Death Magic

TWENTY-SIX

THEY don’t turn the lights off in holding cells.

The heavy woman with dreads and a blood-spattered orange shirt rocked and muttered to herself. She’d kept that up all night. A Hispanic woman argued with a brittle-looking blonde with a puffy lip and torn shirt. Up near the bars, a tall, skinny woman hooted with laughter at something one of her friends said. Prostitutes, those three, and Lily’s most relaxed roommates . . . unless you counted the ones who were passed out. Like the white-haired woman in a Dior suit who’d vomited all over herself and the floor about thirty minutes ago. Lily had had to get up and turn the woman’s head to make sure she didn’t aspirate the vomit and choke to death. At the rear of the cell a sad but sober-looking young black woman with some kind of stomach problem sat on the toilet, ignoring the rest of them.

When Lily first arrived, a muscular fortyish woman with bad teeth and biker tats had tried to charge admittance to the toilet—“I’ll keep them black bitches from messing with you, an’ you’ll owe me a favor, see?” Bad Teeth hadn’t taken “go away” for an answer, probably because Lily looked too little to be a threat. Lily had put her on the floor quick enough that the guards either didn’t notice or hadn’t felt a need to intervene.

Turnover was high here. Bad Teeth was long gone. So was everyone else who’d been here when the cell door shut behind Lily.

Lily had one of the prime spots. She sat on the floor and leaned against the wall near the front of the cell, where the air was a bit better. Three feet from her face were the torn jeans of a girl who probably wasn’t eighteen yet. She was clearly coming off something, shifting from foot to foot, staring out the bars with wild eyes. “I gotta get out of here. I gotta get out.”

It could have been worse. Lily had seen worse. At no point had the cell been too crowded to sit down, and she’d been able to lie down part of the time, until she got too sleepy. She hadn’t dared fall asleep, which might be good sense or sheer paranoia.

She was here because she’d screwed up, yeah. Also because she’d been manipulated by the Lady to carry that damn mantle to Ruben. But she was certain, deep in her gut, that she was also here because this is where someone wanted her.

She’d been set up. And she’d fallen for it.

Not that she could prove it. Her thoughts circled round that lack of proof yet again, trying to fit it to her conviction, testing this person and that one as suspects. Drummond? Sjorensen? Mullins? She had nothing to go on.

Almost nothing. She’d had nothing to do but think since they locked her up, and some of that had been productive. She had a mental list of questions and some ideas about what to check out if she ever got out of here.

Lily shifted, sick of sitting. But there was nowhere to go. Nothing to do. Lily had been in for nearly a full day. She’d been allowed her one phone call, but was beginning to think she’d called the wrong damn person. None of the others had been here as long as she had. She shouldn’t have been kept here this long, either.

She shouldn’t have been here at all. And not just in the ohmygod sense.

Drummond had delegated her custody to his favorite flunky. Doug Mullins had brought her here, not to Headquarters or another federal facility, not to an interrogation room. She hadn’t been questioned at all.

That was either sheer spite or something more ominous. If they questioned her and she refused to answer without an attorney present, they’d have to process her into a regular cell, not the smelly hell of a holding cell at a county jail. So they wanted her here, but was that because they wanted her to have a really bad night? Or did they have some other reason for keeping her tucked away, in the system but not where anyone would expect to find her?

Some of the reasons she came up with were probably nutty. She still hadn’t dared sleep.

Once she’d told Rule she wondered what it would be like to miss him. The mate bond had made that unlikely, she thought. They always played it safe. Sometimes it allowed them to put plenty of space between them, sometimes it didn’t, so they stayed within the same city.

He was miles and miles away now. Two hundred? Three? She couldn’t tell. Why so far? Where was he, and where was he going? There hadn’t been time to talk about what he’d do—and he hadn’t been shaped for talking.

But surely the distance meant he and Ruben had gotten away. At least Rule wasn’t locked up in a reeking cell. And Ruben . . . dear God. The Lady wanted him for Rho of Wythe? He was lupi? Only he couldn’t be. You had to be born lupi. You had to have founder’s blood to carry the mantle.

Start with what is and work back, she told herself. Ruben had gone through First Change. He smelled lupus. He hadn’t before, but he did now. Those added up to a big, fat yes—whatever had happened to him, he was now lupi. Second fact. He carried the Wythe mantle, and not the way Lily had, as a passive passenger. It was active in him. Scott had been unable to stand against him, unable to fight him effectively. Did that mean he did have some of the founder’s bloodline in him? Did she know anything to contradict that?

She didn’t know anything, period. But it was something to check out . . . if she ever got out of here. If she ever . . . her head jerked. She’d dozed off. Only for a second, but she couldn’t stay awake forever. She should get up and move around, do some stretches or sit-ups or something, wake herself up.

She would in just a minute. Even though she was probably crazy to think she was in danger. The only threat in the fifteen hours she’d been here had been Bad Teeth, and she’d been after “favors,” not murder. But she’d get up and move around and...

