Death Magic

TWENTY-FIVE

IN the cold darkness beneath the oaks and hawthorns and elms, the world was moist and fragrant. Two wolves walked under those trees. Leaves crunched and released their mélange of scent-messages with every footfall. Impossible even for Rule to walk silently here, much less the raw new wolf who trailed him.

Enough leafy canopy remained above them to hide the stars . . . though not the moon, not entirely. Fat and pale and so nearly full Rule’s eyes could barely limn the missing sliver, she lit their way and flooded them with moonsong. Behind him the new one paused as he had from time to time, so intoxicated by the scent-torrent the world poured upon him in shimmering abundance that he had to stop and smell. Just smell.

Rule paused patiently with him.

Tomorrow was full moon. The three days and nights leading up to full moon were the normal period for First Change. And that was the only normal thing about this particular First Change.

Rule didn’t think of the wolf who followed him as Ruben Brooks because he wasn’t. Surely he would be again. This First Change couldn’t be that different. But it would be a few days, perhaps a week, before memories and thoughts of his other form began to surface; another week before he was able to resume his original form for a time. That would happen at the new moon following First Change. Brand-new wolves often needed help with that Change, or at least strong encouragement.

Those first two weeks were a heady time, each moment brimming with newness and delight. Or they should be. The wolf keeping pace with Rule had known all too much confusion and fear. It boded ill for how man and wolf would weave their joint life in days to come.

Of course, until now, no lupi had ever been a forty-six-year-old man when First Change hit. They could hope that would make a difference.

Rule and the wolf who used to be Ruben Brooks wound through the trees along the west side of Dumbarton Oaks Park, roughly forty acres of woodlands in the middle of Georgetown. It had taken them hours to get this far. Some of that was due to the careful, roundabout way two wolves must travel in a populous city, but some had to do with the new wolf’s need to play.

Normally new wolves were born at First Change into bodies as gangly and unfinished as the boys they were before that moment—not puppies, no, but not fully adult, and with a youngster’s need to play and explore. This wolf needed that, too, though his body was fully mature. He and Rule had romped in Rock Creek Park—Mika was away from his lair, unfortunately, but Rule made sure they left their scent near it—and rolled in the creek as they followed it south. Once they reached Dumbarton, they’d snapped at scampering field mice near the Naval Observatory, then flushed a rabbit in the wooded area between the embassies of Denmark and Italy.

The new wolf had been very excited about the rabbit. He’d lost him quickly, of course—rabbits were fast and agile, and this wolf was still unused to his body. But he’d had a marvelous time making the attempt.

Rule rather regretted that rabbit now, though. He was hungry and getting hungrier by the minute.

It wouldn’t be long now. Immediately in front of them lay the Citibank parking lot. Rule approached close enough to watch the lot while remaining hidden himself, covered by the shadow of a large elm. With the wind at their backs, they’d have scent to alert them of intruders from behind.

He lay down—not curled up for sleep, but keeping his head erect. The other wolf settled close to him, their sides touching, and licked his muzzle. Rule allowed that for a moment, then sniffed along the other wolf ’s muzzle and jaw and gave his ear a single lick: You’re safe. You’re not alone. You’ve done well. I will look out for you.

The new wolf wagged his tail once, then rested his head on his forelegs with a tired sigh, relaxing.

He needed the physical contact. He needed a great deal more. A new wolf should be surrounded by clan—by their scent, the feel of their bodies, with even their pulses coursing in time with his.

Rule could give this wolf only a small taste of that comfort. He’d done what he could. He’d defeated him, dominated him, and fed him, so the wolf trusted him now. But instinctively, the new wolf would be longing for many, and Rule was only one. One who did not smell like Wythe.

Rule had hoped the new wolf might accept non-Wythe wolves. No luck with that. When Rule had paused in the scrap of woods near Ruben’s house to contact his guards stationed there, the new wolf had snapped and snarled at them. In spite of that, Rule had signaled the others to circle the new one, knowing what would happen when he Changed so he could give them instructions. Sure enough, when the only wolf he trusted turned into a man, the new wolf had tried to flee. The others hadn’t let him, but it had been a near thing. Rule had given his instructions, sending Scott to the house to relay some of them, and Changed back quickly.

