Blood Lines (51 page)

Lily heard Grandmother’s voice, but couldn’t catch the words. Curious, she turned.

Grandmother came toward them, her figure as erect as ever. She’d already abandoned the sling, though Lily suspected she’d be more comfortable if she’d use it. Today she’d decided to wear her most traditional Chinese clothes, perhaps in honor of her son’s imminent arrival: black silk pants and a silk tunic heavily embroidered in gold thread. “It is time to go,” she announced.

“Go?” Lily’s eyebrows shot up. “My parents will be here in less than an hour.”

“A pity, but perhaps they can join us after they arrive.”

Exasperated, Lily started to explain that they would not be going anywhere. “Grandmother—”

“Go where, Madam?” Rule asked softly.

“To the White House, I think.” She tipped her head to one side as if listening. There was an odd softness on her face, an expression Lily didn’t recognize. “Yes. We will wait at the White House.”

LI LEI
enjoyed her granddaughter’s shock very much when her FBI person, Ruben Brooks, called to tell her which gate at the White House to use. Rule Turner was not as surprised as she would have liked, but that was a tribute to his opinion of her, so also pleasant.

Mostly, however, it was all she could do not to squirm like a child on the way there. But she managed to preserve her dignity.

Ruben Brooks had come to see her the day she was released from the hospital. She had liked him right away and decided to confide in him, a little. Not that he believed her initially, but he was courteous and promised he would call if what she claimed would happen did, indeed, come to pass.

As of course it had.

We are nearly there,
said the voice she had not heard in her head for nearly four hundred years.
You are sure they will not fire their weapons at me?

I am told they will not, if the others do not come too close to their leader’s home.
She shrugged—and winced, for she was not entirely healed.
We are nearly there, too,
she told him, relieved to see the famous building drawing close.

Even with Ruben Brooks’s help, there was still a great deal of security to be gotten through: guards, gates, and one who wished to search
her.
She did not allow that, which delayed things slightly, but she’d walked through their silly metal detector machine. That was enough.

Eventually, the secretary of state agreed that it would do, though the Secret Service people did not like it. Then she learned that the president herself would not come out for this first meeting.

Li Lei did not like the man who was secretary of state, but he was said to be a good bargainer. There was little challenge in dealing with a poor one, so she accepted his presence in lieu of the president’s with fair grace. Then she had to explain it to Sun Mzou. He did not like it, but he, too, understood that they might fear exposing their leader to him.

In the end, Li Lei stood with Li Qin on one side and Lily on the other. She was sorry her son had not arrived in time but could not find it in her to regret her daughter-in-law’s absence. Beside Lily stood Rule Turner with Toby, who was not behaving well. Too much excitement will do that to little boys. Behind them were ranged the secretary of state, Ruben Brooks, and many other official persons she did not know.

They did not have long to wait. The lights were bright all round the White House, making the sky a dead, flat black, as if the stars had hidden themselves. Out of that darkness another black shape gradually formed. He looked small at first, for he was very high. But as he descended in a beautiful spiral, his size became obvious.

As did his shape. The official persons made shocked noises, as if they had not truly believed what their radar had told them until their eyes confirmed it.

“Oh, God,” Lily whispered. “It really is him.”

Slowly, as gracefully as if he managed only the weight of a butterfly on those huge wings, the black dragon, the oldest and most powerful of his kind, settled onto the South Lawn of the White House.

Li Lei’s heart broke and sang, weeping joy through the pieces. She started forward, and somehow she forgot dignity, forgot her great age and all the official persons, and she ran to him.

She stopped near the huge head, which he’d lowered to greet her, his eyes glowing in a way she’d never forgotten. Though in those days, she’d been much larger . . . she rested her hand on the hard scales on his cheek.
You have a poor sense of time. You said you’d return. I did not expect to wait so long.

You grew old.

Mortals do. Even one with dragon magic inside her.

For a long moment he said nothing, then:
Did you ever regret your decision, Li Lei?

She felt his wistfullness, the echo of her own pain so many years ago . . . He’d wanted her to go with him, wanted it badly. She’d refused.
Every day,
she told him honestly.
And yet never.

You had the child you craved.

Yes.
The child she could not have had with him, for while he’d been able to give her much—even a form like his, for a time—he hadn’t been able to give her that.
You brought my granddaughter home to me.

She is strong and cunning. I like her. You bred well.

She swallowed and surreptitiously brushed the dampness from her eyes.
Well. We shall have time, if we wish, to talk about the old days later. Now, I think, we had best begin bargaining. That is why you wanted me here.

That is only part of the reason, Li Lei,
her first lover told her, amusement tinting the cool mental voice with rare warmth.
As you know very well. But let us begin.

Lily turned to face the others: her family, those official persons, and the secretary of state. Pleasure suffused her.

This would be a bargaining session like no other. She would see that Sun and the others received everything they needed—gold, places to hunt, eyries of some sort. The usual things required by dragons. In return, the dragons would solve the world’s crisis by doing what was as natural as breathing for them.

They would sop up magic.

That they needed the magic themselves to survive did not, in Li Lei’s opinion, diminish their right to demand payment. “Mr. Secretary,” she said in a clear voice, “if you will come forward, I would like to introduce you to Sun Mzao, whom some . . .” She couldn’t resist a quick, undignified wink at her grandaughter and the man beside her. “ . . . know as Sam.”

Dear Reader,

Foxie, my fourteen-year-old Labrador retriever, is lying in the overgrown grass in the backyard, soaking up the kindness of September sunshine. She lifts her head to grin at me, doggie-fashion, then lurches to her feet.

Foxie is old. She wobbles as she makes her usual circuit of the yard, sniffing everything, scuffing up grass with a few strokes of her hind legs. As far as I can tell, her uncertain gait bothers me more than it does her. Today she has grass and sunshine. She isn’t worried about her aging heart or some future day when her legs will no longer hold her. As long as I’m nearby, she’s content. She trusts me completely—no holding back.

Trust is harder for us humans. By the time we’re adults we’ve learned some of the many flavors of betrayal, disappointment, tragedy, heartbreak . . . and that’s just from the nightly news. Chances are we’ve been force-fed a few bites of these poisons in our private lives, too. Maybe more than a few.

Cynicism comes easy. It also comes with a price.

In
Blood Lines
, Cynna and Cullen’s world changed. Each of them played some part in the outward changes—the influx of magic after the power winds hit—but each is facing a personal cataclysm, too. However she tries to deny it, Cynna is carrying Cullen’s child, and neither of them has any idea yet where their new reality will take them.

In the next book,
Night Season
, they find out.

An unusual messenger sends Cynna to another realm, one where magic is commonplace. Cullen goes, too—he isn’t about to let her wander around Faerie without him. But their search for a missing medallion turns into a quest of another sort, and maybe these two world-class cynics aren’t that surprised when they meet with betrayal in a world where the sun never rises. But what happens when their lives depend on their ability to trust?

Early in 2008, you’ll find out.

Happy Reading,

Eileen Wilks