Blood Lines (34 page)

“Every day.” Ten minutes, as he’d been set to do.

“I don’t mean penance. I mean running, being wolf as wolf is meant to be.”

Anger licked at Rule’s insides. He suppressed it. “Nag later. Did you learn anything?”

“Not much.” Cullen slouched back in his chair. “I was in New Orleans. You’ll be getting a Visa bill for the trip.”

Rule nodded, accepting that for the explanation it was. Cullen’s financial morals were peculiar, but within their bounds he was quite straitlaced. If Cullen had billed the trip to him, it was clan business, which meant he’d gone in search of help for Rule’s condition. “You went to see a Vodun priest or priestess?”

“The one I hoped to consult hasn’t been seen since the hurricane, but I talked to a couple others. One let me use her workshop.” He lifted his butt enough to dig into his pocket and pulled out a small, silk-wrapped bundle. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

Rule unfastened the black silk gingerly. The contents were unremarkable: a single white feather. It looked like it had come from a chicken. “I hope I’m not supposed to eat this.”

Cullen snorted. “No, you wear it next to your skin. Just a sec . . .” He dug into another pocket. “Here.” He passed Rule a thin strip of leather. “This has been purified. Use it, not silver or gold. The original charm wards off evil spirits—not exactly your problem, but we tinkered with it.”

“We?”

“The priestess whose workshop I used helped me work out some of the changes. The original charm was Vodun—got it from the guy who’s missing—so I needed advice on the modifications. If it works, it’ll stop the demon stuff from growing.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Rule picked up the feather. There was a small silver cap on one end with a loop to run the leather strip through.

“I suppose it could cause a rash.” He grimaced. “Hell, Rule, I don’t know. It’s the strongest charm I could make. I think it will work, but I don’t know. Even if it does, it won’t last more than a week. Maybe less.”

Rule turned the charm between his fingers. It felt like just a feather, no zing or punch at all. He wondered what it would feel like to Lily. “Blood magic, Cullen?” Most Vodun magic involved blood, or so Cullen had once told him. And most blood magic came with an expiration date.

Cullen scowled. “It’s not black.”

But it was probably gray. Rule suspected that any moral penalties from the charm wouldn’t redound to him but to his friend. It was probably too late to object. The charm was made. Refusing it wouldn’t lessen any price Cullen had agreed to pay.

But he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all. “Our friendship is getting unbalanced. You went to hell for me. Now you’ve taken on God knows what kind of burden to—”

“Shove it. First, you were my friend when it cost you—and don’t tell me it didn’t. Second, you’re now my Lu Nuncio. What happens to you affects the whole clan. I’m allowed to protect the clan.”

Rule turned away abruptly and grabbed the chicken carcass. He yanked open the refrigerator. “Do you have any idea what that’s like? People guarding me, protecting me, paying for my safety with their lives—do you know what that’s like?” He grabbed the milk, spun, and hurled it across the room.

The carton splatted against the wall. Milk went everywhere.

“Feel better?” Cullen said cheerfully.

“No.” What a mess. What a goddamned mess.

“Funny. It usually brightens my day to break things. Oh, well.” He shoved back his chair. “Let’s get it cleaned up. Where’s your brotherly shadow?”

“You,” Rule said, incredulous, “are going to help clean up?”

“I’ll hand you the sponge and point out any spots you miss.” He looked around. “Where
is
the sponge?”

Rueful, Rule shook his head. “That’s going to take more than a sponge.” He went to the pantry and took out the mop. “Benedict’s upstairs with Toby. I promised not to leave the house without him.”

“I’m surprised he agreed to put a whole floor between you.”

“The warden cut me a deal.” His brother had probably heard everything—Rule’s temper tantrum, much of their current conversation. Benedict’s hearing was uncanny, even for a lupus. Rule picked up the burst carton. “Throw that away, will you? I’m supposed to spar with Freddie later.” Methodically, he began mopping. “For some reason everyone thinks I’m strung a little tight.”

“If you start acting as erratic as me, we’re in trouble.” Cullen dumped the carton in the trash and added quietly, “You’ve had more . . . incidents, haven’t you? Blackouts, I guess we could call them.”

“Four.” He carried the mop to the sink, rinsed it, and brought it back to finish. Three times in the last two days his memory had simply ceased working. “The gaps are short—between ten and twenty minutes. So far, no other symptoms. Lily knows about one. I haven’t told her about the other three, so don’t mention them.”

