Death Magic

THIRTY-THREE

RULE did not hit or harm any cops in the next few hours. Not Special Agent Ron Fielding of the FBI. Not Sergeant Willy Spaulding of the Washington Police Department, either, and that took more willpower. As Lily said at one point, Spaulding might not be an asshole, but he did a damn fine impression of one.

Lily had wanted Rule to leave, to stay free to continue their own investigation. It made sense. Rule hadn’t even considered doing so. He’d abandoned her once to get Ruben away, and she’d been arrested, locked up. It didn’t matter that his leaving hadn’t caused her arrest, and his presence couldn’t have averted it. He couldn’t abandon her again.

They did end up separated for a while. Two sets of law enforcement wanted to question them, and the federal contingent, at least, was smart enough to separate them for that. The FBI claimed a meeting room on the second floor to coordinate their investigation; Rule was questioned there while Lily was questioned elsewhere. The two of them were then stashed in the manager’s office next door to the meeting room.

The separation was probably good policy, but it came too late. They’d discussed the situation by the time Agent Fielding arrived. Lily didn’t want to call her lawyer; she wanted Anna found, and intended to cooperate as fully as possible. She warned Rule then that she’d be a suspect. Croft had told her not to reveal anything about the Bixton investigation, but Lily’s arrest was not a secret. It was quickly obvious that Fielding knew about it and what role Anna’s actions had played.

Fielding didn’t know Lily, and it was his job to speculate. Maybe Lily had suspected Anna of setting her up and had gone to confront her; the argument escalated, and Anna ended up dead. Lily then got rid of the body—probably with Rule’s help, since Anna Sjorensen outweighed Lily. Lily was alibied for almost the entire day by Mark, Scott, Cullen, and some of the others, but Fielding assumed that Rule’s people would lie if he told them to. As, of course, they would.

But Fielding was both professional and reasonable, and it was a stretch to suspect that Lily had not only killed Anna and enlisted Rule to get rid of the body, but had gone on to stage an elaborate discovery of the scene a few hours later. What was the point? Lily might be a suspect, but mostly because she couldn’t be crossed off the list altogether. After a couple hours he was ready to let them go.

Detective Spaulding was neither reasonable nor professional. Mostly he was pissed. The feds should’ve called him right away, not waited forty damn minutes. The feds were holding out on him. The feds thought they could come in and take over when this was by damn his city, his case, and he wasn’t going to put up with it. Add Lily’s recent arrest to that mountain of attitude, and he was convinced that either Lily had killed Anna or Rule had done it for her. He didn’t seem to need a reason—and, since the feds were indeed holding out on him, he didn’t have one. Lily was a fed and Rule was a werewolf. That was enough for him.

Unfortunately for the detective, he lacked a body. It was hard to build a case without one.

The afternoon wasn’t entirely wasted. Rule had his phone and could tend to some business while he waited. Plus humans constantly forgot that lupi had good ears, and the little office where Rule spent most of that time abutted on the meeting room. Rule heard a great deal about what went on with the federal part of the investigation.

Not only had they not found a body—they hadn’t found anything. The knock-on-doors didn’t turn up anyone who’d seen or heard anything suspicious. There were no fingerprints on the doorknob, and several surfaces inside the apartment had been wiped, too.

He reported all that to Lily as they finally headed back to the house. “Anna’s attackers were lucky,” he finished. “They seem to have carried her out of there without attracting any notice.”

“There has to be someone around to notice. We were alone in the lobby, remember? And the elevator, and the hall. No one’s home during the day at an ESH building. It’s temporary housing, no families or retirees, and everyone’s at work. The best you could hope for is a delivery at the right time.”

“I suppose most people in the Bureau would be aware of that.”

She nodded. Her expression was abstracted.

He reached for her hand. “What?” he said softly.

“I didn’t say anything to Croft. Nothing about dopplegängers or what’s really going on. What we think is going on,” she corrected herself. “I left him in the dark about almost everything.”