Her head jerked again.

One of the guards, a heavyset woman who hadn’t smiled in at least thirty years, came up to the door. “Lily Yu.”

Lily blinked and stood slowly. “Yes?”

“Guess you’ve got a good lawyer.” The woman unlocked the cell door.

The guard didn’t have handcuffs out. “I’m . . . being released?”

“Own recognizance. Follow me, please.”

She hadn’t been arraigned, which was when bail would be set, or the judge could decide to let her out on her own recognizance. Yet they were releasing her. Lily shook her head, trying to clear it, and walked out of the cell.

Being released was nowhere near as humiliating and time-consuming as being admitted to the facilities, but it still took a while. She had to confirm receipt of everything that was returned—her shoes, jacket, necklace, and engagement ring. Her phone. Her purse and all its contents. Her shoulder holster. Her weapon. She got it all back.

Everything except what mattered most. They couldn’t hand her life back. But then, they hadn’t taken it. She’d tossed it away of her own free will.

Lily didn’t know if she’d actually serve jail time beyond this one day. Interfering with an investigation was a serious charge, but could be hard and costly to prove; few federal attorneys would be interested in prosecuting any but the most egregious cases. And unless they’d gotten Deborah to change her story, they couldn’t prove Lily had tipped Ruben off. They could strongly suggest it, sure, but a good lawyer could probably keep her out of jail. Any halfway decent prosecutor would know that. Even if Friar was behind this, even if he had a prosecutor in his pocket and was frothing at the mouth to get Lily locked up, odds were she wouldn’t be convicted.

She didn’t have to be. The fact of her presence at Ruben’s house was enough to get her kicked out of the Bureau.

She wasn’t a cop anymore.

Lily walked down the hall a few steps ahead of the heavyset guard, her head light with exhaustion, and felt no relief at all. She tried to at least be curious about her release, but it didn’t seem important. In a minute she’d meet with whatever lawyer had arranged it and he or she would tell her what the situation was.

She emerged into a small, bare room where another guard waited . . . and another man. The one she’d called, but she’d never expected him to come here. A burly man in dark slacks, a pressed shirt, no tie. With his beard, rusty brown hair, and blacksmith’s chest and shoulders, he looked like a minor forest god in disguise.

Isen Turner. Rule’s father. The Nokolai Rho. Isen, who almost never left Nokolai Clanhome, and absolutely never left California. Yet here he was, crossing the ugly little room to grab her up in a hug.

“Lily.” He squeezed her firmly, patted her back, then pulled back enough to smile at her, still holding her arms. “You smell awful. Come. Let’s get out of here.”

A fondness for Mercedes-Benz must run in the family. That’s what Isen had waiting for them in the parking lot. Waiting right outside the courthouse door was a stringy, six-foot-eight-inch giant named Pete Murkowski, second-in-command of security at Clanhome. Pete had baby-fine hair the color of old ivory and long, ropy muscles. He looked funny in clothes, Lily thought. She was used to seeing him in cutoffs.

“Rule,” she said to Rule’s father. “Have you heard from him? Where is he?”

“He’s remaining wolf, so no. I have talked to Cullen, who’s with Rule and the new wolf. They’re doing well and have arrived at Wythe Clanhome. We’ll discuss that later, when there’s no chance of anyone eavesdropping. It’s unlikely here, but not impossible. You have a nine o’clock appointment tomorrow with your lawyer.”

“The arraignment.” Lily’s stomach knotted.

“That’s tomorrow afternoon.” They’d reached the car. Pete gave Lily a nod and a smile as he opened the door for them. “Your lawyer is Miriam Stockard. Perhaps you’ve heard of her? She regrets that she was unable to meet you this morning, but she had to be in court. Still, her associate seems to have done well by us.”

“Stockard. Yeah, I’ve heard of her. Hi, Pete.” Lily felt a bit dazed as she slid into the backseat. Miriam Stockard was one of the top defense attorneys in the country, the bane of prosecutors on both coasts.

Automatically she scooted over so Isen could slide in beside her. He did. Pete went around to the driver’s side, climbed in, and got them moving. Lily fastened her seatbelt, turned to Isen, and let the question erupt. “What are you doing here?”

Isen’s bushy eyebrows rose. He was relaxed, pleased with himself, as if he’d had a wonderful day so far and anticipated plenty of treats to come. “Aside from getting you out of jail, you mean?”

“The lawyer did that. I mean . . . I appreciate you hiring her. I really do. And I’d like to find out how she got me sprung before the arraignment, but she didn’t do anything differently because you flew across the country.” Lily paused. “I hate to think about what she’s costing.”

Isen squeezed Lily’s shoulder. “Nokolai can afford it.”

“I didn’t mean for Nokolai to—”

“You called on your Rho for help. Of course Nokolai is paying Ms. Stockard’s bill.”

