Mind Magic (39 page)

They bathed Japanese-style, though without the decorum of a Japanese sento¯
.
Everyone was supposed to wash and rinse before getting in the rocky pool fed by a hot spring that Mika had somehow created or otherwise arranged for them.

Lily could handle the naked part. She didn’t have many hangups about nudity, probably because she had sisters. Stripping with a bunch of tiny, giggling strangers wasn’t exactly comfortable, but she had reasons to go along . . . right up until she found out that bathers did not wash themselves. They washed each other—and expected Lily to take her turn lathering and being lathered—and they had no concept of hands-off zones. Lily had to tell them that humans simply did not touch each other in some places unless they planned to have sex.

That led to a lot of giggling and a fascinating discussion about brownie sexuality. TMI in some ways, but fascinating. Then they all got in the pool and tried to drown one another.

Back in her prison chamber—without the fire curtain this time—Lily tried to untangle her hair with a teeny little comb the brownies had provided. They’d left her a mage light, too, which was good. It would have been way too dark in here otherwise.

Her hair was clean. That comforted more than maybe it ought to. And somewhere along the line her headache had gone away, which really helped when she had so much to think over. She’d learned a lot. Most of it was stuff the brownies intended to tell her. During the bath she’d asked what brownies did to serve a mother dragon during
tinaitha.
Many things, they assured her, but their main purpose was to sing to her. They sang songs from the
ithnali
in the true tongue, which was what they called their own language. They sang to remind her of who she was. Without the singing she would forget too much for too long.

Lily had also learned a couple things that they hadn’t intended for her to know—like where they were. She was pretty sure she’d figured that out. She scratched behind Charles’s ear and leaned down, speaking softly. “So were you able to sniff out which tunnel leads outside?”

He nodded once, looking about as smug as a wolf can.

“Good. Excellent.” She had a plan. It was shaky, maybe foolhardy, depending as it did on one small guess, one big guess, and her new ability.

Which meant she’d better practice. Better get started. She didn’t know how much time she’d have. She stretched out next to Charles, but instead of practicing, she thought about her shaky plan. She hadn’t exactly lied to the brownies, but she had deceived them. She was pretty sure Rule wasn’t in jail. Nokolai could afford good lawyers. He’d be out on bail by now, and she knew what he’d done the moment he was free.

How long would it take him to find her? Or to find her general location anyway. Not long, she thought. Not once Harry caught up with him, which was why she needed to practice now, dammit. But one other question kept rearing up, distracting her.

What, exactly, was she going to do when he did?

THIRTY-TWO

THE
sun was headed offstage, but it took a damnably long curtain call this time of year. Golden light slanted across the front of the concavity where they’d collapsed; at its rear all was shadowed. Rule slid his phone back in his pocket and leaned against the rocky rear of the hollow, his chest heaving. The muscles in his thighs, back, and shoulders burned and twitched. He’d carried Danny the last nine or ten miles, after a bullet tore up Mike’s thigh.

Danny, whom Rule had just set down, pulled off her backpack and crawled over to sit next to Mike, looking worried. He was panting, too, his head on his forepaws. Wolves can run on three legs pretty well, so when Mike was hit, Rule had told him to Change.

They’d stopped because they had to, but at least they were out of the wildlife area now. Out of Ohio entirely, if Rule’s reckoning was correct. And they’d been lucky—the hollow he’d spotted in the side of a rocky hill wasn’t quite a cave, but it was deep enough to keep their heat signatures from showing if that gods-cursed helicopter should pass overhead.

Little John was the last of them to enter. The moment he did, he dumped Bert. The human man staggered, but didn’t fall. Little John did, collapsing as if he’d been clubbed.

“Hey!” Bert said, dropping down beside the man who’d carried him so long. “Is he—”

“He’ll be . . . all right . . . in a bit.” Little John had run roughly twenty miles, often at damn near top speed, while carrying a hundred and sixty pounds on his back. He’d done that after racing to Fallback Two carrying Bert. Even his strength had limits. He wouldn’t be getting up right away.

