Rule thanked him, slipped on the shoes and tied them, and looked at Lily. “You can have Cullen until lunch. I need him back then.” He said that lightly enough, but she had some idea of what it cost him to wait.

  Lily put her hand on his cheek, rubbing the freshly shaved skin with her thumb. “Until lunch.”

  He bent and gave her a quick, hard kiss. A moment later the door closed behind him and Toby, and Lily clicked back into cop mode. She looked at Cullen, who was no longer smiling. Somehow that confirmed what she’d suspected. “You have something for me.”

  “I think so. I’ll need to see the last man who was possessed—he’s in the hospital, right?—and his house.”

  “Hodge is getting his pacemaker replaced this morning, so that’ll have to wait, but I can get you into his house. It’s on the corner.” She pulled out her phone. “Go eat cake and flirt with Louise. I’m going to rearrange my morning.” She’d take Brown’s advice and delegate.

  FOR once Cullen did as he was told. They left Louise smiling and telling him to be sure to join the rest of them for dinner that night. “Come at six thirty. We’ll eat around seven.”

  Cullen thanked her and accepted before Lily could find a subtle way to warn him about the undertow he’d be wading into. Not that Cullen minded a little conflict, armed or otherwise.

  Stepping outside was like walking into the bathroom after someone had taken a hot shower. The brief spat of rain hadn’t done much to clear the air of either heat or humidity. “That invitation you just accepted,” she said quietly to Cullen. “Alicia and her new husband are coming to dinner. He’s vegan, so it will be meatless.”

  “I’d better eat well earlier, then,” he said. “Wouldn’t miss this chance to meet the new hubby. Alicia’s never shown an interest in day-to-day parenting—swooping in for the occasional weekend suited her fine, I’d say. I’m wondering if this sudden uptick in motherliness is due to him. Perhaps it’s his idea entirely.”

  That seemed possible. “Did you bring any real clothes? Louise will be insulted if you show up in that T-shirt.”

  He glanced down at her, amused. “Really, Lily, you don’t have to explain women’s expectations to me. I could demonstrate, if you wish, what I know about female … expectations.” He lingered on the last word with just the right hint of lasciviousness.

  She knew he did that to annoy her. And dammit, it worked. “Tacky, Cullen.”

  “No, it would be tacky if I groped you. I can’t flirt with most women anymore. They have a lamentable tendency to hope I mean it. And since I’m fast enough to dodge if you decide to belt me, I … Hold on a minute.” He interrupted himself as they reached his rental car. “I need to get something.”

  “Cullen.” She chewed it over with her conscience while he opened the car door and delved inside. It was okay to ask, she decided. “What are you going to tell Rule about Toby?”

  “Can’t tell you.”

  She stiffened. “I know he deserves to learn it first, but he’s not here and I’m involved, too.”

  “I meant exactly what I said,” he explained—patiently, for him, since he snapped out the words without burning anything. He straightened, holding a small brown paper bag in one hand and his backpack in the other, and slammed the car door. “I can’t tell you. I’m not supposed to tell Rule, either, but I will—if he promises not to repeat it to his father.”

  She blinked. “You want him to keep secrets from his Rho? Is that allowed?”

  “Of course not. Tell me about these ghosts the little girl has seen. Rule said they screamed at her.”

  “That’s the way Talia put it.” They fell into step together, heading for Hodge’s house. “The screaming is distressing or painful for her. What’s in the bag?”

  “Grave dirt. She said the other ghosts were frightened?”

  “Yes—at least, her main contact among them told her that. The one she calls the tall man. What in the world do you need grave dirt for?”

  “A spell. Like I said, I stopped off on the way here. And let me tell you, it was not easy to find dry grave dirt. This child—Talia—said the ghosts call him a ghost-maker?”

  “Yes.”

  He frowned. “I need to talk to her.”

  “If Rule’s able to bring them back to Mrs. Asteglio’s for pizza, you’ll have a chance to do that. Though I don’t know that the parents will agree. They’re not fans of lupi, from what the kids said last night.”

