Mortal Sins (19 page)

“Any she could cast, yes. I could set one it couldn’t cross, but to be sure of that, I’d want prep time. Spur-of-the-moment circles wouldn’t be strong enough.” He glanced at Rule, easily keeping up. “Are we going somewhere in particular?”

“No. You told Talia to pray before setting her circle.”

“Certainly. First, it helps her accept that her Gift isn’t evil, and neither is the circle she’ll cast. Second, there’s my original training. Wiccans believe mediumship is a Gift connected to the spirit element, so prayer should help her connect with her Gift. Third, with a new practitioner, confidence is half the battle. If she believes God is helping her set her circle, she’s a lot more likely to do it.”

“Did you lie to me about the risk to Toby?”

“More or less.”

Rule stopped and swung. Cullen—damn him—ducked and danced back, ending up several feet away. Rule stood, chest heaving, hands clenched.

Cullen’s face was as carefully blank as his voice. “You need to scrap a bit before we can talk?”

“No.” It took another minute, though, to fight back the need to attack something. Anything. “Maybe afterward. It’s a good thing you’re fast.”

“I think so, too. Are you able to listen?”

Rule nodded once.

“First, the part I lied about. Lupus boys who feel the pull of the Change well before puberty do have a much greater chance of incurring the cancer when they reach First Change.”

Rule’s lips were numb. “How much greater?”

Cullen shook his head. “Insufficient data. Back when I was researching the cancer, I did find two adult lupi from different clans who’d experienced an early pull but did not go on to develop the cancer. No doubt there are others I didn’t find, but there’s no way of telling how many. But among the young lupi who did develop the cancer, the correlation seems to be one to one. I spoke with the families of thirty youngsters who developed the cancer. All of them said the boy had experienced an early pull.”

He paused. “You know that Etorri are especially prone to the wild cancer, but the bump in occurrence at adolescence is very small.”

Rule nodded. It was all he could manage.

“There’s a reason for that. Before I tell you, I’ll have your promise not to repeat this to anyone. That includes Isen.”

“What?!” Rule stared at his friend. Cullen’s face was stony. He meant it, meant that he’d go no further without Rule’s word to keep this from their Rho. Why would . . .

Because it was an Etorri secret, of course. A secret that Cullen had kept all these years, even as a lone wolf rejected by the clan. “Does Isen know you’ve held back Etorri secrets from him?”

Cullen nodded stiffly. “Before the
gens amplexi
, I told him there was an Etorri matter I was honor-pledged to withhold from him, but that it posed no threat or trouble to Nokolai. He allowed it.” A very small smile. “He did ask me not to go out of my way to reassure Etorri. He was amused by the notion they would be wondering if their secret was out.”

That sounded like his father. “Very well.”

“You promise not to repeat what I’m about to reveal about Etorri?”

“I do.”

“Etorri has a way of reducing—almost eliminating—the incidence of the cancer at First Change.”

“They
what
?” Etorri the honorable—the most revered clan, the most trusted. “They can keep it from happening and
they haven’t told anyone
?”

“Their method is not available to anyone except Etorri. You know what the Lady promised Etorri after Liguri’s sacrifice at the end of the Great War.”

“That his clan wouldn’t die.” And it hadn’t. Liguri—the single Etorri who’d survived that conflict—had been altered in ways that set him and his descendants apart; the magic was too wild in them, leaving them even less fertile than other lupi. In the long centuries since, the clan had nearly winked out of existence more than once. Yet Etorri persisted. It remained by far the smallest clan, yet it never died out.

An idea hit so hard that Rule felt it in his chest, stealing his breath. “Are you saying . . . Liguri of the Three Mantles? He’s the only lupus to have carried more than one, and he—his descendants—have suffered greatly from the cancer. Is Toby in danger because I’m carrying more than one—”

“No. Listen. Listen to me. After Liguri’s sacrifice, the Lady altered Etorri’s mantle. Among other things, this alteration makes it possible for them to save those of their youth who might otherwise succumb to the cancer at First Change.” He drew a breath. “The Etorri Rho holds about half the clan’s mantle. The rest is held by all adult male Etorri.”