“Because there’s a chance Croft is involved.” Rule didn’t believe it . . . but that could be because he didn’t want to.

“I hate this. I hate it. I think Drummond’s the bad guy, but maybe I think that because I want it to be him. Because I so much don’t want Croft to be one of them.”

He squeezed her hand. “Even if Drummond’s involved, he might not be the only one.”

She swallowed. Nodded.

He shifted the subject. “I keep wondering why they went after Anna. What did she know or guess that made her a threat?”

“They didn’t just want her. They wanted something at her place, too.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Why else were so many surfaces wiped clean? They were looking for something. Plus there’s the amount of blood in the carpet. It wasn’t a spurting type of injury. To get the carpet soaked that way, they must have left her lying there awhile. There are other possible reasons for that,” she added. “Maybe they didn’t go there expecting to have a body to remove and needed some time to arrange things. But the likeliest reason is that they left her there while they searched for something.”

For a moment he could see it—Anna’s crumpled body bleeding into the carpet while her attackers went through her things. Anger rose. “She was alive still,” he said, his voice rough. “When they searched, she must have still been alive to have bled so much.”

“Yeah, I think so, too.” She was silent a moment. “I even wondered for a bit if maybe it wasn’t Sjorensen who called me. What if it was her dopplegänger, and they had to get rid of Sjorensen so no one guessed? But the blood spot was still damp in the middle. She was attacked in the last twelve hours or so. If they’d made a dopplegänger, wouldn’t they want to get rid of the original sooner than that?”

Rule frowned. “Maybe not. If Anna didn’t call you, she’d deny having done so. But they would expect that, wouldn’t they? Both sets of ‘them’—the authorities and our enemies. Our enemies might have used a dopplegänger to call you, but not seen the need to remove Anna until something else happened.”

“Whoever called used Sjorensen’s phone. But maybe . . .” Her fingers started tapping on her thigh. “Maybe they snitched it from her, then planted it on her again. Maybe that’s what tipped her that something was wrong, and she started digging. Maybe she learned something, or they were afraid she did.” She sighed. “That’s a whole slew of maybes, and they don’t get us any closer to finding her.”

Rule didn’t respond. Lily knew as well as he did that it was unlikely they’d find Anna. Her body, perhaps, if they were lucky. And patterners tended to tip luck their way.

Scott turned onto their street. It occurred to Rule he hadn’t prepared Lily for what awaited them at the house. “I sent for more Leidolf.”

“You mentioned that.”

“I’m afraid it will mean decreased privacy for you. Some of them will be sleeping in the basement. It’s uncomfortable in its current state, but at least there’s a sink and toilet. They’ll have to shower in the first-floor bathroom, however, as will those bunking in the garage.”

Her head swung toward him. “You’re putting them in the garage and in the basement?”

“Most of them. The shift leaders and José will sleep in the front bedroom. José texted me that the bunk beds have been delivered. Did I tell you that I named Scott José’s second?”

“No.” There seemed to be a lot he hadn’t told her. Had he arranged all of this while they were at the ESH building? “Ah—congratulations, Scott.”

He nodded, facing straight ahead. “Thanks.”

“José will need a second, given the number of guards now in his charge. We discussed this and agreed on Scott. It helps that he’s Leidolf, but the promotion is based on ability and temperament, not clan.”

“How many guards are you talking about?”

“Twenty in addition to those already here.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Ruben isn’t the only one who can have a hunch.”

THEIR little parlor was wall-to-wall lupi. They didn’t really fit. Lily stood beside Rule facing the sea of lupi and wondered why she was there. Sure, she had to meet them, but she didn’t think she could memorize everyone’s names this fast.

Rule had told them all to sit and was giving them a truncated version of what they were up against—not everything, but he told them about dopplegängers, and that they were to watch for the scent of death magic, which should distinguish the fake from the real. José and Scott were at the back of the room, the only ones standing other than Lily and Rule.

