World of Lupi 10 - Ritual Magic (15 page)

“No, and that has to be hard on her. But it’s better to wait together.”

Rule heard Lily speaking to Scott in the hall and stood. A moment later Lily walked in, walked straight to Rule, and put her arms around him.

Something held tight inside him unclenched. The sudden loss of tension left a dull smear of pain in its wake. His closed eyes stung. He’d needed this. Needed her, and now she was here. They leaned into each other. He inhaled deliberately, breathing her in.

She smelled of coffee and Lily, with citrus notes from her shampoo and almond from the lotion she’d applied after her shower. Also the tinny, astringent odor of anxiety.

Rule’s wolf did not consider fear and anxiety the same emotion. Their scents were from the same family, but quite distinct, just as roses do not smell like violets. Fear was more sour, anxiety more bitter. Wolves consider fear a healthy emotion, but anxiety makes them . . . anxious. Rule immediately tried to soothe Lily, stroking a hand up her back.

It was like stroking a guitar string. Tight, tight, from the base of her spine to the nape of her neck, and when he started to knead those tense muscles, she pulled away. She stretched out both hands to his brother, who’d finally abandoned his chair to stand. “Benedict.” He took her hands and she told him, “You’re okay.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Am I?”

“Yes. You’re okay and Nettie’s going to be okay.” She spoke with suppressed ferocity, as if her will alone would make it so . . . or make Benedict believe it.

Benedict’s expression didn’t change. “You’ve learned something.”

“A few things. No trail to follow yet. And I can’t talk about the parts we do know, not here. Too public. They’re going to—”

“Agent Yu?” A man in a very nice charcoal-colored suit stood in the doorway. “I’ve spoken with your, ah—with your man out in the hall, as you requested. We have the room ready. If you’d follow me?”

“Of course.” Lily looked tense and tired and a trifle smug as she explained. “The hospital has agreed to let us use a small lounge. We’ll be the only ones there, so I can discuss confidential matters.”

Benedict frowned. “Will the surgeon know where to find us?”

The man in the suit answered. “I will personally make sure of that.”

“Mr. Reddings is the executive assistant who works directly under the hospital’s president,” Lily said. “He knows how to make sure.”

“Kind of them to offer us the use of this lounge,” Arjenie said as they left the crowded waiting room. Scott was clearly expecting the shift; he fanned his men out, half in front, half behind, as the four of them followed Mr. Reddings.

“They were supposed to offer it to you two hours ago. I called and explained about the security issue—someone could drop in and try to kill some or all of you, and wouldn’t it be a shame if they gunned down a few innocent bystanders in the process? I should’ve done that right away. I didn’t think of it.” She shook her head at this omission. “The admin guy I spoke to agreed it would be best to park you someplace private, but on the way here, I found out that hadn’t happened. Seems the only private spot is the VIP lounge, and some multirich bastard was using it while his wife had various bits lifted and tucked. He didn’t want to leave. The admin guy didn’t feel up to making that happen.”

“No doubt you were persuasive,” Rule said.

“I wasn’t in a persuasive mood. I sicced Ida on them.”

“Poor souls,” Arjenie said. “Have you ever been present while she removed some unsuspecting roadblock?”

“A time or two.” Lily exchanged a knowing look with Arjenie. “Mr. Reddings here was waiting for me when I arrived. He’s been very helpful.”

Lily did not hold Rule’s hand as they proceeded to the elevator. She seldom did when she was in cop mode. She had, he thought, been in cop mode ever since her mother looked at her and didn’t know who she was.

And that was the problem. Not that she was shutting him out. Oh, he did not like that, but he’d already noted the pettiness of his reaction, hadn’t he? The real problem was that she was shutting herself out, too. That was why she reeked so of anxiety. She’d been jamming her emotions down, down, ignoring them, shoving them aside. Sometimes you had to do that, but you couldn’t keep it up for too long. If you did, something broke inside you.

That kind of break healed slowly, and not always well.

Rule knew what Lily needed. She needed to fall apart, and soon. If she’d been one of his men, he’d see to that. It would be both his right and his duty. But she wasn’t, and he’d vowed not to try to make her choices for her anymore.

What would his father do? Could he use that wily old manipulator as a standard?

