Ritual Magic

SIXTEEN

THE VIP lounge was to the other waiting room as a memory foam mattress is to a sleeping bag. Both served the same function, but they did so with vastly different levels of comfort. Rule had Scott sweep for bugs before they entered; the delay could have been engineered to give their enemies time to plant a listening device. Mr. Reddings observed this precaution with some alarm.

No bugs. The helpful Mr. Reddings seemed relieved and rather rushed as he pointed out the room’s amenities—a cushy sofa that let down into a bed, a fruit basket, a well-stocked bar, a refrigerator . . . and a brimming pot of coffee that smelled like it had been brewed from freshly ground beans. Costa Rican, Rule thought, inhaling appreciatively. Lily headed straight for that amenity as the executive assistant asked if there was anything else he could do.

“Thank you,” she said, filling one heavy white mug, “but no.”

This clear dismissal sent the man out the door. Rule could hear Scott asking him a question after it closed.

Lily held out the filled mug to Rule.

His eyebrows lifted. “That’s real love, offering me the first cup.”

“True. But not, you’ll note, the last one. That you’d have to wrestle me for.” She poured a cup for herself and sipped with her eyes closed. “God, that’s good.”

“Never mind the damn coffee,” Benedict said. “What have you learned?”

Rule looked at his brother. Whether it was the effect of physical movement after hours of immobility or the promise of something, anything, to distract him, Benedict’s patience had evaporated. Without it, he was . . . intense.

Arjenie moved up behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder. Lily looked at him over the rim of her mug and answered crisply. “I’ll give you the key points first. One, the artifact last seen in Friar’s possession was used to ritually kill our John Doe. Two, the icky magic I found on the body, which transferred to Officer Crown, is some sort of residue from that ritual. Three, that magic isn’t just icky. It’s evil. And no, I don’t know what that means exactly, but it matters.”

“Are those suppositions or facts?”

“Expert opinions based on observation. Drummond and Hardy—”

“Drummond?” Arjenie said. “You mean your ghost? He’s back?”

Rule had forgotten to tell Benedict and Arjenie about that.

“He’s not my ghost,” Lily said, “but yeah, he’s back. He, uh, was sent here to help. He says spirit is visible on his side.” Her hand waved vaguely to indicate the nebulous direction involved. “The artifact leaves an obvious spiritual mark or color, which is how he knows it was used in the ritual killing of our unknown victim.”

“No ID yet?” Rule asked.

“No, and we may have trouble getting one. I’ll tell you about that in a minute. Drummond says that the bad magic—the contagion—is evil. Seems there’s a clear definition for evil that he can’t tell me, and he can’t tell me why the contagion fits that definition. But it does. Hardy agrees, if I’m interpreting his hymn choices correctly. Which reminds me—”

Benedict broke in. “Hardy is the supposed saint.”

Lily cocked her head. “You don’t believe he is one? Or you don’t believe in saints?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what the word means.”

“I don’t, either, and no one . . .” Lily used both hands to push her hair back. “No one will define anything for me! Saint, spirit, evil—all that shit’s tossed into the mix and I’m just supposed to guess what it all means! Though Cullen did say a saint was a holy man or woman . . . God, I wish he was here.” The moment she said that she shook her head. “No, I don’t. He’s needed with . . . but his ability to see magic would sure help right now.”

Rule glanced around. Uselessly, of course, but he couldn’t resist the impulse. “Is Drummond here?”

She shook her head. “He hung around awhile, then said he had places to go, things to do.”

“You’re accepting his statement as fact? Even if Drummond’s on the side of the angels now, he isn’t one himself. I don’t think ghosts are infallible.”

“True, which is why I’m calling it expert opinion, not fact. But all three of my experts agree that the contagion is evil, so I’m considering that as established.”

“Drummond’s one of your experts. And Hardy?”

She nodded. “The third is Miriam.”

Rule had met Miriam. She was the head priestess of the coven the Unit called on in this area. “Not Karonski?”

