Mortal Sins, page 11
part #5 of World of the Lupi Series
“You told me one reason. I don’t doubt that it’s true—that you want to do this for our people—yet I believe there’s a more personal reason as well. I need to know that reason. It might affect the way you represent us to the human world.”
Toby looked down and shuffled his feet as if wanting to be somewhere else. “I guess I got to tell you, then. See, it’s like … I’ve got friends here, you know? And lots of people I just know, like Mr. Peters that teaches math and Coach Tom in Sunday school, and—and when they hear about me being lupus … I thought maybe if they see me on TV, see that I’m still just me, they won’t think I’m a freak or something.”
“Toby.” Rule’s throat burned, making it hard to speak.
“I know,” Toby said earnestly, hopefully. “I know I’m not going to live here anymore, so maybe it shouldn’t matter, but I’ll still visit sometimes, and it’s kind of cool to be on TV. Maybe that will make up for—well, for me being lupus.”
This was the real danger he’d wanted to protect Toby from—the hurt of being different. Of turned backs and threats, insults and closed minds … He’d yearned to keep all that from touching his son. And couldn’t.
Rule thought of dozens of things to say—advice about how real friends stand by you, warnings about how little control anyone has over what others think. But what boy listens to such cautions? He settled for ruffling Toby’s hair. “Maybe it will make a difference for some. Maybe not. Either way, your hope for acceptance will do your people no harm.”
He held out his hand. Toby took it. Together they walked back to the living room.
Toby’s grandmother was talking with Lily. She broke off, her gaze going to Rule’s face, then Toby’s. Rule noticed that she’d freshened her lipstick.
She grimaced. “You’re going to let him do it, then. I can’t say I approve, but I suppose I’d best get used to not having the final say.”
“You will always have a say where Toby’s concerned,” Rule said quietly. “Always. I’ve given permission, but if you are adamantly opposed—”
“No. No, it’s not …” She sighed. Her eyes held an old ache. “I’ve got too many things poking at me, I guess. Alicia said she didn’t tip the other reporters. She told one man, a friend and coworker, in confidence. He turned out to be less than a friend ought to be.”
Toby’s hand tightened in Rule’s. Rule made himself keep his voice calm. “Did she also explain why she’s here? I understood her lawyer was handling everything for her. Why did she come without letting you know?”
“She said … she wants us to meet with her and her lawyer before the hearing. She wouldn’t tell me why.”
Dammit. Dammit all to hell. If Alicia planned to contest his claim now—
Lily touched his arm. “We can discuss that later. Mrs. Asteglio is willing to be part of our little show. Should we all go out together?”
Rule took a breath, let it out slowly. Anger would only trip him up. “I’ll go out first and arrange things. I thought we’d take questions on the porch. The sun’s nearly overhead, which is less than ideal lighting, but the porch is a reassuring setting. It looks like exactly what it is—a comfortable place for a family to relax in a small Southern town.”
Mrs. Asteglio looked sour. She disliked what she considered artifice, he knew, the planned impressions essential to PR. Yet she’d freshened her lipstick, hadn’t she?
“All right, “ Lily said. “Let’s do it. Ah … the AP reporter. Ed Eames. If you can throw him anything, that would be good. He’s the one who tipped me.”
“If I throw him something now, everyone gets it. But I’ll keep him in mind.”
“Okay. If you need me to, I can take over at the end, switch them back to the story they came here for, so the rest of you can escape.”
Rule smiled and reached for her hand. “Now there’s real self-sacrifice.”
“You better believe it.”
FOURTEEN
RULE went out on the porch with his body loose and his face relaxed, ready to smile as if he were greeting old friends who’d dropped in at an inopportune time yet were always welcome.
Flashes went off. Lupus eyes react to light like human eyes, but recover faster. He was blinded for a second but ignored it, walking to the edge of the porch as if he could see perfectly. By the time he reached it, he could.
Quite a crowd. He didn’t know any of the television people, but three faces from the print press were familiar—Ed Eames from the AP, a woman named Miriam from the Washington Post, and a sad-faced fellow who worked for one of the scandal rags. Rule couldn’t summon the man’s name, but he knew the face.
