Night Season

CHAPTER ONE

It looked like a digital thermometer. There were two little windows in the plastic casing, one showing a deep purple the other, a pale teal. She tilted it, squinting. Maybe the light was fooling her.

Still purple. Not the pretty teal she'd been praying for. No matter how hard she stared or squinted, or what angle she used, it stayed purple.

The knock at her door made Cynna jump. She dropped the tester, scowled at it, and left it lying on the floor. She slammed the bathroom door as she hurried to the other door—which was only steps away. Hotel rooms always put the bathroom right off the entry door.

"Coming, dammit. I'm coming."

No, she wasn't. Not now, but she had last month. Three times. Which was why the color of doom had showed up on the godforsaken tester.

Cynna checked the spy hole, unlocked the door, and swung it open. "Hey," she said with frantic cheer. "I'm ready. Let's go."

The woman at the door was a full head shorter than Cynna. Her hands were tucked into the pockets of a long sweep of coat as black and perfect as the shorter sweep of her hair, and a small frown was tucked between the arch of her brows. Her eyes were dark and steady. "You need a coat," Lily Yu said, not moving. "It's February, so you need a heavy coat. And maybe your wallet? If we're going to shop—"

"Oh, yeah. Right. I'll get them." Cynna started to shut the door in her friend's face, but stopped herself in time. "Come in, but don't go in the bathroom."

That sent the eyebrows up. Cynna ignored that, grabbed her denim tote and her jacket from the pile of clothes on the bed. "I sure do need to wash clothes," she said brightly. "Let's go. Oh, one more thing. No one is to say the p-word this afternoon, or allude to it in any way."

Lily nodded thoughtfully. "Okay. No allusions to the p-word."

Wow. That was easy. Should have tried that a month ago and spared herself any number of gentle, tactful, or blunt interventions. Lily had been so sure Cynna wasn't facing reality.

Turned out Lily was right. The bitch. "So where are we going?" Cynna asked as they headed down the hotel hallway to the side exit.

"I thought we'd give the Fashion Center a try."

"Sure. Uh… do they have those snooty clerks who look at you like you're about to boost a pair of pantyhose?"

Lily gave her a look. "How long have you lived in D.C.?"

"Seven years. Why?"

"The Fashion Center is a mall. They've got all kinds of clothing stores—Macy's, Talbot's, The Gap, Kenneth Cole—"

"So I don't shop much. So sue me."

Lily patted her arm. "You will today."

That's what she was afraid of. Whatever had possessed her to ask Lily to help her pick out some new things?

She glanced down at the woman beside her and sighed.

Envy, that's what. Lily always looked right. But she was tiny and… well, not cute. You wouldn't call a bullet cute, no matter how small and shapely it was. Bullets were also notoriously hard to stop, and that was like Lily, too.

And now, because Cynna had opened her big mouth, all that deadly determination was focused on her wardrobe. She'd actually used that word when she talked to Lily about helping her shop. A new wardrobe, she'd said. For work.

Clearly she'd been insane. She didn't have a damned wardrobe. She had clothes.

They left through the side door. Cold sucked at Cynna's face and made inroads along her front, so she zipped her jacket. It was an unusually cold whiter for D.C., but she wasn't about to say so. It was too much fun needling Lily, who'd lived in San Diego all her life.

Lily grumbled under her breath and headed for her car—a plain white Ford exactly like Cynna's, only cleaner. The FBI must buy the things in droves.

The day was as sunny and still as it was cold, the sun a bright ball in a sky so blue and clear you'd think smog had never been invented. So when the shadow passed overhead, Cynna looked up.

The sinuous shape was growing familiar, though she still felt a chill of awe at the sight. Against the brightness of the sky it looked dark, but she'd seen the photographs. Who hadn't? Up close the scales would be red and shiny, the color of rubies or fresh blood.

"Is vanity a dragon thing?" she asked, one hand on the car door, her head tipped back to watch legend crawl lazily across the sky.

Lily opened her door. "What do you mean?"

"All the photos. Mika doesn't talk much, but he sure likes getting his picture taken." Technically, Mika didn't talk at all. Mindspeak wasn't the same as talking. But the ruby dragon seldom bothered to speak in any manner to the humans around him, much to the frustration of reporters. "Is Sam vain like that?"

Lily snorted. "Haven't seen a bunch of photos of him on the Internet, have you? I guess if you already know you're the biggest, baddest dude on two wings, you don't need a picture to prove it. Mika's young," she added as she got in.

