Ritual Magic wotl-10, page 4
part #10 of World of the Lupi Series
Lily had met three of the people with Miriam. The fourth was new to her—a short, square little woman with thick glasses and a blond braid. Lily gave the group a nod. “I know Jack and Gail and Warren,” she said, “and this is—?”
“Abby,” Miriam said and clasped Lily’s shoulders in her hands, looking down at her with dark brown eyes. “Abby Farmer. You haven’t worked with her before. She’s new to the coven and is an extremely strong and capable Earth witch. Lily, I am so very sorry about your mother.”
Sympathy affected Lily the way peanuts did some people. Her throat closed right up. She nodded stiffly. “Thanks. She’ll be okay. Now, I’m sure Ida or Ruben briefed you, but—”
“It has to be terrible for you, working this as if it was just another case. Anything I can do to help, I will. We all will.” Miriam glanced at the others, who murmured agreement or nodded.
She could start by not looming over Lily. Miriam’s personal space dial was set to Italian or something. She always stood too close. “Thank you,” Lily said again. And if you hug me, I’m going to belt you. “We need to know several things that I hope you can help with. First, though, I need you to certify that . . . damn.” The electronic gong muffled by Lily’s pocket was a ring tone she didn’t hear often. Grandmother did not like talking on the phone. “I need to answer this,” she said, pulling out her phone. “Cullen, could you brief Miriam and the others?”
“Sure. Here’s the deal, Miriam. Once you’ve run the basic tests for the record, I’d like to try a variation on a seek spell with . . .”
Lily stopped listening, moving away as she thumbed the answer button. Her heart pounded. If it was bad news, surely it would be Rule calling, not Grandmother? “This is Lily.”
“Do not be alarmed,” Grandmother said crisply. “Julia is resting. However, there is disagreement about her treatment. I may revoke my approval of doctors. You are needed here.”
* * *
RULE had always known his people were at war.
Long before his First Change, he and Steve and the others in their age cohort had killed thousands of dworg. Dworg made satisfying monsters because they were not wholly imaginary. Extinct, yes—or so everyone believed—but the clans had fought the real thing in the Great War. Sometimes Rule had died heroically in those battles, like Arnos of Etorri, but mostly he’d preferred to emulate Kierran or Tel—heroes who survived to fight another day. Those ancient tales were the stories he’d listened to, played out, and grown up on. All lupi did.
Human history had no record of the Great War. Not surprising, given that it ended over three thousand years ago . . . or so its other participants thought. Not the lupi. War didn’t end until your opponent was dead or had submitted irrevocably. The enemy they had been created to defeat was an Old One, as incapable of real submission as she was of dying. She might have been temporarily defeated and locked out of their realm, but the war hadn’t ended.
For over three thousand years, each generation of lupi had been raised knowing they could be the ones called upon to resume the war. So Rule had always known that his people were at war, yes, and that his could be the generation called into battle . . . much as he’d grown up knowing the Russians might decide to drop nuclear bombs on his country. It could happen. It probably wouldn’t, but it could.
Unlike the lupi’s war, the Cold War had ended. And as year rolled into year it had been easy to believe that his generation, too, would live out their lives in relative peace.
One year and four months ago, the Azá tried to open a hellgate.
He and Lily and a great many others had stopped them, but they’d known she was behind the attempt. Persuading the other clans of this had been difficult until last September, when the Lady spoke through the Rhejes to announce the resumption of the war. In October, the battle had gone hot. Even humans knew a little about it now—at least, they knew about the battles at the Humans First rallies. Most had some idea of Friar’s connection to that carnage, though they didn’t know about the Great Bitch and her plans for their world.
A few did, however. At the FBI and in the White House, they knew.
It was one thing to know you might be called to war. It was another to fight it.
