Mortal Danger (27 page)

“Rule’s picky about coffee. He buys some fancy blend and grinds it fresh.”

The silence that followed reeked of everything he didn’t say. At last he sighed. “I’m sorry about Rule, Lily. Damned sorry.”

She didn’t respond. Just waited.

His eyebrows lifted, “You aren’t going to insist that he isn’t dead?”

“I’m pretty sure you know that. Just like I know you didn’t fly twenty-five hundred miles to offer me your sympathy.”

“No.” He took another sip, heaved another sigh, and put the mug on the coffee table. “I’m here to tell you some things Ruben didn’t want to go into over the phone. Also to be sure you aren’t planning to do something stupid.”

Lily kept her face stony. “Ruben’s private line is as secure as any in the nation.”

“So it is. I’m going to give you some background you aren’t cleared for. Heavy duty stuff with lots of
tops
stamped in front of
secret
.” He looked at Cullen. “I figure you see the advantage in continuing to fly under the official radar.”

Cullen smiled pleasantly. “Just as you see the advantage in letting me hover there. Don’t worry. I’m not going to run to the tabloids with the story.”

“You won’t tell anyone, or discuss it with anyone except those in this room. And you’ll all be damned careful how you discuss it at all. You’ll see why.” He paused. “In the past year, two U.S. Congressmen and the under secretary of a major department have reported being contacted by a demon.”

“What?” Lily’s coffee jiggled, spilling a couple of drops on Harry. He gave her an indignant look and jumped down. “That… is certainly not what I was expecting.” Demons didn’t just dial up Congressmen and offer them deals. For one thing, they couldn’t… or so everyone thought. “There hasn’t been a confirmed case of demonic tampering with government in… well, not since Hitler.”

Karonski nodded. “And that was a freak occurrence, the result of conditions unlikely to be duplicated in a thousand years. You can see why they’re keeping the investigation quiet.”

“They, not we?” Her eyebrows rose. “Who’s investigating?”

“The Secret Service. They’ve needed some expert help, so Ruben’s made a few of us in the Unit available to them on an informal basis. But it’s their investigation, not ours.”

“Are we talking about one demon?” Cynna asked. “Or more?”

He gave her a nod. “Good question. We’d like to know if we’re looking at a widespread change in the relationship between the realms, which is what contact by multiple demons would suggest. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you. The descriptions we’ve got don’t match, but demons have a nasty habit of changing their body size and shape, so that isn’t conclusive.”

Cullen slid him an unreadable look. “And what does this have to do with Lily?”

“Think about it. If one appointee and three elected officials report unsolicited demonic contact, there’s a damned good chance that others were contacted, too. And haven’t reported it.”

“Shit.”

“The ones who reported it were taking a risk,” Lily said slowly. “Supposedly demons can’t initiate contact themselves, right? They have to be summoned. The Congressmen must have wondered if anyone would believe that it wasn’t any of their doing.”

Karonski gave her a nod. “They showed courage, all right. We’re betting that others were contacted who didn’t take the deal but didn’t report it, either. Some would be afraid. Some probably persuaded themselves it never happened. Denial is a powerful force. But human nature being what it is, we have to assume there are people in powerful positions in the government who took the demon up on its offer.”

“What kind of offer?” she asked.

“The usual. Fame, wealth, power. The power to do good can be a strong temptation for even the best of us.”

Cynna shook her head. “Those pacts leave traces. It’s not that hard to find out if someone has been sipping demon blood.”

“Oh, yech,” Lily said. “Is that how the pacts are sealed?”

“Blood is both the seal and the way power is transferred,” Karonski said. “And yes, we can detect it. But it’s not feasible to run blood tests on every member of Congress, their staffs and families, all the Secretaries and Under Secretaries, maybe a few dozen judges and—”

“Okay, okay,” Cynna said. “But what is the Secret Service
doing
then? How do they investigate if they can’t run tests?”

For a long moment Karonski didn’t say anything.

“We’d hoped to bring in a sensitive,” he said at last. “Someone who could tell who was clean with a single handshake.”

