Eileen Wilks - Ritual Magic

She stared. “They don’t say we can’t, either!”

“If he doesn’t cooperate with the search, we’d have to hold him down. That’s a clear violation of the terms.”

Oh, God. No wonder Friar had wanted Rule’s word instead of hers. She wouldn’t have a problem bending that part of the deal. If it saved all of them from a sneak attack by someone who didn’t just want to kill them, but make it last? No problem at all. But for Rule, the line was clear and absolute. “If you changed your mind about that,” she said slowly, “it would probably be corruption talking.”

Rule’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“Earlier I was thinking about the difference between persuasion and corruption. Our, uh, our source didn’t exactly define the terms, did he?” She didn’t want to mention Sam in case Friar could hear them. As far as they knew, his hearing was only human . . . but maybe Her Bitchiness had upgraded that, too. “The way I’ve got it figured, persuasion messes up your thinking. Makes you lose your common sense. Corruption would make us lose our moral sense. For you, bending your word would mean a loss of moral sense.”

“My word, once given, has no ‘bend.’ I keep it or I break it.”

“That’s what I mean.”

Rule thought that over, then nodded. “We can use that as a canary in the coal mine. If, once we’re close to the knife, I suddenly decide it’s okay to break my word, we’ll know that is corruption speaking.”

“That would be one . . .” Lily’s eyes widened in sudden dismay.

“Lily? What is it?”

She swallowed and reminded herself to keep her voice down. “You know what Drummond said about when I was fighting the dworg. There was a spiritual attack. Was the knife nearby?”

After a moment Cullen said, “Oh.” And, “Shit. No one acted like they were under compulsion, did they? The dworg would’ve bloody won if, say, Scott had been compelled to stop fighting.”

“Which means,” Rule said slowly, “the knife was not nearby.”

“Yeah,” Lily said. “But someone was able to mount a spiritual attack anyway.” And if the knife or the god could do that, how did she know any of her decisions tonight were truly hers? She wasn’t corrupted. Surely she’d notice if she made a decision that ran counter to her understanding of good and evil . . . wouldn’t she? But persuasion was a sly and sneaky bastard. Persuasion crept in and put thoughts in your head.

Could she trust her own thoughts? How could she tell?

MIRIAMslowed as she neared the gate, pleased with herself for finding the place. She’d only been here that once. A barbecue, that had been. Rule had invited her and others from her coven, and his people had been very welcoming . . . one of them in a most personal way. Memory made her smile, but it faded. A pity, what would happen to them all.

The guard was quite young and looked serious as only the young can. He also looked very fit. No shirt, so she could see just how deliciously fit he was. He had pretty blond hair, and she did have a weakness for blonds, so the little leap of lust didn’t surprise her. Its echo did. “You want him, too? Oh, that would be lovely.” She sighed. “The time’s wrong, though, isn’t it? Priorities, priorities.” She pulled up to a stop and shut off the music.

The fit young man came up to her window. She lowered it and smiled at him. “I’m Miriam Faircastle. I need to see Isen about something I learned when I was trying to help that poor officer.”

“Ma’am, I’ll check, but we’re not admitting anyone with weapons except for officers of the law. You’ll have to either leave the gun and knife with me or lock them in your trunk.”

Oh, rats, she’d forgotten how well they saw in the dark. But how did he know about the gun? It was under the seat. Had he smelled it? She reached for the knife and laid her fingers lightly on the hilt. Power surged up her arm, filling her. “Forget about the knife and the gun.”

He blinked. “You need to see Isen?”

“That’s right.” She could just make him admit her . . . that was a giddy thought. She could make him do anything at all. Priorities, she reminded herself. She mustn’t alarm Isen Turner by showing up unannounced. Dafydd said the knife wouldn’t work properly on a Rho. He hadn’t said why, but it didn’t matter. Isen Turner would have to be put to sleep, and that would go so much more smoothly if he wasn’t wary of her. “Oh, before you call . . .”

He’d taken out his phone but paused, waiting just like she wanted him to.

She beamed at him. “You’re such a nice young man. You want to help me in every way possible.” Her fingers tingled where they rested on the knife. “Are Lily and Rule at their house?”

“I don’t know. They were here, but they left about an hour ago.”

Well, they’d planned for that. Or Dafydd had. “Thank you. Now you can—”

Ask if the sorcerer and the old woman are here.

“One more question. Is Madame Yu here? Or Cullen Seaborne?”

“No, ma’am, they left.”

“Thank you. Forget that I asked all that.” Not that she understood why Dafydd was worried about Lily Yu’s grandmother.

Not worried, love. However, we would need different tactics if they were present.

That made sense, she supposed. The old woman had some kind of Gift. Miriam doubted that she knew much spellcraft, but Gifts could be difficult to counter. As for Seaborne . . . he did know a great deal about magic, but he didn’t have the kind of power available to her now. Nor did he have a god to guide him in its use. She stroked the knife again and savored the thrill.

The guard put away his phone. “Isen says you’re to come ahead. You know where his house is? Just keep on the road. It dead-ends at his place.”

“Thank you. Touch your nose and stick out your tongue, please.”

He did.

She giggled.

F’annwylyd, Dafydd said, rebuke mixing with amusement in the Welsh endearment. She didn’t know why he favored Welsh, but it was certainly a beautiful language to listen to while making love. You will have time to play later.

He was right, of course. She smoothed her expression to an appropriate solemnity. Reminding herself that this guard would probably be dead soon helped. “Forget about that, too,” she told the lovely young man and put her window up. A moment later, he’d opened the gate and she drove through.

Her face felt chilly. How odd. She touched her cheek. It was wet. She was crying? But that made no sense, no sense at all. Soon, very soon, her Dafydd would be with her, in the flesh and forever . . . or for the rest of her life, anyway. Which might be short, given how careless her love could be even with those who mattered to him. Like her.

But that didn’t matter. His happiness was all that did. She touched the sleep charm in her pocket, assuring herself it was ready. Isen and Rule Turner were protected in some way, but Isen had no defenses against a simple sleep charm—especially one with the power of a god behind it. And his men had no defenses at all.

She giggled again and turned Steppenwolf back on.

JULIAbrushed her teeth as slowly as possible. She already had her pj’s on, so toothbrushing was the only thing standing between her and bedtime. And she did not want to go to bed. There was too much going on. Though it was not likely, she thought bitterly as she spat toothpaste spit into the sink, that anyone would tell her much. But if she was awake when Mr. Turner and Lily got back, she’d surely learn something.

Eavesdropping on the grown-ups’ conversation in the great room hadn’t worked all that well. Carl turned on some music, for one thing, so she only heard little bits of what people said, but everyone had seemed to be talking to someone she couldn’t hear. It took forever for her to figure out that the dragon must be talking to them in their heads.