Rule leaned his head back in the uncomfortable chair beside Julia’s bed and closed his eyes, relieved that she slept at last. Relieved for both of them. Dealing with a sad, frantic twelve-year-old was not easy. But with his eyes closed, the sickness came back, a sickness that pounded in him like a drumbeat.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
What had been done to Julia was hideous, obscene, wrong on the deepest level. And his fault.
That wasn’t true. He knew that, dammit. How could he have anticipated such a thing, much less kept it from happening? He pushed to his feet and then stood there, trying not to pace. Deep inside where that drumbeat pounded, words held no sway. Deep inside, he knew only that he’d failed. Failed Julia and failed Lily. Julia was part of the war because of him. It had been up to him to protect her, and he’d failed.
He took a slow breath to calm himself. God, he hated hospitals.
His eyes fell on the black leather purse sitting primly on the beside table. Edward Yu was a highly logical man, yet he’d insisted that Julia should have her purse. That made no sense. All the familiar detritus of Julia’s life had no meaning to her now, but logic broke down under such an onslaught of emotion.
There was a slim leather folder tucked into one outside pocket of that purse. His heart heavy, Rule pulled out that folder. He knew what it held—a notebook containing all the plans for the wedding, written in Julia’s slanting, impeccable script.
Lily often found her mother difficult, he knew. He understood why, but he’d enjoyed collaborating with Julia on the wedding. She was pushy, yes, and inclined to hold a very high opinion of her opinions. But once they’d established that Rule could not be pushed somewhere he didn’t wish to go, they’d dealt with each other quite well. Julia was a natural organizer, and she’d taken such pleasure in arranging her daughter’s wedding. Every detail interested her. Every detail mattered.
Every detail was written down in the notebook he held now. That was fortunate, for Julia remembered none of them now. Sorrow tightened Rule’s throat. He tucked the folder into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.
On the other side of the door to Julia’s room, Chris spoke. “Madame Yu is coming with a lady who looks like the one you’re expecting.”
“Very good. Admit them when they arrive.” Grandmother had arranged for a family member with a nursing degree to relieve Rule. The woman had been chosen for her training, of course, but also because the twelve-year-old Julia hadn’t known her. Julia was most distressed by those she’d known who were now so much older. Rule had asked Grandmother to escort the woman here herself. He had guards at the door to Julia’s room and guards with the rest of her family . . . guards who would be useless against the kind of attack that had struck Julia, but it was all he knew how to do. All he could do.
Rule heard Chris’s respectful greeting. He carefully smoothed out his face. The door opened, and Madame Yu entered with a woman in her forties with the kind of cushiony body that made children think of laps, hugs, and cookies.
Madame Yu looked at Julia, then at Rule. She frowned. “You must stop that.”
He blinked. “Ah—stop what?”
“Never mind. We have no time now, but you and I will talk later. Jin, do you require anything?”
“Not a thing, Grandmother.”
Madame Yu was not this woman’s grandmother. Jin Zimmerman was the sister of a woman who’d married one of Lily’s cousins. But “cousin” was an elastic term in Lily’s family, encompassing first, second, and third cousins as well as their spouses, offspring, and sometimes other relatives. It could be confusing, especially since not all cousins were called cousin. Those of Lily’s parents’ generation or older were “aunt” or “uncle” to her generation—a more respectful title to indicate their status in the clan.
Not clan, he reminded himself. Family. The similarities between her family and his clan were obvious, but the differences mattered. Madame Yu might hold a position similar to Rho, but she had no mantle to enforce her will, nor would challenges to her authority be settled physically.
“Rule,” Madame Yu said, “this is Lily’s cousin Jin Zimmerman. Jin, this is Rule Turner. I go to the meeting room now. Rule, you will bring Lily there when she arrives.” Having delivered her instructions, she left.
“It’s good to meet you, Mrs. Zimmerman,” Rule said.
“Make it Jin,” she said placidly. “How’s my patient?”
“Physically well enough. Sam says she’ll sleep for at least eight hours, so your duties should be light.”
“Who’s Sam?”