For a moment Rule couldn’t take it in. If Cullen had said, “All adult Etorri are female,” it would have made about as much sense. Women couldn’t Change. Mantles couldn’t be held by anyone except the Rho and his heir. “You mean it’s held by them?” he said at last, speaking carefully. “Not that they are part of the mantle. That they
hold
part of the mantle.”

“That’s right. At First Change, the mantle is . . .” He paused, scrubbing a hand over the top of his head. “Words don’t fit well, do they? But as I understand it, in other clans a youth at First Change is exposed to the mantle by being surrounded by clan. With Etorri, the mantle is actively shared. That’s what keeps the cancer away, Rule. Holding a bit of mantle.”

Rule was still trying to get his mind around the impossible. It wasn’t just that he’d been told it was impossible, though he had. As one who carried parts of two mantles, he
knew
it was impossible. “Mantles despise division. They are . . . Their very nature is to unite.”

“I told you,” Cullen said, “the Lady altered Etorri’s mantle. Ah . . . it may ease your conscience about keeping this from your father to know that the Rhejes are aware of the nature of Etorri’s mantle. That part’s in the memories.”

“I don’t see how it could be altered so much it accepts division. I don’t see how the clan functions when members don’t have their places clearly set by the mantle.”

“But they do. Everyone holds part of it, but not equally. The mantle itself decides how much each one will hold.”

Rule shook his head. “I don’t disbelieve you, but I don’t . . .” Realization hit. “Good God. You carried a portion of the mantle, then. When you were kicked out of Etorri—”

Cullen had gone white around the jaw and eyes. “Yes. Until then, I held part of the Etorri mantle.” His smile held nothing resembling humor. “Actually, I was third in line for the Rho’s job, based on how much I held. That’s one of the reasons they were so strongly disinclined to allow me to remain clan. Can’t have a sorcerous Rho.”

Rule struggled to understand. How could they have done that to Cullen? To make him outcast was terrible enough. To take away the portion of mantle he’d
held
. . . “Just how different is the Etorri mantle?”

Cullen’s shrug lacked its usual fluidity. “Put it this way—the mantle was willing for me to remain Etorri. Never mind that.” His quick gesture banished the past. “The point is, Rule, Toby needs to be given a portion of mantle to hold at his First Change. The mantle will reinforce his pattern, not allowing the cancer to get a start.”

“Holding a Rho’s portion didn’t reinforce the pattern for Victor Frey.” Frey was dying of the wild cancer even as they spoke—slowly, yes, sustained by the Leidolf Rhej’s healing Gift, but dying.

“Victor is 160 years old. I’d say the mantle did a pretty good job for the first 159 years of his life.”

Rule took in a slow breath. Released it just as slowly. “Very well, then. The Nokolai mantle won’t accept splitting the way Etorri’s does. My father will have to be persuaded to make Toby his heir instead of me. It’s a break with tradition, naming an heir too young to function as Lu Nuncio, but—”

“Rule.” Cullen shook his head, sighing as if Rule were a slow pupil. “You have two heirs’ portions. By the time Toby hits First Change, Victor will be long dead. If you’re Leidolf Rho, you can give Toby the heir’s portion of that mantle.”

TWENTY-SIX

AT
two o’clock, Cullen sauntered into Lily’s temporary field office in the sheriff’s building. Two of her people were there—Brown and Brown Two—and a couple of deputies. She’d just finished briefing them on their new hunt: for a death. One that occurred on the day of the Turning.

Deacon, who’d been out of his office since before lunch, escorted Cullen in. “Ran into this guy downstairs. He claims he’s one of your people.”

“He is. I told you to expect him. Everyone, this is Cullen Seabourne. He’s consulting for me.”

“Yeah?” Deacon gave Cullen a head-to-toe look-over. “Looks like a Hollywood type, not a cop. An actor, maybe.”

Cullen smiled sweetly. “No, I’m a stripper.”