Lily fell silent. Naturally Isen would think of it that way. But had she? When she called him, who had she called? Rule’s father or ...

It was disconcerting as hell, but Isen was right. Given one phone call and knowing she couldn’t reach Rule, she’d picked Isen. Not because he was Rule’s father. Because she trusted him. She trusted him not just to get her a lawyer, but to know what to do, how to do it, who should be told, what the repercussions might be, how to minimize them. She’d trusted him because he was wily and wise, cynical and kind, underhanded and openhanded. Most of all, she’d trusted him to handle things because that’s what he did. Because he was Rho. “I guess you’ve had experience getting your people out of jails.”

He chuckled. “That I have, though we prefer to avoid it.”

“I’m surprised Stockard took the case. It’s small potatoes for her.”

“Ah, well, she owed one of the clan a rather large favor. We called it in. Our opponents need to be aware that we can pull out the big guns if they force the issue.”

She exchanged a long look with him. Isen had realized the same thing she had—the arrest might ruin her in other ways, but there was a good chance she’d never go to trial. Especially now that the prosecutor knew he’d be dealing with Ms. Miriam Stockard. “Have you ever practiced law?”

“That would create a conflict of interest.”

Because he couldn’t be sworn in as an officer of the court without lying? Probably. Isen didn’t share her respect for the law, but he considered his word binding. He wouldn’t want to swear to something he didn’t intend to back up. Even now he avoided speaking a deliberate untruth, didn’t he? “I guess you called my parents.”

“I regret that I didn’t follow your request precisely. I called your grandmother. Such news might come best from her, I thought.”

“What did she say?”

“She was very angry.” He patted Lily’s hand. “Not with you. I can’t repeat what she said at first. Chinese is not one of my languages. But I do believe our enemies have been well and truly cursed. After we spoke a bit more—in English, for my sake—she gave me instructions for you. You are not to act precipitously, particularly when it comes to killing people.”

Lily choked on a laugh. “It’s not a habit of mine.”

“She may have been projecting, as I believe they call it, based on her own urgent desire to rip certain people apart. You are also not to worry about your parents. She will handle them.”

It was one bright, warm kernel to cling to. Grandmother was on her side. But even Grandmother couldn’t make the news less than devastating to Lily’s parents. By now her mother knew she was disgraced and would be unemployed once the Bureau got around to the paperwork. Her father, too. Croft would have to fire her. He had no choice.

Suddenly weary beyond words, Lily leaned her head back. She closed her eyes and tried not to think.

Unfortunately, she’d never been good at that. Questions pushed at her until their pressure had her eyes popping open again. “You never answered my first question. Why are you here? For that matter, why are you here with Pete instead of Benedict? Who’s taking care of Toby?”

“Toby’s fine. Benedict and Arjenie are there. And Pete is well able to see to my safety.”

“I’m sure he is, but on those rare times you leave Clanhome, Benedict always goes with you.” Pete was good—Lily had seen him in practice bouts—but Benedict wasn’t just better. He was the best.

“Oh, Benedict objected at first, but he’s too sensible to insist on coming with me, under the circumstances. It would not be wise for me and both of my sons to be out and about for a protracted period.”

Because of the mantle. Because if Isen and both his sons were killed, Nokolai’s mantle would be lost. “And yet you’re here.” It was a huge risk, and not just to Isen. To the clan.

“And will soon be at Wythe Clanhome. Wythe doesn’t have Benedict, so their security isn’t up to our standards, but it would still be extremely difficult for our enemies to penetrate. The danger is much less than you’re thinking.” He patted her hand again. “You were alarmed for the clan, weren’t you? I’m pleased.”

She blinked, confused. “You’re going to Wythe Clanhome?”

“Of course. That’s where Rule and the new wolf are. Rule says that the new wolf—”

“You mean Ruben. Why do you avoid using his name?”

His eyes twinkled with unimpaired good humor. “Do you know, I don’t believe anyone had interrupted me for years before you joined the clan? Yes, that’s who I mean. A brand-new wolf isn’t called by the name he bears in his other form for the first two weeks following the Change. At the new moon, his guide will use that name to recall him to his other form. This new wolf is a Rho. That has never happened, obviously, but we are learning some of the consequences quickly. He can’t be controlled by anyone except a mantle-holder, yet he must be controlled until he’s able to do so himself. I flew out so I can relieve Rule of that task.”

Warmth rushed through her, a dizzy sort of weakness. He’d done it for her. Oh, being Isen, he might have had a dozen other reasons—no, there was no “maybe” to it. He did have other reasons. But in a very large way he’d crossed the continent so she wouldn’t be alone in this strange new life she’d been thrust into. Life as not-a-cop.

She touched his hand. Immediately he closed his around hers—a broad hand, warm and brimming with magic. It was nothing like holding Rule’s hand, yet it was comforting. Neither of them spoke for several moments. Finally she said, “I really need a shower, don’t I?”

He chuckled. “Oh, yes.”