“He said no, not for this. Since spirit, not magic, is the—”

“Discuss their credentials later,” Benedict snapped. “Rule has described the shooting to me in detail. Nettie was not a random victim. She was targeted specifically.”

“So we concluded. We meaning me and Drummond and Karonski. Not Miriam. She thinks the overdose of evil caused Crown to commit evil acts, but without a specific target. In other words, he just started shooting, didn’t matter who he killed. I don’t agree. If all Crown had wanted was to kill people, he would have kept firing at the ones near Nettie. He didn’t, which tells me he had specific targets in mind. He was turning to shoot the next one when I dropped him.”

Had she shot to kill and missed? Probably. That was her training. As she put it, when your target was using deadly force, you did, too. Or, as Benedict put it: In battle, take the easiest shot. You’ll do well to hit at all. Don’t make it any harder to win than it has to be.

“Who was the other target?” Arjenie asked. “Do you know?”

“Drummond thinks it was Karonski. That’s based on his observation of the shooter, not on some special ghostly knowledge, but he was a cop for a long time. He may be right, but another possibility is—”

Benedict broke in. “But Nettie was primary. He had time to select his first target, and he chose her. Why?”

“We think it’s because she’s a threat, and she’s a threat because she’s a shaman. This goes back to the contagion being evil. That’s a spiritual quality, and spirit is what Nettie works with. Wiccan and Native practices both have spiritual aspects, but with Wicca the spiritual part is sort of fenced off.”

Arjenie frowned. “I wouldn’t put it that way.”

“I probably said it wrong. Here’s what Karonski told me. That Wiccan star of yours—Earth, Air, Fire, Water, Spirit? They’re the points or arms of the star, and they’re all tied to the Source, which is represented by the open space at the center. But spirit is only one aspect of the Source. That’s why so many unbelievers can use Wiccan spells. And—again, this what Karonski said—a lot of Wiccans don’t work with spirit that much, except during your major rites, because it’s so unpredictable. With Native practices, it’s different. Spirit is at the center. It’s the way they access power, so Nettie’s used to working with spirit directly.”

Arjenie nodded. “Okay, that makes sense. Not that I know a lot about Native practices, but that fits what I do know.”

“Sam said we needed Nettie.” Lily sighed. “Maybe she could have dispelled the contagion. Karonski can’t. The coven can’t.”

“What?” Arjenie’s eyes widened. “But—but if the usual cleansing techniques weren’t effective, surely Miriam tried an elemental cleansing. Not everyone can handle those, but she’s extremely competent, and she’s got strong Gifts in her coven to channel each of the elements.”

“She did try. It didn’t work.”

Arjenie’s brow pleated. “I don’t understand. I’ve never heard of an elemental cleansing failing. I don’t understand that at all.”

“Miriam doesn’t, either, and she took that failure personally. But she thinks it has to do with the way spirit and magic are all tangled up in the contagion. Spirit doesn’t follow the rules.”

Arjenie nodded. The worried pleat remained in her forehead.

Lily looked at Rule. “I need to ask you something. I said that Drummond thinks the secondary target was Karonski. That fits what I saw, if we assume I fired the second Crown had his target lined up. But if we scrap that assumption . . . if Crown had turned a bit more, he would have had me and the patrol car behind me in his sights. Maybe he was going to shoot me, but Hardy was in that car. If Crown was after the, uh, the spiritual heavy hitters, then I’m betting on Hardy for his other target. I’ve taken him into protective custody. I’d like to park him at Clanhome.”

Rule’s eyebrows lifted. After a moment he nodded. “If we need a saint and Hardy is one, then the other side would be eager to deprive us of him. You’d like me to speak to Isen about this?”

“If you can’t okay it yourself, then yes.”

“I could admit him to Clanhome, but whether he stayed would be the Rho’s decision. Best to just ask.” And speaking of asking . . . “You’ve been unable to learn anything from the officer himself?”