Lily rolled her eyes. Cullen never tired of his favorite punch line. “Retired stripper, and currently a consultant for the Unit, Sheriff. Like I told you.” She felt like the kid who’d been followed home by a disreputable mutt.

Not that Cullen resembled a mutt, but he had the disreputable part down.

“Christ, woman, would you close your mouth?” the male Brown said to the female Brown. “You’re getting drool on your chin.”

Brown Two shot him a venomous look—but she did take up the slack in her jaw.

“Okay, could we talk about the case for an eensy moment here?” Lily said. “Cullen’s going to brief you on wraiths.” She’d skimmed that explanation earlier, waiting for the expert.

The expressions on her team’s faces ranged from skeptical to incredulous. Except for Brown, of course, who remained as generically disgusted as ever. “Never thought I’d be taking ghost lessons from a goddammed stripper,” he said, stuffing another piece of gum in his mouth.

Cullen beamed at him. “Nonsense. I’m officially undamned, and I’ve got the holy water to prove it. My wife insists I keep some with me, just in case. Never know when you might trip over a demon, right? The briefing’s in just a sec, kiddies.” He turned to Lily. “I’ve got a—”

“You’re
married
?” Deacon exclaimed. “I thought you were a w—uh, a lupus.”

“Oh, I am. I’m also a newlywed. Ring’s still shiny.” Cullen held out his hand, ostentatiously admiring the gold band.

Lily said dryly, “Cullen’s goal in life is to be the exception to every rule.” In this case, he claimed that the Turning provided the exception. There was some reason to think the influx of magic since the Turning would improve fertility for his people, so the ban on marriage could be dropped. Maybe he’d be proved right . . . eventually. So far the birth rate hadn’t changed. “You can congratulate him later. I’d like to get some work done.”

“So driven. So masterful.” Cullen offered her a sly grin, and the rest of them a little bow. “I need a moment to confer with your fearsome leader. Then I’ll tell you my ghost stories.”

He dug in his pocket as he crossed to Lily. “You need to have a word with the Etorri Rhej,” he said much more quietly, handing her a wrinkled scrap of paper with a phone number scrawled on it. “I called ahead and arranged it. She agreed, but you need to call now. She’s got an appointment in thirty minutes.”

“Thanks. Could you try to act like a grownup for a while? I’d like them to take this seriously.”

“I’ll use visual aids. Everyone loves visual aids.” He turned to grin at the others. “As I was saying, children—the first thing you need to accept is that I do know what I’m talking about. So gather round the campfire, now . . .”

Lily gave up on making him behave and made the phone call. The line was still ringing when he showed what he meant by visual aids. A small blaze sprang up in his palm. It was a pretty little fire, crackling merrily, though unusual—and not just because it was cupped in a man’s hand. It was green. Bright, springtime green.

“Show-off,” she muttered.

“Not usually,” said an amused feminine voice in her ear.

Lily winced. “Ah—Serra.” That was the honorific for a Rhej; they were never addressed by name. “This is Lily Yu. I was watching Cullen play with fire.”

“I see.” The woman chuckled. “He does enjoy that. Now, I hate to rush you, but I have an appointment. Cullen said you’re dealing with one of the scattered dead.”

“That’s one of the terms he used for it. Mostly he calls it a wraith.”

“The memories refer to wraiths as the scattered dead. I’m afraid I have very little for you, but that’s one small point—the name for these creatures in the memories. They’re scattered, not whole. That, and the fact that they eat deaths.”

“Is eating death the same as death magic?”

“Similar, but . . . I suppose it’s like the difference between a farseeing spell and a farseeing Gift. Both a wraith and death magic make use of death as a transition, the power involved when we cross to the next state. A wraith consumes that power, leaving the souls unable to transition fully.”

“Creating damaged ghosts?” With half an ear Lily kept track of what Cullen was telling the others. So far, it was the same as what he’d told her. The two Browns and the deputies seemed to be paying attention.

“Yes. Normal death magic . . . good God, that sounds awful. As if it could ever be normal! I mean that death magic generated through ritual uses a relatively small portion of the energy released by a dying. Such magic is ugly and horrible, but the souls involved are usually able to move on.”

