Ritual Magic

FORTY

RULE crouched low, using his hands now and then to assist his descent. Smells filled him . . . creosote, cypress, and sumac. Wild mustard and cholla. The warm, dry smell of the dirt. The scents of home welcomed him and the mantle tied to this land pushed him away.

Off to his left, a pair of shadows drifted stealthily down the slope. On his right four more did the same . . . unless Gray had found his spot already. Even to lupus eyes it was dark tonight, too dark for Rule to be sure Gray still descended with them. Some kind fate had drawn a skim of clouds over the stars, and the moon was dark.

Behind him, on the other side of the ridge, he’d left the man he wanted to kill almost as much as he wanted his next breath. Almost was not enough, not with other priorities crowding it out. He’d left Friar there, knowing the man might be lying about being unable to walk. The easy sound of Friar’s breathing suggested he’d knitted up his damaged chest, so it seemed his body magic did indeed work more quickly than lupi healing.

Friar hadn’t wanted to tell them where the knife was. Rule had told him he might as well, because he was no longer necessary. He’d prefer not to endanger Cynna by involving her, but if Friar wouldn’t cooperate, they’d have to. From this close, Cynna could undoubtedly Find the knife.

That wasn’t true, of course. Cynna was a powerful Finder, but an artifact that could hide from a hellhound might be able to fool her Gift, even this close. But Rule had been convincing, and Friar had bought it.

They’d been right. Miriam was at Isen’s house with the knife.

Rule had decided to bring Friar with them most of the way so Friar could tell them if Miriam left the house with the knife. According to Friar she’d stayed put, so when they reached a certain steep-sided gully on the other side of the ridge they were crossing, Rule had deposited Friar in it. This didn’t violate their deal; he hadn’t been harmed, and the gully was no prison. Even if Friar’s knee was still as damaged as he claimed, he could make his way out. Slowly and painfully, perhaps, but Rule hadn’t sworn to make the bastard’s life easy.

It made Rule twitchy as hell to have his enemy behind him, but what lay ahead worried him more. Below him lay his father’s house . . . and at least fifteen Nokolai guards. Rule didn’t think that was a complete count, but at least fifteen superbly trained Nokolai awaited them, all of them certainly under compulsion. He had six Leidolf.

They wouldn’t be enough. Not enough to take Miriam down. Probably not enough to even get close. For all their care and the boon of the breeze, which carried their scent away from the house, they’d surely be spotted soon. He refused to think about how many might die tonight. But they were, he hoped, enough to distract Miriam. Enough, he prayed, to let Lily and Cullen arrive undetected.

One of the night’s ironies was that the plan Friar had fought so hard for—the one Rule had to admit made the most tactical sense—would never have worked. No sniper could take Miriam out if she stayed near the node. He’d known that from the moment they’d realized she meant to use the node behind Isen’s home . . . the one linked to the mantle, making this land Nokolai.

Isen’s house was tucked up against a rumpled fold of the mountains that sheltered this valley. It was impossible to come at the house unseen from the front or sides; Benedict had run enough tests of his security for Rule to be certain of that. The only possible approach was from the rear, where there was a lower deck, an upper deck, and this rough, rocky hill dotted with trees and low-growing brush.

The node was next to the house, beneath the lower deck—and the lower deck was roofed. That roof blocked any line of sight a sniper might have used, so shooting Miriam from a distance had never been an option.

Shooting others was. Gray and his rifle would still come in handy. He wouldn’t charge with the rest of them, but would wait above them and pick off as many guards as possible. Avoid head shots, Rule had told him, knowing Gray might have no choice but to put a bullet in the brain of one of Rule’s people. His other people.

He checked his watch. He could get a little closer before they stood and charged.

There was no way to reach the deck silently. The slope wasn’t bad here, but close to the house it varied between steep and perpendicular. They’d have to jump down the last fifteen feet or so—if they made it that far. No great distance, but it couldn’t be done silently, so the plan included stealth only up to a point. Then they’d be obvious as hell.

