Eileen Wilks - Ritual Magic

“You can’t trust him,” Rule said the instant she disconnected.

“I don’t. That doesn’t mean I can’t use him.” That sounded way too close to what Friar had said. She hated the idea that she and he were alike in any way. “It fits. Everything he said fits. He may be lying about some of it, but we know the knife is bad news. We know we need to stop whoever has it from using it. And we don’t have a clue how to do that, how to find the blasted thing.”

“Dark moon,” Cullen said.

“What are you talking about?” Rule snapped.

He shrugged. “That’s the obvious reason for the rite to take place tonight. It’s the dark of the moon. If I were summoning a god of madness, that’s when I’d do it.”

Lily felt she had to point something out. “Friar wasn’t summoning a crazy dead god, though. He was trying to make enough of a rip in reality to bring her in.”

“Magically speaking, dark moon means two things—the period when the moon isn’t visible, which lasts from one-and-a-half to three-and-a-half days, and the distinct moment when the moon and sun are in conjunction. We haven’t hit that moment yet, so Friar must have opted for the broader period, when reality thins out.”

“Which doesn’t make anything he said true,” Rule said evenly. “We don’t even know for sure that someone stole the knife. He may be luring us to him so he can use it on one of us.”

Lily opened her mouth to argue . . . and closed it again. He was right. He was right, and she’d missed that possibility entirely. They’d assumed that because the knife was missing, the shooter—Miriam—had taken it. But Friar was missing, too. He’d been hurt, sure, but he’d gotten away. What if he’d held on to the knife?

Her mind clicked through the possibilities that thought opened up . . . and came up with the same answer. “If he’s got the knife and is luring us to him, we still have to go. It doesn’t matter who has the knife. We can’t let them use it.”

“I could go alone.”

“If you’re serious—which is hard to believe—then remember that Friar called me, not you. Do you think he’d agree to a deal that left me free to arrest him or shoot him or whatever? He’ll want me under his eye.”

“Because he wants you dead.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure he’d honor any deal he made with you and let you just walk away with the knife.”

“The knife we aren’t supposed to come in range of, you mean?”

She just looked at him. He wasn’t really trying to talk her out of this. He knew the stakes . . . the ones she was trying hard not to think about. Phrases like “the fabric of the realm” and “destroy the world” were likely to set loose the gibbering fool at the back of her brain if she let her attention pause there. Finally she said, “You make the deal when he calls. You’re good at that sort of thing.” She held out her phone.

After a long moment, Rule sighed and accepted both the phone and the necessity. “All right, but you seem to be pretty good at closing a deal yourself.”

LILYwas glad she’d handed the phone to Rule. It would never have occurred to her to have Friar swear by his mistress’s name. One of her names, anyway.

The deal consisted of three terms that applied to both sides and two just for Friar. First term: If any of them broke their word, the deal was off. Second term: The deal lasted until the knife was recovered and placed in the custody of a saint—a stipulation that startled Friar. Either he didn’t know about Hardy, or he faked surprise really well. Third term: Everyone agreed not to harm or cause harm to the other side. Harm included physical harm, magical assault, arrest, drugging and other forms of incapacitation, imprisonment, and duress. In addition, Friar would allow them to search him, and he would not engage in any illegal actions except with Lily’s express consent. “You don’t jaywalk unless I say it’s okay,” she told him.

That had made him wheeze with what might have been amusement. “I don’t walk at all at the moment.”

Friar swore to abide by those terms, swore using a name Lily didn’t know. Rule did, though. Then Friar gave them an address and Rule disconnected.

Lily said, “He never mentioned the ‘compel, persuade, corrupt’ deal.”

“I noticed that. Nor did he say that the knife is named. Either he doesn’t know, he doesn’t understand the significance, or he’s hoping to use his knowledge in some way.” Rule put his fingers in his mouth and let out two loud, piercing whistles. That was the recall. Lupi could hear such a whistle for miles.

They started back to the lookout. “Do you think swearing by one of her names will really make Friar hold to the deal?”

“It may. He’s tied to her strongly now, and she doesn’t forswear herself.”

That startled Lily. “That’s oddly virtuous of her.”

Cullen, a few paces ahead, said, “Words shape magic, create a flow. Those with a great deal of power experience repercussions if they break their sworn word. She might be really unhappy with him if he broke a vow made in her name.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean he won’t, but he’ll avoid it if he can.”

“If he does,” Rule said, his voice dropping into something close to a growl, “I’ll no longer be bound by my word. Apparently he can now survive and heal bullet wounds. He wouldn’t survive what I would do if my word didn’t hold me back.”

How desperate did Friar have to be to place himself in their hands? Unless, of course, he had no intention of doing that. They might show up at the address he’d given them and have it blow up. She reminded herself to keep in mind that Friar might still have the knife, but she didn’t believe it. Her gut said he was genuinely, deeply pissed about having the knife stolen. “If he can go out-of-phase whenever he wants, he’s going to be hard to sink your teeth into.”

“I’d have to be quick, wouldn’t I?” He said that softly, maybe because there were cops around them now. Maybe because he was warning his wolf not to linger over the kill.

“T.J.,” she said as he turned to look at them, “I’ve got to go. Woo-woo stuff.”

His eyebrows lifted. “You and Turner taking all your sniffers with you?”

“I am, yes,” Rule answered without stopping.

As they reached the trail, Cullen pulled ahead and Rule dropped behind. No room to go abreast. Together all three of them shifted into an easy lope. Lily couldn’t take the trail fast, not at night . . . but she wanted to. She wanted to race as fast as she could. She felt twitchy, as if she’d drunk way too much coffee.

Nerves. Jitters. This wasn’t like her. Normally at this point in an operation she’d be tense but focused—on what she was doing, what her next step needed to be. She had the tense part down. It was focus she lacked. She couldn’t seem to get her mind to pay attention. “If Friar doesn’t have the knife, he means to use us to get it back. Once we get it away from Miriam, he’ll try to take it.”

“I’m still trying to work out how we’ll get it away from Miriam.”

“There is that.” Maybe that’s why she was so jumpy. They didn’t have a plan. Showing up was necessary, but it wasn’t a plan. Only she couldn’t think of where to start.

They hit the first sharp bend. Scott and Mike joined them. Rule told Scott to have the rest of the men meet them at the cars.

From a few feet ahead of them, Cullen said, “Polyester.”

“What?”

“The contagion couldn’t pass through inorganics, and it came from the knife, so maybe the knife has trouble working through inorganics. We need polyester.”