  “Oh, Rule will probably talk to them himself. I told him I need to see the girl. Not only will he sound utterly trustworthy—”

  “He is utterly trustworthy.”

  “Which makes it easier for him,” Cullen agreed cheerfully. “I have to work much harder at it, and usually have to settle for appearing harmless. No one mistakes Rule for harmless, but he has that whole prince-of-my-people thing going for him.”

  True. “Cullen, Talia said Toby keeps the ghosts away. Rule had never heard of ghosts being repelled by lupi.”

  “Oh, that.” He tossed one hand, flinging away a foolish notion. “No, they aren’t repelled by us, but our innate magic suppresses the type of magic used by mediums. I’m not sure of the mechanism, but the Etorri Rhej …” He glanced at her, smiling. “You’ve met her.”

  “Oh, yes.” Lily smiled in spite of herself, thinking of that wedding.

  “She says the effect is heavily localized. She has to move only a few feet away from one of us for her Gift to function. Of course, she’s an extremely strong medium, so Talia’s Gift may be tamped down at a greater distance. But that’s what the girl is experiencing—a dampening of her Gift, not a repulsion of ghosts.”

  A repulsion of ghosts. Was that like a gaggle of geese or an exaltation of larks? Lily noticed that her smile had lingered. Funny how Cullen could have that effect when he wasn’t making her want to punch him. “Is there any way you can make a shield for her, or something along those lines? I’m worried about those mind-ripping screams.”

  “A shield, no. I haven’t deciphered the ones I was given enough to re-create them. But didn’t you say the sheriff here has a spell that damps down his Gift?”

  “I don’t know if he’ll share it. He doesn’t want anyone to know about his Gift, so he won’t be happy I told you. Can ghosts do real damage to Talia?”

  “Normally, no.” Cullen turned grim. “But these aren’t normal ghosts.”

  “I seldom hear ‘normal’ and ‘ghosts’ used together. What’s different with these?”

  “You’re going to have to wait until I confirm something. Is that the house?”

  “Yes. You see something funny about it?” Cullen was like her, in a way. She touched magic. He saw it.

  He gave a noncommittal hum and strode for the front door.

  “Let me get the key.” She dug into her purse.

  “Not necessary.” He wiggled his fingers at the knob—reached for it, turned it, and opened the door.

  She huffed out a breath. “You did that to annoy me.”

  “Certainly, but I also hate to pass up a chance to show off. No, don’t come in. Stay on the threshold for now. You don’t soak up magic like a dragon would, but you might have an effect on a spell this delicate.”

  Startled, she stopped. “You think I can affect spells?”

  “Undetermined,” he murmured, kneeling in the center of the living room with his little bag of dirt. He pulled a candle stub out of his backpack. “But possible, especially with spells that depend more on finesse than power. I’d like to do some tests, but …” He sighed as he drew out a square sheet of brown paper covered with arcane symbols, spreading it on the floor in front of him. “Not the time for that, is it? There’s never enough time.”

  “You aren’t setting a circle.”

  “Circles keep things out or in. That’s not the goal here.” He placed the candle stub dead center on the paper, frowned, and moved it an imperceptible fraction closer. “Now hush.”

  She hushed. He began chanting, his voice soft, the words utterly alien. It was only a few phrases, she realized, repeated over and over. He did that awhile, then waved at the candle stub. It lit.

  Still chanting quietly, he dug into the bag, then held his fist over the candle flame and cried out sharply. “Ka!”

  He flung the dirt up. The candle flame sputtered—and sprinkled itself over the paper like burning dust. And the dirt he’d tossed hung, suspended, in the air. As Lily stared, it began moving, churning in a slow circle, as if stirred by an invisible finger.

  Then it exploded in a single, soundless burst.

  So did the bits of fire.

  “Holy hell.” Cullen sat back on his heels. “It worked.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “YOU didn’t think it would?” Lily snapped. She darted inside to slap at Hodge’s recliner, where several of the bits of splashed fire had landed. “Dammit, Cullen, get some water or something.”