Rule kept his smile easy as the shouted questions flowed over him. He raised his voice slightly. “Ed, Miriam, good to see you again. This isn’t your usual beat, is it? And, ah …” He aimed his smile at the man from the scandal rag, who stood near the rear of the crowd. “I should know your name, shouldn’t I?”
“Jimmy Bassinger with Global. Is it true you—”
“Jimmy. Of course. But—no, no. Wait.” Rule held up a hand, speaking over the pushy tabloid reporter. “No questions yet. Was it Dan Rather who said that a good interview is ninety percent listening? Please listen a moment.” He swept his gaze over the lot of them, cocking an eyebrow quizzically. “I understand you—all of you—would like a few moments of my time.”
A couple of them laughed. Another flash went off. Good. Rule spoke simply. “You are here because of my son. So am I.” And that quickly, the damned lump was back in his throat. He swallowed. Should he have known how strongly it would affect him to declare Toby’s existence to the world?
Naturally, his statement set off another round of questions. He didn’t allow himself to feel the insult implicit in some of them, but held up his hand again. “I’ll give you a statement, answer some questions, but I thought you might like to speak with Toby, too. And with his grandmother, Mrs. Louise Asteglio, who has loved and cared for him since birth. And, of course, with my beloved, whom you already know—you’ve been besieging her regarding quite a different story.”
With that enticement, it was easy to arrange a few ground rules. He expected those rules to be bent or broken by some, but the agreement gave him some leverage.
He opened the front door and gestured for the others to come out. “They aren’t supposed to ask questions until I give the go-ahead, but one or two probably will, as soon as you appear,” he said. “Ignore them.”
“Oh, I can do that.” Lily gave him a small smile and brushed his hand with hers as she passed.
Mrs. Asteglio touched her hair, took a deep breath, and followed.
Toby hung back.
“If you’ve changed your mind,” Rule began gently.
“No, but it went all empty! My mind did, I mean. All of a sudden there’s nothing there, and I don’t know what to say!”
“Ah. Tell the truth. Keep your answers short. You don’t have to answer questions you don’t like. If you don’t want to answer, squeeze my hand and I’ll deal with it.” He held out his hand.
Toby bit his lip. “Mostly boys my age don’t hold their dad’s hand.”
“Mostly boys your age aren’t lupus. We require more touch than humans seem to. And you’re presenting yourself as lupus today.”
Toby slipped his hand into Rule’s and nodded once. “Okay. I’m ready.”
RULE arranged them on the porch swing—Toby on his right side, Lily on his left, and Mrs. Asteglio on Toby’s far side. One of the television vans had brought portable spots; the tech was setting them up on either side of the swing, which faced the yard. The porch’s elevation would put them approximately on a level with their interrogators, even while seated.
“Good grief,” Mrs. Asteglio muttered, smoothing her shirt. “I don’t even know half those people.”
He assumed she meant the crowd gathered to watch the press uphold their right to be informed. “The bystanders will leave when the TV vans do,” he told her quietly, then raised his voice. “If you’re ready, I’ll give a brief statement first, then we will accept questions.”
“Give us another sec, here,” the brunette anchor from one of the TV stations said. “Let them get the lights fixed. Joe,” she said, turning to her cameraman, “you still getting that shadow?”
“Mrs. Asteglio,” the scandal-rag reporter called from the rear of the crowd, “is it true that Turner seduced and abandoned your daughter? And that you’ve been raising her love child?”
Rule just smiled and waited.
“Love child,” Mrs. Asteglio sputtered. “Love child? Why, I—”
“Shh,” Lily said. “He wants a reaction. Don’t give him one.”
If Toby objected to being called a love child, it didn’t show. “Look,” he piped up, “here comes Mr. Hodge. Bet he’s going to make them all go away. You think they will? Maybe he brought his shotgun to scare them.”