Lily closed her eyes.
Shit, shit, shit
…

Cullen’s voice was hard. “You also didn’t fly twenty-five hundred miles to make Lily feel even worse about the loss of her Gift, I’m assuming.”

Lily spoke without opening her eyes. “He’s warning us. He thinks the acting director of the FBI may have been corrupted. That’s why Ruben didn’t say anything over the phone. Why Karonski is officially still in Virginia… and probably why the Secret Service is investigating, not us.”

Karonski spread his hands. “We’ve got no evidence. None. No reason to think Hayes was contacted, except…”

“One of Ruben’s feelings,” she finished for him.

“Yeah.” He picked up his coffee and took a drink. “Which was strengthened when Hayes put pressure on Ruben to close the investigation and declare Rule dead.”

“I’m not getting the connection,” Cynna said.

“You should. If Hayes is corrupted—” Karonksi interrupted himself. “That’s a big if, of course. He might have done one of his damned cost-benefit analyses and decided it was cheaper to write off Rule. He could be clean himself but getting pressure from others who aren’t. But if he is corrupted, he didn’t make the decision. The demon did.”

Lily’s head hurt. She rubbed her temples. “And this hypothetical demon doesn’t want anyone looking for Rule?”

“Either the demon… or the demon’s master.”

Cynna made a small sound.

Karonski looked at her, sympathy softening his eyes. “That makes the most sense, doesn’t it? More than assuming the rules have changed. A true master could put a demon in contact with ordinary humans.”

“You haven’t brought me in on it.” Her voice was tight, her eyes turbulent. “I’m the one person who could Find her, and you haven’t brought me in.”

“Ruben wanted to. The Secret Service refused.”

She looked away and then nodded.

“Which brings me to the other reason I’m here.” He drained the last of his coffee and put the empty mug on the table. “Just in case any of you are thinking of doing something colossally dumb, like crossing into hell without official sanction, you should know that the Secret Service’s chief suspect is Jiri Asmahani… Cynna’s old teacher. This isn’t a good time to renew that acquaintance.”

There wasn’t much to say after that. Karonski stood, told them all he’d see them later, and then paused in front of Lily. She didn’t get up. Or speak. He stood in front of her for a long moment, looking tired and sad and like he wanted to say something. But in the end he shook his head, bent and patted her shoulder, and left.

He took about every last drop of hope with him.

Take the next step
, she’d been telling herself. What did you do when you ran out of steps?

Even if she’d been willing to endanger an investigation into the demonic control of highly placed national officials, there was a chance Cynna’s old teacher was behind the official ban on looking for Rule. She wasn’t likely to change her mind just because Cynna said pretty please.

Karonski wasn’t going to help them open a hellgate. Cullen didn’t know how.

God, she was tired. She closed her eyes and thought about keeping them closed. Just not opening them ever again. She heard Cullen push to his feet and start pacing, muttering to himself. It sounded like Latin.

“Cynna,” she asked without opening her eyes. “Is there any chance you could summon the demon who took Rule? Force it to take us to him, or bring him back?”

“No.” She sounded miserable. “I don’t have enough of its names.”

“Okay.” Cullen took a deep breath, let it out. “We’ve run out of other options.”

That startled her eyes open. “Other options? As in, you have one I don’t know about?”

“You know about it. Sort of.” He stopped in front of her. “It’s a long shot, but the only shot we’ve got left. You said the Rhej wanted to talk to you.”

Baffled, she nodded.

“That’s what you should do, then. Go talk to the Rhej.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

CULLEN wouldn’t explain. He wouldn’t tell her why talking to the clan’s historian or priestess or whatever might help. He wouldn’t even tell her the woman’s name. It was customary, he said, for the Rhej to choose who would receive her name, and she was never referred to outside her presence by anything but her title.

He had the jitters. He kept pacing, but when she asked why the idea of talking to the Rhej made him nervous he raised his brows, astonished, and told her he was a jumpy fellow. He’d thought she knew that.

So she took a shower.

