Ritual Magic

FORTY-THREE

THERE weren’t that many places to hold a really large wedding in San Diego. Tres Puentes Resort, slightly outside the city, was the poshest and one of the most beautiful. It was named for the three bridges crossing the artful little creek that wandered through the large, open lawn and lush gardens, any or all of which could be reserved, along with the banquet hall, ballroom, smaller dining rooms, and one or more rooms to get ready in before the ceremony. Tres Puentes was usually reserved for over a year in advance, but somehow Rule had booked the place anyway. Part of the deal was that the resort wouldn’t provide the food or serving staff, due to having a smaller event that had already booked the kitchen . . . hence Philippe and the feuilles des pommes et grenades.

And she was not, Lily told herself firmly, going to think about what it cost. Not today.

“Hold still,” Beth said—not for the first time.

“I am.”

“No, you aren’t. You’re as fidgety as I’ve ever seen you. Twice as fidgety.” Her sister yanked on the hair she’d brushed back from Lily’s face. “I could almost think you’re nervous.”

“I’m supposed to be nervous—”

“That’s right,” Susan said. “It’s traditional.”

“But I’m not.” A bit jittery, maybe, but not nervous. They weren’t the same thing at all. “What time is it?”

“Five minutes since the last time you asked,” Cynna said. “Which proves what a puddle of amazing calm you are. If you were nervous, you’d be asking every minute instead of every five.”

“Don’t complain. You’re the official timekeeper. It’s your job to tell me what time it is.”

“There.” At last Beth released Lily’s hair. That was her third attempt. “All done but the orchids, and you need to have your gown on before I put them in.”

Lily studied her reflection. Her hair was pulled back from her face and fastened in a deceptively simple way at her crown. It hung down in back, long and perfectly straight—at least that was what Beth told her after wielding the straightening iron. “You don’t think it’s too severe?” she said in sudden doubt, raising one hand to touch it.

Beth swatted her hand. “It’s perfect. Don’t touch.”

“Lily,” Aunt Deborah said, “I brought my diamond drops, in case you needed them.”

Lily touched one bare ear. The hairstyle called for earrings, but . . . “No. Thank you, but no.”

“She’ll be here,” Aunt Mequi said. “There’s still time. She’ll be here.”

“Of course she will.” Lily said that as if she believed it. She almost did.

At the instant of the knife’s destruction, memory had rushed in on the amnesia victims. That sudden restoration did not instantly heal the trauma their minds had been through, however. Kai Michalski had been very busy. Not all of those who’d lost then regained their memories needed her, and not all of those who needed help would let her give it. As long as the person was competent to make a decision—and Kai had some way of determining that to her satisfaction—the mind healer wouldn’t act without permission. But she’d helped a lot of them. She’d also helped a few of the lupi who’d been under the knife’s control. She’d even been able to help Officer Crown, though he would need additional therapy, she said.

But she couldn’t help Julia Yu. Not until Sam returned, anyway, and maybe not then. She had Julia’s permission, but ironically, the restructuring that had saved Julia’s mind now kept her from being able to access the memories that Kai said were present, but buried. Until Sam loosened things up, Kai had said, she couldn’t do anything . . . and she wasn’t sure if Sam could undo what he’d done. She’d never seen anything like it.

The black dragon had finally returned that morning. When he did, Rule and Lily had offered Julia a choice. Did she want to attend the wedding as her twelve-year-old self? Or did she want to undergo Sam’s ministrations first, even though it might mean missing the wedding?

Julia had chosen door number two. Sam and Kai had been with her all day. No word on how it was going, and the ceremony would start at four thirty—though they needed to be down ten minutes before that. “What time did you say it was?” Lily asked.

Cynna sighed. “Two minutes until four.”

“You’ll let me put on the necklace now,” Aunt Mequi announced as if Lily had argued against this.

“Don’t mess up her hair,” Beth warned.

Aunt Mequi ignored that for the unnecessary comment that it was. She came up behind Lily and carefully shifted her hair so she could place a single strand of pearls around her neck. It was choker-length and much older than Lily. Lily’s other grandmother—the one who’d died long before she was born—had worn it at her own wedding.

The necklace was part of a set. Mequi had inherited the choker; Deborah had gotten the bracelet, though she’d broken it years ago; and Lily’s mother had been bequeathed the earrings. Pearl drops. Julia had worn the necklace and earrings when she married Lily’s father . . . and Lily would either wear those earrings, too, handed to her by her mother, or none at all.

