gleaming with sweat in the cold air, his face tight with pain. "Shit," he said. "Shit." "Buck up." That was his sister, unsympathetic. "Talk to them." He straightened. After a moment he spoke, projecting his voice strongly. "Listen. I am Lu Nuncio, and you will listen. Does Leidolf kill those with guest rights? Do we remember the price of dishonor? Listen. Listen, and remember. In the days when Eiriu fought with Trath, when gnomes dwelled beneath the Earth and elves still walked its forests…"

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A story. He was telling them a story, one from their oral history, one of the legends they'd been raised on. And it seemed to work. He had their attention. "Girl," the Rhej said quietly, "bring your man here. Ah can't let go of Victor, but Rule Turner's bad muddled. No one's built to hold two mantles, an' he had damned near all of Leidolf's shoved in on top of the Nokolai heir's portion." Lily exchanged glances with Benedict, and they did as she asked. Rule had forgotten how to walk. He tilted to one side, then the other. He thrust one leg forward twice instead of alternating, realized that was wrong and stopped, rearing back so fast he nearly dragged Lily down. Benedict righted him. The Rhej lowered herself to sit cross-legged on the cold ground, keeping her grip on Victor's hand. The Rho was a sight to frighten small children… hell, big, tough federal agents, too. Mottled skin sagged off his bones like congealed wax, skin mottled like a toad's by the cancers that had sprung up like mushrooms after a rain. So fast. How could the tumors have grown so fast? "Can you help Rule?" she asked the Rhej, fear roughening her voice. "If you're keeping Victor alive, how much can you spare for Rule?" A grin, unexpected and fierce, flashed across the dark face tilted up to them. "Damn near anything, right now. Ah've got more power to draw on than any Rhej since the dawn times." She looked at Rule. "Two-mantled," she said softly, making the term sound like a title. "Will you let me help you?" Rule stirred as if trying to take more of his own weight, but sagged again. "Could use… help, serra." "Ah need his hand." She reached up with hers. Carefully Lily unwound Rule's arm from her shoulder, trusting Benedict to keep him upright. Rule managed to stretch out his hand himself. The woman took it in hers, frowned. "You've got some funny stuff in you." Rule didn't seem able to answer, so Lily did. "Demon poison. He was wounded by one, and it got into him." Her voice wasn't steady. With all that had happened, she'd actually forgotten the demon poison. "Don't think Ah can help with that. But with the other…" She closed her eyes, and began to hum… "Rock of Ages," Lily realized, the incongruity of hearing the old gospel hymn in this setting almost shocking her into a giggle. Or maybe that was hysteria trying to blossom. She squelched it. Alex was still speaking, telling a tale of some ancient Rho and his enemy… and a few feet away, reality did its splinter dance once more. Where there had been a red wolf, a naked Cullen stood bent over, hands on his knees, gasping. Alex glanced that way. Without losing his storyteller's cadence, he said, "Eric. Reese. Can Nokolai do what Leidolf cannot? Change now. I need you two-legged. Now, Trath agreed to speak of truce with Eiriu," he went on, "and both would guest with Leidolf. But Trath had taken…"

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Cullen moved more slowly than usual, bending to retrieve something from one of the piles of clothing. Not his slacks, however. A necklace. Sunlight glittered on the diamond he rehung around his neck. Off to her left, two wolves fractured into pieces of otherness and began re-forming. Rule straightened. His breathing evened, slowed. He turned his head, met her eyes… and he was back. Exhausted, his hair sweat-soaked, but back. He smiled at her, then at the Rhej. "Serra," he said, and did a very Rule thing. He raised the Rhej's hand and bent to place a kiss on it. "I thank you." "Thank me later," she said tartly. "Get moving now." "… agreed that Eiriu's power must be broken," Alex said, "for it had turned rancid with bloodlust. Reese, Eric, go with them. Get my keys from my pants. They'll take my Suburban; their own car is too far away. Now, Leidolf didn't want to break the bonds of…" And so Lily was escorted through a field of wolves by five men, every one of them except her lover as bare as the day he was born. She now knew exactly what Rule's brother looked like naked. Clothes didn't do Benedict justice. A few wolves growled as they passed, but none opposed them. She kept the rifle ready. Rule walked on his own, but his exhaustion was obvious—not that any of Leidolf were going to notice, because they wouldn't look at him. Their escorts kept track of her and Benedict and Cullen without once glancing at Rule. The wolves they passed through scented them—noses lifted, nostrils twitching—but none looked directly at Rule. They could deal with the purely Nokolai Benedict, she supposed, or her own female self, but the one who was both Nokolai and their heir must have made them uneasy. Though maybeuneasy wasn't the right word. Still, they made it to the road and across it, to a green Suburban parked in front of Victor's house. One of their escorts— Reese or Eric, she had no idea which was which—held out a set of keys. She reached for them, but Benedict was faster. "Don't you think the one who hasn't Changed twice should drive?" "No." If he was still fast enough to beat her to the keys, he was probably up to driving. He was also still naked. "Maybe…" She glanced at the house, thinking of the AK-47 upstairs, but also about pants. "No," Benedict said again. "We don't retrieve our things. We leave now." She didn't argue. Lily climbed in back with Rule. He held her hand and leaned his head back as they took off, the tires spitting dirt. "You're okay," she told him softly, but it was also a question. He got that, turning his head to smile at her wearily. "Mostly. Things are still… a bit jumbled inside. What the Rhej did got the circuits uncrossed, so the new mantle's settling in, but it… makes words difficult right now."

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She squeezed his hand, telling him words weren't needed. Benedict was driving too fast for anyone but a lupus over the rough road. She approved, lowering the window so she could fire out if necessary. Lord knew there was plenty of cover if someone wanted to stage a last-minute ambush, and the way the road wound around, a party of wolves cutting straight through might be able to cut them off. She rested the rifle's barrel on the open window. "I'm going to come back and arrest Brady once he and the others are two-legged again." "No need," Cullen said. "He's a dead man." He gave his head a shake. "I think I'm power drunk. If that's what the magic wind was like before—" "This was worse. A lot worse. If it was this bad everywhere…" Reminded of the outside world, Lily released Rule's hand just as they took the turn up onto pavement, tires squealing. It was probably safe to put the rifle down. She did, then got her phone from her pocket to call Ruben. She'd had three missed calls: her parents, the ever-popular Unknown, and Cynna. "Brady isn't dead," she pointed out. "In spite of everything, no one died." "He meant that Rule will kill him," Benedict said. "Urn… no." Cynna first, she decided and punched the call button. It rang and rang, though, without Cynna or her voice mail picking up. She frowned, checked that she had a connection, then called her own voice mail. "You're integrating more with the human world, remember? Killing people who piss you off is not the way to do that." She fast-forwarded past the first two messages. "Lily." Rule squeezed her shoulder. "I am sorry, but they are right. Brady must die." She turned startled eyes on him, but Cynna's message started, and her voice was one breath short of panic. Lily listened to the disjointed words with horror pooling in her gut. "Benedict," she said, and could not understand why her voice was so steady. "Have you got plenty of gas?" "Yes." "Hit it, then. Open it up. We need to get to D.C. We need to hurry. I… I'll get us an escort." Yes, an escort, a cop car with its cherry light clearing the way—they needed that. She turned to Rule and gripped his hand. "Jiri attacked the house. She got to Toby." THIRTY-THREE MARIO Andretti in a Formula One couldn't have gotten them to D.C. quickly that day. What was normally a three-hour drive took them… well, four. Benedict did floor it when he could. Lily had hoped the force they'd experienced from the power wind had been due to the node. They'd been right on top of one, so it made sense that they'd been hit hard. But the world was full of nodes. There were rumors of a meltdown at a nuclear reactor in Poland. The Middle East was exploding—literally. Stores of munitions had exploded spontaneously in Palestine, Israel, Syria, and Egypt. In the United States, two planes had crashed when flight control at LAX went out; another had crashed in Milwaukee. There were many fires, but the worst was in Houston, where twenty city blocks

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were burning. Witnesses claimed fire had fallen from the sky like rain. A power failure hit the Northeast when computers controlling the grid went wacky, trapping thousands in subways, offices, traffic jams. Wall Street shut down; there were brownouts as far south as Charleston. A flock of griffins had popped into the air over Washington. The capital went Code Red, scrambling jets—which weren't much good, it turned out, at chasing mythological creatures when their computers kept malfunctioning. The power wind had lasted only twelve minutes, but magic was still leaking from nodes everywhere. Not strongly, but enough to continue to mess up computers intermittently. The Internet was down in many places; individual computers suffered, too—in planes, cars, trains, homes, offices. People were urged to stay home or at work, not to drive. Traffic pileups were common with traffic lights malfunctioning and vehicles stalled. They learned some of this from Ruben, once Lily was able to reach him. Most of it came from the radio. Radio signals weren't affected, though the stations with computerized playlists were off the air. Cell coverage was spotty, but Lily managed to reach the D.C. police shortly after getting Cynna's message. They said two units had already been dispatched to the address but wouldn't tell her anything else. She couldn't get through to the house or Cynna. They stopped in a Wal-Mart in Harrisonburg. Benedict was firm that the men, at least, needed to eat, so Lily got take-out chicken plus jeans, sweatshirts, and flip-flops for Cullen and Benedict. Also some wet wipes so Rule could clean off some of the dried blood. The automated cash registers weren't able to log onto the network, so Lily's Visa didn't work, and she didn't have enough cash. That's when the threatened storm hit, naturally— when she raced back out to the Suburban to get money from Rule. Twelve minutes later, Li Qin called. "Your grandmother lives, Lily. Harry was not hurt. Is Rule Turner there? I would speak with him." So she passed the phone to Rule and had to wait, hearing only his short responses while the others in the car no doubt caught every word. Rule disconnected abruptly. His chest moved in a sudden, sharp inhale, as if he'd forgotten to breathe for a moment. He stared at the phone blankly, then handed it back. "Lost the signal." "Rule?" She put a hand on his arm. He nodded once, jerky, as if to say,I'm here —give me a moment. She could see the effort it took to pull himself together enough to speak, but he managed it. "Toby's alive and has no obvious injuries, but he's in a coma. He's been transported to Washington Hospital Center. One of the guards is dead—Freddie. The others are injured, two of them seriously. Your grandmother…" He covered her hand with his. "She sent Li Qin for help but stayed to fight. She's hurt, but Li Qin says she'll heal. She's at the hospital, too. Along with the other guards. And Timms." Lily swallowed. "What happened?" "A demon. Not one of the red-eyes. Li Qin didn't see it— Madam Yu got her out before it broke down the door—but she got a description from someone. Upright, humanoid but very broad, maybe ten feet tall, with tusks and a tail. Reddish skin, hairless, and male."

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They hashed it over, though there was little to be concluded from such limited information. It did seem that the demon sum-moner needed the power wind, but none of them could explain why the first set of attacks had targeted heirs so precisely and this one had missed. Unless Toby had been the target. At New Market they had to leave the interstate, detouring through Luray and Sperryville. A highway patrolman told them that three woolly mammoths had appeared on the 1-44, causing a pileup it would take hours to clear. They spent a lot of time trying to call various places. It took Rule seven tries, but he reached his father and told him about Toby. Isen didn't know of any other attacks, but he'd only been able to reach two other Rhos so far. Even landlines weren't working consistently, especially with long distance; computers controlled the switching. Rule kept trying reach the hospital but couldn't get through. He gave her phone back. She listened to her messages and heard her mother's voice: "Your father bumped his head when his car died and the one behind hit him, but it's nothing. He's well, I'm well, your sisters are well, but what about you? Where are you? Call. Call. It's not right to leave me so worried." Her mother was worried. Her mother was speaking to her again, and it had only taken worldwide calamity to bring her to that point. Something tight inside Lily uncoiled fast, snapping back like a released spring, and stinging. Stinging. Rule put an arm around her. She leaned into him, blinking fast to clear the tears, and tried to call her mother back. No luck. She had service, but those at the other end didn't. She tried her parents' home phone, her mother's cell, her father's business number, her father's cell phone, and finally her little sister's cell. The last one at least rang, but Beth didn't pick up; Lily left a message. She still had a signal, so she tried Cynna again— nothing—then the hospital. Progress. She got a "lines are busy" recording instead of blank air. Finally she listened to the last message, the one from Unknown. It was probably some annoying huckster, but she couldn't stand to delete messages without hearing them. "Lily Yu." A woman's voice, low and musical with some hint of accent she couldn't identify. "This is Jiri. You are looking for me, and I am ready for you to find me. I will call again with instructions for you. Tell no one official of this call—none of your FBI or police friends—oh!" She chuckled. "Except for Cynna, of course. I forget sometimes that she is official these days. But tell no one else, or Rule Turner's son will never wake up."

