Blood Lines (35 page)

THE
hearse ahead of them was black and shiny in the late afternoon sun. For this, the sun had finally deigned to come out. That just pissed her off.

Lily was hungry, tired, worried . . . all right, not worried. Scared. She was scared on so many levels it was hard to keep track of them all. Rule was infected with demon stuff. Her mother wasn’t speaking to her. Her older sister was, unfortunately. The world was set up to be blasted with repeated doses of magic, changing everything, probably killing people. Demons were popping up all over, and an Old One who’d been around since before the big bang wanted to destroy the lupi, seize the Book of All Magic, and rule the world.

Her feet hurt.

She’d found Alexia Morgan, but she’d had to walk over half of Baltimore to do it. The woman hadn’t been at home, at work, or at her favorite bar. Lily had finally tracked her to a laundry center. But she’d struck gold once she found her, and now . . .

Now Cynna was handling the Chicago trip, she reminded herself. Cynna was perfectly capable of doing that while she, Rule, his brawny brother, and his sorcerous buddy followed a damned hearse whose driver thought it respectful to go fifty in a seventy-miles-per-hour zone.

Rule had just finished telling her Cullen’s theory.

“You waited on purpose.” She tried to keep her voice low. She really did. “You didn’t tell me about this Michael character and his possible connection to the Codex until we left. You wanted to keep me from telling Ruben or the task force.” This couldn’t be reported over the phone. No line was sufficiently secure to discuss the Codex Arcanum.

He didn’t deny it, which did nothing for her temper. “Goddammit, Rule, we can’t just sit on this! Admittedly it’s only a theory, but it fits. I have to—”

“Think,” he said coolly. “You need to stop and think before you do anything, which is why I waited. I wanted you to have time to chew over the options.”

She threw up her hands. “I’m an FBI agent. My
option
is to tell Ruben.”

“That’s one of them. He’ll have to tell the president, of course, who will need to speak of this with a few trusted advisers. Who will all advise her to get her hands on the Codex without delay.”

“And your point is?”

“What might the Pentagon do with the Book of All Magic?”

That stopped her for a moment. “What else can we do? Assuming it is here, and that we find it—pretty big assumptions, but let’s go with them for now. It isn’t up to us to decide.”

“Passing on what we know
is
a decision, and makes us culpable, in part, for what happens later . . . if your faith in the authorities turns out to be misplaced.”

“I trust Ruben.”

He thought that over, then nodded. “I do, too. I might even be willing to trust him with the Codex, if he, in turn, were willing to tell no one he had it. But whoever possesses it must be not only honorable but able to defend it against everyone who wants it. Which will include much of the rest of the world, once word gets out.”

“Other worlds, too,” Cullen put in from the backseat.

She drummed her fingers on her thigh, counted to ten, and said to Rule, “Why don’t you yell when you get mad?”

“I prefer to throw things,” he said dryly.

Cullen snorted.

She turned to glare at him. “And why are you here, anyway? I understand why Benedict’s with us.” And was damned glad of it. Benedict had agreed to leave the other bodyguards at the house—Toby needed protection, too—but he’d flatly refused to let Rule travel to Leidolf territory without him. “But you don’t serve any purpose on this little outing.”

That amused him. “Sure I do. Decoration. I may be useless, but I’m pretty.”

“You’re not useless. Annoying, infuriating, arrogant, but not useless. But I don’t see why it’s okay for you to accompany Rule if other Nokolai can’t.”

He shrugged. “Leidolf may object, but I’m not seen as a threat. They’ll probably shrug and let me in.”

“But they know you’re a sorcerer.”

“Most lupi disdain magic, aside from the Change.”

Benedict’s deep voice came as a surprise. It often did, both because of the bass rumble of it and because he so seldom spoke. “Cullen will try to learn the extent of Victor’s illness.”

“You sound like you already know what his illness is.”

“There aren’t many possibilities,” Rule said, slowing as the hearse did. They were nearing the turn-off for Nutley. “Cancer is the most likely.”

“Cancer? But I thought lupi healed malignant cells along with everything else.”

“Normal malignancies, yes,” Cullen said. “But there’s a form of cancer peculiar to our species. It only occurs at two points—early adolescence, when puberty and the first Change make wild alterations in the body, or in old age.”