Rule thought about dragons and sovereignty and his father as everyone but the guards stepped into the elevator. Six of them. Six people in that small, cramped space. The elevator doors closed and his heartbeat skyrocketed and his mouth went dry . . .

Out, out, out
.

He was so damn tired of this. Tired of hurt and fear and handling himself. Tired of war and people he loved being damaged, endangered, killed . . . and Lily wasn’t taking his hand the way she always did in elevators. She wasn’t thinking about his fear because she was tired, too, exhausted by worry and fear and people she loved being damaged and endangered and . . .

A warm hand slipped into his.

Lily didn’t speak. She didn’t look at him. Her expression remained inward and closed, but she held his hand as they rode up to the top floor. The elevator doors opened.

Spiritual hygiene, Nettie had said. Rule still didn’t know what that meant, but he suspected his soul could use a good scrubbing. He didn’t know how to do that, but holding on to Lily wasn’t a bad substitute.

Dammit, Nettie, you’d better not die. I am going to be so pissed if you die.

SIXTEEN

T
HE
VIP lounge was to the other waiting room as a memory foam mattress is to a sleeping bag. Both served the same function, but they did so with vastly different levels of comfort. Rule had Scott sweep for bugs before they entered; the delay could have been engineered to give their enemies time to plant a listening device. Mr. Reddings observed this precaution with some alarm.

No bugs. The helpful Mr. Reddings seemed relieved and rather rushed as he pointed out the room’s amenities—a cushy sofa that let down into a bed, a fruit basket, a well-stocked bar, a refrigerator . . . and a brimming pot of coffee that smelled like it had been brewed from freshly ground beans. Costa Rican, Rule thought, inhaling appreciatively. Lily headed straight for that amenity as the executive assistant asked if there was anything else he could do.

“Thank you,” she said, filling one heavy white mug, “but no.”

This clear dismissal sent the man out the door. Rule could hear Scott asking him a question after it closed.

Lily held out the filled mug to Rule.

His eyebrows lifted. “That’s real love, offering me the first cup.”

“True. But not, you’ll note, the last one. That you’d have to wrestle me for.” She poured a cup for herself and sipped with her eyes closed. “God, that’s good.”

“Never mind the damn coffee,” Benedict said. “What have you learned?”

Rule looked at his brother. Whether it was the effect of physical movement after hours of immobility or the promise of something, anything, to distract him, Benedict’s patience had evaporated. Without it, he was . . . intense.

Arjenie moved up behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder. Lily looked at him over the rim of her mug and answered crisply. “I’ll give you the key points first. One, the artifact last seen in Friar’s possession was used to ritually kill our John Doe. Two, the icky magic I found on the body, which transferred to Officer Crown, is some sort of residue from that ritual. Three, that magic isn’t just icky. It’s evil. And no, I don’t know what that means exactly, but it matters.”

“Are those suppositions or facts?”

“Expert opinions based on observation. Drummond and Hardy—”

“Drummond?” Arjenie said. “You mean your ghost? He’s back?”

Rule had forgotten to tell Benedict and Arjenie about that.

“He’s not my ghost,” Lily said, “but yeah, he’s back. He, uh, was sent here to help. He says spirit is visible on his side.” Her hand waved vaguely to indicate the nebulous direction involved. “The artifact leaves an obvious spiritual mark or color, which is how he knows it was used in the ritual killing of our unknown victim.”

“No ID yet?” Rule asked.

“No, and we may have trouble getting one. I’ll tell you about that in a minute. Drummond says that the bad magic—the contagion—is evil. Seems there’s a clear definition for evil that he can’t tell me, and he can’t tell me why the contagion fits that definition. But it does. Hardy agrees, if I’m interpreting his hymn choices correctly. Which reminds me—”

Benedict broke in. “Hardy is the supposed saint.”

Lily cocked her head. “You don’t believe he is one? Or you don’t believe in saints?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what the word means.”

“I don’t, either, and no one . . .” Lily used both hands to push her hair back. “
No one
will define anything for me! Saint, spirit, evil—all that shit’s tossed into the mix and I’m just supposed to guess what it all means! Though Cullen did say a saint was a holy man or woman . . . God, I wish he was here.” The moment she said that she shook her head. “No, I don’t. He’s needed with . . . but his ability to see magic would sure help right now.”

Rule glanced around. Uselessly, of course, but he couldn’t resist the impulse. “Is Drummond here?”

