Eileen Wilks: Death Magic

The jeans looked okay. The sweater . . . something wasn’t right. Red was a good color for her, so that wasn’t it. The material was stretchy, but not too snug for her boss’s party. Nor was the scoop neckline too low. It showed just enough skin to say “social” instead of “on duty.” But that skin looked awfully bare.

She wasn’t wearing the toltoi . That was the problem.

The toltoi was a charm the clan had given her when she became Rule’s Chosen—meaning that their Lady had picked her for him as mate. At first Lily had thought the lupi’s Lady was their deity, more myth than real. But there was a difference between worship and service, and the Lady was as real as a sunrise. Or a sock in the jaw.

Last week, a dumb accident had broken the chain and started her worrying about losing the charm. So it was back in San Diego being remade into a ring by a special sort of jeweler, one who worked with Earth magic as well as metal. The toltoi wasn’t exactly magical, but it wasn’t exactly null, either. It had . . . something. Something Lily couldn’t define, which was deeply annoying, but whatever that might be, it needed to be handled with respect.

And this sweater needed a necklace. She headed to her closet.

Lily appreciated order. Her bracelets were in the silvery box on the dresser. Earrings were in the acrylic box next to it. Necklaces were in the hanging thingee in the closet. She dug into one of the hanging thingee’s pockets.

“A shooting range is a funny place to see a ghost, isn’t it?” She took out a double strand of small black beads. “And I’ve never seen one before, so I’m relying on hearsay about what ghosts look like.”

Rule came up behind her. “They’re usually bound to the place they died, aren’t they? I suppose people don’t die often at a shooting range.”

“Better not,” she said dryly. “Though they can also be tied to an object instead of a place, and some ghosts break the rules. Or so I’m told.” She considered the necklace, put it back, and took out a choker with polished wooden beads. “Fasten this for me?”

“No, not that one.” He plucked the choker from her fingers. “Maybe your ghost is tied to one of the guns at the range.”

“It’s not my ghost.” Lily had had a ghost, or something like a ghost—a part of her soul, anyway, from a Lily who’d died. A part she hadn’t really had access to for several months, but that was over. She was all together again. She frowned at Rule over her shoulder. “And I like that choker.”

“The wood is lovely against your skin, but you might want to try this on before you decide.” He slipped cool, slinky metal around her throat, his fingers brushing her nape.

Three tiers of delicate chain fringe in silver and brass cascaded in dainty splendor from her collar bones to the midpoint between her breasts. Three white stones studded the tiers. It was stunning and stylish and nothing she would have bought for herself—and not only because of the undoubtedly high price tag. Oversize necklaces were not for her. They made her look like a kid playing dress-up.

Not this one, though. This one was just right. She fingered one of the white stones and turned, tilting her face to look up into eyes the color of bittersweet chocolate. “Have I forgotten an occasion?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot our eleven-months-and-five-days anniversary.”

That made her grin. She went up on tiptoe—he was too tall, but she’d adjusted—and gave him a quick kiss.

At least she meant it to be quick. But there was the skin of his cheek, freshly shaved. The clean scent of his hair . . . Rule used baby shampoo because he disliked carrying artificial scents around on him all day. And that approving rumble in his chest, felt as much as heard, when she tasted him with her tongue.

“I’m looking forward to seeing you wear this without the sweater, bra, jeans—”

“But not, I think, at Ruben’s barbecue.”

He smiled, his eyes slumberous beneath the dark slashes of his brows. “Perhaps not.”

“Though it would make cleanup easy.” That made her think of Toby. Last month, Rule’s son had proposed a strategy to keep from getting food on his clothes: eat in his tighty whiteys. A little pang pinched at her. “Sometimes my job sucks.”

“I could have sworn you liked barbecue, I know you like Ruben, and since there’s nothing you could be except a cop, I’m not sure what about your job sucks for you right now.”

“I was wishing Toby could be here, or that we were back home.”

“Ah. Me, too.” This kiss was soft, consolation or appreciation, she wasn’t sure which. They lingered in the circle of each others’ arms, enjoying the moment. “I miss him, but your job isn’t the only thing dragging us to D.C. I received my own invitation.”

“Until we found out I had to testify, you were going to tell Senator Bixton to suck it.”

“I assure you, I never tell powerful senators to suck it.” He smoothed her hair, but his gaze snagged on his wrist, where he wore a watch worth more than Lily’s first car. “Scott hasn’t dinged me. I’d better see if . . .” He patted his pocket and frowned.

“Your phone’s downstairs on the dining table.”

“Thank you.” He started for the door.

“You aren’t going to turn into one of those men who can’t find his socks without help, are you?”

There came that grin again. “Wait and see.”

Lily shook her head and reached into the shoe bag for the flats she’d bought on sale last week back in San Diego. Back home.

D.C. wasn’t completely strange territory. She’d been here a few times since switching from a local cop to the federal version last year, including a stay of several months while she completed accelerated training at Quantico. The house was familiar, too. It was a two-story brick colonial in Georgetown owned jointly by Rule’s clan and two others. Rule had been coming here off and on for years. He was the public face for his people, and sometimes that meant lobbying Congress.

Sometimes it meant being asked asinine questions by politicians posturing for the cameras. He’d handled that the day before yesterday with his usual panache. Being absurdly photogenic helped, but he was just plain good at PR. That’s how he saw this particular appearance before the subcommittee doomed to endlessly masticate the Species Citizenship Bill—which did not, he thought, stand much chance of being brought before the full Senate this year.

Lily’s testimony was more of a command appearance and would be for a different committee, though Senator Bixton was on it, too. At least it would take place away from C-SPAN; the stuff they’d be asking her about was all classified. Her appearance wasn’t until Monday. She could still hope Ruben would pull off a miracle and get her out of it.

Lily stepped into her flats and headed for the stairs. The new necklace felt cool against her skin.

It was a lovely gift, thoughtful and elegant and snazzy, and she was not going to obsess over the fact that he could afford to spend more on her than she could on him . . . though that sort of led into why the thoughtful gift was also a problem.

Rule’s birthday was two weeks and three days away.

Oh, she had a present for him—a custom-made black silk shirt. Lily’s cousin Lyn was a dressmaker, tailor, designer. Last month Lily had snuck out one of Rule’s favorite shirts and taken it to Lyn to use for fit. The new shirt would have black embroidery on the collar, very subtle: a stylized depiction of the toltoi .

Lupi could be so damn male sometimes. They always spoke of her having been chosen for Rule. It never occurred to them that Rule had been chosen for her, too. The embroidered toltoi was Lily’s way of pointing that out.