Young was a relative term, but since Mika had probably been born before a passel of Pilgrims washed up on a big rock near Plymouth, Cynna thought Lily was stretching the limits of the word.

But dragons stretched a lot of limits.

For years people had believed they were myth, fairy tale, no more real than Odysseus' Cyclops. Even when twenty-two of them ended their long exile last November to return to Earth, it had been easy for people to dismiss the sighting since they'd vanished right away.

Probably some publicity stunt, right? It happened in California, and much of the country considered that explanation enough for any oddity. Since the government sat on its information—which included radar, both still and video images, and the reports of two of its own agents, namely Cynna and Lily—there had been no solid proof. Talk show hosts had had a field day with dragon-sighting jokes.

When they showed up again, no one was laughing. This time, the world needed them to be real.

The realms had done one hell of a bump-and-grind, knocking streams of magic loose from nodes all over the world. Loose magic has a randomizing effect on technology, especially anything run by computers… which was just about everything. It turned out that, in addition to being strong, beautiful, and deadly, dragons made dandy sponges. They soaked up all the excess magic in their vicinity.

Two days before Christmas, the black dragon had landed on the White House lawn. Sam—whose other call-name was Sun Mzao—had negotiated for the rest, assisted by Lily's grandmother. Much to Cynna's frustration, no one would tell her why Madam Yu had been involved. She had some guesses, though they were so preposterous… but so was Lily's grandmother.

Sooner or later, Cynna promised herself, she'd worm the truth out of Lily.

So far the Dragon Treaties were working. Computers operated normally in the nation's capital, on Wall Street, and in and around the twelve U.S cities and eight throughout the world that had a dragon. True, dragons ate a lot, and the animal protection people were not happy about their preferred presentation style. They insisted on catching the evening's cow or pigs themselves. But they'd stuck to their agreement to leave people and pets off the menu.

Problem was, there weren't enough dragons.

Cynna watched Washington's dragon bank and head down. Looked like he was heading for Rock Creek Park. He'd claimed the amphitheater there while governmental types argued over where to build his permanent lair.

"You coming?" Lily said.

Cynna slid in the car and buckled up. "Do you ever wish we'd gotten Sam instead of Mika?"

Lily shrugged and started the car. "Sam wanted to be near Grandmother. Or else Grandmother wanted him near. Or maybe he just wanted to be warm. It's never warm here."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch. If you're still around this summer, you'll be complaining about the heat. It's not a dry heat like you're used to."

"San Diego isn't as hot as you'd think. Hotter in the mountains, of course. As you move away from the coast, you don't get the cooling effects of the ocean."

"You miss it."

Lily sighed and pulled out. "More than I expected. This was supposed to be temporary."

Lily had originally been posted to Washington, DC, for two purposes: to assist the Secret Service in an investigation and to take an abbreviated version of the standard FBI training at Quantico. Like Cynna, she belonged to a special unit in the FBI's Magical Crimes Division, one that until recently very few knew existed. Lily had been recruited last November. She was a touch sensitive, able to feel magic tactilely yet impervious to its effects, but her background as a homicide cop was as valuable to the Unit as her Gift. A lot of the Unit's agents lacked that kind of law enforcement training and experience.

Lily had finished up the assist-the-Secret Service part of her assignment, but what with demon assassins and the Turning and all, her training still wasn't complete.

"There is an upside, I guess," Lily said. "Being parked at Headquarters puts twenty-six hundred miles between me and my mother."

"Yeah, but planes are flying again, cell phones are working—"

"Don't remind me."

Cynna smiled because she was supposed to, but she wondered… if her mother had lived, would she be as mom-averse as Lily? Some of her other friends were like that, too. A few seemed to be close to their mothers, but a lot of them had issues.

Not that she didn't have issues. You didn't have to have a living mother to find knots tangled all over your heart tagged "from Mom." Which was a damn good reason for never… not going there, she reminded herself. "How's Rule?"

"He's good. The mantles have settled into peaceful coexistence… which you'd know if you hadn't been avoiding us. I—oh, God."

"What? What is it?"

"I sound like my mother."

Cynna laughed. For the first time in hours—days—well, a long time, she felt like laughing. Maybe she'd been isolating.

You think? whispered a snide inner voice.

"I'd better get over that," Lily added casually. "It looks like I'm going to be a mother myself soon. Of sorts."