“The wraith is more efficient, I take it. It uses—eats—most of the power released by death.”

“That’s pretty much it, yes.”

“Can these damaged ghosts hurt regular ghosts? The, uh, young medium I spoke to . . . I think Cullen was going to put her in touch with you.”

“Talia, he said. Yes, I’ll be calling her after I get back from the job interview.”

Job interview? Wasn’t being a Rhej enough of a job? Lily banked that question for later. “She said the other ghosts were afraid of the damaged ones. What could harm a ghost?”

“Frankly, I don’t see how a ghost could be harmed, but there’s a great deal I don’t know. They may simply be afraid of what, to them, is a terrifying condition. Those souls are truly trapped.”

“I thought that was true of all ghosts.”

She chuckled. “No, most of them are merely stubborn. The ones who linger, that is. Ghosts are actually common as dirt—”

“Yeah? That’s not quite what the other mediums said.”

“Not many mediums are as good as I am,” she said without a trace of brag in her voice. “Though it may also be a matter of language. Some mediums consider the newly dead to be distinctly different from ghosts. I disagree, but whatever you call them, most of the newly dead move on within an hour of crossing, often within seconds. Those who don’t move on fast enough harden into ghosts. I think of ghosts as souls with memory problems.”

“Memory problems?”

“Sure. They may be fixated on one particular memory, often of their own death. Sometimes they’re hung up on the memory of a wrong they did someone—that was the problem of the haunt at Cullen’s wedding, you’ll remember. Or they may be suppressing a memory, sometimes of dying, sometimes of something else, and they can’t move on until they allow themselves to experience that memory.”

Souls with memory problems. Lily shivered. Was that what would happen when she died? Would she become a ghost? Most of the time she couldn’t remember what the other-her had experienced. “Will destroying the wraith give those damaged ghosts back whatever was taken from them?”

“I don’t know. I pray that it does.”

Now for the big question. “Do you know how to destroy the wraith, or stop it?”

“No. I wish I did. Whoever created it has trapped it in a terrible state. It must be suffering greatly.”

“Hmm.” Lily couldn’t summon much sympathy for the wraith, but maybe that’s because she couldn’t imagine what it
was
. Did it think, feel?

At that moment Cullen stopped talking to glance at his hip. “Just a moment. I’d better see . . .” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. It was a snug fit. “I need to take this call. Hey, gorgeous.” Then: “You’re
what
? Dammit, you were headed home! You said . . . All right, you didn’t explicitly say, but you let me think . . . That’s not the point, dammit!”

Lily grinned. That had to be Cynna calling. Which brought up another, unrelated question . . . “May I ask you something off-topic, Serra?”

“Sure, if it’ll take five minutes or less.”

Cullen was scrubbing his hand through his hair, scowling as he listened to whatever Cynna had to say. Lily watched him as she asked, “Why did you go to Cullen and Cynna’s wedding?”

“You know, you’re the first to ask me quite so directly. Most clan treat us so . . . carefully.” She was amused. “Of course, we’re careful, too. We almost never offer advice unless we’re asked, and not always then. The Lady doesn’t want us directing the clans, so we’re cautious with what we say.”

Cullen strode over and thrust his phone at her. “Here. The crazy woman wants to talk to you.”

“Just a sec. Serra? That didn’t quite answer my question.”

“I suppose not. The realms have shifted, though, haven’t they? The world is changing. It’s possible the clans will decide to change, too. And now I’m going to break my rule and offer one bit of advice. You know that the Lady rarely speaks to us directly.”

By “us,” she meant Rhejes. “Yes.”

“She occasionally gives guidance in one other way—through a mate bond. So that’s my bit of unsought advice. Listen to whatever the mate bond is telling you. And now I’m afraid I have to go. I’ve got your number. I’ll call if I come up with anything that might help.”

The mate bond was telling her something? Not in English, Lily thought as she disconnected and took Cullen’s phone. Or even Chinese.

