Blood Magic (14 page)

All of them ended up injured, a couple of them badly. One of the gangbangers seemed to be permanently ensorcelled. He could speak only in nursery rhymes.

The Chicago incident had delighted some people. Jay Leno had told jokes about it for a week. That city’s dragon—he called himself Alec—had thoughtfully deposited the injured gang members on the roof of Cook County Hospital. While he’d declined to give a statement, he had offered one comment to the chief of police.

Turned out the one who now spoke in nursery rhymes had had his iPod turned up especially loud when he entered the lair. And Alec didn’t like rap music.

They were fortunate, Lily supposed, that no intruders had been killed. . . . as far as anyone knew. Since a dragon might decide to eat the evidence, that wasn’t certain. What part of “can’t sneak up on a telepath” did people not understand?

The narrow gravel road began climbing. Lily felt her heart rate climb, too.

Not because Sam would attack. He had informed them months ago that they would be allowed to visit occasionally, and Rule had done so. The first time had been an official welcome from Nokolai, in which Rule opened a discussion with the dragon about territory. He’d gone back officially twice and had made a purely personal visit recently, too.

Lily hadn’t.

“You okay?” Rule asked as he stopped the Mercedes in front of the gate.

“Sure.” Aside from cold, damp palms and an overly excited heartbeat. “I’m not scared of Sam.”

“Hmm.” He got out of the car, announced out loud that he and Lily were there to speak with Sam, and expressed the hope that their visit was not an intrusion. That was a courtesy, since Sam listened to minds, not voices—but he insisted that humans thought in such a cluttered way it was easier to “hear” what they meant if they spoke it aloud.

Lily took a slow breath, trying to settle herself. Rule hadn’t argued when she said she wasn’t afraid of Sam. He might have, though she’d spoken truly: she didn’t fear the dragon. It was the stuff in her own mind that made her palms sweaty.

Memory could be a bitch sometimes. Even the memories she couldn’t quite recall. Especially them.

It was a manual gate. Once Rule opened it, Lily scooted over to the driver’s seat so she could drive the car through, then wiggled back to the passenger seat to wait while Rule closed the gate again.

“I believe,” Rule said as he shut the door, “you might leave the bargaining to me.”

“You do, huh?” Her heartbeat was calming down.
See there
, she told her inner fearmonger,
that wasn’t so bad
.

“Cullen is clan as well as friend, so he’s mine to protect. If anything must be offered to gain that protection, that’s mine to give. And I can offer what you can’t—limited hunting rights in Clanhome.”

“Sam gets all the steers and pigs he wants.”

“He doesn’t get to hunt. Grabbing the animals released in this enclosure isn’t the same. I’m already negotiating with him on this.”

She looked at him, surprised. “You are?” She’d known he was negotiating something. He hadn’t talked about the terms . . . and she hadn’t asked, had she?

She’d been letting her fear control her. And hadn’t even noticed.

The road was climbing sharply now. Gravel crunched pleasantly beneath the tires. “We’d already have reached an agreement,” Rule said, “if he didn’t enjoy the bargaining itself so much.” He glanced at her, smiled. “Madame Yu advised me to bargain vigorously. Sam wouldn’t trust a deal too easily struck.”

Unconsciously Lily rubbed her breastbone again. Grandmother had survived wars, famine, and who-knew-what-all in China. In this country, she’d dealt with a minor god, negotiated with the president, and battled a really large demon. And those were just the things Lily knew about. Grandmother would survive whatever this adventure was, too. “What will Nokolai get in return?”

“A favor.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Just one?”

“That was our initial request. I’m allowing him to bargain me down.”

“Down? Asking for more than one favor is being bargained down?”

“A debt that accumulates over many years could end up as a very large favor. He doesn’t want that, so we’re discussing how often Nokolai has to clear its tab. He wants it done frequently, so he can pay the debt with small favors. Naturally, I want the opposite.”

“Hmm.” The road curved up and around, a pale scar on a sere brown slope surrounded by ruffled land. It looked a lot like parts of Clanhome, and if you went by air—the way Sam would—the distance between the two wasn’t great. By road it was much longer. “I wonder what Sam considers a very large favor.”

Rule snorted. “Anything that seriously inconveniences him, I suspect.”

“You like him.”

“I do. The wolf understands him better than the man does, but I . . .” Rule’s voice trailed off. He braked to a gentle halt.