Lily’s gaze slid away. “Officer Crown hasn’t regained consciousness.”

And that told Rule what he needed to know. Half of it, anyway. Lily had shot a fellow officer of the law who’d turned out to be the victim of evil, not a bad guy himself. She’d done what she had to, but she was twisted up about it. If he pressed on that spot, she’d break down.

Would that be helping or taking over? God knew it would piss her off.

Arjenie asked, “What’s been done for him? If the contagion can’t be cleared . . . did you find a way to block it?”

“Crown is here at the hospital, in quarantine. Unconscious, but stable. Miriam advised them on how to—” Lily stopped, huffed out an impatient breath. “I’m doing this out of order. When you left, Rule, we were trying to find out what would block the contagion so the EMTs could work on the poor guy.”

He remembered that. “Silk didn’t work.”

“Right. Turned out the icky shit crawls all over anything organic. We think that’s what happened to Officer Crown. He’d been left to guard the body and the contagion followed organics in the soil to get to him. Some disagreement on that,” she added. “We agree that it probably traveled through the soil. I think it went to him on purpose. Miriam thinks I’m nuts. Magic isn’t sentient, doesn’t have plans and intention.”

“Well, no,” Arjenie said mildly. “It isn’t and it doesn’t.”

“This stuff is different.” Lily spread her hands. “I don’t know how else to put this, but it feels malignant. Like it wanted to crawl all over me. Miriam thinks I’m projecting. But whether it transferred through some natural process or went to Crown on purpose, it used organics to get to him. That’s what trial and error suggested, and Miriam did some kind of test that confirmed it.”

Arjenie looked unhappy. “That’s a property of spirit. It can adhere to inorganics, but only when the object involved is spiritually significant, like a cross.” Her hand went to the small silver star she wore around her throat. “Or a Wiccan star. So it pretty much confirms that the contagion is some unholy mix of magic and spirit.”

Lily frowned and tapped her fingers on her thigh. “Miriam didn’t tell me that. She’s being prickly. Or maybe it’s me. We’ve worked together fine in the past, but something about this case . . .” She huffed out another breath. “Maybe it’s me. Anyway, the EMTs were able to prep Crown for transport using caution and latex gloves, and they didn’t pick up any trace of the nasty stuff. I confirmed that. The doctor who dug the bullet out after he arrived . . .” She paused. “I haven’t checked him myself. One of Miriam’s people rode in with Crown, and he checked everyone involved, using a spell to detect magic. He’s sure they’re clean, but I wasn’t here to check.”

“Who did the detection spell?” Arjenie asked.

“Jack. Jack Weysmith.”

“Oh, Jack’s very good. He’s Water-Gifted. It’s hard to hide magic from a Water witch.”

“I’d prefer impossible.” Her frown deepened. “Maybe I should check out the ER doctor and nurses, whoever came in contact with Crown. Just to be sure.”

Rule didn’t want her to. He wanted her with him for both his comfort and hers. He rested a hand on her shoulder, prepared to argue—and changed his mind. Her muscles were so tight. “Will you come with me a moment?”

She slanted him a look half-puzzled, half-annoyed. “Why?”

“I would speak with you privately.”

“There’s no such thing as privacy around here. Unless you plan to take over the ladies’ room or something—”

“We won’t go quite that far.” He used the hand on her shoulder to urge her toward the door. She allowed that, annoyance blending into concern.

Their guards were in the hall. He signaled that he wanted privacy. They split up and spread out down the hall in both directions. They couldn’t go far, but they stopped with their backs to Rule and Lily.

Humans were so visual. Lily wouldn’t even think about what the guards smelled. She’d know the guards could hear them, but it probably wouldn’t occur to her that Benedict could, too. He thought that, as long as they weren’t being watched, she’d feel a measure of privacy.

Sure enough, when he gathered her into his arms, she didn’t resist. She circled his waist with her arms and hugged him.

Ah. He understood now. She thought they were out here for his sake. He explained her mistake by using one hand to knead the nape of her neck while he anchored her with his other arm.