Three Changes in close succession, and only a single, gulped chicken breast to eat. No wonder he felt half-starved. Rule continued to wait upon the company that would arrive soon.

That company would please him more than his charge. Wolves who were not-Wythe did not comfort this wolf—who instinctively tried to gather them under his own dominion, and never mind how bad an idea that was. The new wolf didn’t know that, didn’t know much of anything yet, but a new wolf had to be controlled. Not only because he was dangerous, being all power and instinct and no control, but because he needed the security of knowing he was guided by one able to dominate him.

Very few could dominate this wolf. Only those with a mantle.

A new wolf with a full mantle—what was the Lady thinking?

Rule wasn’t surprised Scott had submitted. The surprise was that the black wolf had chosen to cripple rather than kill. That was remarkable restraint in a wolf fresh from First Change.

But then, Ruben the man was highly dominant. As a wolf he had the same instincts, even without memory’s guide.

Lily, he thought, wouldn’t understand the connection. She didn’t understand dominance. It frustrated Rule. How could she not understand, when she herself was so clearly dominant? But she confused dominance with the need to control others—and that was part of it, yes, yet naming the whole for the part distorted meaning into incoherence.

He suspected she saw dominance and submission in vaguely sexual terms. She considered submission a surrender of autonomy. But autonomy as humans used the term seemed absurdly artificial to Rule. He understood personal responsibility. He also understood that “no man is an island.” He did not understand why so many humans embraced the myth that individuals could and should stand alone. It was as if they thought everyone should be dominant.

No, at its heart, submission simply acknowledged fact: the other had the skill and power to kill you . . . and the skill and power to defend you. The two were inseparable. When you submitted, you placed your life in the other’s jaws. If the other was truly dominant, he accepted this. And would then defend that life as if it were his own.

That’s what he must tell Lily, Rule realized. A dominant wolf controlled, yes—but the need to control arose from the need to protect.

Lily.

His heart bunched itself up tight in his chest, sending a tremor of hurt and fear rippling through him. The hurt was the wolf ’s. It was good Lily wasn’t here. Necessary. She was much too human to be around such a new one, who would know her only as threat or prey. But he knew she was distressed, in trouble, and he ached for her, ached to be with her.

The man was more frantic. Words, always words, for the man, but fewer than usual this time: What had happened to her? Did they know she’d tipped Ruben off? They would guess, surely. She wasn’t supposed to be at Ruben’s house. What would the authorities—her own Bureau—do to her?

The new wolf raised his head, rumbling deep in his throat. There are as many kinds of growls for a wolf as there are smiles for a human; this one betokened anxiety, not anger or challenge. Muscle by muscle, Rule denied his fear. He was used to this discipline, to the need to physically mask his emotions, but doing so came hard tonight. He wanted to howl, to run. To Change and go to Lily.

He did what he had to do. Slowly the other relaxed as well, even falling into a light doze.

The moon climbed a handspan higher. Rule waited.

At last headlights wheeled across the pavement on the other side of the screening oaks. Rule stood, keeping his muscles loose and his stance alert. The other wolf rose with him, hackles raised slightly, but holding himself still and quiet.

Perhaps the age of the wolf ’s submerged other self did make a difference. The other was following Rule’s signals unusually well for one so raw: Be alert. Be silent. Watch.

The vehicle pulled to the rear of the lot. It was an old panel truck, slightly scabrous with peeling paint, but the motor sounded good. Not one of the vehicles Rule kept for the guards’ use. It stopped about thirty feet away. The engine shut off. The driver’s door swung open.

It wasn’t who Rule had been expecting. Though he probably should have. He yipped once, softly, to announce his location. He looked at the other wolf, then at the ground.

The other either didn’t understand or didn’t want to. Rule lay down again to show him. Slowly the other did, too. Rule stood, but this time when the other tried to rise, Rule shoved him back down. He looked directly in the other’s eyes.

The black wolf sighed and dropped his head to his paws. When Rule trotted to the edge of the pavement, he stayed put.

Cullen limped toward them carrying a plastic grocery sack and a small duffle bag. His gauze-wrapped feet were thrust into soft house slippers. Stubborn ass. Skin healed faster than bone or muscle, but not this fast.