They’d rounded a tall, knobby earth-shoulder. Ahead the gravel road petered out into a broad, flat expanse of bare dirt.

Lily had expected that. Rule had told her about Sam’s architectural efforts. He’d used the rock and dirt excavated from his lair to build a large landing pad or front porch—first the rocks to make it stable, then enormous amounts of dirt, tamped down and leveled off.

She hadn’t expected the brightly colored canopy over the bit of carpet set on this end of that long landing pad. Or the middle-aged woman in loose white pants and a blue, short sleeved shirt standing in that small pavilion, smiling at them.

“Well,” Lily said after a moment, “it looks like we’ve found Li Qin.”

SEVENTEEN

RULE
and Lily left the car where it was. Li Qin stepped out from under the striped canopy and offered a small bow as they drew near. She was a solidly built woman of uncertain age, her face square and plain, her voice inexpressibly pure and lovely.

“I am pleased to see you both,” she said in her precise, softly accented English. “I was about to have tea when Sam told me you would be arriving shortly. Will you do me the honor of joining me?”

“Of course,” Lily said, because it was impossible to be other than polite to Li Qin. She could see the tea things set out on the low table and cursed inwardly. Li Qin meant to prepare the tea properly, in the Gongfu style.

In other words, slowly. “Thank you. You honor us. Li Qin, is Grandmother here, too?”

“Ah.” Regret touched the placid features. “I did not think. Of course you might hope to find her here. I am sorry, but she is not. Rule, I believe you like your tea in the English style, but I’m afraid I do not have sugar or milk.”

“Your voice will sweeten it for me.”

She smiled. “You are kind.”

Li Qin’s smiles didn’t transform her face—it was still plain—and yet one smile always made Lily want to see another one. Which made it hard to speak bluntly. “Li Qin—”

“You have many questions. I understand. I will tell you some things while I prepare the tea. Sam will . . .” She glanced at the arched entrance to Sam’s lair, which was about fifty feet away horizontally and ten feet up. A hint of mischief lit her eyes. “I have won a bet with Sam. He thought you would not be here for several more days. He is sulking, but will be down later.”

Lily followed her gaze. The arch was high and broad, clearly shaped rather than natural. Shadows deepened to darkness immediately inside. She wondered how far back it went. Sam’s lair in Dis had been flush with the entrance, not set ten feet up like this one. It had been part of an extensive cave system. She remembered the way Rule-wolf had forced himself to explore it in spite of . . .

A sudden shiver shook off the memory.

Rule caught her eye, his brows lifting in a silent question. Lily settled for a small shrug. It hadn’t been her memory. Not precisely.

“Please be seated,” Li Qin said. She moved to a bright blue cushion on the far side of the table.

That table was square and black, highly lacquered—and familiar. Lily recognized it, as well as the items laid out precisely on its gleaming surface—the rimless cups set in the tray, the small clay teapot and
cha pan
, the wooden teaspoon, the kettle. The rug was new, an inexpensive sisal. The rest were from Grandmother’s store of treasures.

Why were they here? Why was Li Qin here, and not Grandmother?

For that matter, how was Li Qin going to make tea? Lily sat on a soft pink cushion; Rule lowered himself to the green one beside her. There was a kettle, yes, but no fire or heating element that Lily could see.

“I hope you will excuse me,” Li Qin said as she began measuring tea into the pot with the wooden spoon, “if I begin the story immediately rather than engaging in more traditional conversation while I prepare the tea. I feel you are somewhat pressed for time, yes?”

“Yes,” Lily murmured, relieved. To sticklers like Grandmother and Li Qin, this period would normally be spent in gentle inquiries into everyone’s health and other such gripping topics. Innocuous conversation, in other words, that was supposed to relax people.

Not that Li Qin needed help relaxing. Her voice and expression were entirely calm as she began. “Two days ago, your grandmother asked me to stay with Sam for my safety while she dealt with the arrival in this city of an old enemy.” She set the teapot in the
cha pan—
a large bowl—and lifted the kettle. “If you would, please, Sam?” She smiled at Lily, then at Rule. “I act as hostess, but you are Sam’s guests. He takes part in the preparation of the tea, also. Ah, is it ready? Thank you.”

