Death Magic (30 page)
Authors: Eileen Wilks
Was there any way he could get her new shoes and a dozen pairs of socks? The homeless had to take care of their feet, he knew. One of the hardest parts of living on the street was finding a way to wash clothes, but socks could be washed in the sink at a public restroom. Maybe some lotion for the hands she kept so scrupulously clean? A nail clipper—no, a small pair of scissors would be better, useful for more tasks. Or even a Swiss Army knife.
She tipped her head back and fixed him with a belligerent look. “I’ll tell you. You won’t b’lieve me, but I’ll tell you what happened to Birdie. Them aliens took him.”
“Hmm.”
“Don’t believe me, do you? Think I’m a crazy old bat.”
“I think you saw something. Did you see the aliens take Birdie?”
“Hell, no. But I seen ’em take poor Meggie, and now Birdie’s missing, so I knows what happened to Birdie.”
“Tell me what you saw.”
“Meggie, she allus tries for a spot at the shelter, but she drinks too much to know what time it is, so she gets there late a lot. They was full up by the time she showed up that night, so she comes around whinin’ at me about how I could let her stay at my place just this once. She allus says that—‘just this once.’ I likes my privacy, see? I don’t share my place with no one. I don’t like anyone knowin’ where it is, but Meggie . . . well, I made a mistake with her one time when it was real cold an’ let her stay with me. But it weren’t cold that night, and she smelled pretty damn ripe, so I tells her to move on.” She scowled. “Wasn’t like I knew what would happen, was it?”
“Of course not. And you’re entitled to your privacy.”
“I am.” She said that forcefully. “So I tells her to move on, an’ after a while she does. Now, my place . . .” She slid him a suspicious look. “I ain’t telling you where it is, but it’s close to the street, so I heard it when she starts talking to someone. I wanted to know who that was, ’cause Meggie’s too scared to speak to a shadow if’n she don’t know ’em. ’Specially a male shadow. So I’m thinkin’ it’s someone I know, and I don’t want her telling anyone where my place is, so I went to see.”
“You saw her taken?”
“Big old black car. Not a flying saucer, nothin’ like that. They was in a big old black car, real nice. And Meggie . . . she just stood there.” For a moment the woman stared into space, her face slack, her eyes holding a touch of real horror. “She weren’t right. I saw her face, and she weren’t right. They used their mind powers on her, I guess. That one of ’em who’d got out of the car took her arm and told her to come along, and she did. She just did what he said.” She shuddered. “That’s how I knew they was aliens. Meggie wouldn’t never get in a car with someone that way. ’Specially not a man.”
“They didn’t look like aliens, then?”
“Only saw that one. The other was driving the car, or mebbe there was a bunch of ’em in the car. I couldn’t see. But that one, he looked just like anyone.”
“He was disguised.”
“That’s right!” His suggestion unlocked a fierce series of nods. “That’s absodamnlutely right! I figure they can be anyone, those aliens. But you’re a werewolf. They can’t turn themselves into werewolves.”
“I don’t think so, no. This one you saw . . . was he fat or skinny or in between?”
“Kinda skinny, I guess. Dressed nice, but not fancy. Not in a suit or anything.” She squinted, thinking. “Not jeans, though. Businessman pants.”
“Dark skin? Pale?”
“Oh, he was white.”
Further questions revealed that the alien who snatched Meggie was neither “real old or real young.” His hair had been dark and short, and he hadn’t worn glasses or facial hair. He’d been a lot taller than “poor Meggie,” but Meggie was such a teeny dab of a thing, that wasn’t saying much. Mebbe six foot?
The alien abduction had happened about three weeks ago, and she hadn’t seen Meggie since. She didn’t know what time the men in the black car showed up, but it had been full dark for “a couple–three hours.” She had no idea what the make or model of the car was. She wouldn’t tell Rule where it had happened. She refused to talk to Lily—“Mebbe you ain’t an alien, but how do I know about her?”—and she still wouldn’t tell him her name. When he asked again, she stepped back. “I got somewhere to be.”
“All right. I’d like to pay you for your time.”
“Yeah? Well, I charges a hundred an hour.”
