Blood Magic

TWO

Three Weeks Later

SAN Diego slid from July into August like a baker slides a fresh sheet of cookies into the oven—quick and smooth, with the new panful of days set to cook up crisp. The weather experts muttered among themselves about the inversion layer, but no one really knew why the city was experiencing such unprecedented heat. Sales of charcoal and grill supplies were down; alcohol sales were up. So were rapes, domestic violence, suicides, and auto accidents.

And homicides, of course. People were too hot to cook out, but they still killed one another. Lily Yu walked along the hot concrete, carrying her new patent- leather sandals instead of wearing them, and reflected on how odd it felt not to be investigating any of those shootings, stabbings, or beatings.

She stopped short of the sticky red scum baking on the street. Her bare soles weren’t picking up a thing except heat and grit, and she’d crossed the street four times now.

One of the small gaggle of looky-loos cluttering the convenience store parking lot on the corner called out a disrespectful and unlikely suggestion. Lily sighed.

“Hot weather sure brings out the loonies,” the officer standing next to the black-and-white said.

“That it does,” Lily agreed, bending to slip one sandal back on, then the other. Her feet were filthy. She had some wipes in her purse, though, so she could clean them up in a few minutes. “Doesn’t seem to be anything here for me.”

The officer who’d spoken took off his dark blue cap, dragged his forearm across his forehead, and reseated the cap. “Sorry to drag you out in the heat, but we’ve been told to call you people.”

“You did right. I wanted to check out one of these events right after it happened, anyway.” She just hadn’t wanted it to happen today, dammit.

Technically she hadn’t had to respond. It was Saturday; it was after five o’clock—no one would have minded if she’d let this wait until tomorrow. No one but her. It was annoying sometimes, being so meticulous.

Lily looked at the twisted chassis of the little Honda. It had certainly lost the argument with the pickup. “I’ll need to check her car, too. The steering wheel, the dash—all the areas the driver might have been in contact with.”

“Have at it. Guess you have to be thorough.” He shook his head. “Funny job you have, though.”

“Yeah,” she said dryly, and headed for the pleated Honda.

Officer Munoz was short and solid, with a round, cheerful face that his mustache struggled valiantly to dignify. He was also young. Terribly young, to Lily’s eyes . . . which was almost as disconcerting as checking out wacko calls instead of homicides. She wasn’t yet thirty, for God’s sake. Not for another eight months.

No, seven months. Geez. That wasn’t long. She frowned as she skirted the bright red transmission fluid drying on the cement. Then she reached the driver’s door. “Well, shit.”

They’d removed the driver on the other side, for obvious reasons. There was no way Lily would get the door open. She tried anyway.

“Guess you were headed somewhere,” Officer Munoz observed. “With that pretty dress you’re wearing and all.” His face fell. “Shit, I’m not supposed to say that, am I?”

“That’s okay. I’m on my way to a baby shower. I’m one of the hosts.” She tugged harder, but the door wasn’t budging.

“Really?” He brightened as he moved toward the passenger’s side. “My wife is due in January.”

This child had a wife? Lily told herself to get over it, but a new thought intruded. Did Rule ever look at her and think she looked painfully young? There was a lot more of an age difference between the two of them than between her and the earnest young officer. “Congratulations. Boy or girl?”

“She hasn’t had a sonogram yet. I’m sort of hoping for a boy, but you know, as long as it’s healthy . . .” He yanked open the passenger door. “This one works.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Only she’d have to crawl across the front seat if she got in that way, and she had not dressed for this occasion. She glanced down at her cream-colored trapeze dress with pretty bronze bands at the neckline and hem. She’d bought it especially for today.

At least it was loose. Maybe she could climb across and still leave Officer Munoz uninformed about the color of her panties.

A black Mercedes was parked on the other side of the patrol car. Its door opened, and a tall man wearing jeans and a black dress shirt got out. “Need a hand?”

Her heart gave a happy little bump. Funny how just looking at him still did that for her. She shook her head. “Even you couldn’t get this door open. I’ll climb across.”

He gave her a bland smile. “You’ll get your pretty dress dirty.” Of course he’d heard Munoz’s comment. He started toward her. “Let’s see what I can do.”

“Hey!” Munoz said. “You’re that lupus!”

Lily tensed, but Rule had a smile for him. “I’m a lupus, at least.”

“No, you’re the prince one! The one in all the magazines with . . . I mean . . .” Munoz took a breath. Lily suspected that if his complexion had been paler, she’d have seen an embarrassed flush. “Never mind.”

He’d been about to comment on the plethora of lovely women Rule had been photographed with. Though not recently. Recently, all the articles were about him and Lily . . . way too many articles. She touched the little lump beneath her dress where her engagement ring hung on a chain, dangling next to the toltoi she’d been given to mark her status as Chosen.

Until they made an official announcement, she was keeping her ring out of sight.

“Uh . . . Turner, right?” Munoz smiled hopefully.

Lily took pity on the officer’s embarrassment. He meant well, which a lot of cops didn’t. Not with lupi. “Officer Munoz, this is Rule Turner. Rule, Officer Jesse Munoz.” She looked at the young patrol officer. “Rule’s right about my dress, though. I’d rather not get it dirty, plus there’s some broken glass. Do you have anything I could put on the seat?”

Rule touched her arm. “Give me a moment. You know I enjoy flexing things for you.”

She shook her head but stood back to let him have at it. “Just don’t bleed. I hate it when you bleed.”

Rule gave her a quick grin, stepped up to the door, braced himself, and pulled. Metal groaned, but nothing happened. He frowned. Then he put one foot up on the frame next to the door and heaved. With a loud shriek, the door opened. He didn’t even fall over backward.

“Thanks. You know, most men open pickle jars.”

“Fortunately, I can open them, too.”

She grinned and glanced at the convenience store, where the looky-loos were getting excited. “Better watch out. I think someone in that crowd recognized you.” And not everyone felt the same sort of excitement about lupi as Officer Munoz . . . who was forgetting his professional dignity again.

“Hey, that’s cool! You just yanked on it and opened it. I’d always heard lupi were strong, but man.” Munoz shook his head, all admiration. “That’s cool.”

Lily left Rule to his one-man fan club and went to do her job. Which, as Munoz had said, was sometimes pretty odd.

Until last November, Lily had been a homicide cop here in San Diego. Now she worked for Unit 12 of the Magical Crimes Division of the FBI. Usually that didn’t mean running her hands over what was left of the driver’s seat in a crumpled Honda, but the walking-around-barefoot part happened fairly often.

Lily was a touch sensitive. She experienced magic as a texture on her skin, but couldn’t be affected by it. When local police thought magic or those of the Blood might be involved in a crime, they called MCD—who passed most of it on to the Unit.

Lately she’d been called out a lot. In the dog days of summer, some of the citizens of San Diego were seeing monsters. Big, hairy monsters with tyrannosaurus teeth. Grinning demons chittering at a window. Leprous undead charging a house.

Every time the nutcases called the cops, the cops called her. Every time, she had to check out the sighting. Because these days, there was always a chance the loonies were right.