“As for your immediate duties,” Rule finished, “José has already sorted you according to his needs and your strengths. Those of you—”

“No, he hasn’t.”

The blunt-featured man who’d contradicted Rule sat at the front of the mob. His name was Mike. Lily remembered that because he looked a bit like a pale-skinned Mike Tyson—well over six feet of muscle and mad.

Rule’s attention lasered in on the man. “What did you say?”

“José hasn’t sorted us according to our strengths. I’m the best fighter here. Ask anyone. Plus I’ve planned and led raids. I’ve got nothing against Scott, but I’ve got twice his experience. I should be in charge, not some Nokolai wetback who—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish. In a split second Rule had him by his shirt, jerked him to his feet—and threw him. All two hundred and fifty pounds or so of him. He sailed over two men who managed to duck and crashed into the wall—then fell onto an end table that broke beneath him, sending a lamp and a couple of ugly knickknacks crashing.

Rule stalked up to the man, weaving around the seated lupi. Mike started to get up. Rule put his foot on the man’s back and shoved him down again, leaving his foot in place. Had there been any sound in the room at all, Lily wouldn’t have been able to hear him, his voice was so soft. “You are mine. José is mine. I say you obey José. If he wants you to wash the floor with your tongue, you will start licking.”

“Y-yes.” The man couldn’t offer his belly. He was lying on it, and Rule’s foot kept him pinned. But he managed to tilt his head so part of his throat showed. “Yes.”

No one moved. No one spoke. Lily wasn’t sure the roomful of lupi were breathing. She might not be able to feel it when Rule pulled mantle, but she could hear it in his voice—and see the results. He’d all but flattened them with it.

She shook her head. “I’ve always hated that table, but that’s the second wall you’ve damaged this week. You’re really hard on walls lately.”

For reasons known only to the testosterone crowd, that brought a bright grin to Rule’s face. He looked about eighteen. “I have been, haven’t I?” He stepped away from the man on the floor, speaking to Lily as if they were alone in the room. “My apologies for the mess, nadia. Mike will clean it up. The rest of you ...” He glanced around. “Those who will bunk in the garage can—”

The doorbell rang. José spoke from the back of the room. As usual, he wore an earbud. “It’s Seabourne with another man—pale skin, brown hair, looks about forty. He’s wearing a clerical collar.”

The priest. Cynna’s priest, who was supposed to call, dammit, not drop by. Lily sighed. “Maybe Mike could hurry.”

LILY remembered Father Michaels from the wedding. Not everyone would have taken a ghostly poltergeist and an angry dragon in stride the way the priest had, so she was inclined to like him. He looked the way she thought a priest should look, too—not the bluff Irish version, but the scholarly sort. Abraham Michaels was slim and pale, with a long neck and elegant hands. He wore gold-rimmed glasses, dark slacks, and a tweed jacket. And the collar, of course.

“We were about to order supper,” Rule said as he led the way to the kitchen, as bland as if they hadn’t all walked past a scary man crawling around on the floor picking up broken bits. Most of the rest of the lupi had vanished before Lily reached the front door—either out back or down to the basement—but the just-promoted Scott was still with them. “You’ll join us, I hope. Do you enjoy Mexican food, or would you prefer Chinese?”

“Nothing for me, thank you.”

“Mexican,” Cullen said promptly.

“So noted. Lily?”

“No preference.”

“Scott, you’ll take care of ordering, please. Three pans of the enchiladas from Café Lopez.”

Scott nodded, pulled out his phone, and left the room, heading for the front of the house. Three pans wouldn’t begin to feed thirty lupi plus Lily, Rule, Cullen, and Father Michaels—who’d be offered dinner again when it arrived, Lily was sure, if he was still here. The guards must have already eaten. Not surprising. It was pushing eight o’clock.

Rule gestured at the table. “Please have a seat, Father, and tell me what I can get you to drink. We have a decent selection of wines—the Cabernet is my personal favorite, but if you prefer white you might try the Riesling. Lily favors it. Or I could put on coffee. We have various sodas, too, of course.”