WHEN they reached the hospital, Cynna was waiting for them, pacing up and down on her long legs in front of the drop-off area. When she saw them, she motioned at a young thug leaning against the building, arms crossed. He sauntered up, all tough-guy swagger, gangster pants, and attitude. "Jo-Jo will park it for you," she said. "I already paid him half. He gets the rest when he brings us the

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keys." Lily looked dubiously at Jo-Jo. "It's okay," Cynna said. "Jo-Jo here brought a friend in to get stitched up, and his friend's got some sense even if Jo-Jo doesn't." They took Cynna at her word and climbed out; the homeboy slid behind the wheel, his lip curling. No doubt Suburbans weren't his style. "How'd you get here so quick?" Lily asked as they hustled inside. "I thought planes were still grounded." "Commercial flights, yeah. I hitched with the Air Force." They'd finally managed to reach Cynna by phone just as they hit the outskirts of D.C. Traffic had been amazingly light after that. Either everyone had already emptied out of the city, or they were following instructions and staying put. "Toby's in CCU," Cynna said, adding quickly, "Not because he's critical. His vitals are good, except that his heart rate is real slow. It's a trance state, so his heartwould beat slowly, but doctors turn hard of hearing when you start talking magic. Even with thekilingo —" "What?" "Jiri marked him." Cynna closed her hand tightly as if hiding her own mark. "Like she did me, only this spell's different than the one she stuck me with. I… he's there, inside. I checked. He's not been forced to ride, or anything like that." Lily's breath caught. She hadn't thought of that possibility. They lucked out—the elevator was emptying just as they reached it. They refilled the little box; Cynna hit the button for the third floor, and the doors closed. Lily reached for Rule's hand, though she suspected he was too eaten up with worry about Toby to notice the small, closed space this time. But she needed the contact, too. "My grandmother?" "She's back from surgery," Cynna said. "She's good. She's amazing. I just checked on her." "Surgery?" Lily said, alarmed. Grandmother healed even faster than lupi. If she'd needed an operation— "She was gored." Bile rose. Lily swallowed. Swallowed again. "She's good," Cynna repeated hastily. "The worst was her lung, but she never lost consciousness. And she couldn't be anesthetized—Li Qin explained to me about that—but she used my spell. It shut off the pain so they could operate. I'm told she gave her surgeon instructions while he was working." A little bubble rose up and popped inside her. Not laughter, not quite, but relief. "She would." "Her surgeon's stunned. He's planning to write her up in some medical journal. Your people…" She

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looked at Benedict. "I'm sorry. Stan Carlson died. They didn't have a shaman on staff to put him in sleep, and he couldn't make the pain-block spell work. He died on the operating table. "The other two are doing fine," she went on. "Brown, he needed some surgery because of his ribs being so bad, and he couldn't get the stupid spell to work, either, but he passed out, and his condition's good now. Lincoln just had a couple broken bones, and once the doc got the ends lined up right and casted, he was okay. They're sharing a room on the second floor." "Timms?" Cullen asked. "Post-op. He's, uh, critical." Minutes later Lily and Rule stood in CCU looking down at Toby. She'd tried to prepare herself for the intrusive technology, for the way the boy would look—small and fragile, his color bleached to a terrible pallor. Machines beeped, tubes were everywhere, but Toby didn't look ill or broken or pale. He looked like a kid who'd played hard and was catching up on his sleep. His cheeks held their usual color. His nail beds were pink and healthy. Only he wouldn't wake up. Couldn't wake up. Thekilingo was on his forehead. It was small, the size of a large postage stamp, the complex lines as fine as spider silk. She brushed his hair away from the mark and let her hand rest on his forehead. Orange. Slick and somehow complex this time, but the orangey sense of the magic was unmistakable. "Demon magic," she said quietly. "Not exactly like other kinds I've touched. There's a layered quality to it, as if—" "As if it had been crafted." Cynna stood in the entry to the cubicle. "The demon magic you've touched before came straight from the source, and demons don't use spells the way we do. But ashetanni mwenye —a demon master—does." Cynna looked down at the sleeping boy, her voice tightening as if she had to force the words out. "Jiri isshetanni mwenye . She did it. She did this to him." Cynna would know. In some fashion she'd been there when it happened, propelled by the mark on her palm. That much she'd told them on the phone. "Can you—no, of course not. If you knew how to remove the spell, you already would have." "I can't remove a spell I don't know," she agreed, her voice heavy with regret. "But Cullen has a sleep charm. I'm hoping it's enough like this that between us we can figure out how to get rid of it."

THEY tried. Rule and Lily had to go to the CCU waiting room to keep the number of visitors within approved limits, but they didn't have to wait long before Cullen came in. He shook his head. "Dammit, Cullen!" Rule was ready to explode. "You have to be able to do something!" "Maybe…" He took two quick steps, stopped, and ran a hand over his hair. "Maybe if I have long enough to study it, but… hell, Rule. By putting it on his skin, she's tied it to him. It's got threads running everywhere, woven deep into him. If I tug on the wrong one, I'll stop his heart."

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GRANDMOTHER was one floor up. Unlike Toby, she looked awful—shrunken and fragile and pale. After Cynna's cheery words about how well Grandmother was doing, Lily couldn't quite hide her reaction as she bent to kiss the old woman on the cheek. If this was amazing, what kind of shape had she been in before? "Grandmother," she said, her voice wobbly. "Fighting demons? At your age?" Grandmother gave a one-shoulder shrug. Her other arm was in a sling. "He would not look in my eyes. If he had, I would not have needed to fight." She looked at Rule. "The boy. They tell me he is all right, but he sleeps." "Yes. He's all right physically. He's enspelled." Madam Yu gave a single nod. "So. I couldn't stop them. I tried, but… bah," she said when her eyes sheened suddenly. Lily knew better than to notice the tears. "Them? Was there more than one?" "The demon and whoever controlled him." She was testy. "He didn't want to go upstairs. He wanted to finish killing me and enjoy the blood. Someone prevented that." She looked away. "I tire. Go away now." Li Qin moved up beside Lily. She'd come with them to see Grandmother while Cynna stayed with Toby, Cullen checked on Timms, and Benedict went to see the two surviving guards. She spoke softly. "You may go, Lily, if you wish. I will stay with her." Grandmother glared at her. "I do not need my hand held." "Of course not." Li Qin settled in the chair next to the bed and held out her hand. "I do." Grandmother stared at her. The corner of her lip tucked down, but it was the kind of down-tuck that hid amusement. They left the two women holding hands. "I didn't realize they were lovers," Rule said as the door closed behind them. "I can usually tell." "I'm still not sure," Lily said, "though I've wondered. There's love there, but what kind? Not my business, I guess—which is the least of what Grandmother would say if I went insane and asked her. I did say something to my mother once—" "I know she took that well." Lily's laugh surprised her. It was brief, but she hadn't thought she could laugh at all right now. "You could say that. I wouldn't, but you could." "We'd better go get Toby now." "Go get…" She stopped and spoke carefully. "You don't mean take him out of the hospital." "There's no reason for him to stay here." He was reasonable. Calm. "Hooked up to a bunch of machines that can't do a thing for him… of course we'll take him home with us. That's where he should be. At home. It will be easier for Cullen to figure out how to undo the spell there."

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In the hall, in the elevator, she gently pointed out why Toby needed to stay in the hospital. Yes, he was physically fine, and could probably be moved out of CCU. But they didn't know if he'd stay fine. He needed to be where they could keep an IV in him, at the very least. Besides, they didn't have a home to take him to; Nokolai's house was boarded up. There was blood all over. Rule continued to sound reasonable. Home was wherever they were—a hotel, the borrowed Suburban, it didn't matter. If she thought Toby needed an IV, they'd leave that in. But it would be easier for Cullen to study the spell and undo it away from the hospital. He hadn't touched Toby, she realized as they approached the doors to CCU. He hadn't touched Toby's face or reached for his hand as he lay there sleeping amid the beeps and tubes of critical care. She should have known he'd slipped around some inner corner. He and Toby touched often, easily… a hug, a pat, a snuggle. She'd envied that sometimes. Her own family didn't touch that way. She'd thought he was dealing. He'd clamped down hard on his anxiety to keep functioning, she'd seen that, but he'd seemed to be dealing with the situation okay. She looked at him closely as they approached the cubicle that held his son. He still looked okay. But he wasn't. Visitors had changed places again. Benedict and Cullen were with Toby now. The CCU nurses wouldn't let them all in at once, of course, so Lily told Benedict and Cullen to come with her and give Rule a few minutes alone with Toby. He was talking to his son when they left… but not touching him. Touching him might make it too real. On the other side of the swinging doors, she told them about Rule's determination to take Toby out of the hospital. Her voice broke. Benedict just nodded. "I'll talk to him. Outside." "Talk isn't working." She felt frantic, close to tears, and she hated that, hated the utter uselessness of crying. "Hey." Cullen put an arm around her, startling her. He gave her shoulders a squeeze. "We'll talk a little differently than you have been." He looked at Benedict. "You're the best, but Rule's not bad, either. I'll go with you. I'm fast enough, and we don't need any more injuries." Benedict nodded and pushed on the CCU door. "You're not talking about talking," Lily said stupidly. Benedict paused. "We'll talk. Then he'll hit us. It's what he needs. He's too exhausted to do much damage, but Cullen's right. Two of us can make sure of that without damaging him." THIRTY-FOUR THERE were no chairs in CCU. Lily stood by Toby's bed, holding his hand and wishing she believed in prayer.

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Death wasn't the end. Souls existed. She knew that beyond any doubt, but she didn't know if anyone was in charge—but if so, He or She wasn't doing a very good job. The inmates were running the asylum and had been for a long time. But it couldn't hurt to ask. Even if she wasn't sure who or what she prayed to, it couldn't hurt to ask. Please. Please help him. Help us . "He looks okay, doesn't he?" She turned. Cynna stood in the open entry, sipping from a steaming cup. Lily smelled coffee. "You don't like coffee." "Tastes like crap," she agreed, stepping into the glass-walled cubicle. "Where's Rule?" "Getting some fight therapy, I think. He…" She chewed on her lip, uncertain how much to say. "I thought he was dealing. I didn't look closely enough. I guess a psychologist would say he was repressing, or in denial, or something like that. Benedict said he needed to hit someone. He and Cullen took him outside to talk, lupus style." "Fight therapy. Huh. I could use some of that." Beneath the inky filigree, Cynna's face was tight. No, Lily realized, she was tight all over, as if she were made of overwound springs ready to snap. "I guess I'm more like Timms. I'd rather shoot than punch." "You know how to fight, though." "I'm too mad to fight well right now." Lily hadn't known that was true until she said it, but she was aware of the anger now—a hot, hard knot of it in her belly. "You make mistakes when the anger's in charge." "Guess that's why you're black belt and I'm just brown. When I'm mad, I like to fight. When I'm not mad, I don't see the point, so I don't practice." Cynna sipped from her cup, grimaced. "Here. You might as well drink this." Lily accepted the cup. Milk had turned it to a paler shade of sludge she wasn't desperate enough to drink. "How much did that mess you up?" she asked softly. "What Jiri did, I mean. Making you ride again, having to witness everything." "Witness." Cynna's voice was ripe with bitterness. "Riding's not like that. It isn't just watching." "You've never talked about it." "Not going to now, either." "You didn't do this, you know. You didn't attack the others or do this to Toby." Cynna took two steps as if she wanted to pace, but there was no room for it. "She kicked me out before I could see what she did to Toby. Didn't want me getting a clue about how to undo it. But for the rest… I might as well have done it. It didn't feel like the demon's hands reached in and dragged Brown out of the car. It wasour hands that killed him. We broke down that door.We were pissed when the tiger attacked and…" She swallowed and raised miserable eyes to Lily's. "A rider doesn't just get the physical stuff. You get the feelings, too. Not thoughts, but I felt what the demon felt."

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"It wasn't your will, your intent, in charge." "Yeah, intent matters. I know that, but…" Her gaze jumped from Toby to the IV stand to the heart monitor. "Why did she do it that way? Why force me to ride? That's what I don't get. It didn't give her any advantage. Hell, it took some of her advantage away. I've got her pattern now, a current pattern." "Vengeance. Threat. I—" Lily broke off. She felt Rule approaching. A moment later the doors to CCU opened and Rule, Cullen, and Benedict came in. They were a bit worse for wear. Cullen was limping. Benedict had a cut over one eye. Rule was the worst mess, though, with his jacket gone, his shirt torn, and a doozy of a black eye. It had already aged to the greenish yellow phase, but was still swollen. He came straight to Lily. One of the nurses darted out from their central station, telling them they had to leave—they couldn't have this many in CCU at one time. Rule didn't seem to notice, but Benedict spoke politely to her. Rule stopped in front of Lily. For a long moment they just looked at each other, each seeking something too large to fit neatly into words. Then the corner of his mouth kicked up and she reached for him, or he reached for her, and they were holding on. Holding on tight. Benedict told her the rest of them would be in the CCU waiting room. She nodded without stirring. Rule loosened his grip just as the CCU doors opened. Cynna had paused in the doorway, looking back at them. And for a second Lily saw too much in her face. A hard sorrow. Longing. Envy. Then Cynna turned. The door closed, and Rule went to Toby's bed and took his son's hand.

THEY stayed at the hospital another three hours. Toby was moved from CCU to a room in pediatrics. He didn't stir. Timms was upgraded from serious to stable. Cynna told them about her interview in Chicago and Jiri's other apprentice, Tommy Cordoba; they filled her in on events at Leidolf Clanhome. Jiri didn't call. Ruben did. The Bureau's computers were still wonky, so they couldn't run a trace on Cordoba, but Ruben promised he'd put a priority on it. After some discussion, they settled that Benedict would take the night shift with Toby. Or rather, Benedict settled it—he told Rule and Lily to go away and get some rest. To Cynna's amazement, they listened. Then they had to almost drag Cullen out. He seemed to feel responsible for Timms. They adjourned to a hotel near the hospital, where Rule got a two-bedroom suite for him, Lily, and Cullen, with an adjoining single for Cynna, and ordered room service hamburgers. Not that anyone seemed hungry. When the food arrived, all of them except Cullen sat at the round table and tried to eat. Cullen slouched in the big armchair in front of the TV with his plate, absorbed in CNN or his own thoughts.