“The timekeeper says it’s time for the dress,” Cynna said.

Lily didn’t move. She didn’t want to put on her dress. Her mother wasn’t here.

“Do not cry,” Mequi said severely. “Your mascara will run and you will have to clean it off and redo it and—”

A knock on the door interrupted her, followed by her father’s voice. “Someone with me would very much like to come in.” Having said that, he didn’t wait for permission but swung the door open and stepped inside.

Julia Yu came in with him. She wore the sunny yellow suit she’d bought for the ceremony months ago. Hair, makeup, nails—all were perfect. She looked like Lily’s mother, not like the twelve-year-old girl Lily had gotten to know and like, but . . . Lily stood slowly, her heart pounding. “Julia?”

“I do not approve of children addressing their parents by their first names, Lily. You know that.” And Julia Yu opened her arms to her daughter.

“. . . AND so now I have seven friends!” The small orange being beamed up at Rule. Gan wore a blue-and-green-striped gown that plunged nearly to her waist in front, revealing a great deal of her truly amazing breasts. She’d accessorized the gown with a purple vest, seven bracelets, five rings, and two necklaces. One was the medallion of her office in Edge. The other was an absurdly large sapphire pendant surrounded by diamonds. She was about an inch taller than the last time Rule had seen her, and she’d started growing hair. Blue hair. He’d complimented her on it the moment he saw her. She’d looked smug. Hair, she’d said, was very tricky, but she thought she had the hang of it.

“You are becoming quite wealthy,” he told her now.

“Well, yes”—Gan touched the large sapphire that dangled between her breasts and scowled—“I’m rich these days, but that isn’t why they’re my friends!”

“Rich in friendships,” Rule explained. “My people consider that true wealth.”

“Huh!” She thought that over. “Your people are weird. Does Lily think about it like that, too?”

“I believe so.”

She thought some more, then announced, “Lily’s richer than me, then, but I don’t think all these people are her friends.” She waved broadly to indicate the guests all around them on the resort’s wide green lawn. “I bet a lot of them are just half friends.”

“Half friends?”

“You know—people you like, but you don’t really trust. Like you and me.”

“Ah.” He smiled. “You know, I suspect we are on our way to becoming actual friends, not just halves.”

Gan’s eyes widened. “You do? I’m not at all sure about your wolf. Do all these humans trust your wolf, even when it’s really close to the top like it is right now?”

That startled Rule. Surely Gan was just guessing. “What do you mean?”

The former demon snorted. “As if I couldn’t see! He’s right there in your üther. In your eyes, too.”

Apparently Gan saw more than Rule had realized. “My wolf is good at waiting. He’s helping with that.” He glanced at his watch.

“You really are eager to get married with Lily, aren’t you? Even though it means you don’t get to fuck anyone else.”

“Even so,” Rule agreed solemnly.

“Huh.”

“It’s almost time for me to take my place for the ceremony. Can I introduce you to someone before I go?” Gan had come with Max, but Rule didn’t see his half-gnome friend anywhere. He didn’t want to abandon Gan in the midst of a crowd she didn’t know who were wary of her.

Gan pointed. “That woman in blue with the big breasts. She has a good laugh. I can hear it all the way over here.”

Gan had been a hermaphrodite and a demon for most of her life before waking up fully female one morning when they were in hell. She was now the chancellor in Edge—an extremely important position, as she enjoyed pointing out—but she still had a great appreciation for breasts. Abel Karonski’s wife could handle Gan’s conversational style, Rule decided, unlike many of his other guests. Everyone had hung back when he started talking to the small orange person who’d stopped being a demon when she started growing a soul. Because of Lily, her first friend. “Come on, then. You’ll like Margarita.”

Rule deposited Gan with Abel and Margarita and started making his way toward the small grove where his attendants should be waiting. It might take awhile. Everyone wanted to speak to him.

Rule had wanted a traditional wedding. For the most part, it would be. He’d wanted to underscore that this was a true marriage, and for all that the size and cost of their celebration had flustered Lily, deep down she, too, felt the pull of rites that went back centuries. And many of the human traditions were lovely, a pleasure to adopt, but he did not like the custom of the groom hiding away from his guests until the ceremony began. Rule couldn’t ignore guests that way.

Besides, greeting people had kept him busy. Waiting was difficult.

“Ha! Rule!” A hearty clap on the back didn’t quite send Rule staggering. “You’re looking very James Bond in your tux. Smooth and sophisticated. Hiding those nerves well, at least from all these humans.”

