Eileen Wilks - Ritual Magic

She unmuted the call. “I was trying to think of a polite way to say that I wish you had.”

“You’d settle for such an impersonal death? We are different, you and I. I’d find it deeply unsatisfying if someone else killed you.”

“I’m not picky. You took some bullets. How badly are you hurt?” She heard Rule call out something to Barnaby.

“Not fatally, obviously, but you will be pleased to know that I’m in a great deal of pain. Why don’t I tell you why I called?”

“I am curious about that. Among other things. You calling from a disposable?”

“Of course.”

Rule arrived at a run. Cullen was right behind him. She made a hushing gesture and pointed at the phone. In this form Rule couldn’t prick his ears, but he looked like he wanted to. She didn’t put it on speaker; no need on Rule’s behalf, and the microphone might pick up sounds she didn’t want Friar to hear.

“I wish to make a deal,” Friar said.

She snorted. “Yeah, that’ll happen.” Rule had gone on high alert the moment he heard Friar’s voice. He leaned close. Cullen crowded up to Lily’s other side, making sure he didn’t miss anything, either.

“You need me and I, unfortunately, need you. I’m too badly injured to save the world on my own tonight. I propose to put myself in your hands, entirely at your mercy, so we can do that together.”

“Saving the world being so high on your priority list.”

“I was attacked.” His voice was lower now. Rougher, with real emotion leaking through. It sounded like fury. “Nearly killed, although I’m quite difficult to kill these days. Armand was killed. The knife was taken from me and will be used by one who will place this world forever beyond the dominion of my mistress by destroying it. Yes, saving the world is high on my priority list tonight. Revenge is near the top as well.” He paused, and when he spoke again his voice had smoothed out. “I’m assuming you’re aware that I had an artifact—a knife—and that someone took it from me. I can find it.”

She met Rule’s eyes. So far, Friar seemed to be telling the truth. “Can you, now?”

“Because of the previous ritual, I’m linked to it. You want to find that knife, Lily. I will lead you to it. In exchange, you will refrain from harming or imprisoning me. Together we will take it from the person who now holds it, thus saving the world.”

“You trust me to keep my word?”

He chuckled. It turned into a coughing fit, which continued painfully for a moment. “Ah, that hurt,” he said at last. “My lung hasn’t healed yet. No, I don’t trust you. You and I are different, but not in that way. You’re a practical soul. You’ll kill me if you can, but not until you’ve gotten what you need from me. I will, however, trust the word of Rule Turner. He would also like to kill me, but if he gives his word, he’ll keep it. Is he listening, by the way?”

Lily looked at Rule. Should we admit that? He raised his brows. Up to you .

“Why should we believe you?” she asked, tacitly agreeing that Rule was with her. “Seeing as how your word isn’t worth used toilet paper.”

“I could, of course, be lying in order to lead you into a trap, but it’s unnecessary. If I’m telling the truth, I’ll be taking you to someone who’s channeling the power of a god. Someone who will certainly try to kill you, and may succeed. It’s quite amusing, really. By telling the truth, I may lead you to your deaths—and you want me to do that.” He certainly sounded amused, in a breathless way. A bullet to the lung? “I will, however, do my poor best to keep you alive until the knife is retrieved. I can’t do it myself, not in time.”

“What’s this business about channeling the power of a god?”

“What do you know about the knife?”

She wasn’t about to hand him everything, but she could prime the pump by telling him what he already knew or could guess. “It’s an ancient sidhe artifact you got from Benessarai. Lots of magic and what the sidhe call arguai . When you killed Debrett with it, it sucked up every memory of the man.”

“Almost every memory,” he corrected her. “Choosing him for the first sacrifice was a mistake. A natural one—who would have thought you’d have any memory of a man you never met?”

“What makes you think I do?”

“Come now, Lily. Just because I can’t eavesdrop on you doesn’t mean I can’t listen elsewhere, and cops are a talkative bunch.”

And with his magically powered luck, it would have been easy to Listen to the right person at the right time. “Why did you pick Debrett?”

“Why do you think?” There was a strong flavor of smirk in that statement. “But I shouldn’t have allowed my desire to make you suffer bias my choice. Not that I had any way of knowing you would be somehow protected, and I confess I do not understand that. Still, it was a mistake. Whatever memory you retained of Debrett created an imperfection, a tiny knot, that allowed someone else to hitch a ride on the power generated by the ritual.”

“Someone else?”

“A sidhe god. The one to whom the knife is linked.”

Sam hadn’t said anything about the knife being tied to a god. He had indicated the sidhe probably weren’t telling him everything, though. He’d called the information they gave him accurate but probably incomplete. “That’s bad news for you, since you want it for the Big B.”

“Bad news for all of us, since the god’s resurrection will destroy our world.”

“His resurrection.”

“Dyffaya áv Eni is the sidhe god of chaos, compulsion, and madness. Or he was . . . either present or past tense applies, since his current state is ambiguous. The sidhe killed him over three thousand years ago, you see. But life and death are not the same for gods as for mortals, and they vary even among the gods. If one who was born a mortal assumes a godhead, it is possible to kill the god’s body. Difficult, but possible. The sidhe achieved that much, but the individual who occupied the godhead retreated into it. Godheads may fade or change over the centuries, but they cannot be destroyed. Dyffaya áv Eni . . . that’s a call-name, of course. It means Beautiful Madness. Dyffaya still exists, but not in a manner that would make sense to you and I. He wants more than that limited existence. He wants to walk in the world again.”

“I’m sensing a contradiction. He wants to walk in the world, so he’ll destroy it.”

“It wouldn’t be destroyed instantly. It would degrade. Using the knife creates a certain instability. Perhaps your sorcerer is aware of this? I used it in a way that minimized the instability. My mistress wants to save this world and all who live here, not destroy it. Dyffaya won’t be so careful. The—” He stopped with a gasp and wheezed painfully for a moment. “I will be glad when that bullet finally works its way out. Dyffaya will enjoy himself here—the chaos of a disintegrating realm will feed him. Before the realm dissolves completely, he’ll leave. He has enemies in the sidhe realms he will wish to rebuke. You have, I believe, heard of the Queens.”

“Yes.” She exchanged another look with Rule. What Friar said fit with what Sam had told them. Did that mean it was true? Some of it, she thought, but how much and which parts?

“Have I persuaded you, Lily?” Her name sounded greasy and overly intimate in his mouth. “You and your inhuman lover? I think you can’t afford to dismiss me. Am I right? Shall we make a deal?”

She saw Rule’s opinion in his scowl. He shook his head to make sure she understood. For herself . . . Friar was right, damn him. She couldn’t afford to dismiss him. “I need to think about this.”

“I’ll call you back in a few minutes. Don’t delay, Lily. We haven’t much time. I arranged the second sacrifice for tonight for a reason. Whoever holds the knife now will use it tonight.”