She was careful. Getting her burn infected wouldn’t help her or Rule or anyone, so she kept her bandages dry. But she
needed
the shower. She craved water, the feel and sound of it, and the notion, however foolish, that she could wash away some portion of last night.

She used Rule’s shampoo. Standing there with her hair lathered and the water beating on her feet, she suddenly understood why she’d needed this shower.

The sobs hit fast, and they hit hard. She put her back to the side of the shower stall and slid down until she was sitting on the hard tiles, head back, hands hanging limp between her knees, suds dripping on her shoulders. And wept.

No one, not even Cullen, would be able to hear her. She couldn’t hear herself. It was safe to let go, let the pain and helplessness wash up through her in huge, terrible waves.

The weeping ended more gradually than it had begun. She was still leaking slightly when she stood and carefully rinsed her hair. She washed her face and underarms, looked at her razor, shook her head, and shut off the water without shaving.

She wasn’t sure she felt any better, but maybe giving in to tears now would keep them from sneaking up on her later.

The mirror was fogged. She didn’t bother to clean it, combing her hair out quickly. It could dry on its own this time. In the bedroom, she pulled on her bra and a pair of bikini panties and then grabbed a plain silk sheath she seldom wore. Her burn would be happier now, with nothing touching it. She folded up Cynna’s things and took a breath.

Time to pull herself back together. Or fake it. She opened the door.

Cullen had stopped pacing. He stood at the window, frowning out the parking lot.

“Where’s Cynna?” she asked.

“Went to pick up some lunch for us. Harry left with her. At least he went out. I doubt he’s headed for Sub Express.” He turned. His frown deepened. He started toward her.

Lunch. She’d eat, of course. However little she wanted to. “I don’t suppose you’ve thought of anything else to try.”

“No.” He stopped, standing a little too close. “You’ve been crying.”

“Shit. Couldn’t you at least pretend to be tactful? I know it isn’t your strong point, but at your age you should have some grasp of the basics.”

“Crying’s okay. I hear it reduces stress.” He reached up and took one wet strand of hair between his fingers, rubbing it with his thumb. “There are other ways to de-stress.”

“Tell me you didn’t mean that the way it sounds.”

His mouth kicked up at one side in a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “I’m making you an offer you’re free to refuse.”

She jerked her head away and stepped back. “God. I can’t believe this. Rule’s missing and you’re—”

“Offering to help you feel better for a little while. No permanent cure, but physical ease benefits the mind, too.”

“Is sex on demand your notion of comfort?”

“Yes.”

She’d been sarcastic. He was serious.

“Rule wouldn’t object, you know, or feel hurt. Not under the circumstances.”

“I would.”

He shrugged. “Okay. I’ll admit I don’t get the guilt thing. I assume that’s what’s put that look on your face? Rather as if you’d stepped in a pile of dog doo, which I must say is not the usual reaction. If you change your mind—”

“I won’t.”

“—just let me know. But if you think sex would make things worse for you, then we won’t go there.”

“Good.”

“I’m not lusting after you, you know. Except in a general way, because you do have—”

“We aren’t going there, remember?”

“Right.” He turned back to the window. “Have you reached a decision?”

For a second she thought he was still talking about having sex, which was stupid. He’d rattled her. “How do I go about setting up a meeting with the Rhej?”

“You show up at her lair. She said she wants to talk to you, so she’ll probably be there.”

He was looking out the window, so she couldn’t see his expression. And his voice sounded normal—lightly mocking, though it wasn’t obvious whether the mockery was directed out or toward himself. Yet still she had the sense that he was… not sad, exactly. Lost.

Rule had been his friend, perhaps his only real friend, for many years. Years when he’d been clanless, leaving him alone in a way no human could fully grasp.

Had he thought having sex with her would make him feel closer to Rule?

Yech
, she thought and tried to push the idea away. But it clung the way a good hunch will, and gradually the disgust melted, leaving her a little disoriented. And hurting for him. “Cynna might not mind the idea of comfort sex.”