Rule turned to grin at the slim man with the sledgehammer punch. “What, Andor, can’t you smell the difference between nerves and eagerness for the hunt?”

Andor laughed. “You’re comparing a wedding to a hunt? Maybe you’re not so far off, but are you sure you’re hunter, not prey?”

Rule smiled. “I think Lily and I hunted each other, without knowing it. And now we hunt together.”

“Hunt partners?” Andor pursed his lips. “Well, Lucas has seen your Chosen on the hunt. She impressed him, and my son is not easily impressed, so I won’t argue with you. Tell me about this fight with Friar that you think sent him underground.”

Lily had worried that not many lupi would attend, given how controversial their union was among his people. In the end, forty-one Nokolai had accepted their invitations. That had surprised and pleased Rule and angered Lily, who thought the others were being—as she put it—dicks. Many of his Leidolf were here, too, but as guards. They were needed for security, but he’d made that decision for other reasons. Leidolf was a very conservative clan. His Leidolf were more comfortable in their usual role than as guests to a wedding that appalled, angered, or confused most of them.

Very few from outside the two clans had come. Two of the Rhejes were here—Etorri’s and Leidolf’s—as well as an old friend from Kyffin, and of course Ruben, who was now Rho of Wythe as well as being Lily’s boss. But no one would take Ruben’s presence as a political statement. As a former human, Ruben was married himself and saw nothing controversial about Rule becoming a husband. Another Rho, Tony Romano of Laban, had offered to come, if Rule thought it would help . . . “But I don’t know if it would. People will think you ordered it, and Laban isn’t used to me being Rho yet. If I go, it will cause problems. I haven’t had to kill anyone yet, but there are a few who . . . but I’ll come if it will help.”

All of which was true. Not only was Laban subordinate to Nokolai, but when Tony became Rho, he’d submitted plene et simpliciter. Without reservations. Rule had excused him from attending.

So there were four present from other clans—four plus the man currently questioning him about recent events. Andor Demeny was Rho of Szós. His presence was a mark of distinct honor as well as a strong political statement. Rule had rather hoped Andor’s Lu Nuncio, Lucas, might attend; Lucas was a friend. For Andor to accept the invitation himself had been a huge surprise. “But she’s your Chosen,” Andor had said when Rule called to thank him. “That’s different. Doesn’t affect the rest of us. I don’t see why we haven’t let mates marry all along, if they wanted to. Seems obvious. Married or not, you won’t be spreading your seed anymore.”

“. . . so while we’re staying alert,” Rule finished, “it’s unlikely that Friar can muster any kind of effective strike force this quickly. He may not even be in this realm.”

“Your Rhej couldn’t be sure she banished him?”

“No, she said—”

“There you are.” The voice was warm and slightly exasperated.

Rule turned, smiling. “Jasper. Aren’t you supposed to be—”

“Yes, and so are you. Your father sent me to fetch you.”

“Clearly I must obey.” Rule turned to Andor. “Andor, this is my brother Jasper Machek. Jasper, this is Andor Demeny, Szós Rho.”

Andor’s eyebrows lifted slightly. Jasper was human, the son of Rule’s mother with a human man. Rule should have named him alius kin, or perhaps ospi—clan friend. Not “brother,” which was reserved for a lupus sibling. Andor politely forbore commenting on Rule’s unconventional choice. “Good to meet you, Jasper.”

“I’m pleased to meet you as well, and chagrined that I have no time to further our acquaintance. Rule?”

“Please excuse me, Andor. As you heard, I’m ordered to my place.”

Rule headed toward the small grove at the west side of the lawn with Jasper. He glanced at his watch. “I’m not late.”

“Not yet, but you’re pushing it. And I, uh . . . I wanted a chance to give you my news.” There was suppressed excitement in his voice.

Rule cocked his head. “Good news?”

“You’ll be getting an invitation to my wedding soon. We haven’t set a date yet, but—”

Rule stopped. “But this is marvelous! Congratulations, Jasper. I take it the Supreme Court decision—”

“Yes.” Jasper was flushed and happy. “I wish everyone could have this chance, but now Adam and I do, and we’re by damn taking it.”

“I’m glad.”

Adam was waiting with the others in the small grove of white alders. Rule made a point of shaking his hand and congratulating him, though he had just about run out of patience with all this waiting.

Isen had been talking to Benedict. He turned, his eyebrows lifting. “You’re on time, but just barely.”