All of Rule’s small party was here now. Claude wouldn’t be joining them.

Rule gave himself another moment to get his breath under control, then moved closer to Mike. He sank to his knees. The bullet had torn out a chunk of meat on what had been Mike’s left thigh and was currently his left haunch. Now that Rule got a good look at the wound, he was pretty sure it had hit the bone. Not good.

That bullet had come from a rifle, not a machine gun, the result of pure bad luck. Claude had been about fifty yards ahead of the rest of them, acting as point. He’d practically run into a large armed group—maybe a dozen people, some in sheriff’s department uniforms, some not. Not his fault. The group had been downwind and in a shallow ravine, so he hadn’t seen or smelled them until he was almost on top of them. He’d turned and run.

The instant Rule had seen Claude flip direction and start racing back, he’d done the same. They’d run away as rifles fired. Bullets pursued them, but they’d been farther from the shooters than Claude, with lots of trees in the way. Pure bad luck that Mike had been hit.

Claude’s luck had been worse.

Rule’s hands fisted.
Not now
, he told himself.
Not yet. Think about that later.

The helicopter had never come near them. José had seen to that. José and six others. They’d done what they set out to do. The moment Rule had stopped and let Danny slide down off his back, he’d sent José a text. Just one word:
Reply.

He hadn’t heard back.

Rule stuffed the anger down, where it wouldn’t be heard or smelled, before he spoke to Mike. “Aren’t you a bloody mess. At least it’s an in-and-out, not lodged. The bone is probably broken. I need to examine it to be sure.”

Mike grunted.

“Hold still.” Mike’s control was excellent. Rule reinforced it anyway, pulling on the mantle slightly as he gave the order. That would make it easier on Mike. He ran his fingers over the wound, lightly at first, then more firmly. Mike whined, then yelped. He didn’t move.

Rule sat back on his heels. “There’s good news and bad news. The bad news is that your femur is broken a few inches above the patella. The ends are badly out of alignment, and—as I’m sure you noticed—there are bone fragments. The good news is that there’s no way I can set a femur properly, so I won’t maul you around trying.”

He got another grunt in reply.

Danny’s face screwed up. “If you can’t set it—”

“It will still heal, and the bone fragments will work their way out. Bones that are this badly aligned, however, tend to heal crooked.” Given how bad the break was, probably very crooked. “Our healing is more concerned with getting the bone knit than with its straightness. Eventually the leg would straighten, but that might take months. For some reason our healing doesn’t prioritize that. Mike may want to have it straightened surgically.” Rule dropped a hand to the ruff at Mike’s neck and gave him a rub. “For now . . . he’s hurting, but he’ll be okay.”

Unlike some. Carefully Rule shut that thought away for later.

What did his small band need next? Food and water. They were all dehydrated. That wouldn’t be hard to mend; he’d smelled water as he approached the hollow. Food would take longer, but they all needed fuel, especially Mike. The Change burned calories. Healing a broken bone burned through them like a wildfire in dry brush. “Bert, I need you to step outside so you can watch the sky. Keep a lookout. Little John will join you when he can.”

The man rose without a word and moved to just outside the hollow.

Rule had stuck two pieces of jerky in his pocket at Fallback Two, not thinking he’d need them, but from habit. He pulled them out, bit into one, and fed the other to Mike. Keeping one for himself might be selfish, but was good sense. He’d be doing the hunting, so—

“Rule?” Danny’s voice shook. “Is Claude dead?”

He stiffened. She needed to be comforted. He could hear it in her voice. In that moment, he hated her need. He was so angry . . . “I don’t know. Do you have food in your backpack?”

“Yes. I can share—”

“Share with Bert, if you have enough. The rest of us will have rabbits soon.” He stood.

