Blood Magic

TWENTY-NINE

THE stairwell was not air-conditioned. Or if it was, it was ducted very poorly. Lily gave up and took off her jacket. With all the cops around, the sight of her weapon was unlikely to upset anyone. And if it did, she didn’t care.

“There were actually two fires,” she said as she started up. Rule was behind her. “One on three, one on four, both near the east stairwell. He didn’t want people using that one to escape, because that was his route in and out.”

“I didn’t think there was a fire on the fourth floor. There wasn’t anywhere near as much smoke there as on the third.”

“Hennessey thinks that one went out all by itself. I think our perp put it out once he’d scared people away from that set of stairs. He needed to use that hallway, and he didn’t want to singe his own skin. He didn’t bother to put out the one on three because it wasn’t a threat to him.” It was the one on three that had hurt people.

“Were many killed?” Rule asked.

“Three confirmed. One was on a ventilator when the tech went out. One was being operated on. The third breathed in too much toxic shit, they think. That’s what kills most people in a fire, you know—the smoke. Inhale too much and your airways just close up. Anyway, three more are in critical condition—one is burned badly—and at least a dozen others are being treated for smoke inhalation, but aren’t considered critical. They don’t have a count for how many were adversely affected by the power outage.”

They hadn’t had to die. None of them had had to die today. The bastard was killing people on her watch. “The fire was a distraction. But why a bomb? Why didn’t he just put people to sleep, go in, and kill Cullen?”

“He doesn’t know us. Lupi, I mean. He doesn’t know what will work on us, but a major explosion will kill pretty much anyone.”

That made sense. “You said you saw the perp plant the bomb. Did you see his face?”

“I didn’t actually see him plant it. I saw him emerge from the alcove. I couldn’t make out his features—visibility was very poor. He’s a small man, neither bulky nor tall. Dark hair. He wore scrubs.”

“How did you know he was the perp?”

“At the time, it was instinct. But he was awake. He ran when he saw me.”

She nodded. “Tell me what happened.”

He did. When she learned Rule’d been in an elevator when the power went out, her breath hitched. That had been bad for him. He’d coped, though. He’d gotten the candy striper out, and himself—then shimmied up the elevator cable.

By the time he finished, Lily’s shirt was sticking to her back. She reminded herself that her three-hundred-and-some-odd-year-old grandmother had climbed these stairs in this heat. She could, too.

That’s why you didn’t mind waiting, isn’t it? she thought at Sam. You knew Grandmother was coming here. You were waiting for her.

Sam didn’t answer, but she caught a whiff of response that felt a lot like the way Grandmother snorted when you said something stupidly obvious.

He didn’t tell her to vocalize. Did that mean she was thinking more clearly? Or was she doing something approaching real mindspeech? How could she tell? She half expected Sam to comment on that thought—something along the lines of, “If you would learn proper mindspeech . . .”

“Sam wants me to learn mindspeech,” she said abruptly.

Rule spoke from behind her. “Do you want to?”

“I don’t know. It seems like I should. Mindspeech could come in handy in some situations, but what’s the downside? There’s always a downside. And how long would it take? I don’t have a lot of free time for adult education. I guess I don’t know enough about it. I’ll need to ask him some questions before I decide.” She grimaced at the stairs rising steeply ahead. “At least with mindspeech I wouldn’t have to worry about having a conversation when I’m out of breath.”

“It’s only one more flight. I could carry you.”

She heard him grinning, dammit. She didn’t have to look. “With an injured arm? No, just shut up before you get me in trouble. The heat’s making me grouchy.”

He didn’t say a word. Just moved up beside her and took her hand. And it did help. Some of her tension and grouchi ness slid right out.

It was still a relief to reach the fourth floor, open the door, and step into cooler air. A burned stink lingered, but otherwise . . . “Looks pretty calm,” she observed.

“More so than when I was here last,” he said dryly. “About those casualties . . . do you know if any of them were named Maria?”

She looked at him curiously. “Sorry, no. I didn’t get names. Do you want me to find out?”

“No, it doesn’t matter.”

She was sure it did, but didn’t press him. She’d find out about Maria later.

“You’ve the look of a dozen questions ready to erupt.”