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"But what does it mean?" Cynna asked Rule, dragging a fat home fry through ketchup. "You've got two mantles, or part of two mantles. What does that do to you?" His expression was odd. Baffled. "I can't describe it, but… I'm okay." Lily grimaced. "The mate bond didn't do us any good, after all. I guess with the power wind—" "No," he said. "It did help. It's still helping. I don't know how to explain, but it helped the two mantles settle in together." "Two-mantled," Cullen murmured. Cynna looked at him, surprised he'd followed their conversation. He was frowning at the TV. "The Rhej used that phrase," Lily said. "She made it sound like some sort of title." Cullen didn't look at them. "It's from a legend. A very old legend." "I never heard of it," Rule said. "It's an Etorri tale." "What's Etorri?" Cynna asked. There was one of those silences, like when someone farts and everyone pretends not to notice. At last Cullen answered. "My former clan. The one that kicked me out." Oh. "Power's back on up North," he said in an obvious change of subject. "And some asshole's decided to let commercial flights resume." "You don't think it's safe?" He snorted. "More like an extreme solution to overpopulation. There's too much loose magic for computerized systems to be dependable." Lily and Rule joined him in front of the television. Cynna paced but listened. Fire still raged in Houston. An earthquake in Italy had left thousands homeless. The nuclear meltdown in Poland had been confirmed, but details were sketchy. Wall Street expected to reopen in the morning. And phone service remained problematical, but landlines worked better than cellular. Jiri had Lily's cell number. Cynna couldn't sit. She paced, swerving by the table that held her food every so often to grab a fry. Her skin felt as if she'd washed it in hot water and it had shrunk. Or like the last-year's clothes she used to start school in. As if she might bend or move wrong and rip something open. At last Lily clicked the remote and the TV went dead. "We've heard from the world. Now we need to deal with our corner of it—sort out what we know, what we guess." She looked at Cynna. "We never

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got the whole story on the attack." "You want details? Like who bled where?" She reached the wall. Turned. Kept moving. "Tell us about the demon. It wasn't a red-eye, like the others. Li Qin said it was male." "That's right." Cynna made an effort to strangle her jitters so she didn't jump down anyone's throat. "They don't settle on a sex when they're young. This one isn't all that bright, but he's old, strong, powerful. We…he wasn't bothered by the bullets. They hurt, but it was like being poked with a pin over and over. Infuriating, but no biggie. Of course, he didn't have all his mass pulled out of dashtu. If he had, he'd have busted those stairs instead of climbing 'em. The older ones are heavy. Dense." "You mean their mass is dense? Not their heads?" Her mouth turned up in an attempt at a smile. "Sometimes their heads are pretty dense, too. But I meant mass." "So she's riding a powerful demon. What does that tell us?" "Not exactly riding. She's a demon master, not a rider. It's… a different level of control."And defilement . "But what does it mean?" "That she's got mega-oomphs of power and an old, not-too-bright demon who'll do whatever she wants." "What can you tell us about her?" Rule asked. "I've already told Lily—" "You've given her facts, what few you have. You haven't said what makes Jiri tick. What she wants. She wants something, wants it bad." "I don't know! God, if it were that easy… When I first knew her, she was okay. No," she corrected herself. "She. was good. A good person. She started out wanting to change things, make them better for people who needed change. That's what the movement was, at first. Sure, we talked tough. We were street kids—that's what we knew. But we pulled together to make things work for people who needed hope." "What happened?" "Demons happened." Cynna made a noise between laughter and tears. "You ride 'em, you feel what they do. She warned us, all of the ones she brought into her… I guess you'd call us the inner circle. She warned us to be careful, or we'd lose track of the line between us and them. And that's what happened, exactly what happened, with her. I watched as those lines got erased in her. That's why I left. I could see what I'd end up like." "Then you must be able to guess what she's after," Rule said. "You," Lily said.

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"She missed, then, didn't she?" Bitterness coated his voice. He pushed to his feet and then stood there, looking like he needed to hit something again. Lily stayed in her chair. "You weren't there, so she enspelled Toby. It's a way to get to you." "Goddamn her. It could be. It could be true. Cynna, there must be something—" "Rule." Cullen uncoiled from his chair. "Enough. She's had enough." "It's okay," Cynna said. "It's his son in danger, his men she killed." "And if you could do anything to change that, you'd have already done it." He walked up to her, no particular expression on his face… and that was odd. Cullen was alwayssomething — smiling, teasing, angry, laughing—some emotion always seemed to be burbling up in him. "Just cut it out, will you?" "What?" She tried a laugh. "Cut what out?" He gave his head a half shake, just to one side and back, his lips thinning as if she were the slowest student in the class. "Never mind." He grabbed her face in his two hands and kissed her. And kissed her. And went on kissing her. Stars collided. Whole universes. Neurons burst in her brain, dying a violent but beautiful death. She sucked his tongue into her mouth and bit it. Eventually that luscious, lovely, talented mouth left hers. She noticed that her eyes were closed and considered opening them. Her body was held tight against his. It was very happy about that. "Cullen," Lily said sharply, "I don't think—" "Glad to hear it, since this isn't any of your business." His eyes were hot, and some of that heat was temper. "She needs this. And by God, so do I." He ran one hand down Cynna's arm to take her hand, and tugged. "Come on." She did, though it was hard to say who led who to the connecting door to her room. "Cynna?" That was Lily again, worrying. "It's okay," she said without looking back. "He's a jerk, but he's right. After all, I didn't get any fight therapy, did I?" He pulled her through the door, closed it behind them. The room was small, the walls a neutral green, the bed a tidy rectangle a few feet away. Her heart pounded madly in her throat. Why didn't he just grab her? She was expecting that—the quick heat, a rough climb, maybe some ripped clothes. She wanted it. Instead he put his hands on her arms. "They don't get it," he said softly. "You hit your biggest fear today, didn't you? This time the demon swallowed you." "Hey." She jerked away. "If I'd wanted talk, I'd have stayed in the other room."

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He ignored that. "Blood, sex, power. That's the price demons ask of a rider, isn't it,shetanni rakibul One or all of those things." He knew too much. That's why she wasn't going to do this. She remembered that now. She didn't want anyone knowing those things about her. She fumbled for the door. "Cynna." His hand on her arm stopped her. "You didn't pay for the ride, so it wasn't yours. You couldn't have stopped him from doing what he did. You didn't pay. You are not responsible." She shuddered, rounding on him. "You don't get it, either! It wasn't him smashing Freddie up against the wall, it wasus't We slurped his blood until she—the master—made us stop. I felt it all; not just the physical parts, but everything he felt—and he liked doing that. It was—it felt good!" "You felt what the demon felt." His hands on her cheeks weren't gentle or soothing. They trapped her, making her look at him. "But you felt other things, too. Horror—fear—" God. Oh, God. She squeezed her eyes closed. "I tried. I tried so hard." "You didn't pay. You weren't in charge, so you couldn't change things." His hands left her face—and closed over her breasts. "You won't be in charge now, either." "What?" Her eyes popped open. "I don't need some macho bullshit—" "Yes. You do." He ran his thumbs over the tips of her breasts. "What you called fight therapy… We didn't take Rule outside because we like bruises, his or ours. We took him out there to lose it. He has formidable control, but control is a two-edged blade. He was bleeding inside from holding on to it too tightly." His thumbs were making her dizzy. Or maybe his words were. She shook her head, certain there was a flaw in his logic. "Sometimes you have to lose control to get it back. And it's okay to turn loose with me. You can't hurt me." Memories squeezed inside her, so tight it was hard to breathe. "You can be hurt. You'd heal, but you can be hurt." He shook his head. "Not by you, not here and now. I'm too much stronger. Faster. You won't hurt me, and God knows you won't shock me. Want to go for a little bondage?" Quick as a thought, he gathered her hands and pinned them behind her with one hand. His other hand was busy with her breast. She sucked in a breath. "No." Her voice came out harsh. "I just want to fuck. Hard and fast." At last he quit talking. His mouth was full of demands. He scooped her up and carried her to the bed, his mouth making those demands the whole way. Then he dropped her. She hit the bed, bounced, and was reaching for the buttons on her shirt before she finished bouncing.

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He stripped quickly, efficiently—and she had one pang of regret, because she'd love to see him take his time with that. But not tonight. Tonight she didn't want to think. She wanted to—was desperate to—feel human, to forget what she'd experienced as a silent rider in a demon's body. He came to her naked and fully aroused, which was a major distraction, because then she needed to get her hands all over that stunning body. She needed to taste the skin he brought to her. He needed her clothes off. And he was right. He was a lot stronger, and she wasn't in charge. Buttons popped as he yanked her shirt off. He shoved her bra up out of his way and lowered his head to suck. And that was good, that was incredible, the slow liquid tugs in her belly making her moan. She put her hands in his hair to hold him there, but the perverse man immediately decided to wander across to her other breast, then down the center of her body to her navel, where the band of her trousers stopped him. "Damn," he muttered. "You've still got clothes on." She laughed. It just struck her as terribly funny, and she laughed when she would have sworn she couldn't—but he caught the laugh with his mouth, his hands busy now with her bra, unfastening it. "Get the rest of it off," he told her. "I want to see. You smell fantastic, but I want to see, too." So she wiggled out of slacks and panties, and he looked and smiled, dazzling her. "You've got an incredible body, Wonder Woman, but I'm not a patient man." He crawled on top of her and kissed her, put his hand between her legs. And was still kissing her when he thrust inside. She felt that all the way to her scalp. It had been a long, long time since a man came inside her naked like this, but with a lupus lover she didn't need a condom. She was on the pill, and he couldn't catch or transmit a disease. She was safe, he was safe. It felt wonderful. She dug her fingers into his shoulders and pushed back with her hips, and he gave her the fast and furious ride she'd asked for. They found each other's rhythm quickly, as if they'd done this a dozen times, and lust shot off skyrockets in her belly. Her body burned with it, the wonderful living heat of passion. When she felt her climax coming, she almost wanted to stop, to wait, to make it last— Too late. She bucked once and smashed through a blinding orgasm. He was still going. "Not… patient," he panted, and he even grinned. "But I've been… practicing…" He punctuated that with a rolling thrust that made her gasp. "… awhile." Over the next several minutes he showed her how good an impatient but well-practiced man could be. When he finally came, she was on her third climax and he was on his knees with her legs hooked over his shoulders. She damn near melted. He did collapse, right on top of her, his chest heaving. And that was lovely, she thought once a few of those destroyed neurons regenerated enough to rub up a thought. Lovely to know he was wrecked, too.

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Lovely to lie close like this, all sweaty and limp, their legs tangled together, her hand free to stroke his back… A jolt went through his body. He jerked his head up, staring at her with—what? Shock? Horror? Something awful, because… God, those were tears. Tears filling his eyes. "What is it?" she whispered, terrified without knowing what could possibly be so wrong. Slowly his expression changed, though she still couldn't read it. He raised up on one elbow and ran his hand down her body, his gaze following it, until hand and gaze both rested on her belly. "Lady," he whispered. "Oh, Lady. Thank you." This was getting weird. She'd had men thank her for sex, but not like this. "You're freaking me out here, Cullen." "I'm… pretty freaked myself." He raised his head, looked her in the eyes. His were all shiny and wet. "You're carrying my baby." She heard the words, but for a long moment they stayed stuck on the surface of her brain. She couldn't attach any meaning to them. All at once they sank in. "Get off." She shoved at him. Obligingly he rolled off and just lay there, grinning at her. Blissed. The asshole was blissed out, and she was—"You're nuts," she told him, getting off the bed. Grabbing up clothes with hands that shook. "I'm on the pill. I'm not pregnant, and even if I were, you wouldn't know. Not—" "It's given to us to know." He sat up, and Lord, he made her breath catch in her throat with that simple movement. And he was happy, damn him. So happy. It terrified her, that happiness of his. "I'd given up," he said. "Years ago, I gave up thinking I'd ever… But you're carrying my baby." The knock on the door made her jump. "What?" she called. "We're a little busy here." Rule's voice: "Jiri called. We have to go. Now." THIRTY-FIVE THE Suburban shot through a yellow light to the blare of car horns. Lily ignored that. Her thoughts were harder to ignore. She'd learned long ago to cram the personal stuff in a box and sit on the lid when she was working. Cops had to be able to do that, or they couldn't do the job. But the personal was so tangled up with the job this time there was no way to separate them. Rule's life was at stake. Toby's life was at stake. And Cullen and Cynna had picked this time to turn weird on her. "I'm getting a hint of direction," Cynna said from the backseat. "East and a bit north." Cynna had done a cast before they got in the Suburban and found that Jiri was blocking her. Apparently

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that was possible, given enough knowledge and power. Jiri had the knowledge and a demon to draw on for power, but she couldn't block her former student completely. Cynna knew roughly how far away she was, and was beginning to pick up her direction. "That matches," Cullen said crisply. "The park's northeast of us." Rock Creek Park. That's where Jiri said she'd meet them, at a stone bridge in the park. She must have read the kidnappers' tip sheet: tell the victims not to contact the cops or the FBI. Give them a tight time limit to respond to your demands. They had twenty minutes to get there. Cullen knew where the park was. He wasn't sure about the bridge, but they'd find it… and her. They had Cynna for that. "Right at the next light," Cullen said. And there was one of those personal cords tugging at her. Something was going on with Cullen and Cynna. Not the sex— that had been inevitible, and if it had made Lily uncomfortable for them to go at it in the next room, that was probably her problem. But Cullen was behaving strangely. When they came out of the bedroom he'd grabbed Rule and told him something—speaking under the tongue, dammit, and the stupid mate bond was not giving Lily that kind of hearing anymore. Whatever he'd said, it had made Rule grab Cullen and hug him hard. Cullen's years as a lone wolf had made him less easy about touch than most lupi, and Rule's position as Lu Nuncio and heir had done something of the same for him. And men might give a buddy a backslap or punch on the shoulder for scoring, but a hug? Besides, Rule wasn't a scorekeeper. She hadn't thought Cullen was, either. And Toby's life was at stake, dammit. So it hadn't been about sex. "I still think we should stop for ammo." She'd lost the argument about stopping at a cop shop to pick up reinforcements. If Jiri was a farseer, that was too dangerous. But they hadn't been told to come unarmed. They had the rifles they'd brought with them from Leidolf, but no reloads. "If Jiri's there on her own, we won't need extra ammo," Cynna said. "If she's got her overgrown friend with her, rifles won't help." "Only if we can't separate them." That was the plan, such as it was. If Jiri did offer them a deal, they'd hear her out. Cynna said a demon master had enough demon stuff inside her that she could be bound by her word, just like a demon, if you knew how. Cynna knew how. But Lily was expecting an attack, not a deal. If they were attacked, they couldn't use deadly force on the demon unless they could be sure of not killing Jiri along with it. She'd know that. She'd be counting on it. But Cynna could hit the demon with her spell—which, it turned out, stopped demon hearts. This one had multiple hearts, so the spell might not kill it, but it would probably go dashtu. If it did, it would be physically separated from its master. Cullen could throw mage fire at it while Rule and Lily went after Jiri. An optimist might say the plan left them room to improvise. A pessimist would call it full of holes. "Too late to change our minds now," Cullen said. "That's it on the right."

