Eileen Wilks - Death Magic

For reasons known only to the testosterone crowd, that brought a bright grin to Rule’s face. He looked about eighteen. “I have been, haven’t I?” He stepped away from the man on the floor, speaking to Lily as if they were alone in the room. “My apologies for the mess, nadia . Mike will clean it up. The rest of you ...” He glanced around. “Those who will bunk in the garage can—”

The doorbell rang. José spoke from the back of the room. As usual, he wore an earbud. “It’s Seabourne with another man—pale skin, brown hair, looks about forty. He’s wearing a clerical collar.”

The priest. Cynna’s priest, who was supposed to call, dammit, not drop by. Lily sighed. “Maybe Mike could hurry.”

LILYremembered Father Michaels from the wedding. Not everyone would have taken a ghostly poltergeist and an angry dragon in stride the way the priest had, so she was inclined to like him. He looked the way she thought a priest should look, too—not the bluff Irish version, but the scholarly sort. Abraham Michaels was slim and pale, with a long neck and elegant hands. He wore gold-rimmed glasses, dark slacks, and a tweed jacket. And the collar, of course.

“We were about to order supper,” Rule said as he led the way to the kitchen, as bland as if they hadn’t all walked past a scary man crawling around on the floor picking up broken bits. Most of the rest of the lupi had vanished before Lily reached the front door—either out back or down to the basement—but the just-promoted Scott was still with them. “You’ll join us, I hope. Do you enjoy Mexican food, or would you prefer Chinese?”

“Nothing for me, thank you.”

“Mexican,” Cullen said promptly.

“So noted. Lily?”

“No preference.”

“Scott, you’ll take care of ordering, please. Three pans of the enchiladas from Café Lopez.”

Scott nodded, pulled out his phone, and left the room, heading for the front of the house. Three pans wouldn’t begin to feed thirty lupi plus Lily, Rule, Cullen, and Father Michaels—who’d be offered dinner again when it arrived, Lily was sure, if he was still here. The guards must have already eaten. Not surprising. It was pushing eight o’clock.

Rule gestured at the table. “Please have a seat, Father, and tell me what I can get you to drink. We have a decent selection of wines—the Cabernet is my personal favorite, but if you prefer white you might try the Riesling. Lily favors it. Or I could put on coffee. We have various sodas, too, of course.”

“Nothing, thank you. I’m sorry for barging in on you,” the priest said, seating himself at the table, “but I need to ask you some questions. The situation could be both urgent and dangerous. Extremely dangerous.”

“Yes, I believe it is.” Rule opened the wine cooler.

Lily went to get glasses. “Riesling for me. I don’t care if it goes with the enchiladas. Cullen?”

“Cabernet.” Cullen pulled out a chair and sat beside the priest. “Father Michaels called me instead of Lily after talking to his Jesuit buddy. He has questions and I didn’t know how much to tell him, so I brought him to you.”

Rule had retrieved two bottles and was opening one. “I wonder why you called Cullen instead of Lily?”

“I was alarmed, and . . . well, Cullen is not one of my parishioners, but I officiated at his marriage. I feel some responsibility toward him. When I learned there was a chance someone was creating dopplegängers—”

“He wanted to make sure it wasn’t me,” Cullen said dryly.

“Not because I had the slightest suspicion Cullen would use death magic,” Father Michaels said firmly. “He has a highly developed curiosity that might lead him to experiment unwisely, but he wouldn’t power his experiments in such a foul way. I didn’t know how certain it was that death magic was involved.”

“That part’s solid,” Lily said. “I’m a touch sensitive, and I felt death magic on, uh, something related to an investigation. Something we believe was handled by a dopplegänger.”

“Did you see it?” he asked urgently. “This dopplegänger. Did you see it, and are you certain it dispersed?”

Cullen’s eyebrows shot up. “They don’t last, Father.”

“Humor me.”

Cullen shrugged. “Okay, sure. Then no to the first—none of us have seen a dopplegänger—and yes to the second. They left wet spots behind.”

“They?” His eyebrows shot up. He shook his head. “I don’t quite see how wet spots—”

“About half of their mass comes from water. When they dissolve, some of that water remains. Wet spots.”

“I see.” He sat back, breathing out audibly in relief. “Yes, that should indicate they’re gone.”

Rule had wrestled both corks free and was letting his bottle breathe. Lily poured herself a glass of the Riesling and brought it to the table. “Are you sure you don’t want some wine, Father?”

He looked from Lily to Rule to Cullen, a frown pulling at his brows. “You don’t seem to grasp the seriousness of the situation.”

“We grasp it just fine,” she said, sitting across from him. “We’ve had a little more time than you to adjust, and . . . forgive me for the assumption, but we’re maybe more accustomed to dealing with this kind of sh—stuff than you are. I’ve got some questions for you.”

“As I have for you. How certain are you about these dopplegängers, if you didn’t see them? How many dopplegängers are you talking about?”

“Two. There may have been a third, but that’s iffy. As for how sure we are . . .” She glanced at Cullen. “What would you say—about ninety-five percent sure?”

“Something in that neighborhood.”

“This is not good.” The priest sighed unhappily. “Not good at all. That means we’re talking about multiple deaths. Multiple souls who haven’t been able to complete their passage.”

“How many?” Lily asked. “A medium I know told me that large amounts of death magic can cause what she called instabilities. Do you know anything about that?”

“I’m afraid not. Father Moretti may. I have to call him. I’ll ask.”

“Father Moretti is your friend in the Jesuits?”

“No. No, I’m telling this all out of order. I . . . thank you.” Rule had ignored the priest’s refusal and set a glass of wine at his elbow. He sat beside Lily as Father Michaels continued. “I have to ask you to promise you won’t reveal what I’m about to tell you.”

Lily exchanged a glance with Rule. She let him say it. “We can’t promise that.”

“This is information the Church has kept secret for centuries. I must have your word.”

Rule shook his head. “My people take vows seriously. If I promised that, I wouldn’t be able to speak of it even if it were necessary to save lives. I . . .” His brows drew together. He blinked, then nodded. “What if we promised not to speak of it—except to those who already know, of course—unless we are in truly urgent and dire circumstances?”

The priest looked troubled, but after a moment he nodded slowly. “Yes, I think I can accept that. Very well. About all I knew of dopplegängers when Cynna called me was that they probably fell within the responsibility of a certain group of Jesuits. I called a friend of mine in that order. Alejandro intended to do some research, then call me back. Instead I heard from Father Moretti. Ah . . . he’s a senior advisor to the Superior General of the Order. Extremely senior. Alejandro’s inquiries sent up a red flag, it seems.”

Absently he sipped his wine—paused, and seemed to notice the glass he held. “This is quite good.”

“Thank you,” Rule said.

“As I was saying, Father Moretti is in charge of a particular group of Jesuits. You might call them watchdogs. Some of what they watch for is unlikely to ever occur, but inquiries such as Alejandro’s draw their attention.”