“Oh, I’ve got questions.” Many of them jotted down in her notebook, dammit, which was in T.J.’s car. “Lots of whys. Why does the sorcerer want to kill Cullen so badly? Why did Grandmother come out of hiding? Why did the Chimei show up now instead of last year or ten years ago or next year?”

“I’ve a guess about the last one. The Turning.”

She nodded. She’d thought that herself, but it didn’t really explain anything. The Turning hit last December. Why had it taken the Chimei months to show up? Had she been in China? It might take time to get her lover out of that country, even with magic helping them along. Or had she been unready in some way until now? Could they do anything to make her unready again?

Lily didn’t know enough. That’s why she was headed for Cullen’s room instead of managing the initial investigation. Grandmother was there, and Sam was near, and they had answers.

They’d reached the alcove that led to the quarantine rooms. They’d dusted for fingerprints, Lily saw. Good. The sorcerer was probably too professional to have made that mistake, but he’d expected everything here to go boom. He might have been careless.

Max was parked in front of Cullen’s door, arms crossed and glaring. “Do you have any idea how boring this is?”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Seems like you’ve had more than enough excitement today.”

“Doesn’t count if you sleep through it.”

Ah, so that was it. He was mad that he’d missed the fun—or maybe he felt guilty that he’d failed. There was nothing he could have done to keep the sleep spell from working, but guilt isn’t always reasonable. Lily was sure sympathy would piss him off, but had no idea what might help.

Rule shook his head. “Your power nap doesn’t seem to have refreshed you much.”

“If you think that I could fucking help falling asleep—”

“I don’t. Do you?”

Max glowered at him. After a moment he muttered, “Smart ass,” and turned and shoved the door open. “The dynamic duo is here, so we might as well go.”

“Go?” Lily said.

Nettie joined Max at the door. “I’m needed to finalize the arrangements to move Cullen. Things are a mess, with so many patients needing transport to other hospitals, but Cynna persuaded the administration to make Cullen a priority. Max is going with me to be sure whoever I speak with is who he or she seems to be.”

That made sense. The sorcerer was probably gone—but “probably” could sure as hell trip you up. “Good. Max, bear in mind that this guy could have confederates who lack magic but possess guns. We don’t know much about him.”

“We know he’s powerful,” Rule said. “Max is pretty resistant to magic. It took a powerhouse of a spell to knock him out.”

Lily didn’t smile, but she wanted to. He’d made sure Max heard that.

The scene in Cullen’s hospital room was much like the one last night. Cynna stood on one side of Cullen’s bed. He was awake again, but pale. Jason was on the other side, doing something to the IV drip. Of course, this time Grandmother was there, too, in the room’s only chair.

Lily tossed her jacket on the spare bed, empty now, and went to Cynna. “Are you okay? Shouldn’t you be sitting down?”

“So I told her,” Grandmother announced. “She is cheeky. She is also pregnant, so I overlook this.”

“I’ve been sitting,” Cynna said. “Except when I was taking a forced nap on the floor. I’m tired of it. What is this with everyone wanting pregnant women to sit all the time?”

“Extra weight, sore feet, aching back—”

“I’m fine,” Cynna said firmly. She glanced at Cullen, her worry clear.

“I’m not fine,” he said crossly, “but I’m not at death’s door, either. Let’s get started.”

“Those who are not pregnant and cheeky will sit on the floor,” Grandmother informed them. “I do not wish to bend my neck.”

Lily was not about to plop down at Grandmother’s feet like an acolyte. “Grandmother, I need to know why you came out of hiding now. What—”

Rule put a hand on her shoulder. “Lily, I have a suggestion. This is your area of expertise, and others here are superior to me in knowledge, years, and wisdom. Yet it might be best if I take charge of our discussion. Several of you are affected by restrictions that don’t include me. I don’t have to mind my tongue—or have it silenced.”

The treaty. He was talking about the damned treaty geas.

It is good that someone here has sense, said the familiar cool mental voice.

Grandmother gave a regal nod. Lily’s nod was reluctant. It wasn’t that she objected to Rule taking charge. Well, not only that. She hated the reason for it.

“Very well. Sam, can you . . . Yes, that will work. Thank you. Jason,” he said, turning to the tall blond nurse, “I must ask you to leave the room for now. Sam will let you know if you’re needed. He’s able to monitor Cullen’s condition.”

