Mind Magic (18 page)

“None who’ve returned my calls,” he said dryly.

“Which judge signed off on the warrant?”

“Bernhardt.”

Bernhardt was a no-nonsense type. She wouldn’t have signed the warrant if there wasn’t evidence of a crime. Anger made Lily’s head throb. “Any ideas who cooked this up?”

“Not yet. But if Rule’s presence in D.C. is important to the Unit for some reason, it seems likely that whatever enemy is moving against us is behind this.”

Ruben hadn’t specified which Unit he meant. He didn’t have to. “If they keep him longer than overnight, I need to be there when he’s released.” Rule had claustrophobia. He refused to call it that, but just riding in an elevator was a strain. He did it all the time, insisting on taking the elevator even when it would easy to use the stairs. He hated having a weakness and challenged his as often as possible, but that didn’t make it go away. Being locked up for any period of time would be hard on him. Being locked up for too long might be hard on his jailers. If he lost control . . . “Are you in touch with his lawyer? Tell her he needs bail, stat. If they hold him too long . . . I need to be there, that’s all. Deal or no deal.” Sam would just have to understand.

“Lily, you know lupi ways better than I, but they take the giving of one’s word very seriously. You might want to think about the consequences if you were to go back on yours, however good your reason.”

Now she wanted to punch Ruben. “I’ll think about it. Have you contacted Isen? What about Alex?” Rule’s second-in-command at Leidolf needed to know his Rho had been arrested.

“Mike is talking to Alex now. He wishes to speak to me as well. I’ll call Isen after I talk to Alex.”

In other words, Lily needed to stop pestering Ruben about the obvious—if he’d had any idea who set Rule up, he’d have said so—and let him handle things. “Right. I guess I’ll go.”

“I’ll be in touch,” he promised, and disconnected.

Lily hung up her phone and didn’t say a word for the next two miles. As they drove by rolling grasslands, heading for a lightly wooded area, she did what she’d told Ruben she would. She thought about it.

More like she argued with herself. One of her mental voices sounded a whole damn lot like Ruben. That one pissed her off, but it didn’t win the argument until Rule chimed in. Not really Rule, of course, but the part of her that knew him, the part that rose from her gut. What’s the worst that can happen? she asked the tight, twisty feeling in her gut. Sam knew she wasn’t a dragon or a lupus and didn’t have the same attitude toward deals and such. He knew . . .

Sam wasn’t the problem.

Trees surrounded them when Carson slowed a few minutes later. New-growth forest, noted one corner of Lily’s mind—a mix of conifers and deciduous trees, some tall but none thick-girthed. Lots of saplings and underbrush, but not as thick as some she’d seen, where the forest made a wall you couldn’t enter.

“Six-point-two miles,” Carson said. “This should be it, according to the reverend.” He turned off onto a dirt road.

Lily sighed and spoke. “I’m not going to back out of the deal.”

José nodded. “We knew you wouldn’t. You were pissed, that’s all.”

He was right. She’d been pissed, yes. He was also wrong. If Ruben hadn’t reminded her to think about consequences, she might well have broken the deal. And she couldn’t. Even if Rule needed her desperately, she couldn’t go until she’d done whatever Sam sent her here to do. She’d tried to persuade herself that putting her investigation on pause long enough to rush to D.C. didn’t violate her word, not as long as she hurried back. She might even think that was true.

The lupi with her wouldn’t. To Lily, keeping her word was a high priority. To them, it was the highest. The way lupi saw it, if you swore to do something, you did it or died trying. Literally. If it cost your life or someone else’s—tough. Once you gave your word, you were bound by it. Rule had granted Lily a great deal of authority, telling the guards to obey her as they would him. They wouldn’t understand it if she broke her word, no matter how good her reasons. If she did, she’d still be their boss . . . but she wouldn’t be their leader.

The difference between a boss and a leader could be measured in lives. She knew that because it had happened.

They’d been attacked by dworg—her, Cynna, and the guards with them. One guard had decided it was okay to disregard her orders in order to protect her. Because she’d been his boss, not his leader, he’d placed his judgment above hers. His decision had cost at least one life and endangered others, including hers.

“This should be the spot,” Carson said, slowing again as they reached a small clearing in the trees. A second, much rougher road, no more than a pair of ruts, ambled off into the grass, aiming for the edge of the clearing. José pulled off onto the two-rut-road. The car behind them did, too. It held four more guards from the Leidolf contingent who’d arrived last night.

“No sign of the reverend,” Carson said. “He said he’d be in a pickup, right?”

“A 2004 Silverado, red with one fender primer gray.” Which clearly wasn’t waiting for them like he’d said he would be. “I’ll call and see if—” Her phone dinged. She checked it and found a text from Perkins:
delayed by congregant. sorry. 30 m.
“He’ll be along in about thirty minutes.”

“Good. Gives us time to check out the area,” José said, and: “Not you, Lily.”

She’d had her hand on the door, ready to get out. He was right. As unlikely as it seemed, it was possible the reverend had set them up. A sniper could be waiting. Or a Gifted person able to send knives flying through the air. Or a demon. Lily never forgot the possibility of demons, though she hadn’t seen one for quite a while now. So José was right, but— “I need to move.”

It was a need any lupus would understand. “Give us five minutes to check out the area.”

She could do five minutes, dammit. Lily grabbed the folder that held the photos she planned to show Father Don and any of the homeless men she could find. It held two shots of Jason Humboldt—the glossy headshot the HSI agents had given her, and a print made from one of the photos she’d taken of the body. Looking from one photo to the other, Lily could see the resemblance more clearly than she had at first. The beard made it hard to be sure, but it sure looked like the same guy. Aside from the dirt, that is. Could that much ground-in dirt build up in only a couple months of undercover work?