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The place was closed, of course. It was nearly nine. They parked the Suburban in the empty lot and climbed out. The temperature had plunged after the sun set. The air was raw with cold and damp, with just enough of a breeze to make things worse. Lily shivered and zipped her jacket, settled the rifle comfortably on her arm, and started for the gate with Rule and Cynna. Cullen was already there. "What do you know—they forgot to lock it." The gate swung open at his touch. That was another way Cullen could be handy. He was good with locks. Lily had never asked how and why he'd aquired that particular sorcerous talent. Some things it was better not to know. She looked up at Rule. "You okay?" The overhead lights of the parking lot picked out the sharp blades of his cheekbones and limned his mouth, but his eyes were shadowed, no more than a liquid gleam in the darkness. He slid a hand over her nape and into her hair, answering her with his touch and a smile. "I've got her," Cynna said suddenly. "I've got a Find on her now. She's here physically, not just riding her demon." "And the demon?" Lily said. "He's around, but…" She shook her head. "I think he's dashtu and not too far from Jiri, but I'm not sure. I'm sorry. Holding two Finds is tricky." "Quit apologizing," Cullen snapped. "Most Finders can't do two Finds at all." Sex didn't seem to have turned them into lovers. Not in any conventional sense, at least. But what about either of them was conventional? They passed through the gate into the park. They'd debated splitting up, but in the end decided they were too small a party for that, especially since demons were hard to sneak up on. Rule or Cullen might have managed it in wolf form, but both needed to remain two-footed. Rule had to be able to speak if Jiri did want to make a deal, and Cullen couldn't throw fire in his wolf form. So everyone kept together and on two legs as they set off down the path. Lights on poles made to resemble old-fashioned gas lanterns were spaced at intervals just wide enough to be useless while still ruining her night vision. The path itself was crunchy with gravel and leaves crisped by frost, and Lily's breath plumed white when they entered the circle of light under the first lantern. Overhead, a few stars struggled to penetrate the city haze. The moon hung low, just over the trees to the east, looking like a lump of orange sherbet. It was still a week from full. Their path turned before reaching the creek to run parallel to it, separated by a fringe of small trees. Lily heard it lapping against its banks, slapping around the rocks in its bed. She thought she could hear her heart pounding, too. God knew she could feel it. She was terrified.

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Rule would know that, as would Cullen. They'd smell it on her. That bugged her, but it fell on the list of things she couldn't do a damned thing about. Not that she was ashamed of being afraid; that was a sane response to facing a demon. She acknowledged the feeling and put it away. Worse by far was the fear she couldn't speak. What if Jiri wanted to trade Toby's life for Rule's? Would he agree? Would she try to stop him? Don't fight a battle that isn't joined, she told herself, and moved ahead as silently as she could. "Wards ahead," Cullen said softly. Rule stopped. "What kind?" he asked in a barely there voice. "Not the keep-us-out sort, but she'll know we're here. I can disable them without her knowing, but it will take time." "How much?" "Ten minutes, maybe." Which would put them over the time limit. Lily didn't think Jiri would kill Toby if they were a few minutes late; he was too valuable to her. But it wasn't a chance she wanted to take. Neither did Rule. "Then we'll ring her doorbell before entering." He moved on. They didn't bother being quiet after that. Their path veered slightly away from the creek, skirting a large, rocky outcropping. Trees had just closed in overhead, their branches scratching each other in the breeze, when Cynna spoke quietly. "She's just past those evergreens, about ten yards away." Rule held up a hand. They stopped in the shadows beneath the trees. He tilted his head up—scenting the air, Lily realized. But the wind blew the wrong way. After a moment he shrugged. "We may as well keep our appointment." He moved forward. Their path had led them true, right to the stone bridge. A tall woman dressed in black sat smack in the center of the bridge's arch. Her skin was so dark it blended into her clothing—a leather catsuit, black and form-fitting. She was easy to spot, though. No trees arched out over the bridge to block the moonlight, and one of those fake gaslights was on the other side of the bridge. She stood. "You may as well come out of the trees. As you see…" She gestured widely. "I am alone." "Not entirely." That was Cynna, her voice hard. "Your familiar is on the other side of the creek." "Cynna," she murmured. "How you hate me. I am sorry for that. In so many ways, though, you wouldn't be here if not for me, would you? Yes, Tish is near, but I had him wait at enough of a distance that you would know you could escape him, if necessary. I need your help." Rule's laugh was harsh and brief. "You've an odd way of asking for it."

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"I'll admit," she said, walking slowly to the near end of the bridge, "that I wanted to control the situation. I trust you no more than you do me. You think I'm behind the attacks on the heirs. Cynna has no doubt convinced you I am evil." "You killed my men. You enspelled my son. What do you call yourself?" "Desperate." That came out flat and oddly convincing. "What do you want?" Lily asked, her own voice as expressionless as she could make it. Jiri looked at her. Lily felt the unmistakable tug of a shared gaze and knew the woman saw better than average in the dark. Better than human? Cynna said she had a fair amount of demon stuff in her. "Lily Yu. Do you love your lover's son?" The question rocked her out of her professional detachment— as, no doubt, it was intended to do. Did she love Toby? She'd only begun to know the boy, so some of what she felt for him was more readiness to love than a feeling centered on Toby himself. But she thought of an eager young voice, quick footsteps racing up or down the stairs, the stubborn set of a small chin in a young face both like and unlike the older face she loved. "Yes." Her voice came out hoarse. "You have the control you wanted. We're here, ready to do just about anything to have the spell lifted from Toby. What do you want?" she asked again. "Your help. I haven't hurt the boy. I won't hurt him. This much Cynna should be able to tell you—I don't harm children." "Freddie had a son," Rule said. "Freddie?" "One of the men you killed today." "Ah." For a second her face went blank, as if his death came as news to her. "I am sorry for that. Does the boy have a mother?" There was a curious intensity to the question. "He does. That doesn't make up for the loss of his father." "But children need… no, we aren't here for that. Never mind." She tilted her head up, and light shivered down over a face Lily saw clearly for the first time. An exotic face, the nose broad and flat, the forehead high and rounded. Sloe-eyed, thickly lashed. And skin not truly black, but brown. The filigree of tattoos overlaying it was so dense, far denser than Cynna's, that at first you saw only darkness. "I've worked so hard for this," Jiri murmured, "for so long, and now that the time has come, I'm afraid. How foolish. But I've been afraid for so long… it becomes a habit. Well." She faced them again. "What do I want? I want you, Rule Turner, to lead as many of your people as you can summon. I particularly want your sorcerer friend. I want to attack a man who was once my apprentice." "Tommy Cordoba," Cynna said.

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Her eyebrows arched in surprise. "You found out that much? Yes, Tommy. He's behind the attacks on lupi, not me." Her lip curled in scorn. "He would say he's made a powerful ally. You know who I mean—She's your enemy. He has taught some of Her servants—you call them the Azd—to summon demons, but he is the master. You won't take my word for this, of course. Tish. Show yourself to our visitors." Beside the fake gas lamp on the other side of the bridge the air grew fussy, like smoke swirled with a finger. Within seconds it had resolved into… a thing. He was humanoid, as Li Qin had said, but nothing about him made Lily think of a person. He was massive, like pictures Lily had seen of a troll: ten feet tall and twice as broad as the biggest man she'd ever seen. His neck was thicker than her hips. His skin was the color of dried blood and the texture of rock, and tusks a foot long curved out from either side of a wide, lipless mouth. His tail curled neatly around his feet, broad and sinewy like a boa. And yes, he was male, in a gargantuan sort of way. "Hold fire," Rule said softly. Lily had snugged the rifle to her shoulder automatically. She kept it trained on the demon. "I can still lie," Jiri was saying. "I admit that. But Tish cannot. I have taught him English. Ask him who is behind the attacks. He will answer." "Cynna?" Rule said in a low voice. "Demons can't lie, but you have to phrase your questions carefully and pay close attention to the answers. They'll make technically true statements that add up to a lie if they can." "You've experience with questioning demons?" Cynna took a long breath, expelled it. "Yeah." "Then you do the questioning." "Rule." Cullen's voice was sharp. "From here," Rule added. "He can hear us from here." Lily thought Cynna could have a career as an attorney if she decided to change professions. Her questions allowed no wiggle room: Is the woman standing on the bridge in front of me, whose use-name is Jiri, your master?Yes . Do you have any knowledge or reason to suspect or surmise that your master has summoned, aided in the summoning, or caused to be summoned demons other than yourself who have attacked lupi in this realm?No . Da you have any knowledge or reason to suspect or surmise that she has lied to us tonight?No . Do you know who summoned the demons who attacked various lupi four nights ago?Yes . Who?You know them as theAzd . Who mastered those demons?Tommy Cordoba is their master . Cynna looked at Rule. "Best I can do. I think it's true." "Tommy is behind the attacks," Jiri insisted. "If you kill him, they will end. The ones he taught would still be able to summon demons, but only a master can control them beyond the summoning circle."

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Rule spoke coldly. "Do you expect me to believe you engineered all this to persuade me to kill someone who is my enemy?" "No. I brought you here to kill my enemy. It's your good fortune that he's yours, as-well." "Why did you attack me?" Cullen asked. "Why do you think? You're a sorcerer. I hoped to bring you back with me and avoid… all this. Had I been able to do so before the second shifting, when Tommy gained so much power… but I failed. You fought me off." "Your demon defeated four lupi, one human, and… another fighter today," Rule said. "Why do you need us?" "Tommy's warded his place against demons. Tish can't get through, and I can't get in by myself without setting off alarms. I hope your sorcerer will be able to undo the wards. And—and you and I have something in common." She drew a shaky breath. "He holds my daughter hostage. That's the other part of my price. I want you to get her away from him." THIRTY-SIX RULE inhaled deeply, his head cocked, testing the air for scents, listening. He'd moved all of them back down the path, far enough away that they could discuss Jiri's demand without being overheard by Jiri and the demon. The air was chill yet rich with smells; it was almost like being four-legged, his senses were so keen. And the power… a bit intoxicating. His power hadn't doubled with the addition of a second heir's portion, it had tripled, or more. His mind had almost broken when Victor tried to force the mantle on him. Even after the Rhej shoved much of it back into Victor, he'd hovered in some gray place, his mind dull and confused. But once the two heirs' portions were balanced… Balanced, but not restful. They jostled still inside him, same and yet not the same. The Leidolf portion felt alien, as if he'd woken up with a third hand sprouting from his elbow. Still, unlike the clans they belonged to, the mantles seemed able to coexist. "I'm accepting Jiri's terms," he said abruptly, "unless someone has a very good reason not to." Lily shook her head. "We can't just go kill someone." This was hard for her. Her culture, training, and profession opposed acting outside the law. "I believe her. I think Cordoba is summoning demons, working with Her to destroy my people. I agree that we have to be sure, but if he is, I don't think he'll let you put him under arrest." "Being sure means gathering evidence, putting the case before a jury." "And Toby?" He gave her a chance to answer. She didn't. "I'll go where Jiri sends me, but look before I leap."

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"Or bite, or shoot." Cullen was striving for cocky. "I'm in, of course. But Cynna stays here." Lily's eyebrows snapped down. "Have you morphed into a chauvinist pig?" Cullen didn't answer. He was watching Cynna, his eyes hooded. "Forget it," Cynna said. "I'm needed, and I'm not… you've got to get that idea out of your head." "What idea?" Lily demanded. "Oh, hell." Cynna hunched one shoulder impatiently. "He told Rule. You might as well know, too. Cullen has decided that, modern pharmaceuticals to the contrary, he got me pregnant." Lily's jaw dropped. She closed her mouth, then opened it to speak, but Cynna talked right over her. "I don't know if he tells every woman that, or if I showed up at the peak of his lunatic cycle, but—" "Cynna." Lily cut in sharply, then gentled her voice. "They know. Lupi know if a woman they've been with conceives." "Maybe they do sometimes. This time, he's wrong." Had she been this stubborn when they were lovers thirteen years ago? Rule only had to ask himself the question to have the answer: yes, every inch as stubborn. And just as wrongheaded at times. "We can't discuss this now. If Cynna is willing to go—" Cullen rounded on him. "Goddammit, Rule!" "It's her decision," he said softly. "You know it has to be her decision." Cullen looked ready to burn something or someone. But he knew clan law—necessary because the temptation was so keen. Nokolai had been the first to make it criminal for a lupus to constrain a woman who carried his child, but most of the other clans had followed. Persuasion was fine, but the woman's life, her choices, had to remain in her hands. Cullen turned away, paced a few steps, paced back. He didn't say anything, but Rule could see he had himself under control again. Cynna scowled at all of them. "If all that means I get to choose—damned right I do. And I'm in." "You can bind Jiri to what we agree on?" She nodded grimly. "Lily?" She took longer than he liked, but at last she nodded. "I reserve the right to arrest him, if it's feasible." "Then we'll give her our answer." Jiri waited at the bridge, motionless and tense. A proud woman, he thought. Too proud to ask for help, to surrender that much control—and that pride had cost two men their lives. But if Cordoba held her

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daughter, her need was desperate. He thought she'd been honest about some things, at least. He'd smelled her fear when she spoke of her daughter being held by Cordoba, its acrid odor mingling with her own scent. Odd, that. She didn't smell like a demon, but she wasn't entirely human, either. "You've decided," she said. Rule stepped out of the shadows beneath the trees. "We will go after Cordoba and return your child to you—if she's there, as you've said. And if she is your child." The tension remained. "Tonight. It must be tonight." He shook his head. "We need time to plan. And," he added bitterly, "you've killed or wounded all of my trained fighters on this coast. With airplane travel undependable, it will take a few days to gather an attack force." "It has to be tonight," she repeated. "Tommy gave me an ultimatum. Either I bind myself to him and the Bitch Goddess by tomorrow at midnight, or he…" She swallowed. "What little humanity he retains has much in common with Henry Lee Lucas or the BTK killer. If you won't rescue my daughter tonight, I'll go there now and bind myself to him and free my daughter that way. And Tommy won't care if your son ever wakes up." Rule held himself still. He had to. The fury that swept through him at the threat to Toby carried him too close to an edge he couldn't afford to cross. After a moment he managed to speak evenly. "Cordoba will be expecting you to act tonight. He'll be doubly on guard." She shrugged. "It can't be helped. If your sorcerer had been a bit less clever, I wouldn't have had to wait until the last minute." "Or kill two men, wound others, and enspell my son." His rage was ebbing, but the strength and suddenness with which it had hit bothered him. This was not the time to lose control. "Very well. I will accept your terms if you will bind yourself to mine. You'll swear to release Toby from your spell whether I succeed or not." Her lips quirked up, but the smile came nowhere near her eyes. "Cynna's been telling all my secrets, hasn't she? All right."