Cynna jolted so hard she nearly gave herself whiplash. "You—you're going to have a baby?"

"No. Oh, no, though—well, I can't say what I'm thinking without making a forbidden allusion. I was talking about Toby."

Toby was Rule's son, and Rule was… well, just about everything to Lily, except a husband. Lupi didn't marry. "You mean he's going to sue for custody? Or did Toby's mom finally agree to let him live with Rule?"

"Alicia didn't agree, but her mother has. I think Mrs. Asteglio approves of me, and with Rule and me going down there so often after she broke her leg—"

"She broke her leg?"

"Fell down the stairs. It was a wake-up call for her. She's sixty-three, you know, and has some other health problems that make it hard for her to care for a child Toby's age. And she knows Toby wants to live with his dad."

Since the boy had run away just before Christmas so he could spend the holiday with his father, Cyinna agreed that Toby's preference was obvious.

"I feel sad for her," Lily added. "She loves Toby. It's hard on her, giving him up, but we'll make sure she gets to see him often."

"But Toby's grandma doesn't have legal custody, does she?"

"Toby's grandmother," Lily said tartly, "has raised him. His mother sure hasn't. Alicia visits on the occasional weekend, but even that's dried up now that she's in Lebanon. She's huffing and puffing and dragging her feet, but for the first time Rule has a good chance of winning if she does contest the suit. We're hoping she won't. It'll be easier on Toby if we can come to an agreement."

For years Rule had had no legal rights to his son. Toby's grandmother had allowed the boy to visit his father, but his mother—a reporter for the Associated Press—hadn't even put Rule's name on the birth certificate.

Rule had never taken the matter to court. The son of the best-known werewolf in the world would have been irresistible to the paparazzi. Besides, Rule had been certain he'd lose. The courts weren't exactly friendly to lupi.

Until a few years ago, some states had allowed people to shoot them on sight. Most lupi had actually preferred that to the federal government's policy—forced registration and drugs that prevented them from Changing.

But those were the bad old days. A few years ago the Supreme Court had ruled that lupi were citizens. As such, they were entitled to all the rights and protections of the law… when they were shaped like humans, that is. It was still legal to shoot one in wolf form.

After a few moments Cynna sighed. "I've been an ass, haven't I? So busy doing the poor-me bit I didn't have a clue what was happening in anyone else's life."

Lily gave her a smile. "It's okay to play turtle for a while, as long as you don't get too fond of your shell. You're out of it now. How much of your money do I get to spend today?"

"Oh, a couple hundred. I usually buy myself a Christmas present, but this time I never got around to it, what with the demons and all."

"Triple it."

"What? I'm not going to—"

"You said you wanted a new work wardrobe. Unless you've changed your mind? For example, you might have some reason to think your size could suddenly change—"

Cynna made a beeping sound.

"What?"

"That's the allusion alert."

Lily slid her an amused glance. "We'll start with the basics. Two good jackets—"

"I have jackets."

"Sure, and they might work if you were eighty pounds heavier. And eighty years old. And not interested in fashion. You look great in jeans, but the suits you pick…" She shook her head. "Is that what you think an FBI agent is supposed to look like?"

"All right, all right—but I look like crap in suits. I'm not built like you. I can't wear those teeny little fitted jackets."

"You can wear clothes that fit, though. As for how you're built…" Lily snorted. "You don't like looking like Xena, Warrior Princess? You're tired of wiping the drool off men's faces?"

"Well, but—"

"You've got a goddess's body, Cynna. Not the Maiden, but the Mother or some fertility deity."

Cynna gave her a dark look. She did not care for fertility deity references.

"Add in the butch haircut and tattoos, and I'm thinking we need to go for simple but dramatic. Whatever we get will probably have to be tailored, but—"

"Tailored?" Cynna squeaked.

"Most likely. We'll start with two jackets, like I said, and four pairs of slacks to mix and match. You could add a skirt, but I've never seen you wear one, so I thought we'd stay in your comfort zone and go with slacks."

"You've got a weird notion of my comfort zone."

"And of course you'll need things to wear under the jackets. Tees, a long-sleeved shirt, a sweater or—"

"There's a Wal-Mart about a mile from here."

"You didn't buy those jeans at Wal-Mart. They're killer."

"Thanks. But jeans aren't like suits. They have to fit exactly right, and most of them aren't long enough, so… quit looking at me that way."

"Uh-huh. How much did you pay for the jeans?"

Too much. "Sales. There are bound to be sales."