He smiled at her over his shoulder, his eyes blue and sharp and somehow knowing. As if he’d guessed everything she’d been thinking… and maybe a few things she hadn’t quite wrapped her mind around yet. “There’s a notion. She’s annoying, but she smells good.”

Lily blinked. At times she almost forgot Cullen was lupus. He was odd in so many ways that had little to do with his wolfish part. “I hope you won’t put it to her quite that way.”

“I speak fairly good western human when I have to, but I don’t think Cynna would require that.”

“In other words, you’ll say what women expect, but you won’t mean it.”

He was amused. “I think of it as an imprecise translation. I don’t lie. I don’t have to.”

No, he probably had more women making him offers than he could properly attend to. “That,” she said after a moment, “is deeply annoying.”

“It’s all in your point of view. I find it convenient.” His head turned. “Lunch is heading up the stairs.”

“Already?” Funny. A few minutes ago she’d had no interest in food. She’d have eaten, just as she’d take care of her burn, because it was necessary. Now… it was weird, but she was hungry. Actually hungry. “I’ll get the pickles. No one ever puts on enough pickles.”

She had a next step again. And if the Rhej couldn’t help, she’d think of something else. Lily headed for the kitchen, thinking about steps and friendship and what kind of ammo would be most likely to stop a demon.

CLAN HOME. It rested in the mountains outside the city, sprawling over nearly two thousand acres. They weren’t regal, these mountains, like their grander cousins to the north, nor garbed in towering pines. The slopes were steep but not terribly high; valleys were mostly narrow, cut by small, seasonal streams. This was chaparral country, with scrub oak, juniper, sage, and here and there the tough, ugly mountain mahogany tangled together on the rocky slopes.

It was cooler up here, downright nippy compared to sea level. The air smelled of dust and sage. At least that’s what Lily smelled. She didn’t know how much more the werewolf in front of her was smelling.

“So,” Cynna said, “is this Rhej person a bit of a loner? She lives up here away from everyone else.”

They were following a narrow path up one of those scrub-covered slopes. Cullen led; Cynna brought up the rear.

“Lots of people prefer to live slightly apart,” he said. “They enjoy the contact with the wild. It doesn’t make them loners.”

Apart
in this case meant away from the commons—a loose cluster of homes and small businesses along the only real road in Clanhome. The Rhej’s home was less distant than some, being only a couple of miles away from the end of the gravel road.

But there was a great deal she didn’t know about Nokolai and Clanhome. She’d only been here three times. Once when she was investigating a murder—the investigation that brought her and Rule together. The second time she’d come to take part in her
gens amplexi
, the ceremony when she was formally adopted into Nokolai. On her third trip here a little over a week ago, she’d just visited, trying to get to know some of the people she was now bound to.

“You holding up okay?” Cullen asked as they straggled up the last, steepest part of the path. ‘

“I’m fine.‘” Utterly spent, actually, which was mortifying but not unexpected. A wounded body turned tyrant, insisting on channeling everything into healing. But her burn wasn’t hurting too badly. Looser clothing helped. “Why didn’t I meet the Rhej at the
gens amplexi
?”

Cullen stopped, though they weren’t at the top of the mountain. Maybe they didn’t have to go all the way up. He glanced over his shoulder at her, a small smile on his mouth. “You did. You just didn’t know it.”

“More secrets,” she muttered. “Your bunch is too damned fond of secrets.” She was breathing hard as she came up beside him.

The ground leveled out here, forming a small clearing. Not a natural clearing, though everything Lily saw was native and looked like it had just happened to sprout where it was. Bracken fern and spleenwort snuggled up beneath a small pinyon pine. Mock parsley and wild celery grew in a tangle with yarrow and some species of aster that still clung to a few small, bright blue blooms. But many of the plants she saw wouldn’t have grown on this west-facing slope naturally. Someone had planted them—after digging out the oak and juniper.

A huge job, that, without earth-moving equipment. Maybe she’d had lupus muscles to help.

The house was set smack up against the mountain, a tiny adobe building almost the color of the dirt behind it, but with a shiny metal roof. As Lily’s attention left the plants for the house, the front door opened. An old woman swept out a scatter of dust.