"YOU'VE lost it," Lily said flatly. "You can't mean to—" "I can. I have to." They were in the Suburban, which Rule had started to get the heater going. He wasn't cold, but he knew Lily was. After Cynna had performed the binding, Jiri had given him a computer disk with maps and the architect's plans for Cordoba's place at the northernmost end of the North Carolina shore. She planned to meet them there but she wouldn't travel with them or give them her phone number. Instead she would call Lily again at midnight to find out how they planned to storm a place guarded by demons. When they reached the Suburban he'd filled the others in on what he intended to do, knowing Lily wouldn't like it.

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"Is it even possible?" Cynna asked, obviously dubious. Cullen answered for him. "Possible, yes. Likely?" He shook his head. "Rule, I don't want to argue, but—" "Then don't." He took a deep breath, held it a moment before letting it out. His temper was unsteady. "According to Jiri, Cordoba has at least four of the red-eyes and several smaller demons at his place, plus four of the Aza. We need more fighters." "The idea," Lily said with strained patience, "is to bring people along who try to kill the other guy, not you. There must be some Nokolai on this coast." "They're not trained. An untrained lupus will do well against a few humans. Against demons, he's cannon fodder." "Then we go it on our own. Cullen's mage fire—" "Sorry," Cullen said. "Much as I'd like to agree with you, I don't have an unlimited supply. And it's hard to control well enough to use in hand-to-hand. I tend to burn up the good guys along with the bad." Lily had a scar on her stomach from mage fire Cullen hadn't fully controlled. She didn't speak again until Rule pulled out of the parking lot. "I hate this. I really, really hate this." So did he. He was going to need every bit of power from the two heirs' portions he carried. The only clan close enough for him to call on for help was Leidolf. THIRTY-SEVEN THE moon was high when they pulled into the parking lot across from the Nutley courthouse. The location was Cullen's suggestion. It was neutral ground and open enough to discourage ambush on either side. It was nearly two a.m. They'd made good time, but they'd had a couple of stops to make before leaving D.C.; first at the house for Lily's laptop and a few items from Benedict's arsenal, then to the hospital to check on Toby and get Benedict's help. Benedict was rarely openly angry, but when he realized he couldn't come with them—they couldn't leave Toby unprotected—he cursed for two minutes solid. Then he sat down, studied the documents on Jiri's disk, and came up with a plan of attack. There was only one other car in the courthouse parking lot. Rule's Mercedes. Alex Thibodaux and four other men waited beside it. One of them was Brady. Brady had not been part of his arrangement with Alex. Rule parked and got out slowly. Cynna and Lily got out on the other side but followed instructions, saying nothing. "You have a reason for bringinghim to this meeting?" Rule nodded at Brady. "He was Randall's brother," Alex said. "If the story you tell is true, he has a right to be in on the kill."

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Rule had told Alex nearly everything when he called to set up this meeting. The Leidolf Rho was still deeply unconscious, unable to make decisions for the clan, which was one piece of luck. Victor would have found a way to turn this into a death trap for Rule. He didn't think Alex would, if he handled things right. If he handled the mantle right, to be specific. Rule seldom invoked the heir's portion of Nokolai's mantle. He didn't need to. The clan respected him, and they felt the mantle's presence even when it rested quietly within him. But he knew how. He knew, too, that once invoked, the mantle wouldn't let him leave what he began unfinished. That was its nature. Lily, Cullen, and Cynna ranged themselves behind Rule, staying several feet back. Cullen knew what to do and, more to the point, what not to do. Lily and Cynna had promised not to interfere, but Rule wasn't sure he could depend on Lily's word if things went badly. He'd have to make sure they didn't. Alex straightened, his arms at his side, his face expressionless. "Why are you here, Nokolai?" Rule reached inside with his attention, touching the more restless of the two mantles. Power flexed within him like a wild thing waking—flexed and rose, sending a physical rush through his body. And unbidden, the familiar mantle came roaring up, too, mingling with the new one, the twinned magics making every hair on his body bristle as the night turned sharp and achingly brilliant. That wasn't part of the plan—but oh, the heady rhythm of it, like the moon's own song, but utterly physical. And his. His. It sang within him, the certain knowledge that he could not be defeated. Not that the mantles bestowed invulnerability or some illusion of it. He knew he could die tonight. His plans could fail; he could meet with disaster. But neither death nor disaster was defeat to the mantles. He walked up to Alex. The air was thick withsent , the scent of aggression and dominance. "I come, Alex Thibodaux, as heir of your clan while the Rho is incapacitated, unable to lead. I come to command you." He sensed more than saw Brady's movement—and that the men on either side of him held him back. He ignored them. Brady was no threat at this moment. Everything depended on Alex. If the heir can't command the strongest fighter, he can't be Rho. Rule had no desire to become the Leidolf Rho, but he had to command this one man, whom the others would follow. And Alex had to know he could be commanded. Rule looked Alex in the eye and waited. Alex was alpha. He didn't back down readily but stood stiff, his hands fisting, his own gaze steady. "Why do you come, Noko-lai?" he demanded again. "I come because the enemy of all lupi seeks to destroy us, and has killed the former heir to Leidolf. I come to call Leidolf to the hunt. You are Lu Nuncio. You know this is necessary. You know I have the right. You will accept my lead of the hunt." A moment longer Alex met his gaze, then slowly his eyes dropped. Slowly he lowered himself to one knee and bent his head, baring his nape. "I accept your lead… heir of Leidolf."

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Brady made a strangled noise. Rule looked at him, and Brady's gaze dropped, too. One by one he looked at the other three men. One by one they looked down. Two-mantled. The power was heady… and a little frightening. These men weren't his clan and would normally be his enemies, yet at a glance from him they became his. He was definitely going to ask Cullen about that Etorri tale. The mantles were subsiding now that the others had acknowledged his dominance, but they jittered within him, uneasy. He soothed them the way he imagined a rider might calm a restless horse, then touched Alex's exposed nape, accepting the man's submission. "Rise." Alex flowed to his feet. "I've loaded your weapons back in the trunk of your car, like you asked. Tank's full. Hennings brought his climbing gear, and we have our own weapons. You've got a map and a plan, you said. I'd like to see the one and hear the other."

THEY reached their rendezvous at ten minutes after four in the morning—the entrance to a trail with more ruts and overgrowth than road. The ocean was near and the sound and scent of it steadied Rule's heart. He thought Lily would find some comfort in the ageless rhythm, too. Even in hell, she'd been glad to have the ocean near. Cullen had slept on the way to Nutley, then driven the last leg of the trip so Rule could sleep. Rule knew how to shut down before battle, and he'd done so, but he suspected it had taken Lily longer to fall asleep. Still, she did sleep; he woke her as they slowed. The Suburban pulled up behind them. Alex, Brady, and the others got out. They'd travel the rest of the way on foot. The trail struck out straight through scrubby trees for half a mile, then dropped steeply through rocky outcroppings to end at a narrow beach. Jiri was waiting there, as promised. Her demon familiar was nowhere in sight, Ihough Cynna had fold them he was near. "This way," Jiri said abruptly and led them down the beach. On their right, the ocean hushed itself ceaselessly, the wind from it steady and cold. Rule kept an arm around Lily while he could, willing some of his warmth into her. He wished fiercely he could have left her out of this. She wouldn't thank him for that. She was a warrior, and both her skills and her Gift would be needed. But immunity to magic didn't render her immune to teeth, claws, or bullets. He knew Cullen was finding Cynna's involvement every bit as difficult to face, though for a different reason… or perhaps not so different. Love had many forms, and Rule didn't doubt his friend treasured the life so newly begun. On their left the land rose, rocky and rough, until they stood at the base of a cliff rearing fifty feet above. Jiri stopped, looked them over, and spoke for the second time. "You were late."

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"I don't know how you travel these days," Cynna said caustically, "but we had to use cars. You knew we were here once the electricity went out." The woman gave her a measured look, then dismissed her to speak to Cullen. "The wards start at the top of the cliff." He tilted his head back. "I see them." "Do you, now? And will you be able to disengage them?" "I've got sorcerous vision, not eagle's vision," he snapped. "They're fifty feet up. I'll need to be a little closer to study them. But I expect I'll be able to shut them down and let your pet in." "So confident," she murmured, looking up herself for a moment. The house wasn't visible from here, but the fence was— probably not to human eyes, but the moon provided plenty of light for him. The house might be out of sight, but they knew it was dark. They'd stopped a few miles away at a transformer that supplied electricity to the area. Cullen had fried it, eliminating the regular alarm system. He'd deal with the magical one, too—the wards only he could see. "It's time," Rule said. He didn't grab Lily for a last kiss. It wouldn't be their last, he promised himself. But he rested his hands on her hips and looked at her, just looked at her, for a long moment. "Lady's luck to you," he said at last. She smiled, stretched up, and gave him a quick kiss. "And to you." She shouldered the AK-47 Alex had returned to them and melted off into the trees. A sensitive couldn't be stopped by wards. Nor would she set them off. Tonight was the only night Jiri could mount an attack, so surprise wasn't possible. Cordoba would be expecting someone to drop by. It was up to them to fulfill that expectation… in an unexpected way. Lily would work her way around to the front and wait for Rule's call. When she got it, she'd go in alone. Cordoba had a security system but no backup power, so it would be inactive. In addition to the machine gun, Lily had a key to the front door and a small charm, made by the child's mother from a lock of her hair. It should lead Lily to the little girl. The rest of them would climb the cliff and engage whatever demons took an interest. Jiri and her demon would join the action from a different point once the wards were down, creating all the distraction one might wish, giving Lily a chance to find the little girl before she could be used to stop the rest of them. Rule's stomach clenched. It was Benedict's plan, and a good one. He hated it. "You ready?" he said curtly to Cullen. Cullen finished blacking his face with the goo Benedict's light-skinned guards used for night duty. "Done." He tossed the small can to Rule and turned to Cynna. "Kiss for luck?" She hesitated, then grabbed his face with both hands and gave him what he'd asked for. Thoroughly. Then she stepped back, frowning. "You're crazy, but watch your back anyway, okay?" His grin flashed. Then he jogged to the cliff and began climbing. Alex followed him up. He would stand

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watch while Cullen worked on the wards and call Rule when they were down. Then Rule would call Lily. Rule began spreading the goo over his own face and the backs of his hands. He passed the can to Cynna. "Slather up." He looked at the heftiest of the Leidolf men. "Hennings." Not all of their equipment came from Benedict's hoard. The climbing rope Hennings brought was his own. He began hooking it to the harness Cynna wore. He would be her anchor. Cynna grimaced. "I keep telling you I don't need that." "You'll humor me." She rolled her eyes and pulled on the black stocking cap they'd picked up at an all-night Wal-Mart along the way. Eveyone still on the ground was fair enough to need to darken his face. Rule passed the little can around, getting a sense of how each man dealt with his fear. Alex had chosen well, he thought. He got no more than a whiff of fear scent from any of them. Even Brady. Brady did sneer at him when he accepted the can. "If you've brought us out here on a wild-goose chase, I'll rip your face off and spit in it when I Challenge." Rule didn't bother to answer. Brady meant to kill him regardless of the outcome tonight. He just hoped the man wasn't so mad for blood he'd try it before they killed their mutual enemy. There was nothing left but the waiting. He hunkered down to do that, but glanced up at the top of the cliff. He couldn't spot Cullen or Alex, which was reassuring. The wind off the ocean would carry their scent toward the house, but demons didn>t have a very good sense of smell. That had been one of the advantages he had over Gan, much resented by the little demon. But it had resented everything about Rule. He shivered. Mostly he tried not to think much about the time they'd spent in hell, but tonight, looking up the cliff, the memories were suddenly fresh. There'd been a cliff there, too, higher than this one, rearing above their cave. The cliff that killed Lily. While he lay useless, unconscious, she'd raced to the edge and— His shoulders bunched as he pulled himself up, his left foot automatically finding a toehold in the stone. He froze. God. It had happened again. After a few seconds he looked up. The edge of the cliff lay about ten feet up. Cullen waited there; he caught a glimpse of his friend's face peering down. He checked to the side, then below. Several dark shapes were following him up. He had to keep moving. Methodically he did, his mind racing. This was one helluva time for Cullen's charm to lose its potency. Even if it had quit altogether, though, he probably wouldn't have another blackout right away—the most he'd experienced was two in one day, and they'd been widely spaced. But was he willing to bet everyone's lives on that assumption?