Jason didn’t argue. Most lupi didn’t when their Lu Nuncio told them to do something. As soon as the door closed behind him, Rule turned to Lily. “Earlier I told Cynna and Cullen about the Chimei and her pet sorcerer, so everyone remaining here already knows. Perhaps this will allow you to speak freely.”

“Let’s find out.” She looked at Grandmother, but mentally directed her comments to Sam as well. “At lunch I couldn’t speak of the Chimei or the sorcerer when I talked to T.J. Then all of a sudden I could mention the sorcerer, but not the Chimei. Something changed. What?”

The sorcerer acted on his own, without his name-mate’s knowledge or consent.

“Ah,” Rule said. “Yes. That’s what I suspected. Does this mean the treaty doesn’t protect him?’

Grandmother shook her head. “The treaty is seldom so simple. The sorcerer loses protection as far as his acts today are concerned. This means Sam and I are now able to speak of him, within limits. But the treaty heeds intention. When Lily spoke to Mr. James, she did not intend the sorcerer’s death. If she had, it would have held her silent.”

“Wait,” Lily said. “I’m confused. I don’t get why the sorcerer is protected by the damned thing in the first place.” She frowned at Rule. “You aren’t. Why would the Chimei’s lover be?”

Grandmother’s gaze flicked up, as if she were consulting heaven, but more likely it was Sam. Her lips thinned. She shook her head.

“I think I can answer that,” Cullen said.

Lily’s head swung. “You?”

“I didn’t put it together before.” Cullen’s voice was weaker than normal, but steady. “But when Sam said ‘name-mate’ the bell chimed.”

“What are you talking about?”

Rule answered first. “Your grandmother traded for a spell of Cullen’s. In return, she told him about the Chimei. I’m guessing,” he said to Grandmother, “that your intentions were, ah, pure? You didn’t intend for Cullen to go kill the Chimei or the sorcerer, so the treaty allowed you to talk about them?”

She lifted a hand and tipped it this way and that. “Intent matters. Mr. Seabourne’s intentions were pure—he wished for knowledge. Mine . . . not so pure, so I could tell him only a little. The timing of things also matters. The Chimei was not in this country then, not a threat. Perhaps she had not found a lover to suit her. Perhaps she would not find one for many years, and I would be dead before any of this mattered. To the degree I believed this, I could speak.”

“She didn’t tell me much,” Cullen said. His eyes glittered with excitement. The man could get worked up about magical matters even with a half-beating heart. “Not even a name. Not enough for me to realize the Chimei Rule described was the being she’d told me about, not until Sam used that phrase. Name-mate.”

Lily found herself glancing up, as if she could see through a couple floors to the roof. Sam hadn’t used that phrase before. It probably wasn’t an accident he’d used it now.

Cullen had paused to get his breath. “That’s the part Madame Yu told me about. We got to talking about true names. I’d run across a scrap that purported to describe a ritual for investing oneself with a true name, and wanted to know if that was possible. Some of the adepts were said to have . . . Never mind. Point is, she told me about an out-realm being who did something similar. This being was very long-lived and had a habit of taking human lovers, who she kept alive by sharing a portion of her true name. She marked them with it in some way.”

Lily tapped her fingers on her thigh. “You’re saying that the treaty affects this sorcerer because he’s got the Chimei’s name?”

“Part of her name, and I’m guessing here, but that sounds likely. A true name . . .” Cullen’s voice was fading. He took another careful breath.

I will assist, Sam said. I am unable to offer my own knowledge on the subject, but if Cullen Seabourne will think as clearly as he is able about what he knows . . . yes. Cullen Seabourne suspects there are two ways of acquiring a true name. One is to understand in the deepest ground of one’s being that which will remain true of one’s self in all times, in all situations. He believes this to be true of me. He suspects that adepts have such knowledge, that this may in fact be necessary to become an adept.

Once one has such knowledge . . . his thinking grows muddy. He recognizes that words have magical significance, yet he does not see how to apply that to the possession of a true name. He is correct about his lack of perception.

He says, “Never mind that.” He suspects it is possible to magically invest a living being with syllables which . . . His thinking is muddy again. He is confused about the relationship between true names and sound. He suspects there is a way to impose a name or . . . he chooses to call it an essence . . . upon a living being. An essence whose name is known. This is a way of acquiring a true name instead of learning one’s own, personal name. He is aware of tales which claim that adepts did this and applies this to speculation to the treaty. He wonders if it is a named artifact which speaks to and is intertwined with the essence of those who carry it.

