Eileen Wilks - Ritual Magic

And here at Clanhome, the wolf couldn’t help because that part of him was much more sensitive to the push-away. It made the wolf nervous and jumpy and distracted. Here, the wolf needed the man’s help to be calm.

Isen had intercepted Lily on her way in to give her a hug. Lily’s family didn’t touch easily and often the way Rule’s did, but she’d gotten used to Isen’s greetings. She might even, Rule thought as he watched her hugging Isen back, have grown to like them.

Isen did not attempt to greet Madame Yu with a hug. He gave her the sort of nod he would have given another Rho and told her she and Li Qin were welcome. “And this is Julia.” His voice softened with his smile. “You’ll call me Isen. It’s not what you’re used to, I’m sure, but what choice do you have? Courtesy demands you address me as I wish, and that’s my wish.” And he took Julia’s hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm and patted it. “Come, come, and let me introduce you to Carl. He’s going to let you and Toby help him make tarts. Apple, I believe. Do you like apples?”

Julia was happy to talk about apple tarts, happy to go off with Isen. Lily stopped there in the entry hall and shook her head, smiling. “Your father does have a way with . . . well, with just about everyone.”

Because he liked just about everyone. Each person mattered to him. Some more than others, yes, but Isen’s heart remained open. Even now, even in the midst of war and loss . . . “He risks so much,” Rule murmured. “I haven’t half his courage.”

Lily cocked her head in a silent question.

He slid his arms around her and pulled her to him. “I need a moment.” Because this, too, he could have lost. He could have lost Lily. Friar had tried to kill her—again—and would keep trying. His heart beat fast in fear that threatened to swamp him, drown him . . . how could he be with both Toby and Lily every moment? He couldn’t. Couldn’t protect them both, couldn’t keep them safe . . . Can’t, can’t, can’t pounded in his mind with every too-hard beat of his heart.

Gradually his heartbeat slowed. She was here now, and for once not asking questions. “Anxiety attack,” he explained.

“You?” Her eyebrows lifted, as did the corners of her mouth. “Must mean you woke up on the wrong side of perfect yet again.”

“I believe I did.” He smiled down at her dark eyes, the beautiful oval of her face . . . her skin was soft, but nothing like porcelain or ivory or anything so fragile and protected. His nadia was a California girl who’d been impatient with her mother’s lectures about sunscreen when she was young, and still forgot it more often than not. Often on purpose, he suspected. Her skin was sunshine and honey, not cream, and right now she smelled of toothpaste, of almonds from her lotion and apple from her shampoo, and Lily. The loveliest smell in the world.

A smell that stirred him . . .

“Wrong time, wrong place,” she told him. That wasn’t telepathy. If his face hadn’t given away his reaction, his body certainly had.

“True.” He eased away, but took her hand. “End of time-out. Let’s go deal with something other than my delicate feelings.”

She snorted softly, squeezed his hand, and went with him.

LILYliked Isen’s house. She liked it even better now that she wasn’t living here anymore. Though that, like most truths, had layers. Because she had lived here for a few months the place felt homier to her now, which was funny because it hadn’t felt like home when she was staying here.

Minds are weird, she decided. Hers included.

They’d assembled in the great room at the back of the house. It was large and flooded with light in the daytime; now the windows were covered by remote-control-operated blinds that hadn’t been there a month ago. Isen was showing off his new toy—the remote—to Karonski. One of the blinds started to lift, paused, and headed down again.

Rule headed straight for the new toy. Lily paused, looking around.

Near the fireplace, Li Qin smiled at Hardy, who seemed to be singing something to Cynna. At the far end of the room, Cullen sat at the big table with Arjenie, both engrossed in their discussion—magical shit, no doubt. They both loved to talk about magical shit. He had little Ryder on his shoulder. She was asleep. Grandmother sat at the other end of the table, and as Lily came in, Benedict handed Grandmother a cup and saucer.

That would be tea, not coffee. Grandmother detested coffee. Lily had never seen anyone in this household prepare or drink tea, and Grandmother was extremely particular about hers. She moved closer to listen.

Grandmother held the cup near her face. She inhaled, then sipped. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “It is good tea.”

“Carl,” Benedict explained.

“You may sit beside me,” Grandmother informed him. “I wish to hear about your daughter. She is recovering?”

Benedict didn’t talk much. He didn’t smile much, either, but when he did, it transformed him. He sat beside Grandmother now, all but glowing. “The doctor let her wake up this morning and try some healing. She did great. She says there’s nothing wrong she can’t fix, given time and rest. They’ve taken her off the sedatives so she can keep herself in sleep most of the time. That’s better for healing.”

From out of nowhere, Lily was hit by this wave of feeling— feeling both vast and weightless, universal and utterly particular to this room, this moment, these people. Every one of whom she loved. Every one of whom had woken up this morning on the wrong side of perfect, just like Rule, just like her, each of them capable of annoying, delighting, or disappointing her; capable of heroism, misunderstanding, quarreling, laughing, or sitting stubbornly on some stupidity he or she refused to abandon. All of them so different, and so connected.

The feeling ebbed, then passed. She thought: Love? Karonski? And of course that was ridiculous, but even as she shook her head at herself, she knew that it could be both ridiculous and true. This . . . all this, the room, the people here, the odd little pairs and groups they’d formed, the ways each was finding to connect to the others . . . this was what she fought for. For these people, yes. And for moments like this, punctuated by coffee or tea, with a baby on one man’s shoulder and a saint humming over by the fireplace . . . everyone gathered together to work toward their common goal. She fought for them, and for people she’d never met and never would, people who deserved a chance to make their own moments, built from their own flawed choices, with the people they found.

If everyone is here, a crystalline voice announced in her head, we should begin.

JUDGINGby the sudden silence in the room, that had been a Sam-to-everyone communication. Judging by their expressions, they’d been as startled as Lily was. Even Grandmother’s eyebrows shot up.

Lily hadn’t known Sam could do something like this—talk to all of them when he was about thirty miles away keeping a telepathic eye on Nettie. “I want some coffee first.”

Attempt to do two things at once. I have serious matters to impart, but wish to know what you have learned before I do so. Abel Karonski, you may begin.

“Fine,” Karonski said. “First I want to bring everyone up-to-date on the victims, because that’s where we’ve been focused, now that we know how they’re all connected. We’re up to three hundred and twelve. They aren’t all in San Diego. Debrett’s cousins, for example . . .”