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He didn't have a choice, he realized as he heaved himself up onto the thin strip of ground next to the chain-link fence. The Leidolf men wouldn't follow Cullen or Cynna, and Cullen wouldn't follow the Leidolf Lu Nuncio. Rule was only one who could hold their party together, and there was no way to call things off. God. He hoped he'd done everything the way he'd planned. He didn't remember one second of it, but he had to assume he'd called Lily. Cullen crouched beside him. "Problem?" Alex was keeping watch; Rule saw him crouched beside the hole he'd cut in the fence a few yards away. "It stinks of demon here." "They're around. None close right now, but a couple of redeyes have been pacing the perimeter. Alex should smell them if they get close, even if they're dashtu." He added under the tongue,What's wrong ? Another blackout. Cullen's startled face said more than he put into words.Do you remember what you're doing here ? I didn't lose that much time. The last thing I remember… He swallowed. His last memory had been a memory itself.It hit shortly after you reached the top and cleared up while I was climbing . Fifteen or twenty minutes, then. Rule nodded.Don't speak of this. • We're still going in ? Lily's probably already in. Cullen nodded and moved away, making room for the next man to pull himself over the edge. It was Hennings. Cynna followed a few moments, later, winded and trying not to show it. Cullen went to unclip the rope and help her pull off the climbing harness. The others reached them quickly. Cynna had been slowest, of course; however fit, she couldn't climb as quickly as a lupus. "The wards?" Rule said to Cullen—low, but not subvocal. Cullen answered the same way. "I made a hole in them to match the one in the fence. We can cross there without setting off any alarms, but I couldn't shut them off entirely without alerting Cordoba. They're good," he said grudgingly, "damned good, with plenty of power behind them." "Enough to stop Jiri's oversize pet?" "I'm no expert on the pet, but probably." "Canyou shut them down?" "Sure. I'll need to be close, though—within thirty feet or so. And Cordoba wili know." "We'll be more distracting if he knows we're here, but hold off until we're on the other side of the fence."

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The hole wasn't large. Rule went first, staying low when he reached the other side. The others crawled through one at a time, their weapons held carefully; Rule was pleased by the way the Leidolf men moved; they'd been well trained. Cynna came last, and almost as quietly as the lupi. The house was a long, low bungalow. It lay about half the length of a football field away with nothing but dirt and grass between them. On the left, trees climbed the slope toward the house, stopping forty feet from the south wall. To the north, as in front of them, there was only grass, dry and stubby from a late mowing. No cover, and dead grass was hard to cross silently. Good thing they weren't really trying to sneak up. He wanted to get closer before engaging the enemy, though, if they could. He motioned for them to follow and started across the field, crouching low, his rifle held ready. All at once Cullen straightened and sang out, "Incoming!" He flung out a hand. Fire bloomed in the night. Something screeched in pain. In the sudden glow Rule saw what looked like darker masses of air speeding toward them from the north end of the fence line. "Hennings—Robbins—now!" He fit his rifle to his shoulder and fired into the almost-visible demons charging them. The loudcrack from his gun was followed quickly by others, even as the two he'd named Changed. "Holy shit!" Cynna cried. Rule spared her a quick glance and saw her looking straight up—at a nightmare diving at them out of the sky. The creature's wingspan was easily forty feet. It was fanged and leathery, the reptilian head made up mostly of jaws. It had a compact body and muscular hindquarters powering short legs that ended in huge talons, and Rule had seen its like before. In hell. Gan called them Xitil's pets. "Hit it with your spell!" Rule yelled, aiming up. "It's not a goddamned demon!" Holy shit was right. "Hennings, Robbins," he called to the two wolves. "Keep the others off us. Everyone with weapons, fire at the big guy. Cullen—the wards." Rule shot at the creature's head, but it was diving so fast he missed. At the last minute it swerved to the north. He tracked it with his weapon, firing again—and he hit it. He was sure he did, and the others were firing, too. It never faltered, swooping and grabbing one of the wolves in its talons. The wolf's weight didn't bother it any more than the bullets had. The enormous wings beat strongly, and it soared up. The red-eyes were almost on them, though Hennings ran in front, trying to draw them off. They popped into full visibility twenty feet away even as Robbins's dying howls faded overhead. Rule howled, too, in sheer rage and charged the red-eye in the lead. It checked, disconcerted, but only for a second. Then it leaped. He fired right into the gaping jaws. The back of its head exploded.

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He spun, rifle ready, but the other two red-eyes were circling, not attacking. He fired anyway. "Stop! Stop, or she dies!" That shout came from the house. Rule darted a glance that way—and froze. A small man, dark-skinned and dapper in a brown suit, carried a bundle wrapped in a blue cloth of some sort over his shoulder. He led four other humans across the field toward them. Those four wore the hooded robes of the Azd and carried rifles… rifles pointed at Lily, who walked in front of them, her hands behind her back. "He was waiting for me," Lily said. She spoke quietly, but he heard her easily across the twenty yards that separated them. They'd been betrayed. THIRTY-EIGHT "DROP your weapons," the little man in the brown suit said, "or the sensitive is dead." The flying nightmare swooped lower, releasing the bloody carcass in its talons. Robbins's half-eaten corpse splatted on the grass ten yards away. And Jiri's huge demon strode out of the trees with Jiri straddling his shoulders. Her supple figure swayed with the motion. She was smiling. Lily was captured, and Toby—God, Toby! He'd failed his son, failed Lily, failed— Rule was scarcely aware of raising his rifle, but there it was, fitted snugly to his shoulder, aimed at the dapper man's forehead, his finger on the trigger… … he stood motionless, the rank odor of demon filling his nostrils, his arms twisted cruelly tight behind him—held there by the demon standing behind him, its breath audible and sour behind him. Jiri's demon. Rage and fear flooded him, thick and noxious as smoke from a chemical fire. The emotions almost triggered the Change, but he fought it back, frantic to understand what had happened in the lost time. Apparently he hadn't shot the little man… Cordoba? Probably. He stood directly in front of Rule but several feet away, talking to Jiri, with the two red-eyes sitting on their haunches behind them, their eyes glowing faintly. That wasn't a bundle on Cordoba's shoulder, Rule realized. It was a child. A small child wrapped in a blue blanket. Lily stood twenty feet to his left, still held at gunpoint by the two of the robed Aza. Rule's breath caught, broke, but he willed himslf to stillness. He had to stop reacting and think. Where were the others? He was alive—why, he didn't know. But the others? Cynna stood near Lily. One of the Azd was fastening her hands behind her back while another kept a gun at her temple. She was telling them things about their ancestry they might have taken exception to, but they ignored her.

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Cordoba handed Jiri the child, a little girl maybe two or three years old, her rows of braids fastened with brightly colored rubber bands, her soft, round face slack with sleep. Jiri cradled her close and turned away, bending her head over the child… hiding her face from Cordoba, maybe? For it twisted suddenly, ravaged with emotion. Her lips moved as she whispered endearments, mixing English with a language Rule didn't know. That much had been real, then—the desperation and the love. He twisted to the right as much as he was able in the punishing grip and glimpsed the winged creature on the ground. The folded wings poked high into the air, like a bat's; the toothed jaws were closed, the eyes half-closed. Two still forms were pinned beneath the talons: Brady and Cullen. Brady he recognized mainly by the pale hair. He was farthest from Rule and facedown in the dirt, most of his body hidden by the talon imprisoning him. But Hennings was the only other blond in their party, and that motionless body was too slim for Hennings. Cullen's face was turned toward Rule. Blood made a mask of it, but not so thoroughly that Rule didn't know him. But… yes, his eyes were closed. Relief rushed in. The eyes of the dead were always open. What about Alex? And Hennings, and Bryan? The mantles stirred in him, urging him to take action. He was responsible for them. But he couldn't see them, couldn't look for them—couldn't remember, damn it all to hell. Maybe he'd known what became of them ten minutes ago. He didn't now. "Is that the daughter we were supposed to rescue?" Lily asked in her cool, cop's voice. "Looks like you cut your deal with Cordoba before you talked to us, Jiri. Is that why Cynna's binding didn't work?" "Very good, Miss Yu," Cordoba said. Though he spoke perfect English, there was a Spanish flavor to his voice. "You couldn't bind Jiri to her word, for she's wholly mine." He smiled. "I heard it all, of course." Jiri straightened, her face smoothing until it held only a light, mocking smile. "Tommy's a far-hearer. A rare Gift in a rare man." "Jiri." He shook his head. "Do they need to know that?" "Why not?" She turned that mocking smile on Rule. "Almost everything I told you was true. I simply fudged a bit on the timing. When I was unable to recruit the sorcerer, I accepted Tommy's terms. I'm bound to him now." Cynna made a small, choked sound. When Rule looked at her, though, her face was impassive. "It's not the same kind of binding I did. She means that she's his creature, just as the demon is hers. She's unable to act against him, or refuse to do what he tells her." Cordoba ran a possessive hand up Jiri's arm. "She fought me, didn't you,queridctf I knew she would. Just as I knew I would win in the end. But it's not so bad as you expected, is it? I let you have your way with some things—though I would like to know why you didn't want the unnecesary ones killed." Jiri shook her head. "So wasteful, Tommy. You really must learn to plan ahead. A sorcerer—heis still alive, isn't he?—has obvious uses."

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"Not if he's busy trying to kill us… though I suppose we might find a way to cure him of it. OrShe may be able to. But why bother? She only needs the sensitive." "It may be years before She locates the Codex and can copy it. In the meantime, She's shut out of this realm, and our power is limited." They were after the Codex. No surprise that the Great Bitch was aware of its return, but what did that have to do with Lily? Cordoba stroked her arm. "You hope to find something in the Codex to free yourself, don't you, queridal It's not possible, but you'll work so hard to find it. And when you do, you'll tell me." "Don't gloat, sugar. It makes your eyes look beady." Jiri shifted the sleeping child gently, moving her to her other shoulder. She saw Rule watching and gave him a lazy smile. "Poor Rule. He's so confused. Why don't we explain it all to him? I think he deserves to know." Cordoba cracked a small smile. "What did he do to make you so angry? If it amuses you, though…" His hand drifted to her ass. "You see how good I can be to you?" She laughed low in her throat. "You're good for many things, Tommy. Maybe I will forgive you for the binding… eventually." She tilted her head, looking at Rule again. "You weren't surprised when I mentioned the Codex." "You aren't the only one who knows about it." "You see, Tommy?" she said without looking away from Rule. "There's information we wouldn't have had if we'd killed him right away. Do you want to know why we need Lily, Rule Turner?" His mouth was dry. "Yes." "It's the goddess who needs her, actually. Apparently the Codex is guarded in some way that will make it difficult to access once it's in Her possession. So She needs to make a copy, one without the built-in defenses. But it seems there's only one… what shall we call it? Receptacle. Only one type of receptacle suitable to hold the Codex Arcanum. A sensitive with her mind wiped clean—" "—not going to tell you again, Turner," Cordoba was saying. "I've no pressing reason not to kill you now. Jiri may thinkShe has some use for you, but I doubt it. I'd have her get Tish to do it. He likes to pull things apart." The side of Rule's head, from crown to jaw, ached fiercely. His brain felt like mush, and his shoulders were on fire… because he was hanging inches off the ground, held up by the demon's grip on his arms. He'd been struck, he realized through the fog of pain. He must have done something, tried to get at Cordoba. And failed. They were going to wipe Lily's mind clean, and he'd failed her. Again. He closed his eyes and could have sworn he smelled the stale, dry air of hell. For a moment he wasthere in that moonless realm once more, and losing the moon's song was like losing breath yet still living. He hadn't died. He'd kept going, kept trying to breathe when there was no air for his soul— "Rule?" Lily's voice was urgent.

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He shuddered back to the present. "I'm…" His voice came out slurred. He'd bitten his tongue when he was hit, and it was swollen. He swallowed bloody saliva. "I'm okay. More or less." Abruptly his feet hit the ground, landing hard enough that his knees started to buckle. Cordoba looked at Jiri. "I didn't tell you to have Tish lower him." Jiri wasn't looking at him, but behind Rule and his mountainous captor. "I saw something moving. I thought—" He took two steps and slapped her hard enough to rock her back a step. "You didn't ask. Thinking is fine—I encourage you to think—but always ask, Jiri. Always." Blood dripped from her lip, badly split from his blow. She looked at him without expression. The little girl in her arms never stirred. "Two of them got away. They could be circling back." "Very well. We should make sure of them. But I want Tish here." He glanced over his shoulder. The two red-eyes rose and loped off. The others weren't all dead. Two had gotten away. Hope stirred in Rule—and so did the mantles. Already restless, they seemed to be pulling at him as if they wanted something of him. Action, yes, they wanted him to take action… but it felt as if there was a specific action he should take. "My arms are tired," Jiri said abruptly. "Already weary of motherhood,queridaT "My arms ache." She bent, placing the little girl carefully on the ground, making sure the blanket stayed wrapped around her. "We'll be going inside in a moment anyway. I don't think the others are out there—thetzmai haven't found them, and I don't hear anything." Cordoba looked at the winged creature. "I suppose I should send Melli up to make sure." "Best secure the sorcerer first. Make sure he isn't feigning unconsciousness." Jiri rubbed her arms, then sauntered toward Lily, Cynna, and their guards. "I don't think I'll keep him," Cordoba said. "Too much trouble." "As you wish, of course. But if the bindings I've been working on prove effective—" "You think you can bind him, even without his cooperation?" That caught Cordoba's attention. "You've made some progress, but the woman used to be your apprentice. You've no such entry with the sorcerer." "It will take awhile," she agreed. "You may not wish me to spend so much time on the project. But at least I won't have to work on him astrally, as I did with Cynna. And if we remove his hands and tongue, he shouldn't be too troublesome a guest.", "He'll grow them back… but we could keep removing them until you had him bound."

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"Or until I find that I can't bind him." She stopped in front of Cynna. "Such loathing," she said lightly. "But aren't you happy to find you were right? Aside from a lingering case of maternal devotion, Iam evil." She looked at Cordoba. "Shall we see if my binding works with this one? We can always shoot her if it doesn't." Bile rose in Rule's throat, burning. So did rage: hard, red, and caustic. He needed to—had to— Change. He had to Change. He shook his head. It wouldn't help. He'd be free of the demon's grip, yes—nothing could hold on to him during the Change. But the disorientation was too strong for the first second or two immediately afterward. The demon would simply grab him again before he could move. "Yes," Cordoba said decisively. "If it doesn't work, I won't bother keeping the sorcerer. If it does, though… go ahead. See what you can do with her." "I'll need her hand." She held hers out. "You're lying," Cynna said, her head high. "You can't bind me without my consent." "I made you ride, didn't I?" Jiri looked at the guards. "Well? I need her right hand. Find some other way to secure her while I work." "Do it," Cordoba said. One of the guards held a gun to Cynna's head while the other one unfastened the handcuffs and jerked her left arm into a modified half nelson. "Hold out your hand, Cynna," Jiri said. "Go to hell, Jiri." Jiri made an impatient noise. "Tommy, I need Beecher to hold her hand out and steady for me. Surely one guard is sufficient for the sensitive." "No. By now she realizes we don't want to kill her. She might try something." "She's handcuffed. Make her lie down on her stomach and threaten her lover if she moves." Cordoba hesitated, but gave the orders. Rule was beginning to wonder… Jiri was bound to the man, but she was twice as smart. She seemed to be getting everything she wanted from him. A few moments later Lily lay on her stomach in the dead grass. One of the Az& still guarded her, but the other fought to bring Cynna's arm forward. It took him a few moments, but he managed to hold her hand out, palm up. "Good." Jiri rested her own hand on top of Cynna's. "Be ready to hold her up," she added. "She'll probably collapse." "You didn't," Cordoba said.