That was one of the things she wanted to find out. If Humboldt had started out clean, or with only superficial dirt, the men he hung out with would have noticed.

She had a lot more questions. Why had the HSI agent decided that a homeless man was a great cover? It was a hard way to live, and it didn’t let you mingle with most people. Did HSI think their alleged terrorist was living rough? Seventeen-year-old girls who ended up on the streets didn’t usually hang out with a bunch of homeless guys, especially not out in the woods.

Speaking of teenage terrorists . . . Lily looked at the last picture in the folder, the blurry one of a fifteen-year-old girl. And suddenly memory clicked into place.

“Ross is giving me the clear signal,” José said.

“Good.” Lily handed him the folder. “I may have seen our teenage terrorist. You two have a look, see if you recognize her.”

José opened it. Carson leaned close to look. José shook his head. Carson said, “I dunno. She looks kind of familiar.”

“Yesterday, at the gas station,” Lily prompted.

“Oh, yeah! That does kinda look like her. I can’t say for—”

José interrupted. “The gas station attendant was a boy.”

“No, she wasn’t,” Carson said, looking up in surprise. “Oh—you probably didn’t smell her. Him? I guess we’re supposed to say ‘him’ if that’s how someone thinks of herself. I mean himself. Shit, you know what I mean. It’s hard to remember to say ‘he’ about someone my nose says is female.”

That was pretty good confirmation. It was possible the attendant was trans, as Carson assumed, and her resemblance to the alleged terrorist was coincidence. Lily didn’t think so. “Looks like we’re going to need more gas really soon.”

“You going to notify those Homeland agents?” José asked.

“No. Not yet anyway. I’m going for a walk.”

A run would be better, but she didn’t want to stress out her guards—four of whom took up positions around her the moment she got out of the car.

It wasn’t a very big clearing, so she set off along the dirt road. A large, aging wolf fell into step beside her.

How much of what she’d thought of as “Rule being weird” had been because he was lupus? Not because he turned into a wolf and she didn’t, but because he knew he could not go back on his word. No matter what. And she . . . well, she’d never consciously factored in the possibility of breaking her word, but that might be because she hadn’t thought the issue would come up. Rule was supposed to be safe in D.C.

Easy enough to risk herself. So much harder to risk him. Yet she’d expected him to be able to risk her, hadn’t she?

Lily scowled at an innocent tree, turned, and started back. She knew how to set aside fear for her own life. She’d thought she’d gotten a handle on how to keep moving when she was scared for Rule, too. She’d faced that fear more than once . . . but she’d always been in a position to do something about it. To act.

Well, she was still supposed to act, wasn’t she? Only not in a way that helped Rule, dammit all to hell. He’d be okay, she told herself. He might do better if she was there, but he’d manage. Assuming he wasn’t locked up too long . . .

What was that? Lily stopped. And stared.

Once was odd. Twice was too damn much for coincidence. “What the hell is she doing here?”

SIXTEEN

RULE
stank. Surely even human noses would wrinkle at the smell clinging to his skin and clothes. Not the noses near him, however. The drunks, gangbangers, and drug users sharing space with him were the reason he stank.

Lupi didn’t have the same scent aversions as humans. Most smells were either pleasant or interesting, including many of those humans considered offensive. To Rule, urine smelled interesting, most perfumes stank, and sweat smelled good . . . except for alcohol sweat. He heartily disliked the smell of stale alcohol oozing out through human pores.

It was neither the first nor the worst time he’d spent in jail, but this incarceration was unusual in one respect: he’d been placed in a holding cell with the general jail population. Normally authorities were very cautious when they locked up lupi, using a high-security cell if possible, often with the addition of shackles. Rule was glad to do without shackles, but a crowded holding cell was not a good place for a wolf. Though it did have one advantage: it was larger than a regular cell would be. He was locked in, but at least the walls weren’t unbearably close.

His fellow prisoners were, however. Though they kept away from him as much as they could, they were still too close. And they smelled like . . .

Yes, he told his wolf, but do not think about it. Instead he’d count up his advantages. No one had beaten him—always a plus. And he’d been fed. Not well and not enough, but the sandwich had kept hunger at bay. For a time anyway. He hoped supper would arrive soon. When it did, he would need to acquire extra portions. Preferably meat. He could simply take what he needed from his cellmates, but his jailers were apt to react poorly to that. Perhaps he should explain to his fellow prisoners how much more comfortable he’d be if he was well fed. They weren’t an altruistic bunch, but they knew who and what he was. Phrased properly, such a request might motivate them to share.

Best if they did. Best if he didn’t spend the long hours of the coming night pushing away thoughts of how much those around him stank of fear and sickness. Perfect prey. Easy.

He dragged his mind away from wolf thoughts, focusing on the man’s concerns. Those were complex enough to require concentration. The main question: why was he here?

Two Justice Department agents had questioned him once his lawyer arrived. His lawyer’s associate, that is. The interview had been fairly perfunctory, since the associate advised him not to answer any questions until Ms. Stockard could discuss the case with him. Miriam Stockard was handling the issue of bail herself.

That raised questions, too. Rule had dealt with the criminal system on behalf of clan members often enough to know what to expect, and the most junior of legal associates could have gotten his bail hearing on the docket. The hearing itself wouldn’t occur for at least another day, probably longer. He might hope for twenty-four hours, but realistically he had to expect it to take longer.

Maybe by then Lily could be here. Maybe she’d be waiting for him when they released him, and he could touch her, hold her. And be touched and held.

No, he told himself firmly. She was in Ohio, and there she’d stay until she’d fulfilled the terms of the deal. She’d want to come to him, but she couldn’t break her word.

Lily, his wolf pointed out, didn’t see the giving of one’s word that way.

He was not going to wish for her to break it, however.

His wolf wished very much that she was here now.