And then men he’d lived and played with, men he’d fought beside and loved for the kin they were, would try to kill him. Or so he had to assume. He’d told his men—his Leidolf clansmen—to avoid death wounds if possible, but they, too, might have to kill.

And all of that assumed that the cheap acrylic caps they wore worked as they were supposed to. So far they had. If that changed, they would all die tonight.

Not yet, he begged the Lady, for whatever luck her grace might bring. Don’t let me die yet. If he could live long enough to give Lily and Cullen a chance . . . and with them, his son, his father, his clan. And everyone and everything else.

There was only one way to reach the node behind Isen’s house . . . from the outside. But there was another way, of course. Through the house. Which could be reached through the tunnel that opened up in Isen’s study.

LILY sat on the cool dirt floor of the tunnel and checked her watch. Seven more minutes. She swallowed and told her heartbeat to settle down. It didn’t listen.

It was dim here, but not dark. A mage light bobbed up near the low ceiling. Cullen’s doing. He was pacing, moving cat-quiet but too restless to stop.

Cullen had many talents. Waiting wasn’t one of them. Lily, on the other hand, was normally pretty good at it. Cops got plenty of practice in the fine art of waiting.

Nothing was normal tonight. You’ve done this sort of thing before, she told her jittery heartbeat and checked her watch again. Her hand shook, a fine tremor that seemed to begin in her belly. Dammit, dammit, dammit . . . She’d gone into bad situations before, yeah. High-stakes situations, when she had no idea if her plan had any chance of working But she’d never imagined going into a fight not knowing if her plans were even hers. If her thoughts were her own.

She was immune to compulsion, but like Friar kept pointing out—damn him—not to persuasion or corruption. How could she trust the decisions she made tonight?

Lily sucked in a shaky breath and rubbed the toltoi with her thumb. Was it warmer than usual? She wanted that to be true, wanted to think it was protecting her. She wished like hell Drummond would show up and tell her if someone or something was influencing her. She thought his name as hard as she could.

Nothing.

Getting here had been simple enough. Nerve-wracking, but simple. This tunnel was larger and more elaborate than the one they were putting in at their place. It had three arms leading to three access points: one at a stand of trees only thirty yards from Isen’s house; one under the water tower; and one at the general store.

Lily and Cullen had driven up to the general store and walked in. Simple.

They hadn’t used the Mercedes. The clan kept an old truck near the gate. Supposedly it was there for the guards, but people borrowed it all the time. The old truck was such a familiar sight that Rule thought no one would pay any attention to it, but if someone had—if they’d been stopped—Lily would have pretended to be Cullen’s prisoner. Cullen would have pretended to be among the compelled, delivering Lily to Miriam.

It was Rule who’d seen that the problem with trying to figure out who was under compulsion went both ways. No doubt Miriam knew who she controlled, but those she’d compelled into obedience couldn’t know who was like them or what she’d told others. At worst, Cullen figured they’d confuse anyone who tried to detain them long enough for him to use a sleep charm.

As it turned out, they hadn’t needed to do anything but drive up and go inside. No one stopped them; as far as they could tell, no one saw them. The store was closed at this hour, but it was never locked. People went there after hours all the time and left a note about what they’d bought along with cash or an IOU. The entrance to the tunnel was in the floor of the storeroom in back. The storeroom was locked, but locks didn’t slow Cullen down. The trapdoor there was warded, but Cullen had created the ward, so he could take it down pretty quickly. That was one reason he was with her.

The other reason, of course, was his shields. The shields he’d mysteriously acquired almost two years ago had withstood the illusions of an immortal Chimea and the power of another ancient artifact, one created by the Great Bitch herself. They’d probably hold against anything the knife could do, as long as he didn’t actually touch it.

Rule’s approach was much harder, coming at the house from over the ridge. She and Cullen couldn’t know exactly when he’d be in place, but they’d set a time for when he should be ready. They’d have to hope Rule’s distraction got under way on schedule.

