Mortal Sins, page 9
part #5 of World of the Lupi Series
“Oh, yeah. I’ll give you the short version, because we’re leaving as soon as that luscious body I get to touch whenever I want to is covered—hey, no throwing things!” Lily assumed that bit wasn’t directed at her. “Full disclosure: I don’t know much about death magic.”
Lily paused a beat. “Inconvenient, yet reassuring.”
She could hear the grin in his voice. “That said, I’m eighty or ninety percent sure no one in this realm could perform the invocation ritual solo. And ritual is required—there’s no way of just slurping up power by killing people at random. Meacham couldn’t perform any part of that ritual, but it might—just might—be possible for him to do the killing. The power released by the deaths would be contained within a circle and absorbed by whoever created the circle.”
“The three victims were killed at some distance from each other, separated by walls. Doesn’t sound like there was a circle.”
“No. Bludgeoning with a baseball bat doesn’t fit what I know, either. But again, on this particular area of magical practices I am not an expert.”
“Get to the part about how using death magic is different from invoking it.”
“It’s possible to create a charm or talisman even a null could use. Hellish hard, but it can be done. So technically, it’s possible for someone like Meacham, someone without magic, to have used a talisman.”
“Talisman?” Her heart gave a sudden, scared jump in her chest. “Is that another way of saying artifact?”
“Not exactly, but you probably aren’t interested in the precise definitions.”
“No, I’m not.” Absently, Lily rubbed the place on her stomach where the skin was shiny-smooth … a burn scar. Cullen had given it to her last year, but she didn’t hold it against him. Not considering the alternative—an ancient staff powered by death magic in the hands of the man it had driven mad. The staff had been used to control others.
It had also sent Rule to hell, along with part of Lily. The part that ended up dying there.
“Déjà vu all over again?” Cullen said gently. “I don’t know what’s going on in Halo, but it’s not the staff. I burned it, Lily. Mage fire doesn’t leave any remnants behind, not even ash. That staff is gone.”
“Okay.” She grabbed a good breath and let it out. “Okay, that’s not it, but I hope you’ve got some ideas to offer in its place.”
“Three possibilities.” She heard what sounded like the trunk of a car slamming, followed by Cynna’s voice, indistinct in the background. “One: someone discovered yet another powerful ancient artifact and is feeding it. Two: your perp or perps discovered or invented a kick-ass coercion spell and forced Meacham to kill his family, somehow using those deaths to gain power themselves. Three: your victims were killed, and Meacham coerced, through some unknown but innate magical ability.”
Lily didn‘t like any of those possibilities, but … “Number one’s the simplest.”
“Not really. Hold on a minute.”
Cullen told Cynna to chill, that he could drive and talk at the same time, at least until they hit the highway. That last was a concession to Cynna’s condition, Lily figured. All lupi had fast reflexes, but Cullen’s were off the charts. He could probably drive, talk, and play with fire—literally—and still react quicker to traffic than most people.
She heard a car door close. “You still there?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah. You don’t like Door Number One?”
“I included it only to be thorough. Even if we ignore the fleetingly small chance of yet another ancient artifact turning up—and recent experience to the contrary, they remain more legend than reality—power like that tends to draw attention. Earth isn’t interdicted anymore. If an ancient artifact turned up here, maybe blown in by the power winds, all sorts of bad-asses would have hoofed it to our humble little realm and be duking it out now for possession. Hard to miss that sort of thing.”
That made sense. “And Door Number Two? Coercion spells aren’t supposed to work.”
“Yeah, but if someone invented one that almost worked … maybe that’s why Meacham’s nuts and his family’s dead. The spell sent him into a homicidal frenzy instead of making him do … whatever. Not that I really think that’s what happened—it doesn’t explain the death magic—but I can’t rule it out.”
Meacham didn’t seem a likely target for some hotshot coercion spell. What could he have had that anyone wanted? “You’re going for Door Number Three—an innate magical ability. But it wasn’t a demon, Cullen.”
“Maybe the traces of demon magic faded before you touched the bodies.”
