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)


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,


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.


"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


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.


"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


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.


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


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."


"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.


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


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."


"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


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,


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."


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


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."


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


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


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."


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


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.


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.


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


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?"


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."


"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."


"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."


"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


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."


"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


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.


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,


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.


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


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


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


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 .. . ?"


"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.


"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."


"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.


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.


"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


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


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."


“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.


“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?


"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


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?"


"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


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."


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."


"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,


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.


"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."


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."


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


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.


"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?"


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."


"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?"


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."


"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


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.


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.


"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.


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."


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."


"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....


"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,


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.


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.


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."


"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."


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


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.


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."


"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?"


"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?"


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!"


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.


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,


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?"


"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


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."


"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."


"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


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.


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."


"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."


"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


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,


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."


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."


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."


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


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."


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,


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


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,


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."


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?"


"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.


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."


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


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


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?"


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


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."


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.


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


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


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."


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."


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


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


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."


"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


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.


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.


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


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.


"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."


"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


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?"


"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.


"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."


"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?"


"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?"


"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."


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,


'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."


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.


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."


"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.


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


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?"


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


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."


"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."


"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


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.


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 .


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___


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


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.


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.


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


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


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


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—"


"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


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.


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."


"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?"


"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


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?"


"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


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."


"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


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.


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."


"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.


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.


"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."


"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."


"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


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."


"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


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


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.


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."


"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


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?"


"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."


"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?"


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


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."


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?"


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."


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


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."


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.


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


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.


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


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."


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."


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.


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


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."


"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."


"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."


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


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''


'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


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?"


"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."


"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."


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."


"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


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


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


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.


"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


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


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."


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?"


"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.


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."


"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."


"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?"


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."


"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."


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.


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.


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?


"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?"


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."


"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."


"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.


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."


"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


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


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."


"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


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.


"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."


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."


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."


"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."


"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."


"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


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.


"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?"


"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.


"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."


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.


"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."


"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.


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."


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."


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.


"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.


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


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."


"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


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


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


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


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?"


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."


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.


"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


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."


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."


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


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.


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.


"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."


"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."


"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.


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


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.


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."


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


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?"


"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.


"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


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."


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


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


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.


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.


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.


"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—"


"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.


"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."


"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."


"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


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.


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.


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?"


"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


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?"


"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


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.


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


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.


"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


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.


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


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."


"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


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."


"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.


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."


"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


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.


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."


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."


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


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."


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."


"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."


"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


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


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


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."


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.


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


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.


"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.


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."


"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


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?"


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.


"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."


"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,


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.


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."


"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."


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."


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.


"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?"


"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


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.


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


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,


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."


"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."


"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?"


"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.


"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


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,


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?"


"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."


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."


"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,


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?"


"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


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."


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."


"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."


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


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


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.


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."


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)


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.


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


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


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;


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


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?”


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


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.”


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.


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.


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.


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.”


“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.


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—


“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.


“… 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?”


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.”


“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


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.


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.”


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.”


“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—”


“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.”


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.


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


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


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.”


“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.


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


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.”


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.


“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


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.


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.


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.”


“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


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.


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 d