His lips tugged up. “I believe we spoke less than an hour.” He moved so his body blocked them from any prying eyes before slipping his wallet from his pocket. Some of those here wouldn’t hesitate to mug an old woman. He took out three twenties—and his card. One of the ones with his cell number. “Will you call me if you see them again?”
“Mebbe.”
“I’m glad you’re cautious. Don’t tell anyone else about these men. Who, ah, only look like men. You don’t want them to know you’ve seen them.”
She stuck the bills in her jeans pocket and gave him a sly smile. “Seen who?”
He could probably find out what name she went by, he thought as he angled across the room toward Lily, who’d finished with the servers and was talking to a shriveled little man in an incredibly bright blue sweater. Someone here probably knew that much. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. She liked her privacy, and who was he to take that away?
Lily might not see it that way. Probably wouldn’t. If . . .
His phone rattled through a drumroll. That was Cullen. About time. He wanted his car back. Rule unhitched the phone from his belt. “Yes?”
Cullen’s voice was breathy, strained, and urgent. “Get here quick. 1125 West Brewster. I’m hurt. So’s Fagin.”
LILY
never understood why they weren’t stopped on that mad ride. They damn sure should have been. Rule’s reflexes meant he could drive faster than a human without increasing the risk, but there were limits.
never understood why they weren’t stopped on that mad ride. They damn sure should have been. Rule’s reflexes meant he could drive faster than a human without increasing the risk, but there were limits.
There’d been a bomb. A firebomb, according to Cullen—not much bang, lots of heat. He’d refused to stay on the phone for more than a moment, and hadn’t answered when Rule tried to call him back. “He needs his Lu Nuncio,” Rule had said as the car skidded around a corner.
“He told you that?”
“Not in words, but I could hear it.”
If Cullen needed his Lu Nuncio, it meant he was hurt enough to threaten his control—bad for him and for anyone who tried to help him. Cullen had superb control, better than most lupi, control forged in the dreadful furnace of living so long as a lone wolf.
So Rule hurried. Halfway there Lily got a call from Cynna, who’d received a text from Cullen telling her not to worry, that he wasn’t hurt bad. Somehow it didn’t have that effect, especially because he didn’t answer her, either, so Lily spent the next few careening turns telling Cynna they didn’t know anything yet. Her lips as well as her knuckles were white by the time they screeched to a halt a block away from 1125 West Brewster.
In spite of Rule’s heavy foot, the emergency responders had been closer and arrived first. At least most of them did. A second ambulance wailed to a stop as Rule slammed his door shut.
They set off at a quick lope—her, Rule, and Scott. Most of these homes were two stories. Lily scanned rooflines. If someone wanted to pick her or Rule off, there were plenty of spots to shoot from. By the time they reached the tangle of cop cars blocking the street, her heart was pounding as if she’d run a mile.
She couldn’t see the house from here. A pumper truck blocked her view. No smoke, though. Surely that was good.
Lily flashed her shield at one of the patrol officers. “They’re with me,” she told him when he frowned at Rule and Scott. “They’re needed. Where’s the—no, I see him. Captain!” she called, hurrying forward.
She’d taken a guess about the rank. From the rear, she could only see that one firefighter’s helmet was black, which meant an officer. When he turned, she saw she’d guessed right. His helmet bore a captain’s bugles.
He was a blunt-featured man, Hispanic, midway between her height and Rule’s. Probably midway between their ages, too. And scowling. “What the hell do—wait a minute,” he said as his gaze shifted up and to Lily’s right. “You’re Rule Turner. Are you Rule Turner?”
“I am.”
“He’s asking for you, and by God, you’d better tell him to quit with his tricks and let us get some water on the building. Come on.” He turned and marched for the pumper truck’s high snub nose.
Lily and Rule exchanged one quick, startled glance and hurried to catch up. “Captain,” Rule said, “are you talking about Cullen Seabourne? He won’t let your men put out the fire?”
“Says he got rid of the fire himself and we should go away. He put the other victim on the porch. On the damn porch, like we were FedEx picking up a package. He did let the EMTs approach to take care of the man, but—”
“The other victim?” Lily said quickly. “Dr. Xavier Fagin? Is he—”
“In pain,” said a weak but familiar voice on the other side of the pumper. “A great deal of pain, but that’s”—this was interrupted by a long, wheezy breath—“encouraging, since it means the nerve endings weren’t destroyed. I—no, no, I don’t want that. I want drugs. Strong drugs.”