Lily checked her watch again. This time her breathing hitched. She stood and nodded at Cullen.

He swarmed up the rungs set into the wall that led to the trapdoor. He’d go through first because he was faster, stronger, and able to throw fire, among other things. She’d follow when he gave the all clear. He paused at the top of the ladder, listening, then pushed the square door open a crack. It wasn’t locked, but it was thick and a Persian carpet covered it on the other side, so it would be heavy. He paused to listen again. Maybe he was sniffing, too. If so, he clearly didn’t smell anything he wasn’t expecting. He lifted it a bit more and slithered up and out.

Lily climbed the first two rungs of the ladder and waited. Cullen had left the trapdoor slightly askew, but the rug still lay atop it. She couldn’t see or hear a thing.

Suddenly the mage lights behind her winked out. It was utterly black. “Don’t shoot!” Cullen said loudly.

Oh, God, oh, shit—

Another voice—male, but too low and muffled by the rug and trapdoor for her to make out the words.

“Sure, okay, on the floor, I hear you. No bullets needed.” And Cullen flopped down on top of the trapdoor, telling Lily plainly to stay put, stay hidden. “Not giving you any trouble, Pete. Do you and Jim really need those handcuffs?”

Pete must have come closer, because his voice was a bit louder. She recognized it now and heard some of what he said: “. . . told me to . . . what she says.”

“I understand. You do exactly what Miriam says, right?”

“That’s right.” A pause. “Jim, hold your gun to his head. Cullen, I have to gag you so you can’t cast.”

Muffled but clear, a woman’s voice: “Oh, look what you’ve found.”

Miriam. She sounded delighted.

“Yes, ma’am. Just as you said.” Pete’s voice was as flat and uninflected as a robot’s.

Miriam moved closer. She must be only a few feet from the trapdoor. “Cullen, did you really think you could come so close without my lord sensing all that lovely, hot magic of yours? Oh—you can’t answer me, can you?” She giggled like a little girl. The sound was jarring. “It must be hard on someone as arrogant as you, being trussed up like this. But don’t worry—you may be a bit uncomfortable, but Dafydd doesn’t want you killed. He’s not at all bloodthirsty and would spare everyone if he could, but he particularly wants us to keep you alive. He’s curious about those shields of yours. They remind him of some he saw a very long time ago, but there’s no way you . . .” A pause, then, contritely: “You’re right, love. I’m sorry. I do run on, don’t I? And we are rather short of time. Pete, please have your man take Cullen to one of the bedrooms and make sure he can’t get loose.”

Pete gave exactly those instructions—“Take Cullen to one of the bedrooms and make sure he can’t get loose.” Lily heard Cullen lifted off the trapdoor . . . which was still ajar. There’d be a lump in the rug from it, but that wasn’t telling them anything they didn’t already know. Pete certainly knew about the trapdoor. Miriam must, too. Any second now Pete would push back the rug and move the trapdoor aside. He’d smell her then. Did she draw her weapon now or ease back down the ladder first?

He’d hear her if she moved. Lily forced one sweaty hand to release its grip on the rung by her shoulder and pulled out her weapon. She couldn’t shoot Pete in the head. He’d open the trapdoor and look down here, offering her an easy shot to the head and no clear shot otherwise, but she couldn’t take that easy shot. If she could have asked Pete, he’d have given her a mildly disgusted look because the answer was obvious. Only that wasn’t her answer, which was probably weakness on her part, but she’d try for another spot. One he might survive. She got her Glock up and ready.

“Pete.” Miriam’s voice was full of reproach. “Why didn’t you tell me about the tunnel?”

“I didn’t know you wanted me to.”

A quick, impatient huff loud enough for Lily to hear. Her left wrist was starting to hurt. She tried to huddle in closer to the ladder so that hand wouldn’t have as much weight to support. “That limited sort of thinking is why Benedict is in charge instead of you. Well, put the trapdoor back and lock it up and—”

“There’s no lock on this end.” The rug rustled as if it had been moved. The trapdoor lifted a fraction—and dropped snugly into place.