“The black dragon. He put her to sleep.”
“Oh. Yes, I was told about that. He will take some getting used to. I’ve never had a dragon treating one of my patients.”
She didn’t seem alarmed at the prospect. “I’m not sure one can get used to Sam. He probably won’t bother you, however. I can’t say the same for some of the doctors.” Julia now had four physicians consulting on her case. He pulled out his card case. “You may want my number.”
Jin took his card and glanced at the bed where her patient slept. “Anything else I should know?”
Rule, too, looked at Julia. She was curled up on her side, one hand tucked beneath the skimpy pillow the hospital provided. There were still traces of makeup around her eyes. Her eyelids twitched in some dream, but she didn’t stir. He looked at her and all he could think was Wrong, wrong, wrong.
“I don’t think so,” he told her nurse. “Professionally, of course, you must obey the doctors. For anything that does not fall under their authority, heed what Madame Yu told you.”
“Oh, yes,” she said and settled into the chair Rule had spent too much time in. “I always do.” She pulled yarn and knitting needles out of the tote she’d brought with her. “She said Julia imprinted on you.”
Rule blinked. “She what?”
“Like a baby duck.” She wound yarn around one needle. “Madame said you were the first friendly face Julia saw after being robbed of her memory, and that was that. She fixed on you, just like a baby duck. Should I call you if Julia wakes and asks for you?”
“She shouldn’t wake before I return, but yes.” Rule gave her a nod and left, closing the door behind him. Two of his men waited there. Two more waited near the nursing station. He nodded at the two who would remain on guard and went to speak with José, who was in charge of the squad. Rule checked quickly with the mate-sense to see how close Lily was. There was time to update his father, so he made that call first, then said, “Everyone is in place?” to José.
José nodded, so Rule gestured at Barnaby and the three of them headed for the stairs. Barnaby had point; José followed three yards behind Rule.
It felt good to stretch his legs. They were only on the eighth floor, so he wouldn’t get to stretch them for long, but he savored the sensation. That was not the main reason he was avoiding the elevator, however. Their enemy could have tracked them to St. Margaret’s, and a gunman waiting outside the elevator could spray the interior with bullets the moment the doors opened. Rule didn’t consider a physical assault here likely, but why take a risk so easily avoided?
Especially when it felt so good to move. Defensive wars sucked.
Taking the fight to the enemy was sound strategy. Pity it had proved impossible so far. They had no way of reaching the Great Bitch, and her agent in this realm was a patterner, capable of twisting probabilities to his advantage. In other words, Robert Friar always had extraordinarily good luck. Neither the Bureau nor the clandestine group known as the Shadow Unit had been able to turn up a single lead to his whereabouts, so they were always reacting to their enemy’s latest attack, never able to attack first.
Barnaby reached the door to the ground floor and signaled. Rule stopped. Barnaby stood in front of the door, listening and smelling—he had an excellent nose even when two-legged, which was why Rule put him on point—then eased it open and stepped out and quickly to one side.
Rule waited until Barnaby reappeared and gave the okay sign, then followed him into the lobby. The admissions desk was unoccupied at this hour, but several people were passing through the lobby on their way in or out. A couple of men lingered, however—Santos and Jacob. They very properly paid no attention to Rule until he said, “With me.”
He hadn’t signaled for haste, so they walked over. He checked with the mate-sense again. “Lily will be here in about three minutes. Santos, obtain and hold an elevator for us, please. Jacob, beside me.” Eight flights of stairs were a pleasant way to stretch his legs, but a bit much for Lily when she was tired. The elevator should be safe. Their end point was secure; José had people stationed at the eighth-floor elevator. That wouldn’t help if someone stopped the elevator on another floor, but Rule knew a trick to prevent that. He signaled Barnaby to proceed, and he and his men headed for the revolving door.