Adolescence? She thought of Toby, and glanced at Rule.

He was watching the road or the hearse or maybe listening to his own thoughts, but he must have felt her looking at him. “It’s much more rare in adolescence than old age, fortunately. Nettie says that at the first Change our magic seeks a balance between rapid healing and cellular immortality. Since the only truly immortal cells are cancerous—”

“Cancer is immortal?”

“On a cellular level, yes,” Cullen said. “Do you want the geneticist’s explanation, or the simple one?”

“Simple, by all means.”

“Cells replace themselves through division. Cellular senescence—old age—is basically the loss of information needed for the cell to divide. Normal cells have what’s called a Hayflick limit. That’s the number of times they can divide to reproduce themselves, and it more or less determines how long an organism can live. Cancer cells duck this limit through an enzyme called telomerase. Telomerase keeps adding six-letter units to the telomeres—that’s the bit at the end of the chromosomal chain—so the cell can continue dividing, which means—”

“You’re sure this is the simple explanation.”

“Simplified to the point of absurdity. I haven’t even mentioned cross-linked proteins, AGEs—”

“Don’t.”

“Okay, okay. The point is that cancerous cells can divide indefinitely; regular cells can’t. We can’t study lupus cells in the lab to determine how they manage to duck the Hayflick limit, of course.”

“Cells from those of the Blood produce wacky test results.”

“Right. Separated from its organizing principle, our magic reverts to chaos. So, with no clinical tests possible, all we can do is theorize, but the most likely theory is that magic does what the telomerase enzyme does. It allows our cells to divide without losing information.”

Lily thought she followed his reasoning. “And that’s what you said cancer does, only it uses this enzyme instead of magic. So if something’s a little off with the magic, you get cancer instead of mega-healing.”

“Bet your teachers loved you. Yep, our magic works great as long as it conforms to its organizing principle. When it doesn’t, we sprout cancers. Multiple, systemic cancers.”

She considered that as they followed the hearse in a stately procession. “There seem to be a lot of cars headed for Nutley.”

“I noticed,” Rule said grimly. “I think we’re arriving with half of Leidolf. Randall’s memorial will follow Paul’s tomorrow. The clan is coming for that, both out of respect and because Victor will call the naming then.”

“You mean he’ll name the new heir tomorrow?”

“No, that’s when he sets the date for the ceremony. Traditionally the Rho calls the naming, then speaks the names of those of the blood—the ones who potentially could carry the mantle.”

“But it always goes to a son of the Rho.”

“Almost always,” he corrected. “The blood is strongest in a son of the Rho, but others in the clan will have founder’s blood, too. We’re hoping like hell Victor breaks with that particular tradition.”

“But could he name Brady? I thought the heir had to have at least one son.”

“Brady sired twin sons several years ago. One was stillborn, but the other lived a few days. Technically, that qualifies him, but the clan won’t like it. I’m not sure they’d accept him.”

“Do they have a choice?”

“There’s the testing. It’s part of the ceremony. Victor names his heir, then he’s tested.”

“Challenged, he means,” Cullen put in. “That’s one of the reasons for the wait between calling the naming and holding it. It gives the clan time to talk over who will handle the Challenge. When Rule was named, of course, there wasn’t any question about that. Benedict Challenged.”

“What?” She swung around to stare at the big man. “You Challenged Rule? Fought him?”

It was Rule who answered her. “If the heir can’t command the most powerful fighter in the clan, he can’t be Rho. I wouldn’t call Benedict’s Challenge a formality,” he added with a thread of amusement, very dry. “He made me work. But if he hadn’t been willing to have me as heir, I wouldn’t have won.”

“There’s always at least one Challenger,” Cullen said. “No matter how popular the choice of heir. But there can be more. If Brady is named, I’m betting there will be plenty.”

“Is he likely to win a Challenge? Is he a good fighter?”

Cullen sighed. “He’s good. Rule could take him. So could Benedict, but that goes without saying. I’m not sure who within Leidolf—”

Benedict spoke in his deep, quiet voice. “Victor will not name Brady unless he wishes his son dead. Alex Thibodaux is a good fighter, and he has honor. If Brady is named, Alex will Challenge and kill him.”

That notion seemed to brighten everyone’s day.