She rubbed her temple. “Possible, I guess, but I’ve found traces lingering more than two weeks after someone made a demonic pact. That’s not the same as possession, but … shit, I need to know more. Do demons use or, ah, invoke death magic?”
“You can consult about that possibility with my resident demon expert here, after I get off the phone. Which will be in a couple minutes. We don’t know much about out-realm beings, do we?”
“You think something crossed during the power winds. Not an artifact, but a—a being or a creature.”
“I hate to say yes. It’s here-there-be-dragons thinking—we don’t know what’s out there, so we draw whatever shapes suit us. But that does seem the most possible of the possibilities.”
“This creature would—well, feed, I guess. That’s what you mean. That it uses the energy generated by death magic.”
“I don’t know. I could draw some pretty shapes for you, but I do not know.” And ignorance pissed Cullen off. “And even my best possibility doesn’t really fit, dammit. It doesn’t fit all the facts.”
“What do you mean?”
“Lily, you aren’t thinking. Death magic clung to your corpses and to Meacham for four days, but it didn’t cling to Rule for more than moments. It knocked him out, then just went away. And there is nothing I know of to explain that.”
Shit. Double shit. That should have jumped out at her, the one variation in a solid pattern.
“Somehow he shed death magic like a duck sheds water,” Cullen was saying. “And no, that doesn’t sound like any natural lupus ability I ever heard of. Unless there’s something about being two-mantled … I don’t see what, but there’s a helluva lot I don’t know about mantles.”
“You must know more than I do. You’re affected by one.”
“You can be affected by sunlight without knowing shit about photons, frequencies, or nuclear decay. You need to talk to Rule, maybe Isen. Someone who’s carried a mantle or part of one.”
“I’ll do that. You have any other ideas?”
He didn’t. He made a vague promise to see what he could turn up. The vagueness meant he didn’t want to tell her what kind of stones he’d be looking under, but she had no problem with that. He passed the phone to Cynna, who snorted at the notion of a demon using death magic.
“But they eat something other than flesh when they eat an animal,” Lily said. “Or each other.”
“Well, yeah, but … look, it isn’t the same. Most of us—people who’ve, uh, studied this—think demons eat the life energy of whatever they consume, but it’s a biological energy. Material. Probably magical, too, since they get the memories of whatever they eat. But death magic involves spiritual shit. Demons can’t touch the spiritual shit.”
“By spiritual shit, do you mean souls? Karonski wasn’t at all sure souls were affected by death magic.”
“Yeah, but Abel is Wiccan. Wiccans focus on this life, not what comes after. They don’t talk much about souls. They don’t really have a theory or dogma about what souls are.”
“I suppose you do?”
“Sure. Your soul is the part of you that loves. Say, what do you think about Daniel Abel?”
The part of you that loves. It couldn’t be that simple …
“Lily?”
She tried to remember what Cynna had just said. “What about Abel?”
“Daniel Abel. For the baby’s names. His middle names, that is, because I think kids should have their own first names, but the middle one, that’s a good place to connect him to people who matter. So I was trying to decide between Daniel and Abel, because I’d like him to be connected to my dad, but … well, I wouldn’t have gotten straightened out without Abel, you know? Cullen thinks we could give him two middle names. Do you think that’s too much?”
“Two’s okay. You probably don’t want to go for three. What about his first name?”
“Still stuck there.”
“Well, if you do name your baby for Karonski, I want to see his face when he finds out. He’ll melt right down to goo. Listen, I’d better go.”
When Lily put her phone down, she was smiling in spite of the ache that had set up residence at the back of her skull. She glanced at the files, grimaced, and decided to retrieve her laptop before diving in. It was in the trunk of her car.
She needed to make some notes about her discussion with Cullen anyway, so this wasn’t entirely an excuse to get up and move. But it felt good to move, to hurry down the stairs and get a breath of muggy, unprocessed air when she left the building. It would have felt even better to just keep going. She needed a run.
That wasn’t happening anytime soon. In the morning, maybe.