“His shotgun?” Lily exclaimed. “Where? Where is he?” Rule was on his feet. Without intention, without knowing he would do it, he’d stood, his nape cold and bristling. There. There, at the back of the crowd, stood an older man, dark-skinned, nearly hidden by people and by the large oak tree—stepping forward now, holding something, bringing it up—
“It’s okay,” Toby said, reassuring. “He never loads it, right, Grammy? He just likes to—”
Time slowed as Earth magic surged up through Rule to join, with a sudden snap, with the moonsong always present—join and pull. Between one second and the next he fell into certa, a place of ice and clarity, where sensation is sharp enough to cut and action flows too swiftly for thought.
And held himself back, by sheer will, from the rest of the fall.
“—make out like he’s all mean, but he really—”
Rule used one arm to sweep Toby and his grandmother off the swing, onto the porch floor. He was aware of everything—the reporters just starting to react, not to the threat behind them, but to Rule. Toby squawking. Lily on her feet, reaching under her jacket, shouting, “Down!” at the crowd.
But he was already in the air, sailing in one leap over the head of the brunette reporter, letting the vicious pull have him as Earth and moon finished their dance and dragged him through the twist they’d made in reality. The blast from the shotgun smacked his human ears—
—and echoed in the much better ears he landed with, the incandescent pain of the Change already gone. Landed amid screams and blood-scent, steady on all four feet, ready to launch himself forward—but people were in the way. People scrambling, falling, yelling, standing frozen. Too bloody many people between him and the threat to his mate and son.
Another concussion of sound—the shotgun’s second barrel. It tipped him out of certa and close to frenzy, but he held on, held back, gathering himself on his haunches—and leaped again.
Over the people.
He lacked the elevation of the porch this time, but he was a very large wolf. He couldn’t high-jump the whole crowd, but he leaped over the two people immediately impeding him and darted through the rest—who would doubtless have given way for him if they’d had time, but he moved too fast for their human reactions.
There. The enemy. Senses merged into a single data flow as Rule saw/scented the man, the gun, and something else. Something unutterably foul.
The man saw him, too—the gun’s barrel swung toward Rule as the man’s eyes widened, his face contorting. “I didn’t know!” he cried, dropping the gun, stumbling back. “I didn’t know!”
In his backward retreat, he tripped. Fell.
The enemy was down. Rule leaped on him, snarling, teeth reaching—
The man tipped his head back, sobbing as he bared his throat.
Rule froze. Need strove with need, clashing instincts mounting an explosion barely capped by will. Blood! screamed the loudest part of him—he needed blood, needed to finish the enemy.
An enemy who reeked of perversion. Of death magic. Dimly, Rule recalled the name for the stink coating his nostrils, but the wolf was more interested in destroying such foulness than naming it. But the man’s action had tripped another switch.
Rule’s enemy had acknowledged him, subordinating himself.
The immediacy of bloodlust faded. The man was his now, his to kill or to spare. Killing made sense. It would eliminate any future threats, and anything that stank of such perversion deserved death. Besides, what would he do with the man if he let him live? Rule couldn’t keep him. He was human, not clan.
And yet there was some reason, some important reason, for sparing him. Only he couldn’t quite …
I know him.
No, he didn’t. Beneath the reek of death magic, the man’s smell was unfamiliar. Confused, the wolf hesitated.
“Rule!” Dimly through the clamor he heard and felt her coming. His mate. Lily. “Don’t, Rule—I need him alive.”
He would wait. She knew … knew both of him, he remembered, and suddenly Rule-the-man was present again. Not in charge, but present, and echoing Lily’s command to spare the man.
Lily reached him, put a hand on his back, and her scent calmed him in spite of the traces of fear-stink that clung to her skin like a burr caught in fur. Her fear didn’t worry him. Lily was warrior. She could both fear and act.
“He’s down,” she told him, low-voiced. “I need you to keep him down while I—oh, shit.”
The enemy beneath him was convulsing.
Lily shoved at Rule, who stepped off. She touched the man’s throat, then ripped open his shirt and started CPR.
FIFTEEN
IT takes time to clear away the detritus of violent death. The patrol cars arrived first, then the ambulances, followed eventually by the same ERT Lily had summoned to another death scene early that morning.
