Blood Challenge wotl-7 Page 4

  Robert Friar had started the rounds of the talk shows the day after she and Rule announced their upcoming marriage at a press conference. At first he’d hit the hard-right radio shows, then FOX, and now a couple mainstream news pundits had had him on. Any controversy was good controversy when you had twenty-four hours to fill with something vaguely news-related.

  Friar called Lily’s relationship with Rule bestiality. He wanted the California government to rule that a lupus couldn’t marry a human. On his last appearance, he’d gone even further. He wanted to make it a crime for a human woman to conjoin with a lupus. That was his word—conjoin, as in “this unnatural conjoining of the races.”

  Lily ground her teeth as she scrubbed her scalp.

  Friar knew—everyone knew—that lupi were always male. If he could eliminate all that conjoining, after awhile there wouldn’t be any more lupi. That would suit him. Oh, he didn’t come out and say he wanted an end to lupi and brownies and witches, to anyone of the Blood, anyone with a Gift, anyone who carried the taint of magic. He was too slick to say that outright, talking instead about legal remedies.

  So she had to go to Chicago. She had to try to get him to show his true colors.

  And it was sick to be wishing for a triple murder by some whacked-out witch to keep her here. She shut off the water and grabbed a towel.

  Lily worked for the FBI’s Unit Twelve, which on paper looked like part of its Magical Crimes Division. MCD usually handled the more routine cases, while the Unit got the weird ones. And Lily, because of her background as a homicide cop, often got the ones involving dead bodies.

  Not always, though. At the moment she had four open cases and nary a murder in sight. One case was all but closed. A pissed-off girlfriend had cursed her cheating partner—who, as it happened, was also female—and had left plenty of non-magical tracks for Lily to follow, which was fortunate. A good curse was hard to track magically.

  Not that Lily could do that, anyway. She was a touch sensitive, able to experience magic tactilely, but she could neither work magic nor be affected by it. Mostly she liked it that way.

  The curse Sheila Bickner had plucked from the Internet wasn’t all that good. It had made the victim seriously ill, but that was more a matter of the practitioner’s power than the curse’s efficacy. At least that’s what Lily had been told by the experts—the Wiccan coven who would be doing their thing today, tracing the curse to its caster to tie up the last bit of evidence.

  The courts accepted very little magically produced evidence, and then only from Wiccan practitioners. That was being challenged in court as a religiously biased criteria—which, of course, it was. Lily expected the criteria would change. She just hoped the congressional committee working on a new bill came up with something reasonable before the courts struck down the old law.

  Two of the other cases were both felony theft involving magic. So far, she was ringing up a big zero on both of them. The warehouse theft shouldn’t even be hers, she thought as she slathered on lotion with sunscreen. Magic had been used to gain access, sure, but otherwise it was a straightforward burglary. It would be solved by regular police work, which was best carried out by regular cops.

  She’d talk to Ruben about handing that one back to the locals, she decided as she gave her hair a quick blast with the blow-dryer. No time to dry it completely, but she could keep it from dripping.

  The other case was relatively minor, but she wasn’t letting it go. It involved theft by magical means of a controlled substance—gadolinium.

  Gadolinium was a rare earth metal with a handful of legitimate applications, but it was best known as the key ingredient in gado. Gado was the drug the government had used to control lupi—any they could identify, that is, and register—until the Supreme Court put a stop to it.

  Gado stopped the Change. It also tended to drive lupi insane.

  The amount of gadolinium that had been stolen from a medical lab was quite small, but Lily meant to find out who had it before he or she used it to make some lupus miserable. Or dead.

  Then there was the task force. Lily shook her head and pulled on underwear, bra, black slacks, and a black tank. She wore a lot of black, too, she admitted. But only because it was easy, not because she was working on a certain look. Black slacks, black tee—add a colorful jacket to hide her weapon, and she was good to go.