A stiff female voice said, “They can give you some at the ER, sir, but you need oxygen now.”
Lily rounded the nose of the pumper truck and saw Fagin. He was sitting up, leaning against his own front door and coughing as he swatted at the EMT who was trying to pull the oxygen mask back up. The other EMT was positioning a gurney.
She saw Cullen, too. On the roof.
The front of Fagin’s house was a mess, but it wasn’t in pieces. The porch was blackened. The bay window was broken, but the ones on the other side of the door were intact. The roof looked sound, too—which was just as well, because that’s where Cullen sat, his feet dangling over the edge. His jeans were burned partway up the calves. His lower calves and feet were black and oozy. He sat there and swayed as if there were a high wind.
A pair of firefighters stood on this side of the pumper truck aiming their own scowls at the wobbly man on the roof. It looked as if they’d started uncoiling a hose, but hadn’t gotten far.
Lily exchanged a quick glance with Rule. “I’ll take Fagin.”
“I’ll take Cullen. Scott, call Cynna. Keep her updated.”
They split up—Scott staying behind, Rule stopping short of the porch, and Lily hurrying up the porch steps.
“Lily.” Fagin’s smile was a shaky facsimile of his usual beaming welcome. “My feet are a mess, but . . .” Another short coughing fit. “My new best friend kept it from being worse. He threw me to the floor behind my desk and covered my body with his own. But my feet are broadcasting enough pain for two of me.”
“Then let them put that mask on and take you to the ER,” she said firmly.
“I don’t need—”
“If it gets you to those painkillers quicker, why are you arguing?”
“Ah. Hmm.”
Behind her Rule said, “How bad are you hurt?”
Cullen’s voice was strong enough, though the words were a bit slurred. “Tell ’em to—”
“Cullen,” Rule repeated with a new note in his voice, “how bad are you hurt?”
A second’s silence, then: “Feet, ankles, lower calves. That would be roughly nine percent of my body, so it’s not too bad. Third degree on my feet. I can’t feel ’em. I sucked down some smoke, but that’s pretty much cleared up.”
Lily caught Scott’s voice, quietly repeating that to Cynna.
“All right,” Rule said. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
“Battery’s dead. I need you to stop them.”
“Stop who from what?”
“No water. Water ruins books. And the elemental doesn’t like it. Fire doesn’t bother it, but it hates water. That’s why it—
you
stay back.” He pointed.
you
stay back.” He pointed.
Lily looked over her shoulder in time to see a thin stream of fire dance on the ground in front of the captain. The man backed up. Quickly.
“We’re going to have to shoot your sorry ass if you don’t quit that,” the captain growled. “You’re in enough trouble already. You’re hurt. Let us help you down.”
“No.”
The EMTs were loading Fagin onto the gurney. He hissed and muttered as he was shifted, but didn’t seem to be in shock. Lily moved off the porch so she could see Cullen with his dangling, blackened feet glowering down at Rule. “No firemen,” he said. “No water.”
Rule said, “You put out the fire?”
“Fagin’s elemental isn’t fast enough. Earth elemental, y’know. Not quick. So I did it.”
“And you’re sure there is no ember, no tiny trace of anything smoldering?”
Cullen was scornful. “’Course I’m sure. It’s Fagin’s
library
. The bastards firebombed his bloody
library
. Bloody damned irreplaceable shit in Fagin’s library.” He scowled in contemplation of the magnitude of this offense, then added as an afterthought, “And there’s the elemental. Doesn’t like water. Might hurt someone. Can’t let it hurt them, can I?”
library
. The bastards firebombed his bloody
library
. Bloody damned irreplaceable shit in Fagin’s library.” He scowled in contemplation of the magnitude of this offense, then added as an afterthought, “And there’s the elemental. Doesn’t like water. Might hurt someone. Can’t let it hurt them, can I?”
Fagin—who’d finally allowed them to put the oxygen mask on and was being wheeled away to the nearest ambulance—pulled the mask down again. “No hosing the house,” he ordered, then coughed some more.
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