“Nothing, thank you. I’m sorry for barging in on you,” the priest said, seating himself at the table, “but I need to ask you some questions. The situation could be both urgent and dangerous. Extremely dangerous.”

“Yes, I believe it is.” Rule opened the wine cooler.

Lily went to get glasses. “Riesling for me. I don’t care if it goes with the enchiladas. Cullen?”

“Cabernet.” Cullen pulled out a chair and sat beside the priest. “Father Michaels called me instead of Lily after talking to his Jesuit buddy. He has questions and I didn’t know how much to tell him, so I brought him to you.”

Rule had retrieved two bottles and was opening one. “I wonder why you called Cullen instead of Lily?”

“I was alarmed, and . . . well, Cullen is not one of my parishioners, but I officiated at his marriage. I feel some responsibility toward him. When I learned there was a chance someone was creating dopplegängers—”

“He wanted to make sure it wasn’t me,” Cullen said dryly.

“Not because I had the slightest suspicion Cullen would use death magic,” Father Michaels said firmly. “He has a highly developed curiosity that might lead him to experiment unwisely, but he wouldn’t power his experiments in such a foul way. I didn’t know how certain it was that death magic was involved.”

“That part’s solid,” Lily said. “I’m a touch sensitive, and I felt death magic on, uh, something related to an investigation. Something we believe was handled by a dopplegänger.”

“Did you see it?” he asked urgently. “This dopplegänger. Did you see it, and are you certain it dispersed?”

Cullen’s eyebrows shot up. “They don’t last, Father.”

“Humor me.”

Cullen shrugged. “Okay, sure. Then no to the first—none of us have seen a dopplegänger—and yes to the second. They left wet spots behind.”

“They?” His eyebrows shot up. He shook his head. “I don’t quite see how wet spots—”

“About half of their mass comes from water. When they dissolve, some of that water remains. Wet spots.”

“I see.” He sat back, breathing out audibly in relief. “Yes, that should indicate they’re gone.”

Rule had wrestled both corks free and was letting his bottle breathe. Lily poured herself a glass of the Riesling and brought it to the table. “Are you sure you don’t want some wine, Father?”

He looked from Lily to Rule to Cullen, a frown pulling at his brows. “You don’t seem to grasp the seriousness of the situation.”

“We grasp it just fine,” she said, sitting across from him. “We’ve had a little more time than you to adjust, and . . . forgive me for the assumption, but we’re maybe more accustomed to dealing with this kind of sh—stuff than you are. I’ve got some questions for you.”

“As I have for you. How certain are you about these dopplegängers, if you didn’t see them? How many dopplegängers are you talking about?”

“Two. There may have been a third, but that’s iffy. As for how sure we are . . .” She glanced at Cullen. “What would you say—about ninety-five percent sure?”

“Something in that neighborhood.”

“This is not good.” The priest sighed unhappily. “Not good at all. That means we’re talking about multiple deaths. Multiple souls who haven’t been able to complete their passage.”

“How many?” Lily asked. “A medium I know told me that large amounts of death magic can cause what she called instabilities. Do you know anything about that?”

“I’m afraid not. Father Moretti may. I have to call him. I’ll ask.”

“Father Moretti is your friend in the Jesuits?”

“No. No, I’m telling this all out of order. I . . . thank you.” Rule had ignored the priest’s refusal and set a glass of wine at his elbow. He sat beside Lily as Father Michaels continued. “I have to ask you to promise you won’t reveal what I’m about to tell you.”

Lily exchanged a glance with Rule. She let him say it. “We can’t promise that.”

“This is information the Church has kept secret for centuries. I must have your word.”

Rule shook his head. “My people take vows seriously. If I promised that, I wouldn’t be able to speak of it even if it were necessary to save lives. I . . .” His brows drew together. He blinked, then nodded. “What if we promised not to speak of it—except to those who already know, of course—unless we are in truly urgent and dire circumstances?”

