Blood Lines (8 page)

“Complicated.” Cynna’s head tilted to one side. “Seems like that’s what I said earlier.”

“You switched to ‘majorly weird.’” But Cynna was right. She deserved a description of the night’s events, if not a full explanation . . . which Lily didn’t have. “We were at the Kennedy Center when some kind of magic swept through the place. It was strong and . . . different. It forced the Change on Paul . . .” Her throat tightened around a wad of emotions.

If only she’d
hit
the damned thing more than once! Another bullet or two in its body might have slowed it, and if it had been a little slower . . . “He was onstage, one of the performers. A tenor. After we sorted things out there, it was late, so Rule offered him a ride home. That’s how we ended up here.”

Cynna frowned. “When did this magical surge happen?”

“Just before ten.”

“I felt something around then—a jolt of power, way more than any stray
sorcéri
. I had to drain some of it off.”

Lily’s brows rose. “Where were you?”

“Maybe fifteen blocks from here. Nowhere near the Kennedy Center.”

A magical wind that covered the whole city? “What could have caused that?”

Cynna shrugged. “I’m not a theory person. You need Cullen. He’s nuts for theory.”

“I don’t have him. Cynna . . .” There wasn’t a tactful way to ask, so she might as well spit it out. “Do you think your old teacher might be involved? The one you knew when you were with the Dizzies?”

Cynna looked unhappy. “Can’t say. You’ve been investigating another summoning.”

“I’ve been connected to an investigation,” Lily said dryly. “I wouldn’t say I’d been allowed to investigate. But yes, it’s quite a coincidence, only I can’t see any connection. Except . . .” She wasn’t supposed to discuss the case’s conclusion, but she knew Cynna could keep her mouth shut. “They did find out who did it.”

Cynna’s eyebrows shot up. “Yeah? How come I haven’t read about the arrest?”

“You won’t, if the suits have their way. He’s dead, an apparent suicide.” She had her doubts about that, but no one was listening. “And he’s not a U.S. citizen, so the big boys cut a deal with his government to keep it all quiet.”

“And your point is . . . ?”

“He’s from an African nation.”

“Shit.” Cynna’s former teacher followed ancient African traditions, too. She studied the demon’s corpse. The techs didn’t seem to be making much progress. Marion was arguing with the youngest one, who kept shaking his head. “Part of me hopes Jiri wasn’t behind this. Part of me hopes she was.”

Jiri had been Cynna’s teacher in the
Msaidizi
movement, commonly known as the Dizzies. The movement sprang up in slums about fifteen years ago, spread like crazy for a few years, then fizzled. Most of its members had known next to nothing about the magic they tried to harness.

Not Jiri. The FBI had a file on her, but it was ninety percent speculation, precious little fact. But she was thought to be African, not African American—from Senegal or Gambia, maybe.

Or maybe not. “Why?”

“Summoning a demon is one thing. Not many can do it, but the knowledge isn’t as lost as people like to think. But binding a demon—not riding it, binding it—that’s high-level shit. Master level. I don’t like to think there’s more than one person running around with that kind of knowledge.”

“What’s the difference between riding and binding?”

Cynna jammed her hands in her pockets and looked away. “When you ride, you’re in the demon. You control it from inside. Binding means you control it outside a summoning circle without being in the demon. Jiri could do that. If she didn’t do this, there’s someone else who knows way too much about demons.”

“Could you do it—control without riding?”

“I’m not
shetanni mwenye
.”

“But could you be, if you’d wanted to?”

Cynna looked back at her. “Yeah. Probably, if I were willing to pay the price. Am I a suspect?”

“No!” A couple of people glanced their way. “No,” Lily repeated more quietly. “Even if I thought you were capable of sending a demon to kill someone, that someone wouldn’t be Rule.”

The other woman’s mouth crooked up. “You don’t buy into the woman scorned bit?”