“Andor wanted to speak with me.”

“Ah. Can’t offend there.” Isen looked as smug as if he’d arranged for Andor’s presence.

Maybe he had, in his own sneaky way. Rule looked past his father, out across the lawn . . . and felt her. Lily was coming out of the building, heading along the path that led to the small copse of trees opposite this one. Her trees, though, were gold medallions instead of alders . . . and they were blooming. Which they generally didn’t do in March. Rule wondered if one of their friends or relatives had tinkered with the trees. “She’s almost there.” His heartbeat kicked into high gear. His mouth went dry.

“Then we’d best get in position,” Isen said.

Rule walked to the path at the front of the grove. His family arranged themselves behind him.

He and Lily had wanted a mostly traditional wedding . . . but not entirely. Neither of them liked the symbolism of the bride being handed over to the groom like a parcel, but they didn’t want to leave family out, either. They’d decided that instead of the usual processional of the bride, they would both walk forward to meet in the middle, accompanied by their attendants. Their families. She had her father, her mother, her sisters, her brother-in-law, and Cynna. He had his father, his brother Benedict, and Nettie, plus his newly found brother Jasper and Jasper’s new fiancé, Adam.

It had been harder to come up with the answer to another question. Who did they want to officiate? Neither of them were traditionally religious. In the end, though, there had been only one person who was exactly right. Fortunately, California made it easy for nonclergy to officiate at a wedding.

Cullen waited for them now, standing on the small, arched bridge in the middle of the lawn, wearing the flowing white tunic and trousers he’d worn for his own wedding.

The string quartet, positioned slightly east of and behind the bridge, started playing. The crowd—all five hundred of them—began to quiet.

“You forgot your mike,” Benedict said.

“Oh. Right.” Rule couldn’t look away from the spot where . . . and then there she was. Lily. Standing opposite him in a long shimmer of satin silk.

Benedict chuckled and fastened the small microphone to Rule’s collar. “Don’t forget to turn it on.”

“Right,” Rule said again.

“Or I can,” Benedict murmured and moved back behind him again.

The violins soared into the crescendo of “Gypsy Airs” . . . and Rule stepped out into the sunshine.

He walked slowly. That was what they’d planned, but now he cursed himself for an idiot. Slow was hard when he wanted to be there now. But he was a Lu Nuncio and a Rho and he understood control. He forced himself to hold to the pace they’d practiced.

He stopped on his side of the bridge. Lily stopped on her side. He could barely see her, what with the arch of the bridge and Cullen standing right in the middle of it.

“Friends,” Cullen called. His voice was picked up by the mike he wore and carried through speakers along both sides of the lawn. “We are here to witness the union of two people, who today will blend two families—and two sets of customs. This ceremony is a human custom, but in keeping with the lupi belief that important public observations are most complete when they are kept simple, the rite itself will be short. Rule Turner, Lily Yu, come forward and marry.”

Rule stepped up onto the bridge. Across from him, Lily did the same. And now at last he saw her face clearly, and gods, but she shone so brightly . . . his heart hurt with love and joy.

As planned, they met in the middle. They’d flipped a coin to see who would go first. Rule had won. He started to reach for her hands—and remembered the mike. Hastily he fumbled with it. Lily laughed at him with her eyes. Finally he got it turned on. This time, when he reached for her hands they were held out, ready for him. “I, Rule Turner, take you, Lily, for my mate, my partner, my lover, and my wife, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, cleaving only unto you.”

“And I, Lily Yu, take you, Rule, for my mate, my partner, my lover, and my husband, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, cleaving only unto you.” Lily pulled her right hand free. Cullen placed a ring in it. Lily’s hand shook ever so slightly as she slid the ring onto the third finger of Rule’s left hand. “With this ring I thee wed.”

Rule held out his right hand. Cullen supplied the other ring. He concentrated hard and managed not to drop it before he could slide it on Lily’s finger. “With this ring I thee wed.” And then he just looked into her eyes, a smile starting from his toes and spreading all over him. Mine.

“And I,” Cullen said, seizing their joined hands and holding them high, “declare the two of you well and truly married!”

Fire burst out on their joined hands—fire as green and joyous as spring, a warm, laughing fire that didn’t burn—the ardor iunctio, the joining fire, used in the ceremony when a newly adult lupus was brought fully into the clan. Cullen danced that happy fire down their arms, then washed them in it, head to toe. Together they turned, hands still upraised and both of them bathed in green fire, and greeted their guests as husband and wife.