Eileen Wilks: Death Magic

But one gift was not enough. She needed something fun or funny or sweet. Two more somethings would be best. Then there was the wedding, which wasn’t until March, sure, but she had no idea what—

A stabbing pain at the base of her skull brought her to a stop halfway down the stairs. Ow. That was really . . . gone. She blinked, gave her head a cautious shake, and continued downstairs. Weird, but she felt fine now. No way was she going to mention a here-and-gone headache. Who knew what kind of crap-all tests some conscientious doctor might want to run?

Lily had been on sick leave for four weeks. She was on limited duty now, and it chafed. Aside from the lingering weakness in her right arm, she was perfectly fit. Unfortunately, no one would believe her without running some of those stupid tests, and that was likely to raise questions she couldn’t answer. Mantles were a deep, dark lupi secret.

Rule was talking on the phone in the fussy Victorian parlor that was Lily’s least-liked part of the house. “. . . probably quite late when we get home, so . . . yes, I’ll tell her, but since we’re coming up there Tuesday anyway . . . of course. T’eius ven , Walt.” He disconnected.

“Walt again.” She sighed. “I didn’t hear the phone ring.”

“It didn’t. He called while I was talking to Scott. He’d like you to call at your convenience. I assured him we’d be home too late for “convenient” to mean tonight, but he didn’t seem to think it could wait until Tuesday.”

“What is it this time? Did he say?”

“Something about water rights.”

“Do I look like I know anything about water rights? Walt’s an attorney, for God’s sake, even if he doesn’t practice anymore. He’s got to know ten times more than I do about water rights.”

“It doesn’t matter what you know. It matters what you carry.”

She sighed. “I know.” But this wasn’t at all what she’d bargained for. She slung her purse on her shoulder. “So where’s Scott? For that matter, where’s José?”

“Scott was delayed by a traffic light that’s not working. José is on the roof, filling in for Mark, who was injured during sparring today.”

“Mark’s okay?”

“The worst damage was to his pride, but José won’t let him take a shift until he’s fully healed.” Rule’s phone chimed once. He glanced at the screen. “Scott’s out front.”

“Let’s go, then.”

A lot had changed since last month.

The best and weirdest change was the sudden cessation of argument. The clans weren’t bickering with each other. They’d stopped distrusting Nokolai and were grimly determined to hold the All-Clan some of them had been resisting for nearly a year. The Lady had told them to, after all. She’d spoken through the Rhejes, saying they were to come when “the two-mantled one calls”—and the lupi did not argue with their Lady. Ever. But the logistics and expense of assembling almost every lupus in the world in one place meant it couldn’t happen overnight.

Every lupus in the world . . . Lily was beginning to feel uneasy about that. Wasn’t holding an All-Clan a lot like issuing their enemies an irresistible invitation? “Here we are—come slaughter us.” Last year, after they defeated Harlow and the Azá, an All-Clan hadn’t been so much of a risk. The Great Bitch hadn’t had agents who were ready to act. Now, though . . . now there was Friar and Humans First.

Of course, Robert Friar was supposed to be dead. Lily didn’t buy it, but even if she was wrong, the organization he’d founded was very much alive and thriving. Their membership had jumped when Friar’s death was reported—according to Humans First, he’d been martyred, killed by foul magic. Never mind that it was magic he’d brought in himself—that was government lies. Most of those members weren’t likely to grab a gun and go lupus hunting, but some were hard-core.

She’d told Rule about her misgivings. He’d agreed . . . and said they had to hold the All-Clan anyway. There was something in the stories about it. Something the Lady had said three thousand years ago meant they had to have an All-Clan.

Lily did not understand.

Other changes were less boggling and more annoying. The basement of the row house was unfinished; a construction crew from Leidolf would arrive to finish it in a couple of weeks. They had guards now, ten of them, and Rule wanted those guards housed here, not at a hotel. He’d added an alarm system to the detached garage out back, and he wanted Lily’s government-issue Ford in that garage. If she didn’t want to park there, fine, he wasn’t telling her what to do—but the garage would stay empty, because he wasn’t going to use it. He’d rented space in a parking garage a few blocks away—the one where he kept a couple of vehicles for the guards’ use. When Rule needed his car, he had one of the guards retrieve it. Since they were lupus, they’d smell it if anyone had tried to tamper with the car.

This focus on security was as necessary as it was unwelcome. But Lily’s car was in the garage and Rule’s Mercedes wasn’t, so they left by the front door, watched over invisibly by José on the roof. Out back, she knew, Craig paced the perimeter of the small yard on four feet.

One up, watching the street; one down, watching the rear of the house; one with Rule. The Leidolf guards were blended with those from Nokolai now. At first they’d worked separate shifts, divided by clan, but Rule had recently changed that. They needed to work as a team, he said . . . which made sense, but Lily had expected it to cause problems, at least at first.

When she’d said something about that to Rule, his eyebrows had lifted. “A month ago, it might have. War changes things.” He’d been right. The Leidolf and Nokolai guards were working together as smoothly as if their clans hadn’t been enemies for a few hundred years.

“What did your ghost look like?” Rule asked as she locked the door. He stood with his back to her, scanning the street.

“Not my ghost.” She dropped her keys in her purse and started for the car double-parked in front of the row house.

“The ghost that isn’t yours, then.”

“Five-ten, one sixty . . . or what might be one sixty if it had an actual body instead of the ectoplasmic suggestion of one. No distinguishing features. No features at all.”

Rule’s eyebrows lifted as he opened the car door for her. He was big on opening doors. “A faceless specter?”

She grinned. “In fact, it was.” She slid inside and scooted over.

He followed. Scott clicked the locks.

This was the part Rule disliked most about the tightened security, she knew. He preferred to drive himself—but he also preferred to have his hands and attention free if they were attacked, so he used a driver now. Lily disliked pretty much every part, but she was adapting, dammit. Though the loss of privacy still grated.

She said hello to Scott and fastened her seat belt. “Married, I think.”

“Yes, we will be,” he said, claiming her hand. “Only five months now.”

“And I’m not even hyperventilating.” Marrying Rule was easy. Holding the wedding was another story, but she had a list, after all. Several of them. “But I meant that the ghost was married before the death-do-you-part clause got activated. He, she, or it wore a ring on the left hand.”

“You saw a ring? No face, but a wedding ring?”

“When it reached for me, the hands got a lot clearer. The ring kind of glowed.” She considered. “I should say he, not it. They looked like a man’s hands. Not real young, not real old, and he wasn’t a manual laborer.” No, they’d been soft hands, she remembered. Clean and cared for. Narrow palms, long fingers, nicely trimmed nails.