Lily smiled back. It wasn’t hard to smile about it now. Rule and Cynna had been involved several years ago. That prior history had been a problem for her and Cynna both, at first. Nice to know they were past that. “No. You might pout over being turned down—”

“I don’t pout!”

“You did,” Lily corrected her. “But you got over it.”

“Don’t be silly. Big, mean Dizzies never pout. Even former Dizzies,” she added as Lily’s smile widened. “Um . . . can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” She owed Cynna more than the answer to a question or two.

“Why did you shoot the demon after I—”

“After your spell stunned it? To make sure, of course. I had no way of knowing how long it would be out.”

Cynna shook her head. “You know better.”

Exasperated, Lily lowered her voice. Death spells carried the death penalty. Technically that meant a spell that killed people, not demons, but . . . “The record will state that my bullet killed the demon.”

“Gotcha. But there’s no problem. The spell I used only works on demons.”

“Are you sure?”

Cynna had never acquired a cop face. Maybe she thought the designs covering her skin were enough concealment. Probably they were, most of the time, with most people. But Lily had literally been through hell with this woman. The inky swirls didn’t distract her from the emotions swirling across Cynna’s face: confusion, doubt, some conclusion reached. Finally she said, “Not one hundred percent. It would have to be modified, but maybe . . . uh, thanks.”

She nodded. “I’m trying not to do any assuming here, but I can’t help thinking my main suspect is a pissed-off goddess. Or Her avatar, who was recently eaten by a demon prince.”

“Who promptly went nuts, according to informed sources.”

“That about sums it up. Tell me something,” Lily said. “Is there any way our enemies in hell—or Dis, or whatever you want to call that realm—could have sent a demon to kill Rule without someone on this side helping?”

Cynna chewed on her lip. “I hate to say something’s completely impossible. The line keeps moving, you know? But on a scale of ‘sure’ to ‘no way, no how, not ever,’ that hits pretty close to ‘no way.’ ”

“Glad to hear it. Goddess, avatar, crazy demon prince—any of them would be tricky to bring in on charges.” She paused, considering her options. “I don’t have Cullen around to help with theory, but I do know someone with firsthand experience of what is and isn’t possible for demons.”

“You don’t mean . . . hell. You do. You’re going to bring it here?”

“Her,” Lily corrected absently, trying to catch one of those will-o’-the-wisp memories. “Not it, not anymore. But she might not come.” Might not be willing, might not be able. Lily wasn’t even sure she’d be able to reach her. “I have to try.”

“The Bureau won’t like it.”

Lily looked at where Rule stood, motionless, at the edge of the law enforcement bustle. He watched as they loaded Paul’s body into the waiting ambulance. He had his expression locked down, nothing showing . . . but every inch of his body spoke to her of tension and pain. “The Bureau isn’t my only worry.”

FIVE

“YOU’RE
what
?”

“Going to get in touch with Gan, if I can. Bring her here, if she can come.”

It was one thirty in the morning. They were headed for his car, parked a block away from the bloodstained concrete where Paul had died. Rule tried taking a slow breath. He needed to calm down. “I don’t suppose it occurred to you to ask my opinion.”

“Not necessary,” she said dryly. “I knew what you’d think.”

“After what it did to us? You don’t remember, but it—”

“She,” Lily said, her voice cold. “Not it. And maybe I don’t remember the details, but I know enough. I know what I need to do. Think about it, Rule. Where else can I learn so much about demons but from one of them?”

Lily’s soul had been split in two when Gan tried to possess her. Rule didn’t understand how she could forgive the demon for that, even if she didn’t remember what happened to them afterward, in hell. At least, it had happened to one of her—the one she couldn’t quite remember.

He did. He remembered everything about that other Lily . . . what she’d said and done, the sheer courage of her, the companionship and the caring. The one thing he couldn’t remember was her death. He’d been unconscious. He hadn’t seen her sacrifice herself for him.

Rule’s hip throbbed. He ignored it. “You don’t have a way to reach her.”