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"I consented." Jiri closed her eyes. She whispered something in that other language, the words soft and singsong. Cynna's eyes widened—then rolled back in her head. She went limp. And the demon let go of Rule. Pain roared from his shoulders down to his fingers in a white-hot sheet. But he didn't move his arms, though his abused muscles trembled and twitched with the strain of holding them back. He prayed desperately he was right— "Did it work?" Cordoba demanded. "Wake her up. Make her… oh, make her kill the one Melli has pinned. Not the sorcerer. The other one." The demon stepped out from behind Rule, but he moved clumsily, as if he'd forgotten how his muscles worked. A fierce joy seized Rule. He'd been right. He just had to hold on a moment longer, see which target— Cordoba's back was to them, but one of the Az£ saw. "Sir," a gravelly voice said, "The big demon—" "What?" Cordoba snapped—but he glanced over his shoulder. The demon lumbered into an awkward run. Straight for Cordoba. Change. Yes., Rule reached for the moonsong and threw himself into it. The pain in his shoulders vanished, subsumed by the familiar, rippling agony of the Change. Cordoba's eyes widened. "Shoot her!" he cried, then slapped the barrel of the rifle pointed at Lily. "Not her, fool! Jiri! Shoot her!" Jiri stepped away from Cynna. She was smiling, her eyes alight with triumph as one, two, all three rifles went off. And the Change went on. And on.Wrong , shouted some yet-human pocket of him. Something was wrong. It was taking too long. The pain was huge, and the mantles—the mantles were— Jiri was on the ground. Lily was moving, rolling into the legs of the man closest to her. Lily! He tried to wrest back control from the mantles, but the Change had never been his to order. He could only— Surrender. He let go and blinked out, and then he wasn't. And then he was. He stood and panted with his head hanging, remembered pain shuddering through him, though this body no longer hurt. But his front legs were weak, the joints throbbing. The scents of blood and demons were strong in his nostrils, but he couldn't think. He shook his head to clear it, but something was wrong. Different.

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Never mind. He had to get to Lily. But the demon already had. It tossed aside one of the Aza, then another—still clumsy, but moving faster, as if its rider was getting the hang of the massive body. Cordoba screeched and ran toward the house. And the winged creature stirred. Cordoba, Rule thought. He had to stop Cordoba, who controlled the creature. But the wolf didn't want Cordoba. The wolf wanted the monster that spread its wings—not for flight, but for balance as it ran toward the two women and the demon defending them. The demon was big, compared to a man. Not compared to the winged nightmare. And the demon's rider wasn't familiar with the body. Rule snarled and threw himself at the beast. He wouldn't fail her this time. It was fast. He was faster. It checked its charge when it saw him, stretching out one great wing, trying to sweep him away with it. He avoided it easily, so it tried to club him with the knobby bone at the hinge. He flattened, rolled, coming to his feet near the body. It tried stepping on him, but it was ungainly on the ground. He dashed around the taloned foot and darted beneath the belly to its other side. The belly didn't tempt him. He needed the throat. He readied himself, haunches bunching, and leaped. The head darted at him, jaws gaping. Rule twisted in midair so that his side smashed into the teeth rather than being seized by them. The impact stunned him, though, and he fell badly when he dropped. Pain shot up his left front leg when he stood, making him stumble. Those jaws descended on him, the breath rank and hot. He'd learned how to run on three legs in hell. He did that now, racing beneath the belly, and spun the second he was shielded by the beast's body, darting between the legs to stand in front of it. And once more launched himself up—almost straight up, at its throat. The man was screaming that this was wrong, he couldn't hang on to that leathery skin long enough to do any damage. But the wolfknew . If he could sink his teeth in that throat— He struck, mouth gaping, and clamped his jaws shut through hide and flesh, holding on with every ounce of his strength. And hung there, fifteen feet from the ground. The creature snapped at him but couldn't reach him. It flung itself sideways, trying to throw him off. His body slapped to one side, then the other, but he hung on, his teeth meeting in sour flesh. And convulsed. Huge, wrenching contractions seized him, spasms that pumped acid through his body—acid forced by the spasm up into his throat. He went blind with pain, blackness swarming over his vision, but he hung on as muscles he'd never felt before squeezed tight in his upper throat and jaw, pumping the acid out. Out of him and into the beast. It howled. Then it, too, convulsed. The contractions of those enormous muscles were too much for him. He lost his grip and fell, hitting the ground hard. He tried to scramble to his feet, but he was weak, so weak. When he accidentally put weight on the damaged leg, it buckled. Darkness flickered around the edges of his vision.

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One of the taloned feet smashed into him, sending him skidding across dirt and grass. The blow knocked out his air. Consciousness wisped to a thin thread… He blinked. The creature was collapsing. The foot that had struck him had saved him from being buried beneath that great body as it crashed down, wings akimbo, head stretched out flat and motionless on the ground. Eyes open and staring. Dead. For several moments he just lay there and breathed. He was alive. He hurt everywhere, but he was alive. That seemed so starkly incredible he couldn't take it in. And Lily… Lily was coming to him. He managed to turn his head so he could see her running awkwardly toward him, her hands still bound behind her. For a second—just a second—he saw two of her. Both Lilys were running to him: the one who'd known him mostly as a man, and the one who'd known him only as a wolf. A joy so keen it blanked out all the pains of his body filled him. His head went light with it. Then he simply passed out. He came to with her kneeling beside him, crying and cursing the handcuffs and ordering him to wake up. He couldn't smile well in this form, but he tried. "Rule! Damn these handcuffs," she muttered. "I can't touch you, can't check to see what… but you're alive. You'll stay that way," she told him. "Hang on a little longer, and we'll be able to get help. Cynna's back from wherever she was. I guess she was riding, but she's parked the demon now. He's just sitting there, not moving. Cordoba's dead." How—? She knew what he meant to ask. "The others got him. Hen-nings or Alex, I don't know which. They'd hidden inside the house, waiting for a chance to help. I think Jiri knew. She steered Cordoba's attention to the field, didn't she? To the cliff we came up and away from the house. She…" Her breath hitched. "She's dying." He'd thought her already dead. Alex limped up. Blood covered one side of his body, but Rule's nose told him it wasn't all his. "Three of the Aza are dead," he said. "The other's got a cracked skull, I think, but he might live. The other two demons, the overgrown hyenas, winked out when Cordoba died. I don't know how to tell if they're still around, though. How…" His voice caught. "How in the bloody hell did you kill that thing?" Rule was in charge. He needed a voice and words for that. Drawing on the last of his power, he called up the Change. And, seconds later, he lay gasping for breath in the cold night air. Normally cold didn't bother him, but he was too damned weak. He forced himself to sit. His left arm hung limp; the bone was broken just above the elbow. He hurt in places he didn't remember injuring. "Get the keys for the handcuffs," he told Alex. "The Aza who unlocked Cynna's cuffs probably has them. Where's Hennings? Robbins?" Alex gave him a funny look. "You saw Robbins killed."

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"My memory of recent events has some gaps." "Hennings is hurt," the man told him, "but not badly. He'll probably be able to walk soon." "All right. Bring us the keys, then see about our wounded. Cullen and Brady." Cullen had still been alive earlier. He was tough. Surely… Alex nodded and took off at an uneven run. "The girl," Rule said suddenly, remembering. "Jiri's daughter." "Cynna has her," Lily said quietly. "Jiri… wanted to see her. She's still sleeping." Toby. If Jiri died before removing her spell—Rule lurched to his feet, then swayed. "Put your arm over my shoulders," Lily said. "I don't—" "Yes, you do need help," she snapped. "You've been a big enough hero for one night. I'm not injured. Lean on me so we can get over there and talk to Jiri." He did. And she was right; it did help to lean on her a bit. Not just because of the physcial aid, but the peace of the mate bond eased through him. He'd seen her. He'd seen both of her. The other Lily wasn't lost. "How did you do that?" she asked softly. "How did you kill it? I thought…" She shuddered. "The poison. The mantles." He shook his head, knowing he wasn't making sense to her. Though it all made sense to him now. It was the wolf who'd hung on to the demon poison, the wolf's guilt over failing Lily that made it impossible to let go. And the man's need for control, he admitted, that made it impossible to understand. If he'd spent more time as wolf, he might have known, but the wolf felt he deserved to lose his memory, just as Lily had lost her memory of him. Most of it, anyway. When she died. The part that lived on, her soul, remembered, but the Lily he spoke with and made love with had only brief flashes of memory from their time in hell. It was the wolf who'd known how to expiate that guilt, but it was the two mantles that made it possible. "Somehow the mantles affected the Change," he said slowly. "I don't understand it. I didn't know it was possible. Maybe it was the combination of mantles, demon poison, and the mate bond… I'm pretty sure there hasn't been another lupus with that mix acting on him before. I grew fangs. Real, hollow fangs, the kind a viper uses. I pumped the creature full of demon poison. It died, and… the poison's gone." "You're sure?" Startled, she stopped. "Kiss me. I can't touch you because of these damned cuffs. Kiss me and let me check." He smiled. "What an excellent idea." He bent, cupping her cheek with his good hand, and kissed her

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gently. When he straightened, her eyes were wide. "It's gone. It's really gone." Relief shivered through him. He'd been sure… almost sure. It helped to know Lily couldn't feel the poison anymore. They started walking again. "It's beyond weird, but makes a certain bizarre sense. The poison was intended to kill other demons. That creature wasn't a demon, but it was from hell. It probably had a similar body chemistry." Alex found the keys just as they reached the others. He unlocked Lily's cuffs, and she gasped in pain as her arms fell forward. Rule knew just how much it hurt, but she just shook her head at him and helped him over to Jiri. The woman shouldn't have been alive. She had two bloody holes high in her chest and a much bigger one in her abdomen. An exit wound, he thought. One of the guards had shot her in the back. The dirt around her was wet and sticky with her blood. Cynna sat beside her, holding the little girl, and Jiri held the girl's hand. Her eyes tried to find him as Lily helped him sit, but he could see death hazing them. He doubted she saw much. "It's Rule," he said. "Ah." Her voice was faint. Her eyes drifted closed, and she smiled. "Tommy's dead." "Yes," Cynna said. Rule saw her throat work as she swallowed. "Should've listened to you, Cynna, but I liked the power too much. Couldn't do what I wanted without an apprentice, but by then the only kind I could get were worse than me." Her voice faded, but she got her eyes open again, searching through what must be pure darkness to her. "Rule Turner." "Here. I'm right here." "Want you to take my Cece, raise her as clan. She needs protection. Damn that Tommy." Hatred momentarily strenghtened her voice. "Her own father, and he was ready to give her up to the Great Bitch." "Cordoba was her father?" Cynna said, startled. "Bastard. Thought he had me… damn near did. I couldn't disobey, but who taught him those bindings? I kept a little back. Not much, but it was enough. Rule." Her eyes shifted, sought his blindly. "You'll take my daughter as clan. The goddess wants her. You'll take her, or your son will never wake." "I'd have seen to her welfare without the threat," he said evenly. "Even with it, I'll see she's adopted into the clan. I'd not letHer get Her hands on a child." Her mouth twisted. "Habit… sorry. Your son woke before we attacked." He jerked slightly in surprise.

