Eileen Wilks - Death Magic

“And there’s some kind of upset at the back of the crowd near the Washington Monument—people moving away from one spot. Not running, just avoiding that spot for some reason.”

“Keep an eye on it. You see Deborah?”

“She and her guards are just the other side of the Monument. She seems to be resting.”

The elemental could be doing something that made people uneasy . . . but Matt would call if that were so. Assuming Deborah could tell, that is. “Okay. Notify José. Out.” Rule disconnected. “The catering truck’s here. They’re behind the stage.”

Parrott had kept his speech brief and was introducing someone. “Give her a warm welcome, because she’s seen the light and is here to tell the truth about what happened when Ruben Brooks fled justice. Ladies and gentlemen, Lily Yu!”

And Lily walked up the steps. Only it wasn’t Lily.

It looked precisely like her. It moved like her. It wore black slacks and a red jacket identical to one that hung in Lily’s closet . . . that thing was wearing her face, her form, stolen from her while she was locked up. The mate sense told Rule where Lily was—behind the stage, not on it. And moving. Lily was in motion, which meant she’d made her move—yes, look at Parrott turning to look behind the stage.

Crisp now and certain, Rule spoke. “That’s not Lily. It’s a dopplegänger. Lily’s making her move, though, so we need to as well. As planned—positions!”

Rule had kept the Nokolai guards with him. He’d expected trouble to come from the stage, and his Nokolai knew many useful tricks. Like this one, which was part of one of the training dances.

Six men dropped to their hands and knees, shoulder-to-shoulder in the short grass. Three men leaped onto their backs and linked arms to steady themselves.

Cullen grabbed Rule’s arm as he started to move. “There’s something weird about the Lily-double.”

Rule shook him off. “It’s not Lily. Of course it’s weird.” And along with Andy and Sean, he quickly scaled the lupi pyramid to crouch atop Jacob’s shoulders, with Andy and Sean doing the same on either side of him. Jacob’s hands gripped his ankles.

When he leaped, Jacob shoved. And Rule sailed toward the stage.

The human record for the standing long jump was a little over eleven feet. Rule wasn’t human, and Jacob’s push gave him extra momentum. He still wouldn’t make it to the stage in a single leap, but he passed over the heads of those at the very front to land lightly in the clear strip between the crowd and the stage. Andy and Sean landed on either side of him.

Their order had been settled ahead of time. Rule wanted to go first, but he was a Rho. He couldn’t risk himself unnecessarily. So when Sean bent, cupping his hands, it was Andy who accepted that stirrup. Sean heaved. Andy sailed onto the stage.

Rule was right behind him. He grabbed the edge of the stage with his hands and heaved himself up.

The not-Lily thing stood halfway between the podium and the stairs, unmoving. Parrott was nowhere in sight. Kim Evans had surged to her feet and started forward, telling them to get off, get off—

Not-Lily’s face lit in a sudden grin. It sprinted fast—faster than anything human could move—to Kim Evans, stopping behind her, drawing something from its pocket. As Rule raced toward them, it grabbed the woman’s hair, tipped her head back. And slit her throat.

Blood geysered out, some of it splattering Rule as he reached them. He seized not-Lily’s arm, using his momentum and a twist of his hip in a simple throw.

It spun with the throw, twisting so fast it landed with its feet under it, that huge grin still on its face, a bloody knife gripped in its left hand. “Oooh, yes, let’s play! Catch me if you can!” With impossible speed it darted toward the three people who’d risen from their chairs on the stage.

But while it had paused briefly to taunt, Andy and Sean hadn’t. They shot past Rule. Andy got to it a couple feet ahead of Sean. It swung one fist almost casually—and Andy went sailing off the stage. Sean closed with it, grappling for the knife. Rule ran to help him.

And from the strip of ground next to the stage Cullen yelled, “It’s possessed! That’s how they work it—they summon demons to possess the dopplegängers!”

Shit. Rule kept running.

A wolf landed on his back.

LILYheard Cullen shouting about demons possessing the dopplegängers as she raced after Dennis Parrott. Parrott had heard the commotion when she and the others burst out of the truck. It hadn’t taken him more than a second to decide to clear out. He was running flat out, headed for a long black limo.

Scott shot past her as if she’d been on a leisurely jog. Just as Parrott reached the limo, Scott tackled him.

Lily slowed and looked around to see where she was needed. She’d sent Mike and Chris to check under the stage. Mike had thrown a couple security types aside and was vanishing through the door now.

Chris, dammit, was right beside her.

“Those sons of bitches are fast,” a gravelly voice said.

She glanced quickly to her left—not at Chris. At Drummond. Or some variation on Drummond. “You can talk!”

“Huh. I guess I can. This is confusing as . . .” His voice faded out, though his mouth kept moving. He scowled and stopped trying.

“Lily?” Chris said.

“It’s that ghost. Never mind. Why aren’t you backing up Mike?”

“Uh—”

“I’m with Scott. I’m protected. Go!”

He sped off.

Scott had Parrott on the ground. He wasn’t moving. “He unconscious?” she asked.

A rising swell of screams drowned him out, but he nodded. Then paused with his head up as if he were sniffing the air. “Smells weird.”

Demon-possessed dopplegängers might. “You find any jewelry?”

Scott shook his head. “Just a watch. Could a watch be the magical whatsit you’re looking for? ”

Someone giggled. “No, silly. I’ve got it.”

Lily looked down. “Harry?”

The little brownie was jigging from foot to foot excitedly. His high-pitched voice cut through the crowd noise better than Scott’s deeper tones had. “I got the ring like Rule said, but I can’t give it to him because he’s fighting with a wolf. And I can’t give it to Cullen because he’s fighting with some other wolves on the other side of the stage.”

Fear jumped into her throat and clogged it. She swallowed. “You could give it to me.”

His face scrunched up like a wizened apple. “He didn’t say to give it to you.”

“It’s okay, though. I’m wearing the engagement ring, remember?”

His face cleared. “Yeah, you are! Here.” He tossed something up at her.

She caught the ring—heavy worked gold holding a dark red cabochon gem—then nearly dropped it. Death magic coated the thing with such thick foulness she could hardly stand to touch it. Quickly she stuffed it in her pocket. “We’ve got to get this to Cullen.” Who was fighting “some other wolves.”

Over the stage, or around it? Around was the long way, but whatever was happening on that stage was keeping Rule too busy to come check on her. Anything able to do that would keep her from getting the ring to Cullen. She set off at a run with Scott beside her.

And no ghosts. Thank God. Drummond must have gone on or whatever ghosts did.

People were fleeing. That was her first second’s impression as she rounded the end of the stage—people shoving and streaming away from the carnage and the wolves.

Some hadn’t made it. She glimpsed bodies, gore—other wolves chasing the wolves that chased the people trying desperately to get away. A pair of men faced one of the wolves. And in the trampled grass near the stage, a furious man with a movie star’s face flung a thin ribbon of fire.