She got her laptop and had just closed the trunk when she heard her name called. Turning, she saw a tall, thin man striding toward her from the far end of the building, his head thrust forward and long, skinny legs covering ground fast, like a stork in a hurry.
Lily sighed. Ed Eames was a reporter with the AP. She’d had some interaction with him in D.C., and he wasn’t a bad sort—the dim, amiable exterior hid a sharp mind and a bulldog’s tenaciousness, but he played fair.
“Can’t give you anything, Ed,” she said when he reached her, and almost managed to sound regretful. “Not even an off-the-record hint. It’s too early in the investigation.”
“Oh, well. Maybe later.” He smiled in that vague way he had. “That wasn’t why I stopped you, though. I’m the one with something to say off the record … about Alicia Asteglio.”
TWELVE
WINTER or summer, the backyard was Toby’s favorite place. He loved everything about it—the gazebo, the grass and flowers, the trees. Even when it was real hot, there was lots of shade.
Not that Toby really minded hot weather. Or cold weather, either, from what he could tell, though he hadn’t seen much really cold stuff, not in Halo. Dad said most lupi were like that, not much affected by hot and cold. The magic in Toby was mostly asleep still, but it was there and it had a pattern for him. He sort of leaned toward that pattern even now, years before he could run on four feet instead of two.
Dad started walking along the fence, moving slowly. It felt weird, walking around his yard like this with his dad. Soon this place would be for visits, not really his anymore.
Dad seemed to know that. “There’s a lot here you’re going to miss.”
“Yeah.”
“Make you mad?”
Toby stopped and stared. Sometimes Dad pulled the thoughts right out of his head, like there was a string attached to them he could tug on. “It doesn’t make sense for me to be mad. I want to go. I know it’s right for me to go. So how come it makes me mad when I think about not being here in my yard anymore?”
Dad smiled. “You’ve a strong sense of territory. Most of us do, but it’s stronger in some than others. You’ve been the only wolf here, so this yard is completely yours. It doesn’t matter to your wolf that your grammy is in charge—to him, she’s only in charge of your human self. So this place is yours in a way Clanhome isn’t. Clanhome is your grandfather’s territory—shared with all who are Nokolai, yes, but his. No matter how much you want to be there, you don’t want to surrender what’s yours.”
“Yeah! Yeah, that’s what it’s like. I want to be at Clanhome, but this … this is mine. Only how come I feel that way when my wolf’s still asleep?”
“Asleep or not, he’s there. Also, humans are almost as territorial as wolves, so the two instincts strengthen each other rather than competing. Though your wolf’s sense of territory may be somewhat different from your human understanding of it.”
They’d reached the back fence, where Grammy’s azaleas were thick and bushy and smelled so good. “I don’t think I can sort out what’s the wolf and what isn’t. It all feels like me.”
“It is all you. What did you dream last night?”
“Huh?” It took a moment to remember. “I was playing baseball, but there weren’t enough of us on the team and we were losing. The TV people were there ’cause it was a big game, and one of them had a lot of dogs and the dogs wanted to play, too. Grammy said dogs couldn’t play baseball ’cause it wasn’t in the rules, and how would they hit the ball? But you said it was okay, so then the dogs got to be on my team. And then we started winning.”
Dad’s mouth crooked up and his eyes went all pleased, as if that silly dream meant something to him. “The Toby who dreamed about baseball isn’t exactly the same Toby who plays baseball, is he?”
“Oh.” He thought that over. “I see what you mean. When I’m asleep, things seem different from when I’m awake, and I know different things and all. But it’s all me.”
Dad nodded. “For now, your wolf is sleeping so deeply that the awake Toby doesn’t know what the sleeping part knows. It’s like when we can’t remember our dreams—that doesn’t mean we didn’t dream. Just that our dream self is too distant from our awake self for us to claim the memories. After the wolf wakes and you take that form, you’ll remember that part of you all the time. You’ll see many things differently. Some of those differences will be confusing.”