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"Told you—I don't harm children. Knew I wouldn't come out of this alive." "Your daughter still sleeps." "Cece… different spell. She'll wake at dawn." A tremor ran through her mangled body. "Tish can't hold me here much longer. More to say, but… Cece's Gift. You need to know about it. Same as mine, and strong." "What's your Gift?" Cynna asked. "Are you a far-seer?" Something like a chuckle shook her, sending another, harder tremor through her. "All of you always wanted to know, didn't you? I'm a patterner. One hell of a patterner. That's how I found your son, Rule," she added, her lids drooping over eyes that looked dead already, though she continued to speak. "Tweaked the patterns… tweaked the hell out of them tonight, too. Tish." Her free hand twitched. "Tish…" The huge demon rose and lumbered over. Rule and Lily scrambled out of the way, but Cynna didn't move. The demon stopped inches from Jiri. "Ah—did you bring him over here?" Rule asked Cynna. Cynna shook her head. Her face was wet with tears she'd cried so silently he hadn't noticed. "She let me ride, truly ride this time. She couldn't order Tish to do things Tommy didn't allow, so she gave me control. But she's still master." "Tish." Jiri's head turned andher free hand moved a few inches, coming to rest on the demon's huge foot. Her mouth turned up, and her face eased with what might have been affection. Her other hand, which had held on to her daughter's so long, relaxed. Her body sank into the full stillness of death. And the demon vanished. "It's gone?" Lily asked sharply. Cynna nodded. "Back to Dis. When the master dies, the demon can't…" She shut her eyes, looking horribly weary. "Cullen? Is he…" "Not too perky," Cullen said from behind Rule and several feet away. "But still around." Relief flooded Rule. He turned to see his friend being carried by Henning, who'd Changed back to human at some point. Hen-ning was limping, but not badly. There was so much dried blood i on his leg Rule couldn't see the wound itself, but it didn't seem to trouble the man much. It was obvious why he had to carry Cullen. One of Cullen's feet was missing, along with part of his calf. "Jesus!" Cynna shoved to her feet. "He's okay," Hennings said, sounding surprised. "Lost too much blood—that's why he passed out. Once his body got it scabbed over, he could start replacing the blood, though he needs some fluids. He's hardly scratched otherwise." Cynna just stood there, shaking her head. She still held the child but seemed almost to have forgotten

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that. "It's hard to get used to, isn't it?" Lily said dryly. "The way they are with injuries, I mean. But he'll grow everything back." "It will take forever," Cullen said morosely. "And it hurts like bloody blue blazes." "Take him in the house and find somewhere he can lie down," Rule said. "Where's Alex?" "Looking for Brady," Hennings said as he switched course for the house. "After the creature let go, he apparently wandered off. Alex thinks he took a pretty good blow to the head. He may be confused." Or a coward, Rule thought. Or just pleased to leave and let Cordoba handle killing Rule for him. "Have you got your phone?" Lily asked. "We need to get some help here, and Cordoba took mine." Automatically he felt at his waist. The movement sent a sharp pain through his broken arm, and he gritted his teeth, riding it out. Pity he hadn't gotten a copy of Cynna's spell. "Rule?" Lily was there, slipping an arm around his waist, but carefully, as if she weren't sure where she could touch without hurting. She was right. He winced as she accidentally pressed against sore ribs. "I'm okay. My phone's gone. I don't know when…" He looked around. Easier to find one in the house, he decided, than in the grass. But his gaze snagged on the woman lying nearby, her dead eyes staring up. A deep sadness stole over him. What was evil? She'd caused the deaths of two of his men but saved his. And she'd given her life for her child… but she wouldn't have had to if she hadn't gone so far down the wrong path. Even at the end she'd fought to control everything and everyone, when she could have just asked for help. He was aware of the lesson there. Learning it, applying it, wasn't going to be easy, but he could make a start. The pain from his arm was sweeping over him in dizzy waves. "I probably ought to sit down myself," he said abruptly, then looked down at Lily. "I could use some help getting to the house." Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. She smiled. "Let's go." He braced his bad arm with his good one, trying to lessen the jostling. If he didn't get it set soon, it would have to be rebroken so it could heal straight. After a moment he raised the question that was bothering him. "I don't get it. Why did she get involved with Cordoba? She could think rings around him. He was so much less than her in every way." "That's what she wanted. She wasn't looking for a partner, an equal. She wanted someone she could control." That, Rule decided after a moment, was not a lesson he needed. He had a problem with trying to control too much—but what he wanted to control lay within him, not outside. And he much preferred having a partner and an equal. He smiled at the woman holding him, just as he was holding her. "Do you think—" A gray streak raced out from the side of the house coming straight at them. Brady. In wolf form, and intending murder.

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Automatically Rule pushed Lily aside so he could Change, but he was weak, his power exhausted by so much use and so many injuries. It took him precious seconds just to find the moon's song. And Lily, damn her, put herself between him and the charging wolf. Rule snarled and grabbed at the wisp of power remaining—just as another wolf, this one jet-black with silver tips to his fur, leaped past them. Alex. He collided with Brady, and they fell in a snarling, snapping tangle. Rule pulled Lily back several feet. "A gun," she said when they stopped. "Come on. There are rifles back there." He shook his head, holding her firmly so she couldn't act on her own. "Brady attacked without Challenge. Alex is Lu Nuncio. This is for him to handle." Rule had seen Alex fight in human form, and he was good. As a wolf, though, he was brilliant. Brady was trained, and fought well—but he had no chance. Brady might have submitted and sought mercy. He had to know he would lose. He didn't. Either he was too berserk with rage to stop, or he was sane enough to know he'd gone too far. Had he succeeded in killing Rule, the rebounding mantle would almost certainly have killed Victor. The death shock would have destroyed the clan. Alex had no choice. In less than ten minutes, Brady was dead. THIRTY-NINE "I'VE been through a lot," Toby whined. "I reallyneed to open a present early." Lily paused in her frantic polishing of the mirror over the mantel. She smiled and reached out to tousle the boy's hair. "And I really need to finish cleaning the house before the house is too full for any of us to move. I think you'll survive waiting one more day." It was two days before Christmas, and Toby's custom was to open presents on Christmas Eve. That didn't jibe with the way her own family did things, but Lily didn't care. Her parents might, but they'd jump that hurdle when it was in front of them. After another crash and two near misses, the authorities had shut down the airports again for all nonemergency flights. The nodes were still leaking magic, and while the task force had come up with a few solutions, they were makeshift. Wall Street was functioning, and Houston had stopped burning, but the National Guard had been called out in Texas. Too many odd things had somehow crossed over during the last, and largest, power wind. And so, unable to fly, Lily's father, mother, and younger sister were driving across the country to spend the holiday with all of them: her and Rule, Toby and Benedict, Grandmother and Li Qin and Cullen. Even Timms was invited, if he was released from the hospital in time. Lily's older sister, newly married, had, in a rare moment of rebellion, chosen to stay in California. Lily was a nervous wreck trying to get everything ready. She was also happy.

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Her mother had forgiven her and would sleep beneath Rule's roof. For her, that was a huge step toward accepting his place in Lily's life. "But Lily," Toby said, "you get to open one early. It's not fair." She thought of her coat and the night everything had changed, and her stomach clenched. So many had died. "And you," Rule said from the doorway to the dining room, "are lousy about keeping secrets." "I didn't tell!" Toby said, indignant. Rule shook his head, but he was smiling. He looked entirely recovered, except for the sling and brace on his left arm. Lupi didn't bother with full casts unless it was a bad break, and his hadn't been. "Madame Yu wants to talk to you. She's in the kitchen." The boy took off. "Did Grandmother really say that?" Lily asked dryly. "Not exactly, but she enjoys him. He's properly worshipful these days, in a pestering sort of way. Besides, she's been playing mah-jongg with Benedict." "I take it Benedict's winning again." Rule grinned. Toby hadn't seen Grandmother Change, but he'd been told about it. Ever since, he'd been her happy slave. Lily understood. At his age, she'd spent all the time she could with Grandmother, too. The old woman was dictatorial, difficult, arrogant… and had been quite ready to die to protect a boy she barely knew. Her love for children shone with a purity they always recognized, however she tried to disguise it. Rule came over, plucked the cleaning rag from Lily's hand, tossed it on the floor, and kissed her before she could finish forming her protest. So she didn't bother, settling into his arms as they turned to smile at the tree. It had been delivered yesterday, fully decorated with toy drums and soldiers and such, along with hundreds of twinkling lights, just as Grandmother ordered. Presents had begun appearing under it immediately. There was a nice pile of them now. , "Grandmother wants to take Toby to the hospital tomorrow," Lily said. "She thinks a few games of mah-jongg will help Timms's recovery." "The hospital doesn't allow children his age… but what am I thinking? She won't let that stop her." Lily smiled. "How's Cullen?" Rule had just returned from visiting his friend. They'd offered to put him up here, but he said it was too crowded. He was right. But he'd also turned down a hotel room, choosing to stay in Timms's apartment. That odd friendship seemed to be continuing; Cullen had been to visit Timms in the hospital twice, which Rule said was a record. "Crabby as hell," Rule said. "He's especially pissed that it was his right foot, which makes it hard to

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drive." "Drive? Rule, he can't be thinking of driving yet!" "Has Cynna made up her mind about Christmas Eve?" The change of subject told Lily that Cullen was probably not just considering driving, but doing it. She frowned, but decided not to argue. She'd inevitably lose. "I haven't heard from her, but she said she'd let us know by tonight." They'd invited Cynna for the big family bash tomorrow night. Lily had stressed that she wasn't to feel obligated to come; it would be loud and crowded, and her family and Rule's weren't going to blend easily. But she hated to think of Cynna spending the night alone. Or mostly alone. In a remarkable display of the power of denial, Cynna still insisted she wasn't pregnant. She wouldn't use a pregnancy test kit, either. But sooner or later, she'd have to come to terms with the fact that she and Cullen had, indeed, started a new life. For the moment, though, she was avoiding him like crazy. They stood there quietly, looking at the tree, soaking up the pleasure of a moment alone together. But Lily's mind wouldn't let her rest in the moment long. It picked at some of the still-tangled threads. The leaking magic continued to cause problems, some minor, some major. Her father's predictions about the economy were dire. Lily's perspective was a little different; when the economy floundered, crime went up, and they were likely to be dealing with more Gifted criminals now. The power winds seemed to have woken Gifts in people who'd had barely a trace before. And the Unit was still stretched thin. Then there was the whole two-mantled business. Victor was alive but comatose. He couldn't take the mantle back. The Rhejes of several clans were consulting their memories, trying to find a way to move the mantle without the Rho. If they couldn't figure something out before Victor died—he had, at most, a year left— Rule would become Rho of his clan's most bitter enemies. Which made her think of Isen, who was all but cackling with glee at the prospect. Not the reaction she'd expected, or Rule either, from what he'd said. "It's a shame your father couldn't be here, too." Rule looked at her. "You're a strong woman, but do you really think you're up to having your grandmother and my father beneath one roof?" "Maybe not," she decided. "But why?" came Toby's wail from the kitchen. "I was winning!" Lily heard Grandmother's voice, but couldn't catch the words. Curious, she turned. Grandmother came toward them, her figure as erect as ever. She'd already abandoned the sling, though Lily suspected she'd be more comfortable if she'd use it. Today she'd decided to wear her most traditional Chinese clothes, perhaps in honor of her son's imminent arrival: black silk pants and a silk tunic heavily embroidered in gold thread. "It is time to go," she announced. "Go?" Lily's eyebrows shot up. "My parents will be here in less than an hour."

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"A pity, but perhaps they can join us after they arrive." Exasperated, Lily started to explain that they would not be going anywhere. "Grandmother—" "Go where, Madam?" Rule asked softly. "To the White House, I think." She tipped her head to one side as if listening. There was an odd softness on her face, an expression Lily didn't recognize. "Yes. We will wait at the White House."

LILY enjoyed her granddaughter's shock very much when her FBI person, Ruben Brooks, called to tell her which gate at the White House to use. Rule Turner was not as surprised as she would have liked, but that was a tribute to his opinion of her, so also pleasant. Mostly, however, it was all she could do not to squirm like a child on the way there. But she managed to preserve her dignity. Ruben Brooks had come to see her the day she was released from the hospital. She had liked him right away and decided to confide in him, a little. Not that he believed her initially, but he was courteous and promised he would call if what she claimed would happen did, indeed, come to pass. As of course it had. We are nearly there, said the voice she had not heard in her head for nearly four hundred years.You are sure they will not fire their weapons at me ? I am told they will not, if the others do not come too close to their leader's home. She shrugged—and winced, for she was not entirely healed.We are nearly there, too , she told him, relieved to see the famous building drawing close. Even with Ruben Brooks's help, there was still a great deal of security to be gotten through: guards, gates, and one who wished to searchher . She did not allow that, which delayed things slightly, but she'd walked through their silly metal detector machine. That was enough. Eventually, the secretary of state agreed that it would do, though the Secret Service people did not like it. Then she learned that the president herself would not come out for this first meeting. Li Lei did not like the man who was secretary of state, but he. was said to be a good bargainer. There was little challenge in dealing with a poor one, so she accepted his presence in lieu of the president's with fair grace. Then she had to explain it to Sun Mzou. He did not like it, but he, too, understood that they might fear exposing their leader to him. In the end, Li Lei stood with Li Qin on one side and Lily on the other. She was sorry her son had not arrived in time but could not find it in her to regret her daughter-in-law's absence. Beside Lily stood Rule Turner with Toby, who was not behaving well. Too much excitement will do that to little boys. Behind them were ranged the secretary of state, Ruben Brooks, and many other official persons she did not know. They did not have long to wait. The lights were bright all round the White House, making the sky a dead,

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flat black, as if the stars had hidden themselves. Out of that darkness another black shape gradually formed. He looked small at first, for he was very high. But as he descended in a beautiful spiral, his size became obvious. As did his shape. The official persons made shocked noises, as if they had not truly believed what their radar had told them until their eyes confirmed it. "Oh, God," Lily whispered. "It really is him." Slowly, as gracefully as if he managed only the weight of a butterfly on those huge wings, the black dragon, the oldest and most powerful of his kind, settled onto the South Lawn of the White House. Li Lei's heart broke and sang, weeping joy through the pieces. She started forward, and somehow she forgot dignity, forgot her great age and all the official persons, and she ran to him. She stopped near the huge head, which he'd lowered to greet her, his eyes glowing in a way she'd never forgotten. Though in those days, she'd been much larger… she rested her hand on the hard scales on his cheek.You have a poor sense of time. You said you'd return. I did not expect to wait so long . You grew old. Mortals do. Even one with dragon magic inside her. For a long moment he said nothing, then:Did you ever regret your decision, Li Lei ? She felt his wistfullness, the echo of her own pain so many years ago… He'd wanted her to go with him, wanted it badly. She'd refused.Every day , she told him honestly.And yet never . You had the child you craved. Yes. The child she could not have had with him, for while he'd been able to give her much—even a form like his, for a time—he hadn't been able to give her that.You brought my granddaughter home to me . She is strong and cunning. I like her. You bred well. She swallowed and surreptitiously brushed the dampness from her eyes.Well. We shall have time, if we wish, to talk about the old days later. Now, I think, we had best begin bargaining. That is why you wanted me here . That is only part of the reason, Li Lei, her first lover told her, amusement tinting the cool mental voice with rare warmth.As you know very well. But let us begin . Lily turned to face the others: her family, those official persons, and the secretary of state. Pleasure suffused her. This would be a bargaining session like no other. She would see that Sun and the others received everything they needed— gold, places to hunt, eyries of some sort. The usual things required by dragons. In return, the dragons would solve the world's crisis by doing what was as natural as breathing for them. They would sop up magic.

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That they needed the magic themselves to survive did not, in Li Lei's opinion, diminish their right to demand payment. "Mr. Secretary," she said in a clear voice, "if you will come forward, I would like to introduce you to Sun Mzao, whom some…" She couldn't resist a quick, undignified wink at her grandaughter and the man beside her. "… know as Sam."