“Max does. Open the back door, will you? I need my laptop.”

He grimaced and clicked the locks.

Max was Rule’s friend . . . and a gnome. A half-gnome, actually, though Rule thought he was the only one outside of Max’s own people who knew that. When they returned from hell with one unanticipated addition to their party, Max had agreed to let the little demon stay with him while they figured out what to do with her.

Max had come up with his own solution. Two weeks ago, he’d called to tell Rule that Gan was “going under” for a while—a term Rule understood to mean she would be living with one of the gnomish peoples. “Can’t stay a demon, can she?” he’d demanded. “Growing a soul now. Gonna have to make up her pointy little head what she wants.”

Typically, Max had hung up then.

“Just because she’s growing a soul doesn’t mean she’s one of the good guys,” Rule said as he slammed his door.

“She doesn’t need a highly developed moral sense to be useful.”

“She’ll trick you.” Demons couldn’t lie outright, but they prized the ability to deceive.

“I’m pretty good at questioning people who want to trick me. Not that I think she’ll try. She likes me.” She opened her laptop and powered it up. “I’m going to work on my report.”

Irritation flickered into anger. “You don’t care to discuss your plan to bring a demon into your investigation?”

She gave him a level look. “You mean argue, not discuss, and I’m too tired for it.”

Guilt bit. He took a slow breath and pulled out into the street. Needs coiled in his stomach, a restless serpent with the sweetest of venom. The hairs on his arms stirred with the serpent’s breath, and its tail wrapped round his heart, controlling the beat.

He needed to Change. Still. Again.

Hell has no moon. Rule had entered that realm in wolf form, so wolf he’d remained. But lupi who stay too long in wolf form eventually lose the human in the beguiling simplicity of the beast. Rule hadn’t been lost, not quite. But returned to Earth and his human form, he wasn’t the man he used to be. The balance between man and wolf had shifted, and the control he’d spent his life building had thinned to tissue, easily torn.

Tonight it had torn.

The demon had come at them from upwind, and in damnable silence. He’d had no warning until he saw it—and in seeing it, he’d lost the power of choice. Instinct had ruled, and instinct craved teeth and claws for that enemy, four legs for speed and senses keened to a pitch no human could know. Not even a part-time human.

Twenty minutes, he told himself as he pulled into the traffic on I-295. It should take no more than twenty minutes to reach their temporary home. By then he’d be back in control.

Rule’s father had been pleased when the Bureau sent Lily to Washington. After the Supreme Court put an end to centuries of legal persecution of the lupi, Nokolai had joined with two other clans to purchase a row house in Georgetown. Isen had wanted a presence in the capital, both for show and for lobbying.

Most of the time, Rule was that presence, the public face of a people accustomed to the shadows. To put it another way—as Lily once had—he was the lupus poster boy, the safe, almost tame image they presented to the public. He understood the image, how to use it, what was needed. A whiff of danger made him exotic, intriguing enough to be invited to all the best parties.

All the best beds, too, though he no longer accepted that sort of invitation.

Rule glanced at the woman beside him. The tilt of her head toward her laptop swung her hair forward, hiding her face. Her hair was beautiful, black and lustrous by day, keeping its secrets at night. Absently she lifted a hand and tucked a strand behind her ear, gifting him with her profile. The glow of her skin in the monitor’s light reminded him of the moon—cool and pale.

She smelled of blood. Paul’s blood.

Rule gave his attention to the road once more.

Lily had fought for him tonight. The demon had come to kill him—a fact she’d recognized before he did. He thought of the way she’d moved, weapon ready, focused on her target. If she’d felt fear, she’d ignored it.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her fight. It wouldn’t be the last. The thought terrified him. She was small, easily damaged, and slow to heal. Yet mixed with the fear was pride. That, he would never have expected.

Who would have thought a warrior would suit him so well?

Lily closed her computer. “You okay?”

“What do you mean?”