An hour and twenty minutes after turning wolf, Rule was back in his human form, back in his clothes, and back in the house where his son had grown up.
Toby’s grandmother was upstairs, showering off other people’s blood. There had been two wounded—one with relatively minor injuries, one critical. Mrs. Asteglio might not have worked as a nurse in years, but she hadn’t forgotten much. As soon as the shooting stopped, she’d hugged Toby, then sent him to get a sheet for bandages.
Hodge hadn’t died, thanks to Lily’s quick action. Two others had. A boy, perhaps sixteen, with three silver rings in one ear, had taken a shotgun blast to the back of his head. He’d died instantly. Jimmy Bassinger, who’d asked about Rule’s “love child,” had been hit in the chest and throat. He’d bled out.
Lily was still outside, interviewing witnesses or directing her people or perhaps bossing around the city cops who’d shown up. Rule wanted to be with her. He also wanted to be exactly where he was—sitting on the couch in the den with Toby snuggled up against him, savoring the little-boy warmth against his side. The radio was on. The orderly beauty of a Mozart piano concerto soothed both wolf and man.
Classical music was one of the pleasures he’d shared with Alicia in their infrequent liaisons. He wondered if she still listened to Bach when she was on deadline. He wondered why she was in Halo, what she meant to do.
Mrs. Asteglio had called Alicia before heading upstairs to shower, letting her know Toby had survived the shooting. Rule had heard Alicia burst into tears on the other end of the phone. She’d sobbed out her relief.
He didn’t understand her. He supposed he never would. How could anyone give up this sweetness?
Rule inhaled deeply. Copper, earth, and mint, he thought. That’s what Toby’s scent reminded him of, or maybe those scents reminded him of Toby … who had been glued to him ever since he Changed back. The boy needed this closeness, the physical contact.
That was all right. So did Rule.
He could have lost them. Toby, Lily—one of them or both of them. He could have lost them.
Toby stirred. “Dad? How did you know? About—about Mr. Hodge. Was it just ’cause he had the shotgun?”
“Instinct,” Rule said, sifting his hand through Toby’s hair. “Though I suppose that’s not a very satisfactory answer, is it?” He felt Toby shake his head. “Let’s say, then, that my human part reacted to the sight of a gun, but the wolf had already recognized wrongness. I can piece that recognition together logically now, but I didn’t at the time.”
“Tell me about the logical part, ’cause I don’t get the instinct part.”
“Franklin Hodge was hiding behind a tree. A man who intends to bluster and threaten doesn’t hide himself. He’d brought his shotgun. A man in his right mind doesn’t bring a gun to his neighbor’s house to make a point.”
Toby picked at a loose thread in the seam of Rule’s slacks. His voice was small. “Mr. Hodge wasn’t in his right mind, was he?”
“No. We don’t know what happened to him, but he was certainly not in his right mind.”
“Dad, when you …” Toby’s voice trailed off. “You were going to kill him, weren’t you?”
Rule stilled. But there was only one answer possible. “Yes.”
“I’m glad Lily stopped you.”
“So am I.” Glad, very glad, that Toby hadn’t had to see his father kill an old man, however murderous. Yet on another level, it was as well the boy knew that Rule’s wolf was capable of such an act. Toby was tired of hearing warnings about First Change. He thought he understood what it would be like for the human to be swallowed by the wolf. He didn’t. Couldn’t. Yet. “Although I stopped needing his death before she arrived.”
“Yeah?” Toby turned his face up. “How come?”
Rule picked words as carefully as a rock climber chooses handholds. “I was wholly wolf for a brief time. Somewhere between leaping from the porch and spotting my enemy, I lost the man. It was a combination of factors, I believe, that tipped me over. The threat to you and Lily, of course. But there was also the stink of him … death magic reeks.”
Toby looked scared. “I don’t know what that is.”
“Cullen calls it power sourced by death.”
“Mr. Hodge wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.”
“I don’t know that he caused it. Just that he stank of it.”