Abruptly she leaned back and frowned up at him. “Rule—”

“Shh.” He continued rubbing her neck. So far it wasn’t having much effect.

“I don’t need a damn massage. I need to finish telling you about the case. Both cases.”

“You need to let go of the cop for a few minutes.”

“I don’t. You think you’re helping, but you’re wrong. I thought you needed a minute, but if you’re just going to—”

“Well, that’s the thing. I’ve been trying to understand where your needs end and my need for you to be okay begins. I couldn’t figure it out, so I’m asking you to let me help you. For my sake, Lily. This is what you can do to help me.”

She quivered. “I can’t. I’ll come apart, and I can’t do that right now. Not now. Not here.”

“You won’t. I’ve got you, and I won’t let you come apart. All you have to do is be in your body.” His other hand joined the first one at her shoulders. “You aren’t letting go or letting down your guard. You aren’t letting in all those thoughts you don’t want to think. You’re just going to be in your body for a few minutes, and I’m going to help you do that.” He smiled down at the objections he saw gathering in her eyes. “Sex would be better, but I felt sure you’d consider that inappropriate.”

“Oh, just ever so slightly, yeah. Rule, I don’t . . .” She made a small sound of surprise.

His thumbs had finally found the right spot. He dug in with his thumbs, then stroked up and out with both thumbs. Her head fell back involuntarily as at last, at last, she began to relax.

He might not be sure where the line lay between helping and interfering, but he had figured out a few things. First, he wasn’t his father, so no trickery. He had to be honest with her. Second, Lily wasn’t one of his men. He’d known that, but hadn’t followed that knowledge deep enough to reach real understanding.

It was all about control. With one of his men, he had both the right and the duty to assume control if theirs was endangered—and the ability to do so, through the mantle. This freedom to surrender control was a deep comfort for a lupus . . . unless that lupus was a Rho. A Rho was responsible, always, for his own control. Lily was neither lupus nor Rho, but she was responsible for her own control. No one could or should attempt to usurp that, no matter how much he loved her and how certain he was that she needed to let go. To let herself fall into tears or rage or whatever lay on the other side of the walls she’d put up.

Lily could not be touched by any mantle. She also couldn’t Change. The Change was one reason it was safe for him to shove one of his men over the edge. It was a release all by itself, but part of that release was shifting into a thoroughly physical self.

The body exists in the here and now. It’s the mind that spins anxiety from thoughts of otherwhere and otherwhen. Rule couldn’t give Lily the ease of the mantle or a wolf’s perspective, but he could make her body more compelling than her mind. He could offer her respite.

Wonder of wonders, she accepted it.

He rubbed and kneaded and she leaned into him, even making little sounds now and then—a low groan, a wordless mmm. Her muscles went lax and loose and warm beneath his hands. And if his body responded to that physical surrender, if the scent and feel of her filled him and stirred him, what of it? He was no randy adolescent. Desire could be enjoyed for itself. It didn’t have to be acted on.

He knew the moment her body responded with something more than ease. He knew it a second or two before she noticed—and stiffened. Not pushing him away, but not willing to feel what she did, either.

Still, she didn’t move away, didn’t so much as lift her head, leaving it tucked down. She muttered into his shirt, “I trust you’re feeling better now.”

That made him smile. “I am.” He felt much better now, with her limp and relaxed against him. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Thank you.”

She sighed and straightened. “You are so strange sometimes. Why did we come out in the hall for this? You could rub my neck in front of Benedict and Arjenie.”

“I could, but if we’d stayed in there, you wouldn’t have stopped thinking.” She would have been too aware of Benedict and his fear, which would have made her think about Nettie, which would set her to thinking furiously about her investigation . . . where she had some control. Or thought she did.

Lily’s mouth twitched in a grimace that might have been agreement. “Well, my little hedonistic interlude is over. But, Rule . . .”

“Yes?”

She smiled faintly and stretched up and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “You’re welcome.”