  It wasn’t that the task force wasn’t important. It was. There was a new drug on the streets in California, one with a magical component, and several agencies—federal, state, and local—were working together to stop its spread. Lily had personally confirmed that magic was involved by touching one of the very few samples the DEA had. The street name for the drug was Do Me, which pretty much said it all. Best date rape drug ever, from all accounts. It only affected women; it was impossible to detect within a couple hours of ingestion; and there were no known side effects. Just lust, and lots of it. The only upside was that there didn’t seem to be a plentiful supply.

  So it wasn’t the task force itself that bugged her. It was her role on that task force. She was liaison for MCD. Being liaison meant she went to meetings, reported to Ruben on those meetings, and now and then passed on a request from some other agency for information.

  It did not mean investigating.

  Lily stepped into her flats, slipped on her watch, then her shoulder holster, and grabbed a jacket at random. It turned out to be one of her favorites, a pale turquoise with oversize buttons. She glanced at the time. Looked like she’d go makeup-free today. She took one more second to grab a scrunchy and stick it in her pocket. It had been way too long since she had her hair cut, and it was long enough now to get in the way if she didn’t do something with it.

  She called out as she slipped on the jacket, “Toby, we should be able to make it. Got your books?”

  No answer. Frowning, she hurried to the living area.

  Rule stood near the dining table, his expression wiped clean. “Toby’s gone. I asked Jeff to take him this morning.”

  Lily stopped. “Something’s wrong. Something’s happened.”

  “While you were in the shower, I heard from Alex about a Leidolf clan member, Raymond Cobb. At one thirty this morning East Coast time, Cobb was at some sort of party. A human party, not clan. He killed three people and injured ten others before the party’s host retrieved his rifle and shot him.”

  FOUR

  THE overhead fan clicked with every revolution. Need to get that fixed, Benedict thought. Could come a time that small sound masked another small sound, one Isen needed to hear.

  It was easier to think about the fan, about security issues, than about why he was here, in his father’s big, comfortable den. Benedict had been in charge of security at Clanhome for thirty-one years. He was good at it. Some might say he was obsessive, but his obsessiveness had paid off more than once.

  Aside from the fan, the room was silent. The silence, the waiting, was hard. He’d given his report. His Rho needed to know what took place on Robert Friar’s property last night.

  Everything that took place.

  “You’re sure you don’t need Nettie to take a look at that arm?”

  “It’s been eighteen hours. It’s almost healed.” Fire enough bullets and even a slow, sense-dead human could hit something, but Benedict was still annoyed that he’d been clumsy enough to pick up a wound from a ricochet.

  “Eighteen hours. Yes.”

  Benedict neither tensed nor looked up. He sat on a large hassock with his back to the fireplace, leaning forward with his hands clasped between his knees. His palms were damp.

  “I won’t tell you were derelict in your duty, waiting so long to report,” Isen said. “You already know that, and I understand why you delayed. Have you spoken to anyone else about this?”

  He shook his head. “I won’t. Not yet. Not until …” He didn’t know how to end that sentence. What conditions could he place on this? It was out of his control. Entirely out of his control. “Not yet.”

&n
bsp; “The Rhej has to know.”

  “I hoped that you would tell her.”

  Another pulse of silence. “I can do that. She’s sequestered with Cynna now, but I can go up there and wait. Sooner or later, she’ll be free to step outside and see what I want. You want this kept quiet.”

  “I need time.” Benedict’s fists clenched. “I’ll tell Nettie. She deserves … I have to be the one to tell her. But no one else. It can’t be kept secret long, but a day, two days … I need time.”

  “Where are you now?”

  The simple question sent the past shuddering through him. It had been forty-two years since Isen had needed to ask him that: Where are you now? Back then, he’d answered many different ways: the abyss, her grave, the desert, I don’t know but it’s dark and the darkness has teeth …

  Today he said, “A swamp. Quicksand, gators, mud, mosquitoes. I need …” He squeezed his closed fists tighter. “I need dry land, but I don’t know where it is.”

  “Are you fit?”

  The blunt question steadied him. “I’m functional, but not stable. I want to go to my cabin. A week, maybe two.”