She shook her head. “He hung around awhile, then said he had places to go, things to do.”

“You’re accepting his statement as fact? Even if Drummond’s on the side of the angels now, he isn’t one himself. I don’t think ghosts are infallible.”

“True, which is why I’m calling it expert opinion, not fact. But all three of my experts agree that the contagion is evil, so I’m considering that as established.”

“Drummond’s one of your experts. And Hardy?”

She nodded. “The third is Miriam.”

Rule had met Miriam. She was the head priestess of the coven the Unit called on in this area. “Not Karonski?”

“He said no, not for this. Since spirit, not magic, is the—”

“Discuss their credentials later,” Benedict snapped. “Rule has described the shooting to me in detail. Nettie was not a random victim. She was targeted specifically.”

“So we concluded.
We
meaning me and Drummond and Karonski. Not Miriam. She thinks the overdose of evil caused Crown to commit evil acts, but without a specific target. In other words, he just started shooting, didn’t matter who he killed. I don’t agree. If all Crown had wanted was to kill people, he would have kept firing at the ones near Nettie. He didn’t, which tells me he had specific targets in mind. He was turning to shoot the next one when I dropped him.”

Had she shot to kill and missed? Probably. That was her training. As she put it, when your target was using deadly force, you did, too. Or, as Benedict put it: In battle, take the easiest shot. You’ll do well to hit at all. Don’t make it any harder to win than it has to be.

“Who was the other target?” Arjenie asked. “Do you know?”

“Drummond thinks it was Karonski. That’s based on his observation of the shooter, not on some special ghostly knowledge, but he was a cop for a long time. He may be right, but another possibility is—”

Benedict broke in. “But Nettie was primary. He had time to select his first target, and he chose her. Why?”

“We think it’s because she’s a threat, and she’s a threat because she’s a shaman. This goes back to the contagion being evil. That’s a spiritual quality, and spirit is what Nettie works with. Wiccan and Native practices both have spiritual aspects, but with Wicca the spiritual part is sort of fenced off.”

Arjenie frowned. “I wouldn’t put it that way.”

“I probably said it wrong. Here’s what Karonski told me. That Wiccan star of yours—Earth, Air, Fire, Water, Spirit? They’re the points or arms of the star, and they’re all tied to the Source, which is represented by the open space at the center. But spirit is only one aspect of the Source. That’s why so many unbelievers can use Wiccan spells. And—again, this what Karonski said—a lot of Wiccans don’t work with spirit that much, except during your major rites, because it’s so unpredictable. With Native practices, it’s different. Spirit is at the center. It’s the way they access power, so Nettie’s used to working with spirit directly.”

Arjenie nodded. “Okay, that makes sense. Not that I know a lot about Native practices, but that fits what I do know.”

“Sam said we needed Nettie.” Lily sighed. “Maybe she could have dispelled the contagion. Karonski can’t. The coven can’t.”

“What?” Arjenie’s eyes widened. “But—but if the usual cleansing techniques weren’t effective, surely Miriam tried an elemental cleansing. Not everyone can handle those, but she’s extremely competent, and she’s got strong Gifts in her coven to channel each of the elements.”

“She did try. It didn’t work.”

Arjenie’s brow pleated. “I don’t understand. I’ve never
heard
of an elemental cleansing failing. I don’t understand that at all.”

“Miriam doesn’t, either, and she took that failure personally. But she thinks it has to do with the way spirit and magic are all tangled up in the contagion. Spirit doesn’t follow the rules.”

Arjenie nodded. The worried pleat remained in her forehead.

Lily looked at Rule. “I need to ask you something. I said that Drummond thinks the secondary target was Karonski. That fits what I saw, if we assume I fired the second Crown had his target lined up. But if we scrap that assumption . . . if Crown had turned a bit more, he would have had me and the patrol car behind me in his sights. Maybe he was going to shoot me, but Hardy was in that car. If Crown was after the, uh, the spiritual heavy hitters, then I’m betting on Hardy for his other target. I’ve taken him into protective custody. I’d like to park him at Clanhome.”

Rule’s eyebrows lifted. After a moment he nodded. “If we need a saint and Hardy is one, then the other side would be eager to deprive us of him. You’d like me to speak to Isen about this?”

“If you can’t okay it yourself, then yes.”