The priest looked troubled, but after a moment he nodded slowly. “Yes, I think I can accept that. Very well. About all I knew of dopplegängers when Cynna called me was that they probably fell within the responsibility of a certain group of Jesuits. I called a friend of mine in that order. Alejandro intended to do some research, then call me back. Instead I heard from Father Moretti. Ah . . . he’s a senior advisor to the Superior General of the Order. Extremely senior. Alejandro’s inquiries sent up a red flag, it seems.”

Absently he sipped his wine—paused, and seemed to notice the glass he held. “This is quite good.”

“Thank you,” Rule said.

“As I was saying, Father Moretti is in charge of a particular group of Jesuits. You might call them watchdogs. Some of what they watch for is unlikely to ever occur, but inquiries such as Alejandro’s draw their attention.”

“So dopplegängers have been created before?” Lily said. “Copies of humans, that is, not bumblebees.”

“Cullen mentioned the bumblebee.” Father Michaels glanced at Cullen, a small smile briefly lightening his expression. “The Church has encouraged the idea that dopplegängers are a pipe dream, but yes, they are possible. Until shortly before the Purge, they were not considered a grave threat to anything but the souls of their makers. They lacked sufficient duration to be a real problem. But in the seventeenth century, someone discovered how to make a new type of dopplegänger that lasted much longer. Some accounts claim . . . but I’m getting ahead of myself. This new type of dopplegänger was created using death magic, just as you believe yours are. The Church called them nex in vita.”

“Death-in-life,” Rule murmured.

Father Michael’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Yes, exactly. They were different from previous dopplegängers in significant ways. For one thing, they were unsouled.”

Lily frowned. “Like demons?”

Cullen snorted. “They’re constructs, Father. Of course they lack souls. So does my computer.”

The priest shook his head. “Involving death magic in their creation changes things. I don’t know enough about it to explain. I can only repeat what Father Moretti told me. These dopplegängers lacked souls, but unlike your computer, they were capable of volition. If their presul was killed—ah, that means the director or controller of the dopplegänger. If the person directing the dopplegänger was killed, the creature didn’t disperse, as happened with the older dopplegängers. Instead it went on a killing spree. There are accounts of nex in vita lasting up to a week—and one account of one lasting an entire month, dispersing only when it had killed everyone and everything in the village.”

“A month?” Cullen was incredulous.

“I don’t know if the story is accurate,” Father Michaels said apologetically, “and I’m afraid the medieval Church took steps to alter the historical record, so you’ll be unable to verify it on your own. But Father Moretti takes that account very seriously.”

“I’m not buying it.” Cullen looked more grim than dismissive, however. “It would take massive amounts of death magic to fuel a dopplegänger for a month. Even if a practitioner was able to channel that much power—and that’s a big if—we’re talking at least a hundred people killed in a short time in a controlled ritual. I don’t see how anyone could do that—or how the Church could keep it quiet if someone did.”

“But it wasn’t done in ritual. Not once the dopplegänger had been created, that is. Father Moretti believes that the nex in vita can feed upon death directly, without ritual, to avoid dissolution. If a dopplegänger’s creator doesn’t dispel it—or if he is killed and no one controls it—then as long as it can keep killing, it won’t cease.”

“Until someone kills it,” Rule said.

Father Michaels shook his head. “They exist in a sort of half-life. Death-in-life, as it were. Because they aren’t fully alive, they can’t be killed.”

Lily’s eyebrows shot up. “At all?”

“Perhaps with modern weapons . . . but according to the historical record, they cease when they run out of power, but they can’t be killed.”

After a moment Rule said, “Are you sure of this, Father?”

“Father Moretti is, and I believe him.”

“Then how do we stop a dopplegänger? The Church must have found a way to do so.”

“I don’t know.” Lines grooved his face as if he’d aged a decade since he arrived. “The method the Church used back then isn’t one we’d want to repeat. I don’t want to see a second Purge.”