“I picked Carlos for the mission because of his love of bikes,” Rule said. “Loved riding them and tinkering with them. He worked in a motorcycle shop when he was younger. He knew how to fight, of course, knew weapons. He’d worked under Benedict for a dozen years. But I wanted him because he might have been able to fix a bike if one of them broke down. He brought a small toolkit with him . . . we never needed it.”
Lily ached for him. For Carlos, who’d died alone in the dark. She ached for Carlos’s father and for his daughter, and she said, “Did he die because he made a mistake?”
“What? No! No, he did everything right. He just took too much venom when—”
“Then he didn’t die because you picked the wrong person for the mission. He died because—well, it’s hell. Demons. Lots and lots of demons. I still don’t see how the rest of us survived.”
He smiled slowly. “That has a lot to do with your—”
“It is time!” Grandmother called. “The gate opens!”
She and Rule and Toby went through last, with her on the back of the bike and Toby loping along beside them. The moment when every cell of her body tried to draw apart from every other cell and do its own little shimmer-dance seemed longer, stronger this time—maybe because she was so bloody exhausted—but then she was through the gate and home.
Home was rough, low mountains with forested slopes—the national forest that adjoined Clanhome. Home was a whole lot of people clustered in the small valley where they’d exited, and Isen crouching beside his oldest son, who lay flat on the ground now with Nettie bending over him. Home was the shadow of a dragon cruising overhead, and the tug of a mind Lily knew well. Sam’s mind.
Home smelled strongly like barbeque.
“Injuries?” Isen boomed as he ran up and gripped Rule’s shoulders.
“All healed. Did they tell you—”
But Isen wasn’t listening. He crushed Rule to him in a hug that may have come close to cracking a rib or two, then let go with one arm so he could hug Lily with it. “And this—” He broke off, one arm around Rule, one around Lily, and looked down at the wolf snarling at him. His bushy eyebrows lifted. “And this is my grandson, well and healthy and a great surprise. You have much to tell me.”
Rule pulled away so he could crouch beside Toby and soothe him. “I do. We won’t be sending Toby to Nokolai’s terra tradis.”
“No, I can see that. Leidolf does have a terra tradis, of course, but will you—ah, later. I will hear everything, but first you should eat and drink. We brought ribs and pulled pork from the Jolly Pig. Nettie will see to Benedict”—a quick glance over his shoulder, the twitch of a worried frown—“but the rest of you must eat.”
“Coke,” Lily said with great sincerity. “Coke first, then food and explanations, but you should know that the other kids are in Edge. They’re fine, they’re safe, and Gan will—” She broke off, startled by the sight of an unexpected face in the crowd. “Rule, your brother’s here! Your other brother, I mean. Jason. And Adam’s with him.”
And from ahead of them in the mob came Cullen’s voice, very loud. “That’s him! Grab him! That’s—”
“Cullen!” Isen roared. “Sit!”
Lily couldn’t see Cullen from here, but she had no doubt Cullen had promptly folded and sat on the ground.
“You are injured,” Isen went on severely. “You will not go chasing and grabbing people. Especially not people to whom I have given guest-right.”
Cullen’s voice again, much quieter: “Guest-right?”
“Yes. I, too, have much to tell,” he said, speaking more to Rule and Lily now. “Though some of it should come from your brother Jason, and some from these two, whom I have named ospi.” He waved one hand. “Come now, step forward so I can introduce you. I think Rule and Lily never met you, did they?”
Isen hadn’t really brought half the clan with him. It just seemed like it. A man and woman slipped out of the crowd around them. Lily put her at five-seven, maybe a hundred thirty-five pounds. Early thirties. She was red-haired, voluptuous, and freckled, with the round cheeks that made Irish women’s smiles so infectious. He was, in a word, gorgeous. Five-eleven and one sixty-five, she thought, and in his mid-twenties. His curly hair just missed being black, and his eyes were a startling pale blue. His features were beautifully symmetrical. His body might have been copied from Michelangelo’s David.
Both of them wore jeans, T-shirts, and wary expressions.
“This is my son, Rule Turner,” Isen said, “and his mate, Lily Yu. Rule, Lily, this is Michael . . . I think you prefer Brown for your surname? Michael and Molly Brown. They stand with us against the Great Enemy and have great need of the clan’s protection. Michael is . . .” He paused, then smiled a slow, canny smile. “Let us say that he is the holder of the Codex Arcana.”