“If you don’t know if Claude’s dead or not, how could you leave him?”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Anger filled him, ready to spill out—

Surprisingly, Bert answered for him. “He had to. Sure, he probably could’ve gone back for Claude if he dumped you and me. He would’ve had to kill every one of them, though.”

He’d wanted to. Still wanted to. Wanted to go back and rip open the throats of those who’d shot Claude, shot Mike, who could easily have killed the girl who’d just asked that damnable question. Then go on and find the ones who’d fired on José and the others.

“I don’t know if they could have done that,” Bert was saying. “Even for lupi, that’s a tall order, killing a dozen armed people. But say he pulled it off. Then what? He’s guilty of killing law officers. It doesn’t matter that they fired first and without provocation. His enemies get what they want—proof that he’s too dangerous to be allowed to live. He and everyone with him are as good as dead.”

“I’m going to hunt,” Rule said abruptly. He’d kill something, anyway. Hopefully several somethings. “Once Little John is able to keep watch, you can go in pairs to the creek to drink.” Without bothering to pull off his clothes, he Changed.

*   *   *

FIVE
rabbits and a raccoon later, he was back on two legs, scowling at his phone.

Hunting had been easy. It was a wildlife area, after all, in the middle of summer. He’d eaten the first two rabbits before he started bringing his kills back, and the food had restored much of his control. His anger wasn’t gone, but it was a cold fury now. He could use it instead of being used by it.

José still hadn’t replied to his text.

He jammed his phone back in his pocket, cursing himself for telling everyone not to use their phones. He’d been making decisions in one hell of a hurry, but a blanket ban was foolish and unnecessary. Their phones lacked GPS, so they couldn’t be tracked that way. They just had to be careful what they said. It would tell the NSA very little if his men were to text him to let him know they’d made it, that they were alive.

If they were alive, that is.

“Time for an after-dinner drink,” he told his small party, “before it’s fully dark.”

They followed him, talking a little among themselves. Everyone felt better after the rest and food. Not that they were truly full. Summer rabbits were plumper than winter ones, but Rule could have eaten all five himself without feeling stuffed. Danny had shared her protein bars with Bert—who might have preferred rabbit, but not raw. Mike and Little John had dined as wolves, that being easier and more appealing, given the nature of their food. They’d taken their meals slightly away from the hollow to avoid distressing Danny. She might not be bothered by watching others eat tidily packaged meat purchased from a grocery store, but Rule had a feeling watching them chow down on cute little bunnies would have been more reality than she needed to deal with after a day like this one.

Rule kept an eye on Mike without being obvious about it. He was in pain, of course, but he was moving well. Rule had made sure he got three of the rabbits. At the creek Rule stood aside, keeping watch while the others drank. He’d drunk his fill while still four-legged. He worried about the humans drinking untreated water, but they didn’t have many options. Danny had many useful things in her backpack, but not bottled water. At least this was moving water, not stagnant.

No sign of the helicopter or other threats, though in the failing light his range of vision was limited.

Damn that copter. And damn Edward Smith. How had he gotten the Guard to use shoot-on-sight when they had to know they were firing on men, not wolves? They hadn’t issued even a token warning, hadn’t asked for surrender. They’d just opened fire with their bloody be-damned machine gun. Rule had expected an attack, but one cloaked in the trappings of legality. How could Smith hope to cover up what he’d caused to happen?

Maybe he wouldn’t bother. Maybe whoever had issued that order was himself disposable.

The sun was fully down now. Dusk wrapped the world in tired gray. Gray to Rule, at least—probably the humans couldn’t see much at all. “When you’re finished drinking, I’ll fill you in on our next steps,” he told them.

They must have been finished, for they gathered around him—Little John and Mike lying down to seem less threatening, Danny sitting next to Mike, Bert with a few wary feet between him and the two big wolves. Rule stayed on his feet. Four pairs of eyes—worried, tired, trusting, or simply waiting—met his.