  “No.”

  That brought Benedict’s head up, anger blazing through him.

  Benedict’s father—who was also his Rho, leader of his clan—sat in his favorite wingback chair. Isen Turner was burly, bearded, and nine inches shorter than his oldest son. He looked to be in his fifties, though unusually fit for that age. He was ninety-one. His eyes were sad, but there was no give in his expression, none at all.

  There never was when he gave an order. “Is my Rho speaking, then?”

  “Yes, although your father and your Rho agree on this. As Rho, I need you here, even if you don’t have your head straight. Too much hinges on the heirs’ circle Rule has called.”

  Benedict stared blankly. He’d forgotten the meeting of Lu Nuncios. How could he have forgotten something so critical?

  “You’ve done all the setup for security already, but I can’t have you holed up in your cabin now. Given the current tension—”

  “Because my brother decided to get married.” He kept his voice level. He wanted to spit.

  Isen’s voice sharpened. “You know better. Some are upset about that, yes, but it’s the union—or what they fear is a union—of Leidolf and Nokolai that worries the other clans.”

  Benedict took a deep breath and let it out, forcing his body to relax. Isen was right. Nokolai’s relationship with a couple of the clans had been troubled ever since the Leidolf mantle was forced on Rule. It could grow worse at any moment—especially if anyone realized the truth about those two blasted Leidolf Rule was having trained as guards. “My apologies. My reaction … that’s why I’m not fit. I’m not thinking clearly.”

  “Clearly, you aren’t,” Isen said with a thread of humor that quickly evaporated. “What you don’t know because you’ve been hiding it is that a Leidolf lupus went crazy last night. He killed three people and injured several others before someone put a couple bullets in him.”

  Benedict’s head jerked up. “Beast-lost?”

  “No. He stayed two-footed.”

  “That’s bad. You have a name?”

  “Raymond Cobb.”

  The small jolt of surprise landed him a few steps closer to normal. “Ray Cobb?”

  “You know him?”

  Benedict frowned. “Not really. He took second in the pole vaulting at the last All-Clan, though. Fifth in shot put. Competed in wrestling, too, but didn’t place. He’s got the strength, lacks the speed. Good control, though. I’d have sworn his control was good. He was attacked?”

  “Apparently not, but Rule had very few details when he called. He’s headed to Tennessee now.”

  “The circle—”

  “Will proceed as planned on Monday, unless Rule finds the situation to be more than it appears right now.”

  Benedict nodded slowly. Whatever had gone wrong with Cobb, the meeting was too important to delay. “Rule took guards with him?”

  “Two of the Leidolf guards, yes. Lily’s with him, of course. She’ll be handling the investigation, such as it is. It sounds open and shut, from a legal standpoint. Plenty of witnesses, Rule said.”

  “Is Cobb still alive, then?”

  “He’s hurt, but not dead.”

  Benedict considered consequences. “Is Rule going to announce himself to the press as Leidolf Rho?”

  Leidolf clan had vehemently opposed the mainstreaming Isen promoted. The previous Leidolf Rho had forbidden any of his clan to live openly as lupi. Rule had lifted that ban, but hadn’t yet announced the existence of the clan to the press, or his position as Rho.

  Isen chuckled. “I asked. He told me it was my son and heir who’d called me, not the Leidolf Rho, but if I wished to speak to the Rho he’d see if he could arrange it.”

  Benedict’s eyebrows shot up. “And did you?”

  “He gave me to understand that he hasn’t told Leidolf his plans yet, so he couldn’t tell me.”

  Benedict supposed it didn’t matter greatly. Humans wouldn’t care that it was a Leidolf lupus, rather than a Nokolai, who’d killed. Their fear would encompass all lupi, and their fear was dangerous. Dealing with the human world was Rule’s job, and Isen’s, but threats from that world were his business. Keeping Clanhome and his Rho safe were his business. He couldn’t retreat to his cabin.

  Isen said simply, “Ben.”

  His father was the only one who called him Ben. No one else did, including his Rho. It was his father he’d hear from now. Benedict swallowed. “Yes.”