  “Oh. Sorry, I forgot.” He held out both hands. All the baby flames leaped toward him, banging together to make a single large flame that danced a few inches above his raised palms … then faded away.

  Lily quit slapping at the upholstery. “You’re showing off again, but at least this time it was effective. What did this spell do? Other than sling fire and dirt around Hodge’s living room, that is.”

  “It’s a Finding spell, of sorts.” Cullen rose, dusting off his jeans. “One I adapted from a couple of Cynna’s kielezo. I’ve used it to find haunts, but couldn’t be sure it would react to traces of the scattered dead.” He frowned. “I expected the dust to go flying. I wonder why the fire did, too.”

  “Figure it out later.” The scattered dead: that had an ominous ring. “Are you telling me we’re after a ghost?”

  “Yes and no. He’s more of a ghost-maker, like the ghosts said. But he’s definitely dead. Well, mostly dead.”

  “Mostly?” This was one of the want-to-punch him times. “I’m sure that means something.”

  “I’m afraid this is one of those good news, bad news deals, love. The good news is that I can tell you what has been possessing people.”

  “And that would be?”

  “A wraith.”

  She frowned, trying to match the word with anything she’d heard or read. “Doesn’t that just mean ghost?”

  He shook his head. “Ghosts occur naturally from time to time, and are almost always harmless. Wraiths are far from harmless. And far from natural.”

  “Keep talking.”

  “They …” He ran a hand over his head, spiking his hair. “I’m laying this out poorly. I’ll start with the historical record. Wraiths existed in the past, but there hasn’t been a confirmed account of the creation of a wraith—”

  “Creation?”

  “Yes, they’re made, and yes, that means you have a human practitioner to look for. Don’t interrupt,” he said, scowling. “Let your questions pile up while I lay out what little I know, which is … ambiguous, unsteady, unreliable.

  “As I was saying,” he continued, beginning to pace, “I’m unaware of any confirmed accounts of a wraith for perhaps two hundred years. I have reason to think their absence is mostly due to a lack of available power, not the eradication of spells to create one. Because the accounts are so old, most of what I tell you is anecdotal at best. The stories often contradict each other … but there are stories of wraiths in almost every culture. Hungry ghosts, they’re sometimes called, or the scattered dead. They both create and consume death magic.”

  “How—”

  He stopped, fixing her with a firm stare. “Hush. There are a few, very few, mentions of possession by wraiths. I would have called those bits highly apocryphal, but it looks like they were accurate. I need my references.” He brooded on that briefly, then resumed his restless motion. “Almost all of my texts and scraps of texts are back home. Cynna’s going to check them for me.”

  “You talked to her about it?”

  “Yes. She has a Vodun acquaintance, a mambo—that’s a female priest—who has told her a few things about wraiths. They could be complete fabrications, made up to frighten or impress. The woman is not exactly reliable. But Vodun deals with spirits, so its practitioners are probably the best contemporary source on the subject.”

  He paused again, his expression intent. “I’ll give you a summary of the things that hold true in most of the stories, both those I’ve heard about or read and what Cynna’s contact told her. First, wraiths are created by a practitioner delving into forbidden arts. That part’s solid. To create one, the practitioner must blend magic and spirit in a—call it an unholy manner. It may be an attempt to create a soul-slave. That’s not solid, but it has a good probability.”

  “What’s a—”

  “Save it. Second, wraiths may or may not be able to kill directly—that’s one of those areas where the stories contradict each other—but they can certainly hasten death for the ill or infirm. They feed off the act of dying, the transition from mortal to something else. In feeding, they create damaged ghosts. And no, we don’t know why. Normal ghosts fear the damaged ones and the wraiths who make them. That’s what tipped me off that you had a wraith here.

  “Also, I have reason to believe it would take either enormous power or skill on a level of an adept to create a wraith. There aren’t any adepts around, so I believe yours was made during the power winds of the Turning. That’s the only time there would have been enough free magic available. All right.” He gave her a single nod. “Ask your questions.”