Apparently Sam was the heating element. The water steamed as Li Qin poured it into the teapot, allowing it to overflow slightly. That’s what the bowl was for—to contain water and tea intentionally spilled. Deftly she scooped out a few bits of debris and foam, then placed the lid on top and quickly poured the water into the cups. “This enemy is a Chimei. Do you know the word?”

Lily shook her head.

Having filled the cups, Li Qin emptied them. The first brewing was considered inferior and was used to warm and prepare the cups. “In China it is believed that many types of spirit creatures exist.” She picked up the kettle, waiting for Sam to heat the water again. “Some are considered to be
gui
, which is that part of the soul that is separated from the higher soul upon death. Whether this is true of spirit beings I do not know, but it is not true of the Chimei. I am told the English word for such a being is
demon
, but it is a poor translation.”

“
Demon
is what everything gets called,” Lily agreed. “But it is misleading, as you say. As far as we can tell, demons as we know them in the West—the ones from Dis—never hung out in China. Grandmother told me that a lot of the Chinese folktales about demons are based on out-realm beings of different sorts, not spirits.”

“That is so.” Again she filled the teapot. This time, after replacing the lid, she continued to pour boiling water over the outside of the pot. “Dis does not connect well with China. Other realms do, however. Or used to. The Chimei is not from our realm.”

Lily shifted, not liking the direction this was going. “And this Chimei is Grandmother’s enemy. Why?”

“Many years ago, back in China, your grandmother killed the Chimei’s lover.” Li Qin held up a single finger, an expression of concentration on her face. Very swiftly she poured the tea.

“She—” Lily took a calm-me-down breath. The tea was poured. She had to
appreciate
it, not ask about unimportant things involving murder or survival. To do otherwise would be a terrible insult, and she could not insult Li Qin.

She gave Rule a look intended to convey this. He either caught her glance out of the corner of his eye, or he remembered her coaching from the time Grandmother invited him to take tea. He waited, as apparently unhurried as Li Qin.

Must have been the corner-of-the-eye thing. The moment Lily reached for her cup, he reached for his. Lily forced herself to hold the gently steaming cup near her face and at least look like she was appreciating the aroma—which was pleasant, of course, but did Li Qin really think Lily could pay attention to a scent rather than the fact that some unknown demon enemy was threatening Grandmother?

Apparently Rule could. “Entrancing,” he murmured, his eyes half closed as if he were immersed in the experience. “How is it a scent can both stimulate and relax?”

Li Qin’s smile held pleasure and a hint of surprise. “That is what the tea ceremony is for. We surrender urgency and clamor and find ourselves awake, calm, and able to focus. Do you have such a practice, also?”

“I am aided in this by my wolf.” His gaze slid to Lily, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Lily lacks such an aid.”

“Lily is very like her grandmother.” Li Qin took a sip of tea.

That was obviously false. Oh, she had some things in common with Grandmother, but in this they were totally different. Lily had never found sniffing and sipping tea interesting or transformative, but Grandmother clearly did. She immersed herself in the experience. She practically rolled around in all that calm, awake focus.

Obedient to the situation, though, Lily didn’t argue. She sipped tea.

Rule seemed to be enjoying his. “I have wondered sometimes if Madame Yu was even more like Lily when she was younger.”

Li Qin nodded. “I think she must have been, though I did not know Li Lei when she was Lily’s age, of course. She is more mellow now.”

Lily did not—quite—choke.

Rule quirked a brow. “Is she?”

“Oh, yes. She was very intense as a young woman. Much like Lily.” She gave Lily a gentle smile. “More autocratic, I believe, but this is because she was born into a society that did not value females. She could not attach that lack of value to herself, and so concluded that she was exceptional. Circumstances have never detached her from this belief.”

“Understandable,” Rule said, while Lily sat dumbstruck at having Grandmother summed up with such tidy accuracy. “Since she is, in fact, exceptional.” He smiled at Lily. “Much like her granddaughter.”

Lily found herself smiling at him, because he meant it. Grandmother truly was exceptional. She wasn’t, but Rule saw her that way.

“Li Qin,” Rule said, gently setting down his empty cup, “I regret my need to bring up another subject, but we aren’t here only in search of Lily’s grandmother. We also need a safe haven for—”

Granted.

Memory shivered through Lily like sleet, tiny, stinging bits that melted when she tried to catch them. The voice that had spoken that single word was as cold and clear as the space between stars. And it was all in Lily’s head. Literally.

Sam’s voice.