It had forced the two of them to stay close, though. And the wraith had attacked Rule once, out in the woods. Was the mate bond telling her Rule needed her protection?

She set that aside for later and took Cullen’s phone. “Hi, Cynna. I take it you’re the crazy woman Cullen referred to.”

“Hah! As if he has any room to talk. Did you know there’s a television show about pregnant women?”

“Uh—yes, I think I’ve heard of it.”

“I was channel surfing last night and saw those big bellies. Hooked me right in. Those women had every kind of complication—preeclampsia, prediabetes, pre-I-don’t-know-what-all. I am never watching that show again. You wouldn’t believe what I dreamed.”

“I’m kind of hoping you won’t tell me right now. Middle of a case, cops standing around listening . . . you know.”

“Sorry. Pregnancy hormones have scattered my brain to hell and gone. I only hope I get some of the pieces back after the little rider pops out. Anyway, I just finished talking to that Vodun priestess I told you about.”

“I thought she won’t tell you anything over the phone.”

“Or without an infusion of cash, which is why I flew to D.C.—and flew first class, too, thanks to the upgrade Ruben okayed because of me being pregnant, so there’s no reason for Cullen to be in such a snit. It’s not like I have any edema. But he thinks I’m going to disintegrate or something if I go anywhere without him.” Her voice softened. “It’s kind of sweet.”

Lily studied the pacing sorcerer—who wasn’t burning anything, but he didn’t look close to “sweet.” Not unless you got mushy about explosions. Okay, really sexy explosions.

He was muttering something under his breath . . . cigars? He was muttering about cigars? Lily shook her head. “So what did the priestess tell you?”

“It’s what the Baron said through one of the congregants at the service. She had to hold a service, see, to give the Loa a chance to come through, and the one who showed up was the Baron. Ah, Baron Samedi is one of the Ghede Loa, or maybe the father of them. His favorite offerings are cigars, rum, and sex.”

“Cigars? What could an immaterial spirit—” Lily shook her head. “Never mind. What’s a Loa?”

“The major spirits who act as intermediaries between us and God. According to Vodun, anyway—I don’t agree, but then, I’m Catholic. But the Loa are real, whether you invest them with religious purpose or not. This Baron Samedi is in charge of graves and death, and boy, is he pissed. He did not like it that someone made a wraith. He said you have to get the wraith’s name. Well, actually, he said that if you don’t get the name, you’re in deep shit.”

“Good to know,” Lily said dryly. “He couldn’t help out a little more? Like, for example, by telling you the name.”

“Either he doesn’t know it or he can’t tell. He did have some advice, though I think he considered it orders, not advice. Some of the Loa are pretty bossy. He said to salt the grave once you find it, and when you have the living one who made the abomination—he meant the wraith—you should salt her palms.”

Lily felt questions piling up. “Her?”

“Yes, he said the practitioner who made the wraith is a medium. He used another word for it, but Thérèse says that’s what it means—spirit-talker or medium.”

Thérèse, Lily assumed, was the priestess. The
mambo.
“What does the salt do? Will it kill the wraith or stop it?”

“Actually, it’s supposed to help the wraith hold together.”

“Not a priority of mine,” Lily said dryly.

“I think you should do it, Lily. This Baron is no one to mess with, and he was clear about the salt.”

“You think it’s better if the wraith is, ah, more together?”

“Maybe it’ll be less likely to kill. I don’t know, but in magic, dry salt is often used as a fixative. Not salt water, mind—that has different properties. But you can use salt to fix in place a circle or a spell. So I’m guessing that maybe the salt will ‘fix’ the wraith to its grave, but I don’t know. It might do something else entirely.”

Great. “I’m supposed to send cops and federal agents out to find graves, armed with saltshakers?”

“It’ll take more than a saltshaker, I think,” Cynna said apologetically. “I’d guess a couple handfuls of salt per grave. Cullen can explain about that. Listen, Lily, the Baron said he’s coming down there to help.”

Lily wasn’t entirely sure what this Baron guy was, but she didn’t think she wanted him hanging around. “You have any idea what that means?” she asked cautiously.