Pete had done what Miriam told him to do. Exactly what she told him to do, and not one bit more. Lily realized she’d been holding her breath and exhaled, trying to do so quietly.

Miriam’s voice was more muffled now. Lily missed some words. “That’s hardly . . . leaving this unlocked. What was Benedict thinking?”

Pete was still beside the trapdoor. She heard him clearly. “The other ends of the tunnel are warded. Seaborne’s created the wards. He wouldn’t have had trouble getting in, but others would.”

He’d phrased that so carefully—did he suspect she was down here? Yes. Suspect or hope or pray—he wanted someone to be down here. Someone who could actually do something . . .

“Well, at least one . . . unlocked now. You’d . . . put something heavy on top . . . That bookcase should do. It’s heavy enough . . .” The rest was indistinct, but then she said in a different, sharper tone, “What is it?”

“Fighting.” Pete’s voice was tight. “Out back.”

“Our company’s arrived!” Miriam laughed, all breezy and glad. “I need to get out there and—no, no, get the . . . then come with me.”

Lily heard Pete grunt with effort. Two seconds later there was a loud thud right over her head.

Slowly Lily holstered her gun. Her heart pounded and pounded as she climbed higher. She pushed at the bottom of the trapdoor with her right hand. Maybe Pete had managed somehow not to block it . . . no. She hadn’t a chance of budging it. Miriam had been explicit that time, and Pete had followed orders.

There was fighting out back. Miriam had laughed when Pete said that.

Tears of frustration burned her eyes. Rule had charged the house right on schedule, but Cullen was a prisoner and she was trapped in a tunnel as dark as Jonah’s sitting room. Rule would do his damnedest, but he only had six men with him . . . and Miriam had sounded so pleased. What did she have planned?

Lily sucked in breath and told herself to think, dammit. She wasn’t really trapped. There were three exits. She could head for the closest one, but then what? She’d be spotted as soon as she came out from the trees. Unless every guard under Miriam’s control had been sent out back to fight Rule . . . could Miriam be dumb enough to do that?

Probably not, but Lily didn’t see what else to do. She climbed back down the ladder in a darkness so profound she might as well have been blind. Not a sliver of light, no shades of gray here at all. She cursed herself for an idiot for not bringing her purse, or at least the flashlight that was in it. There hadn’t seemed any point when Cullen could make mage lights so easily, and . . . and she was still being stupid. She had her phone.

Lily pulled it out, hit the power button, and the screen lit. Not much light, but enough to get her moving—walking fast at first, then running, because Rule was fighting for his life right now and she wasn’t there, wasn’t with him, and when she got to the exit by the trees what the hell was she going to do? Try to shoot her way into Isen’s house?

Maybe it was the inadequate light or the uneven surface, or maybe it was the way tears suddenly blurred her vision. Whatever the cause, she tripped and fell, dropping her phone and landing on her sprained wrist.

The sharp pain startled a cry out of her. She choked it off, but too late, too late . . . had someone heard? There was a lot of dirt between her and the rest of the world, but lupi ears were keen. If one of them was nearby . . .

What would happen if a Nokolai lupus heard her in the tunnel?

She sat in the dirt cradling her throbbing wrist and at last her mind began working. Furiously.

Assumptions, she thought a moment later. Everyone makes them. Miriam did. She kept assuming that because people had to do what she said, they’d do what she wanted. The two weren’t the same, were they? Lily grabbed her phone off the dirt floor. Miriam didn’t always get her orders right. She’d told one person simply that he wanted to do everything he could to help her. And it worked; he still wanted to help her.

“Help” was such a fluid word.

Lily touched the screen of her phone. She and Rule kept their phones synced, so if he had Cory’s number, she should have it, too . . . not that she knew Cory’s last name, but she could do a search on the first name and . . . nothing with that spelling. She tried again, this time looking for Gene’s number. Bingo.

“Gene. It’s Lily. I need to talk to Cory.”