  “That swamp you’re in—that’s the past. No one could blame you for bogging down in it now. How could you not? But you won’t find dry land holed up in your cabin away from everyone. Just more swamp.”

  “I don’t understand how the Lady could do this,” Benedict burst out. “I don’t understand at all.”

  “I don’t, either,” Isen said gently.

  “It’s never happened twice to one lupus. Once is rare. Twice is …” Benedict shuddered. His father was right, as usual. He couldn’t run away from this. He had no choice but to stay and face it. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I haven’t been scared like this in so long. So long.”

  “You don’t know anything about her other than her appearance?”

  Benedict had given her physical description to Isen in his report: late twenties or early thirties. Five-seven, skinny, pale skin, glasses, wildly curly hair tied back in a ponytail. He didn’t know what color all that frantic hair might be, save that it was neither especially dark nor especially light. Wolf eyes saw well in the dark, but they didn’t pick up colors at night.

  He knew how she smelled. He hadn’t tried to describe that, or its effect on him. He knew she’d been afraid the whole time—before she saw him, the moment she saw him, and while he walked beside her. She hadn’t let the fear interfere. “She knew what I was.”

  “Did she?”

  “From the moment she saw me.” Never mind what she’d said. The ghost of a smile touched Benedict’s lips. Nice doggie. “She didn’t freak about me staying with her. She tried to persuade me to go, but she didn’t freak.”

  Isen nodded. “That’s encouraging. And, as the proverb says, ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ She enjoys sneaking around Friar’s property at night, which isn’t the act of one friendly to the man.”

  Dryly, Benedict said, “I don’t think she was enjoying herself. Aside from the danger, which she seemed well aware of, she has a physical impediment of some sort. Hip, maybe knee, on her left side. I couldn’t tell.”

  “You said she twisted her ankle.”

  “There was something off in her gait before that. It’s slight, nothing obvious, but it’s there. I’d guess it’s something she’s used to. She wasn’t paying attention to that leg the way she would have if it were a recent problem.” She hadn’t been paying attention at all, which was why she’d ended up on her ass.

  And then he hadn’t paid attent
ion. He’d stumbled across the ward, attracting the guards, and had been forced to leave her to draw them away. “She’s got a Gift,” he said suddenly. “I don’t know what kind, but she knew about the ward. She knew exactly where it was.”

  “Your brain’s starting to work again.”

  Benedict grimaced. He should have thought of that earlier. He should have thought of it last night, at least by the time he circled back to follow her scent and make sure she’d gotten away.

  But he hadn’t been thinking. Just feeling, feeling way too damned much. “A Gift’s not the only possibility. Could be she has something like that fairy dust Seabourne made for me.” The magical powder Seabourne had rubbed on Benedict’s pads made them tingle when he drew near a ward. That’s why he’d been at Friar’s last night—marking the wards the wolf way, with a few drops of urine, so his people could keep an eye on the man without tripping the wards.

  “Could be. You’ll have to ask Cullen how likely it is someone other than him could stir up something like that.”

  Cullen Seabourne was Nokolai … now. He’d been born Etorri, but had been kicked out of his clan years ago because he was also a sorcerer, which went against the way things were supposed to work. Lupi didn’t work magic. They were magic. They for damn sure weren’t sorcerers, able to see magic.

  Cullen Seabourne was and did. He broke rules. That had been survival for him during his years as a lone wolf. If he’d accepted the usual way of things, he’d have killed himself—either in a straight-up suicide or by losing control in some devastating way that led to him being put down.

  Lupi weren’t meant to live clanless.

  Benedict respected the man, even liked him. But he didn’t want to see Seabourne now. He was too raw. One smart-ass remark and Benedict might go for his throat. “I will,” he said, rising. “But later. If I’m not going to go to my cabin, I need a workout.”

  “I’m feeling some sympathy for Pete,” Isen said dryly as he stood. “Don’t bleed him too much.”

  “I won’t damage my second.”