“I know that,” Toby said, impatient. It wasn’t like they’d never talked about this before. “Confusing” meant that when First Change hit, his wolf would be real strong and people would smell like food, so when he was twelve he’d go to terra tradis, where everyone was lupus, so he didn’t hurt anyone. He’d have to stay at tradis after the Change, too, and be home-schooled there, but he’d probably be able to go to a regular high school.
That’s what he planned, anyway. Uncle Benedict said not to count on that. Most new wolves weren’t ready to be around humans all the time, not until they were real old—maybe eighteen. But some of them managed it younger. Dad had. Toby figured he would, too.
They’d finished their circuit of the yard, ending up near the patio. Dad stopped and turned to him. “I told you last night I had some clan business to take care of while I’m here. Because your grammy was present, I didn’t say which clan.”
“Oh. Oh! You mean you have to do Leidolf business? That’s why we’re going there?” Toby’s nose wrinkled. He didn’t like that Dad was connected to the other clan, who had been Nokolai’s enemies forever. Unless … He brightened. “Hey! Have you figured out how you can give the new mantle to someone else?”
Dad shook his head. “That won’t happen until the All-Clan.”
Toby didn’t exactly understand mantles yet, but they were sort of like magic blankets covering the clans, keeping everyone steady. It was supposed to be impossible for anyone to carry parts of two mantles, just like it was impossible to belong to two clans. But Dad was doing it.
According to Grandpa, that was the Lady’s doing, and maybe the reason for the mate bond between Dad and Lily. Grandpa thought the Lady used the mate bond—which came from her, after all—to help Dad because she wanted the two clans to be friends again. When Toby had asked Dad about that, he’d shrugged and said perhaps. That was one of Dad’s words—perhaps. He used it a lot.
But the Leidolf Rho was real sick and could die, and if he did, the whole mantle would go to Dad. Toby wasn’t sure what would happen then, but it must be pretty bad. No one wanted the whole mantle to go to Dad. Not even Grandpa. That’s why the Rhejes were going to shift it, but they had to all get together to do it, and that wouldn’t happen until the All-Clan, which was months and months away.
“Hey.” Dad ruffled Toby’s hair, then cupped the side of his head. “Don’t look so worried.”
“But if the Leidolf Rho dies and you have to take it all—”
“It will be okay. I’ll be okay, Toby. The Leidolf Rhej is a skilled healer. She’s keeping Victor alive, and I’m careful not to call on that mantle.”
Dad wanted him to feel better, so Toby tried. After all, even if the old Rho died right this minute, Dad had the mate bond, so the Lady could still help him. “You’ll be okay,” he echoed. “But I wish you didn’t have to do Leidolf stuff right now.”
“But right now I do have the heir’s portion, so in all honor I need to fulfill those duties their comatose Rho cannot. Two of Leidolf’s youngsters are ready for the gens compleo.”
Toby didn’t know much about the gens compleo, just that it was when a lupus was accepted into the clan as a full adult. But he knew it involved the clan’s mantle. “They—those youngsters—they’re already in the mantle, though, right? They’re already clan.”
“They’re clan and past First Change, so the mantle knows them, but they aren’t of the mantle yet. That’s what the gens compleo is for.”
That didn’t really explain anything, but Dad said that talking about mantles was like trying to wrap up color in words. No matter how good your words were, they ended up pointing in the wrong direction. He also said that, for lupi, talking about the mantles was like talking about sex used to be for humans—something you did kind of hushed, where others wouldn’t hear.
That had made Toby snort. The grownups he knew here in Halo still talked about sex like that. “Hey—you made sure no one was listening, didn’t you? That’s why we went outside and walked around. So you could be sure nobody would hear us, because the mantles are the Lady’s secret.”
“That’s right. We keep many secrets from the humans around us, but only one at the Lady’s behest—the clan mantles.”
Toby nodded. The Lady wasn’t like Santa Claus. She wasn’t like God, either, who you had to believe in, but not everybody did, and even people who did believe argued about Him. But the Lady was real, one hundred percent, and the clans didn’t argue about her because the Rhejes had the memories of what she’d said, only mostly she didn’t talk to them or do much. But sometimes she did. “Lily’s human, but she knows about mantles, doesn’t she?”