  “Why do you think it would take so much power?”

  Magnificent blue eyes narrowed in irritation. “I should have known. How is it you’re able to zero in on the one thing I don’t want to talk about?”

  “Sheer, mind-boggling talent. Usually the things people don’t want to tell me are exactly what I need to know. So talk.”

  “All right, all right. It won’t help you, but I don’t want you wasting your delightful obsessiveness on a distraction. I once saw a spell intended to create a wraith.”

  She took a quick step closer. “You saw it? But of course that helps. If you know how they’re made—”

  “I don’t. I burned it.”

  Lily stared. “You burned it.” She shook her head. “I would have voted you the man least likely to destroy any spell, no matter how icky.”

  His face was tight. “Icky. That’s one word for it. There was a … miasma about the very parchment it was written on. A foulness. Two layers of reality, and the one underneath was …” He lifted both hands. “I can’t describe it to one who doesn’t see what I do, but that spell was abomination.”

  “If you burned it, how do you know it would take so much power?”

  “I read part of it before I realized what it was.”

  “So what do you remember about it?”

  “I don’t,” he said curtly. “I have been careful not to remember. There was this compulsion … Mind you, this was before I had my shields. Years before. I think the spell may have drawn me to it.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “A sentient spell.”

  “Hardly. But there was something about it, something that could crawl inside you … Evil accumulates, just as holiness can.” He shrugged. Cullen was as uncomfortable discussing religion and spirituality as she was. “The point is, I saw enough to understand that there were two ways to implement the spell. One required great knowledge; the other, great power.”

  She took a moment to order her questions. “What’s a soul-slave?”

  “Probably impossible, but during the Purge some sorcerers were accused of trying to create one by binding a soul after death.” He shrugged. “I’ve never put much store in those accusations. Sorcerers were also accused of eating babies and drinking the blood of virgins—anything to whip up enough hysteria to do the job, which was killing, maiming, and blinding people like me. Some of whom, admittedly, were not nice folks, but the wholesale butchery … Well, that’s not today’s subject, is it?”

  “Okay, You said wraiths hasten death. Hospitals have dying people. What can we do to protect them?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Cullen—”

  “A really strong protective circle might work. I could make one that would, but I can’t make one that strong that’s larger than about ten feet. And I can’t spend all my time at the hospital, holding a circle around one or two patients.”

  She took a breath, let it out slowly. She’d come back to that later. “Next question. If the spell was cast at the Turning … that’s nearly seven months ago, but it gives me a place to start. Are there likely to be any unusual ingredients? Stuff I could trace?”

  “Blood and death. The practitioner needed blood from someone who was dying. Then he needed their death. It takes a death to make a wraith.”

  Of course. Of course. Lily tapped her fingers on her thigh. “Then I need to find out who died at the Turning. Someone in Halo or nearby, right? If a wraith is like a ghost that way, I mean. Ghosts are bound to a place or, more rarely, an object.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “You’ve done some homework.”

  She waved that away. “Ruben had this panel about it. Is a wraith like a ghost? Bound to a certain area?”

  “Most likely, yes. If the stories are true.”

  Progress. “I’m looking for a violent death, right? Death magic requires violence.”

  “A wraith creates and consumes death magic, but the spell to create one—damn, how to put this? The spell is just that, a spell. A relatively simple working, not a ritual. I suspect any death could be used, but the spell caster would have to be present at that death.”

  “So I’ve got two perps, and one of them, the spell caster, is human enough to arrest.” That pleased her on several levels. “He or she would have been present when someone died at the Turning. That gives me something solid to look for. When we find him or her …” Lily frowned, turning it over in her mind and not liking what she came up with. “I guess we get the human perp to stop the inhuman one.”

  He sighed. “You’ll remember I said this was a good news, bad news deal. We’ve arrived at the bad news.”

  “Persuading the perp won’t be easy. The law wasn’t designed to cover this sort of situation, but maybe with the promise of a reduced sentence—not that the bastard deserves it, but …” Cullen was shaking his head. “What?”

 

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