Lily stared. She recognized her, all right, though they hadn’t spoken at the ceremony or the celebration that had followed. The woman stood maybe five feet high, which was enough to make her stick in Lily’s memory. She was Anglo, over sixty, and fat—the roly-poly, happy-grandmother kind of fat. Her hair was white and straight and short. It looked like she cut it herself, maybe with hedge trimmers. Her eyes had once been blue.

Now they were milky. She was blind.

Those sightless eyes aimed right at them. “Well, come in,” she said. “You didn’t hike up here to watch me sweep my floor.” And she turned around and went back inside.

Lily gave Cullen a hard look. “Secrets,” she muttered, and headed for the little house.

Inside it was a single square room, its symmetry disturbed only by two bumped-out sections with doors that she guessed were the bathroom and a large closet. To her left was the kitchen area—open shelving above the single wooden counter with a tiny electric stove and a refrigerator straight out of the fifties. To her right was a round table and four wooden chairs. The bed, a double, was at the back, between the bumped-out portions. Two battered trunks lined up along one wall. Along the opposite wall was a cushy green recliner, a top-of-the-line stereo, and three large baskets. A gray tabby slept in the recliner.

No rugs. White plastered walls, dark wood floor… and an altar. Set smack in the center of the room, the rough-hewn stone held three white candle stubs, a scattering of sage, and a small silver saucer. Chiseled into the front of it was a symbol much like Lily’s missing
toltoi
.

The Rhej stood at her stove with her back to the door. She wore jeans, an old flannel shirt, white socks, and no shoes. “You’ll have tea,” she informed them. “I made cookies, too. They’re on the table.”

“We didn’t come here for cookies,” Cullen said.

The old woman clucked her tongue. “Still angry, eh? It wasn’t me said you were no Etorri all those years ago. Though as it turned out the Etorri Rhej was right, wasn’t she? It just took Nokolai a while to realize you were ours.”

“Ah…” Lily glanced from Cullen to their hostess. “Obviously you and Cullen know each other. He hasn’t bothered to introduce us, so I will. The woman with me is Cynna Weaver, and I’m Lily Yu.”

“I know that, child.” She turned her head to smile at them. The smile fell away, wiped out by pure startlement.

Then she laughed. “Oh. Oh, my. I’m not half as clever as I’d like to think. Well, this will be interesting. You’re Cynna?” She spoke to Cynna as directly as if she could see her.

Cynna agreed to that.

“You’ll stay. Cullen, go run. It’s been too long since you’ve Changed. Go enjoy your four feet instead of your brain for a while.”

Cullen didn’t look happy, but to Lily’s surprise, he obeyed, giving the Rhej a single, stiff nod and leaving.

Nodding at someone who couldn’t see? But then, Lily didn’t understand how anyone could garden without sight. Unless… “Do you see the way Cullen does?” she blurted. “Second sight, or whatever it’s called?”

She snorted. “I’m no sorcerer, and that is not what ‘second sight’ means. Sit down, sit down.” She nodded at the table, already set with cups and saucers and dainty china plates. A larger plate held a dozen or more chocolate chip cookies.

Slowly Lily complied. Cynna sat, too, looking as clueless as Lily felt. The three cups had dried herbs in their bottoms. Cynna picked hers up and sniffed at it. “Are you a precog? You seem to have been expecting us.”

“I wasn’t expecting
your
She shook her head. ”Lady help me, I sure wasn’t expecting you. I’ve spoken to Isen, of course, about last night, and the Lady said Lily would come. I figured Cullen would be bringing her.“

“You talk to your goddess?” Cynna asked.

“Talk, argue… now and then I even listen. But the Lady is just the Lady. She’s not into the god business anymore.” She turned, teapot in hand, and waddled over to the table.

Lily didn’t want to talk about goddesses, even if they weren’t in the god business anymore. “You’ve created a beautiful garden.” Though she couldn’t see how. How did the woman know what seedlings to yank, which plant was which? How could she enjoy her garden when she couldn’t see it?