This is not wholly inaccurate, but it is not applicable to our current problem. He—ah, I perceive that he requires additional oxygen. I believe your tech includes a device which . . . yes, Sam said as Cynna fitted the oxygen mask over Cullen’s face. That will help. I have instructed the healer to return. Cullen Seabourne is reluctant to be put back in sleep, but will require that shortly.

Cynna’s face creased with fresh worry. “He could rest now.”

I observe his physical functions, Cynna Weaver. He tires, but he does not fail.

He directs his thoughts to the Chimei once more. He believes the Chimei has surrendered a portion of her name to her lover, or somehow shares her name with him, or perhaps imposed a portion of it upon him. He remembers that Li Lei spoke of the Chimei marking her lovers. He sees differences between these variants, but believes any of them might create a bond that allows the sorcerer to use some of the Chimei’s innate abilities. He thinks this must work both ways—the Chimei must need or desire the sorcerer’s abilities as well. He speculates that the Chimei may be too instinctive in her use of magic to craft spells without such a bond.

He speculates on the sorcerer’s desire for his death. He believes the sorcerer fears that another sorcerer might discover the name with which he and the Chimei are bonded. Cullen Seabourne considers it unlikely that anyone other than a sorcerer—or possibly, he adds, a dragon—would be able to use a true name effectively. He is wrong.

Cullen glared and dragged the oxygen mask down. “Better . . . explain.” Cynna glared back at him and replaced the mask.

It wasn’t Sam who explained. It was Grandmother. “He is wrong on two counts. First, it is not sorcerers who are best able to use a true name. It is those who possess one themselves.”

A general silence fell. Lily frowned. “That presents a problem. I don’t think any of us have a true name. Except for Sam, I suppose, but he can’t act against the sorcerer or the Chimei. Wait a minute. Maybe Max—”

Names function somewhat differently with gnomes, and the one you call Max is divided in his nature. Neither Cynna Weaver nor Cullen Seabourne possess their names. Li Lei does, of course. She knew her name at seventeen, but she is restricted, as am I. Lily Yu, your soul was sundered. You will not know your name until that sundering is healed. Rule Turner, however, lives with portions of two names. They are not his alone, but they are true.

Rule’s nostrils flared as if he’d scented something. After a moment he nodded.

It took Lily longer to catch on. Sam was talking about the mantles—which he wasn’t supposed to know about. She glanced at Rule, eyebrows lifted.

He tilted his head in a gesture that was neither a nod nor a shake. She took that to mean something along the lines of: Sam’s a dragon. Who knows what he knows?

It is possible, Sam continued, that the possession of these names will grant Rule Turner some immunity from the Chimei’s mind-magic. I will speak with him privately about this.

Lily’s eyebrows rose. Rule was frowning abstractedly, maybe listening to Sam. “Good to know. Let’s see if I’m following so far. If we somehow learned this secret name, which belongs to both of them, Rule could use it to . . . do what? Command one or both of them?”

I am unable to respond to your question. Cullen Seabourne speculates, but his lack of knowledge renders his speculations questionable.

There was a muffled snort from the bed. Cullen reached up to pull off the oxygen mask—and Cynna clamped a hand over it, narrowing her eyes at him. He sighed and let his hand drop.

Lily figured he must be frustrated. She sure was. The name business was important, or Sam wouldn’t have spent so much time on it. But they didn’t know why it mattered, how to learn a true name, or how to use it if they learned it.

Lily opened her mouth to ask another question, but Rule beat her to it. “Madame Yu, I interrupted when Lily asked why you came out of hiding. I hope you will answer that now. I also wonder why you hid in the first place. It seems out of character.”

“You are perceptive.” Grandmother said that much, then fell silent, her expression turning inward. Was she consulting with Sam? Checking to see what the treaty would allow her to say?

“I will answer,” she said at last. “There is no longer any value to my remaining hidden. The sorcerer changed the . . . Bah, what is the word? Parameters. He changed the parameters under which the cursed treaty forces us to act. With this, he placed himself in danger. He does not realize this; I think the Chimei will. She will act to protect her lover. She will act soon, and harshly.”