Rule had sent word to José about where to meet and what was needed. He hadn’t said Cullen should be the one to bring those supplies. He hadn’t specifically forbidden it, either. He should have known Cullen would take that for permission. He should have known Cullen would be here. That his friend would know he needed him.

Behind him, the other wolf stirred. Rule gave him one sharp stare and he subsided. Rule faced Cullen and looked him in the eye.

“What?” Cullen stopped. “Oh, right. I forgot.” He ducked his head to expose his nape—a clear statement that he was subordinate to Rule. The new wolf would be confused by this. Cullen wasn’t wolf, but his posture announced his claim on Rule.

Now Rule had to announce his own claim on Cullen. Rule stepped forward and made a show of greeting him by sniffing his face—then, pointedly, his feet. He looked at Cullen.

“Not a problem,” his friend lied breezily. “The Rhej sped things up a lot.”

He was walking on them, so the Rhej must have done him some good. Not as much as he was pretending. Rule snorted.

Cullen ignored that. “Scott’s doing fine. It’ll be a couple days before he’s healed enough to go back on duty, but he’s fine. The house is being watched. Had a bitch of a time getting away without being seen, then I had to get a panel truck, which is why I’m so late. Ready for dinner?” He opened the grocery sack and tossed a raw brisket on the pavement.

Rule heard the other wolf rise. He turned his head, growled—You do not eat before I do—then bent to rip off a bite. “Dessert’s in the back of the truck,” Cullen said, backing away quickly. “Hot bratwurst.”

Hunger gnawed, but as soon as Rule swallowed that token mouthful, he stopped. Later he’d make the new wolf wait until he was truly finished eating—it was good discipline—but not yet. He stepped back, looked from the meat to the black wolf. I have provided for you. Eat.

The other was on the raw meat in a flash. Cullen set a second brisket on the pavement and sat down beside it.

That one was Rule’s. He trotted over and ate while Cullen talked.

“I talked with Walt and a couple of the other Wythe elders. Officially, Wythe is elated to have a Rho again. Unofficially, they’re almost as scared as they are relieved. He’s not just a new wolf—he’s never been lupi before. He doesn’t know our ways, our history, et cetera, et cetera. I pointed out that Wythe was already allied with Ruben per the Lady’s command, and now she’s given him to them as Rho. She must have special plans for Wythe. That puffed out their chests. They’re still nervous, but excited, too.”

Rule wagged his tail once as he gulped down a chunk of warm beef: Good work.

“About the rendezvous. Walt’s bringing Mac Sutherland—he works with their new ones—and three others, like you wanted. You said for him to pick the spot. He suggested Bald Eagle State Park in Pennsylvania. You know it?”

Rule shook his head and ripped off another bite.

“It’s about six thousand acres, a lot of that forest, which works for us. Unfortunately, it’s always open season on coyotes in Pennsylvania, but otherwise not much hunting’s going on right now. The park’s between four and five hours from Wythe Clanhome, maybe three and a half from here. That’s assuming you can get your new wolf into the panel truck and he doesn’t freak. If he does, well, everything will take a lot longer. I brought a map and some other gear.”

Cullen pulled a folded map from his jacket pocket and spread it on the ground. He glanced at the new wolf, who kept interrupting his meal to growl at Cullen—warning growls, not seriously aggressive, so Rule ignored it. “I talked to Mason,” Cullen said, naming the Nokolai who had charge of the new wolves at the terra tradis, “so I’d have some idea how to act. I’ve never worked with brand-new wolves. You did, though.”

Rule nodded. That experience was coming in handy now. Rule had spent one season working with Mason. It had been frustrating, exhilarating, funny, infuriating, and at times great fun—new wolves were teenagers, after all.

Or had been until this one arrived. Rule glanced at the other, then polished off his meal and shifted to study the map.

“This is Bald Eagle,” Cullen said, pointing, “just north of I-80. We’ll look for Walter south of the lake. You think the new one will tolerate four hours in the van with me so close?”

Rule couldn’t shrug in this form, so he snorted. How could he know? New wolves were introduced to clan members’ two-legged forms early on, but not in the cramped confines of a panel truck, not for hours at a time, and always with older adolescents around to demonstrate proper behavior and adults to enforce it. But it was worth trying. So far, the wolf that had been Ruben Brooks was handling himself very well.