“I could admit him to Clanhome, but whether he stayed would be the Rho’s decision. Best to just ask.” And speaking of asking . . . “You’ve been unable to learn anything from the officer himself?”

Lily’s gaze slid away. “Officer Crown hasn’t regained consciousness.”

And that told Rule what he needed to know. Half of it, anyway. Lily had shot a fellow officer of the law who’d turned out to be the victim of evil, not a bad guy himself. She’d done what she had to, but she was twisted up about it. If he pressed on that spot, she’d break down.

Would that be helping or taking over? God knew it would piss her off.

Arjenie asked, “What’s been done for him? If the contagion can’t be cleared . . . did you find a way to block it?”

“Crown is here at the hospital, in quarantine. Unconscious, but stable. Miriam advised them on how to—” Lily stopped, huffed out an impatient breath. “I’m doing this out of order. When you left, Rule, we were trying to find out what would block the contagion so the EMTs could work on the poor guy.”

He remembered that. “Silk didn’t work.”

“Right. Turned out the icky shit crawls all over anything organic. We think that’s what happened to Officer Crown. He’d been left to guard the body and the contagion followed organics in the soil to get to him. Some disagreement on that,” she added. “We agree that it probably traveled through the soil. I think it went to him on purpose. Miriam thinks I’m nuts. Magic isn’t sentient, doesn’t have plans and intention.”

“Well, no,” Arjenie said mildly. “It isn’t and it doesn’t.”

“This stuff is different.” Lily spread her hands. “I don’t know how else to put this, but it feels malignant. Like it
wanted
to crawl all over me. Miriam thinks I’m projecting. But whether it transferred through some natural process or went to Crown on purpose, it used organics to get to him. That’s what trial and error suggested, and Miriam did some kind of test that confirmed it.”

Arjenie looked unhappy. “That’s a property of spirit. It can adhere to inorganics, but only when the object involved is spiritually significant, like a cross.” Her hand went to the small silver star she wore around her throat. “Or a Wiccan star. So it pretty much confirms that the contagion is some unholy mix of magic and spirit.”

Lily frowned and tapped her fingers on her thigh. “Miriam didn’t tell me that. She’s being prickly. Or maybe it’s me. We’ve worked together fine in the past, but something about this case . . .” She huffed out another breath. “Maybe it’s me. Anyway, the EMTs were able to prep Crown for transport using caution and latex gloves, and they didn’t pick up any trace of the nasty stuff. I confirmed that. The doctor who dug the bullet out after he arrived . . .” She paused. “I haven’t checked him myself. One of Miriam’s people rode in with Crown, and he checked everyone involved, using a spell to detect magic. He’s sure they’re clean, but I wasn’t here to check.”

“Who did the detection spell?” Arjenie asked.

“Jack. Jack Weysmith.”

“Oh, Jack’s very good. He’s Water-Gifted. It’s hard to hide magic from a Water witch.”

“I’d prefer impossible.” Her frown deepened. “Maybe I should check out the ER doctor and nurses, whoever came in contact with Crown. Just to be sure.”

Rule didn’t want her to. He wanted her with him for both his comfort and hers. He rested a hand on her shoulder, prepared to argue—and changed his mind. Her muscles were so tight. “Will you come with me a moment?”

She slanted him a look half-puzzled, half-annoyed. “Why?”

“I would speak with you privately.”

“There’s no such thing as privacy around here. Unless you plan to take over the ladies’ room or something—”

“We won’t go quite that far.” He used the hand on her shoulder to urge her toward the door. She allowed that, annoyance blending into concern.

Their guards were in the hall. He signaled that he wanted privacy. They split up and spread out down the hall in both directions. They couldn’t go far, but they stopped with their backs to Rule and Lily.

Humans were so visual. Lily wouldn’t even think about what the guards smelled. She’d know the guards could hear them, but it probably wouldn’t occur to her that Benedict could, too. He thought that, as long as they weren’t being watched, she’d feel a measure of privacy.

Sure enough, when he gathered her into his arms, she didn’t resist. She circled his waist with her arms and hugged him.

Ah. He understood now. She thought they were out here for his sake. He explained her mistake by using one hand to knead the nape of her neck while he anchored her with his other arm.

Abruptly she leaned back and frowned up at him. “Rule—”

“Shh.” He continued rubbing her neck. So far it wasn’t having much effect.