THE
little town of Nutley looked worn but not worn out—lived-in, Lily decided, mentally comparing the streets they passed to the map she’d studied. She liked to know where things were, just in case. They were second in a small line of vehicles behind the hearse, whose driver held to his principles and drove below the speed limit.

She returned to the cancer question, turning her head to ask Cullen, “What’s this organizing principle you mentioned?”

“If you figure that out, let me know.”

Benedict spoke quietly. “Some say it’s purely physical, that the magic takes its template from our bodies. Some say our will or intent shapes it. And some believe the Lady creates a pattern for each of us.”

She twisted further to look at him, sitting directly behind her. “Which do you believe?”

“If it came from the Lady, it would work all the time. No one would develop cancer. If it came from our bodies, we’d all be about thirteen years old, physically—the age of our first Change, when the magic arrives. If will or intent formed it, old bastards like Victor would live forever. He’s got the will for it.”

He’d just eliminated every theory he’d mentioned. “But what do
you
believe?”

“That the adolescent cancer arises when a lupus’s body tries to reject the magic, and the two battle instead of melding. That we live to a certain age because we’re supposed to. That some suffer cancer in old age because sin has twisted their magic.”

“Sin?” she repeated, startled. It was the last thing she’d expected from Benedict. “That’s . . . very biblical of you.”

And it was all he intended to say, apparently. He didn’t respond.

“Benedict can be downright Old Testament at times,” Rule said, “for someone who was raised to follow traditional Navajo beliefs.”

They were climbing now, leaving Nutley behind. Lily tried to set her mind on the case, on what their options would be if the Chicago lead didn’t pan out. But she was so damned aware of Rule she couldn’t concentrate.

It still hit her at times, this physical draw. Mate bond or love? She wasn’t sure—was no longer sure it mattered. But it embarrassed her to feel this physical acuity with others present. It wasn’t arousal, precisely, but it led that way.

Still, she found herself watching him. Warm afternoon light slid over his face, marking the strong cheekbones. She loved his eyebrows, those winged slashes so much more expressive than her own. His hands on the wheel drew her gaze. Strong hands, long fingers . . . gold glinted at his wrist. He’d worn a watch today; he’d didn’t always. The cuffs of his dress shirt looked very white against his skin and the dark wool of his suit jacket.

Like most of the Western world, lupi wore dark colors for funerals. But they wore them for all important ceremonies, also. Black, deepest blue, and charcoal represented the depths through which the moon moved.

At least, that’s what they wore when they wore anything at all. Lily was glad this wasn’t one of the skin-only ceremonies. Not that she’d have had to strip—nudity was required only of those who might Change. But where do you look in a crowd of naked men?

She was pretty sure where her eyes would be drawn.

Since nudity was, thankfully, not called for, Lily had packed her best black slacks and jacket; she’d wear a dark blue shell beneath. Funeral colors weren’t necessary until the memorial tomorrow. Though Paul would be buried tonight, only his closest kin would be present for that. Lupi considered burial a private business.

The coat Rule had given her was slung over the back of the seat. The cleaners had delivered it just before they left. She wished they’d been a few hours slower. Paul had bled into that coat.

The hearse was slowing. Its turn signal came on. Nearly show-time, she thought as they, too, slowed for the turn.

The hearse bumped off down a dirt road. They turned—and stopped abruptly. Three men wearing blades much like Benedict’s had stepped in front of their car. Lily glanced at the others. They seemed calm, as if they’d expected this.

One of the men stepped up to the window, which Rule opened. “Nokolai isn’t welcome here.”

“I’m accompanying the body of Paul Chernowich—as you know.”

“He isn’t.” The guard jerked his chin toward Benedict in the backseat.

“If there is a ceremony, Nokolai must witness it as well as Leidolf. My brother accompanies me for that and because of the threat of demon attack, not from any lack of respect for Leidolf. My Chosen is with me,” Rule added. “It would be odd if I—or Leidolf—refused her the protection my brother can provide.”

The guards discussed it among themselves, then consulted someone via cell phone while four cars behind them waited. The hearse waited up ahead, too, its driver having realized his escort was detained. Eventually the guards announced that Benedict would be allowed onto Leidolf land if he surrendered his right to Challenge.