Rule looked pointedly at the duffel bag.

“Right. Guess we’ll find out.” Cullen pulled a collapsible water bowl out of the duffle bag, then a gallon jug of water. He filled the bowl. “José didn’t think I should take a vehicle registered in your name, so I bought the panel truck for cash from a guy who’d advertised in the paper. Your cash, of course. You didn’t get a very good deal, but I was in a hurry.”

Rule nodded and went to the water bowl.

Cullen waited until he finished, refilled the bowl, then backed off again, but only ten feet. There was a brief clash of wills as the new wolf tried to get Cullen to go away and Rule insisted that Cullen was his to direct, not the new wolf ’s. Eventually the new wolf accepted that and drank.

This didn’t mean he’d accept it the next time. Or the next. The wolf had no instinctive understanding of Cullen except as threat or prey, and it took time and repetition to create a new role—lupi, one of us, never mind the form—in the wolf ’s mind. Once he began remembering being a man himself, though, that lesson would stick better. Once he’d Changed a few times, it would be solid.

It took much longer for a wolf to stop seeing humans as potential prey. Four or five years, usually. Oh, most new wolves were able to restrain themselves long before that, but forbidden food is still food. They were kept away from humans except in controlled circumstances until their first response to the smell of humanity was people, not meat.

How long would it be before Ruben could live with his beautiful Deborah again?

Rule shook that thought off. Worrying about things he couldn’t change was foolish.

The other wolf had finished drinking. He stood still and taut, sniffing the air warily, glancing frequently at Rule. That wasn’t typical. With a full belly and no immediate danger, most new wolves would be looking for sleep or play or some interesting scent to track. Was the difference a matter of this one being older? Or was it the way he’d been brought into this form, unprepared and surrounded from the first with what he considered threats instead of clan?

No way of knowing. Rule collected the new wolf with a glance, and the two of them trotted into the trees. They relieved themselves, then Rule had a good roll in the leaves. It felt good, it smelled good, and he wanted to take some of the scents of the forest with him into the metal cage-on-wheels Cullen would be driving.

The plan was to get the other wolf to follow Rule into the back of the panel truck. The bratwurst should help. Rule didn’t know a wolf who wouldn’t salivate over that smell. Cullen would close the door quickly, then wait.

Rule hoped the other wolf would not turn out to be as sensitive to small places as he was. Even so, there would be a period of panic and adjustment. Assuming Rule could get the new wolf to settle down, Cullen would drive them to Bald Eagle Park—Rule had let Walt pick the rendezvous point—where Walt and several Wythe wolves would meet them.

Being surrounded by wolves who smelled right should help the new wolf adjust. It would be great if, at that point, Rule could turn his charge over to his clan. That wasn’t going to happen. The new wolf didn’t really know how to use the mantle he carried, but no Wythe wolf was going to be able to dominate his own Rho. On foot or in a mobile cage, Rule would be continuing with the others to Wythe Clanhome . . . nearly three hundred miles away from Washington.

If the mate bond allowed it.

Rule snarled silently at the empty air. The mate bond was the Lady’s gift.

Hadn’t the Lady contrived to land him—and Ruben, and Lily, and the entire Wythe clan—in precisely this position? Rule didn’t understand it. How could Ruben have been turned into a lupus? One with founder’s blood, no less, able to carry the mantle. It made no sense. But somehow the Lady had done just that. She’d tinkered with the mantle while it resided within Lily.

She could damn well tinker with the mate bond, too.

She’d better. If Rule crossed that invisible boundary at highway speeds and passed out, it meant that here in D.C. Lily would probably pass out, too. Wherever she was. Whatever she was doing.

Lily.

Cullen hadn’t spoken of her. Rule hadn’t forced him to, though he could have, even in this wordless form. Silently, tacitly, they’d agreed to put off the moment of bad news . . . because it would be bad news.

Enough of that. Rule shook himself and glanced to his left. The other wolf had relaxed once they were surrounded by trees again and was happily digging at an abandoned rabbit burrow. Rule left him to that and trotted up to Cullen. He sat and looked at his friend.

For a long moment Cullen met his gaze without speaking. He sighed. “Lily. Yes. I haven’t talked to her myself, but . . . well, Drummond charged her with interfering with an investigation. She’s in jail.”