St. Margaret’s main entry was in the newest part of the hospital and used the kind of oversize, automated revolving doors sometimes employed at airports and in large office buildings. When they reached it Rule waited while Barnaby checked with the pair of guards patrolling outside. Once Barnaby gave the all clear, Rule and Jacob went through together, with José following.
Rule stepped out into a cool San Diego night just as a black-and-white pulled up three cars away from the doors. It pleased him that he’d timed it so well. Lily was better than he at reading the mate-sense, but he was improving.
The patrol unit’s back door opened. Scott stepped out, slid a slow glance around, then nodded that it was safe. Good. Lily had come to understand the need for guards, but with more resignation than real acceptance. She didn’t always wait for them to check out an area.
Then the front door opened and the heart of Rule’s world stepped out.
Lily wore a blue linen dress banded at the yoke and hem in bright green that stopped well short of her knees. Lily had amazing legs. The rest of the world didn’t get to see them often, since her work wardrobe consisted of slacks—almost always black so she didn’t have to think about it—with a tee or tank and a jacket to cover her shoulder holster. She liked dresses, though. With this one she wore bright green ballerina flats and her cop face.
“Thanks,” she told the driver of the black-and-white and shut the door. Rule moved up beside her and they headed for the revolving doors together. Barnaby continued to hold point; Scott took Rule’s left; Jacob walked on Lily’s right side, blocking her from possible snipers.
“Have you learned anything?” Rule asked.
“Not much. I’ve sent people to talk to Friar’s daughter and to Jones.”
Armand Jones had been Robert Friar’s West Coast lieutenant in Humans First. Jones claimed to have ended the association; he was a Christian man, he said, and Friar now worshiped a false god. Accurate enough, as far as Friar’s allegiances went; Rule didn’t assume that point of accuracy made it true. As for Friar’s daughter, she was as much his victim as anyone, but it was possible he’d contacted her. Unlikely, but possible. “You assume Friar had something to do with this?”
“I’ll tell you when we can’t be overheard. Right now, Cullen’s working up a spell he wants to cast with Miriam’s coven. He’s going to be at the restaurant for several more hours.”
Her coolness didn’t surprise him. Her expression had already cued him to what she wanted—keep things crisp, brisk, professional. Stay in control. She could have that . . . for now. “Yes, he told me.”
“I wanted Scott to stay and guard Cullen. He refused.”
The heart of his world was angry. But not, he thought, about Scott, who would have obeyed almost any order Lily gave, save that one. As she knew very well. “There are a lot of police at the restaurant, I believe. Perhaps they’d object if someone tried to shoot Cullen.”
“You’ve suddenly decided that cops are adequate protection?”
“Better than nothing until the squad I sent there arrives.”
“And you didn’t tell me you’d sent a squad? You could have—no. Cancel that.” She drew a sharp breath as they moved into the revolving cage that gave access to the hospital and didn’t speak again until they emerged into the lobby. Then she said, “Could you please do something appalling so I’ll have someone to yell at?”
“Okay.” He stopped, took her arms in his hands, yanked her to him, and kissed her.
FOUR
SHARP pain stabbed down on his instep. A second blow took him in the ribs. Rule dodged the next blow and stepped back, pleased.
Unlike Lily. “Don’t look so damn smug! I don’t want to brawl in the middle of . . . no, I guess I do want to, but it isn’t a good idea.” She shoved her hair back from her face, looked around—a couple of people were staring—and sighed. “Is it catching? That desire all of you have to pummel someone to help you smooth out?”
As far as Rule could tell, the desire to pummel someone when you were upset wasn’t a lupus thing. Humans did it all the time. Unlike lupi, though, they could cause lasting damage if they struck out in anger, so they couldn’t afford to offer each other that simple means of relieving stress. “We could go out in the parking lot.”
She looked at him for a long moment. Finally the corner of her mouth turned up. Not a full smile, but a wry acknowledgment. “I’ve relieved enough stress for now, I think.”
He held out his hand. She put hers in it. Together they started walking again.