“Jesus, Rule! And you accuse me of being an idiot with women!”

“No, you’re thoughtless, but when you bother to think, you’re bright enough.” Rule finished mopping and carried the mop back to the pantry. The wall still had to be washed. “Don’t bother giving me advice. I’m not going to worry her more than I have to.”

Cullen shook his head. Another yawn hit.

“You’d better get to bed. Take my room—the others are occupied.”

Cullen managed a tired grin. “Think Lily will object to my sleeping in her bed?”

“No, but she’ll hate the way you’ll bring it up at whatever moment irritates her most.” He retrieved the sponge Cullen had pretended not to see earlier. It was hiding on the shelf above the sink.

“Couple of things I need to tell you before I crash, if I can keep enough brain cells operating to do it.” Another yawn. “About Timms—”

“I told you I wasn’t keeping him for you.”

“I know that.” Cullen was irritated. “I called him, told him I had to be out of town awhile. I . . .” He stopped, eyes narrowing. “You knew that.”

“He’s come over every day. He’s on medical leave because of his arm, so I guess he’s at loose ends. Madam Yu,” he said, “is teaching him mah-jongg.”

“Good God.”

And that, Rule thought as he stooped to wipe down the wall, was both typical and brand-new. Cullen hadn’t called Rule after he vanished—typical. He’d expected Rule to understand. He also hadn’t wanted to give Rule a chance to object to what he meant to do. He hadn’t called Lily or Cynna because it hadn’t occurred to him. But he’d called Timms.

Cullen had always collected strays—often, though not always, human. People as hungry in their way for belonging as he was. But he’d never tended to them himself for long, instead finding someone else to assume responsibility.

But he’d called Timms.

“Might as well call him, tell him I’m back. Can’t tell him everything, of course,” Cullen said. “Especially about the Codex.” He paused. “I suppose Lily has already passed that bit on.”

Rule finished the wall, straightened, and nodded.

Cullen’s fists clenched, then relaxed. “I guess the ones we most wish didn’t know about it already do. I’ve an idea about the Codex. That’s the other thing I wanted to tell you before I crash.”

“I’m listening.” He put the sponge back and returned to the table, where he picked up the feather and the leather strip. He might as well wear the damned thing. Maybe it would help. He threaded the leather through the silver loop.

“The report Lily gave me. Putting it together with what I can remember or reconstruct—does that make you as mad as it does me?” he asked suddenly. “Having your memory messed with?”

Since he’d just finished cleaning up the evidence of his temper, Rule’s voice was dry. “Yes. It does.”

Cullen nodded. “Anyway, the FBI detected what they call a nodal disturbance down in Galveston. Their reader’s estimate was so high—in the neighborhood of sixty thousand fyllos—they assumed it was a glitch. That kind of nodal energy just doesn’t happen, and if it did, there’d be other disturbances . . . kind of like what we’ve seen lately, as a matter of fact. But they sent someone to check it out anyway. Regular FBI guy from the local office, not the Unit, but he had some Wiccan training. He talked to several people who lived near the node. Including Molly Brown.”

Rule tied the leather around his neck and slipped the feather under his shirt. He didn’t feel different. But then, he didn’t feel different when he lost time, either. “Molly’s your succubus friend.”

“Right. She had another friend with her—a woman named Erin DuBase. Registered Wiccan, rumored to be a priestess or high priestess. Also present was someone they claimed was Molly’s nephew . . . named Michael.”

Rule saw where he was going. “The same first name as the sorcerer who visited you. The one you think tampered with your memory.”

Excitement burned off Cullen’s exhaustion. He began to pace. “Next thing you know, there’s an APB out for Molly and Michael, who’ve left Galveston—only no one knows who issued it. Molly calls me at some point, then she and Michael fly out to see me. We’re together for hours. I don’t remember it clearly at all, but it doesn’t occur to me for a long time that there’s anything wrong with my memory. Aversion spell,” he said, stopping crisply. “I found the damned thing in my head.”

“Did you get rid of it, then?”

Cullen’s grin was fierce. “I did. Learned a few things in the process, too. But back to my story. My next clear memory is waking up with Molly and Michael gone. I’m not alone long. The Azá come calling, looking for Michael, though they settle for me.

“Lucky me. At some point before their arrival, I acquired shields. Shields so good no one, not even the telepathic Helen with that damned staff augmenting her power, can break through. We’re talking the Rolls-Royce of shields, Rule, when no one on this planet today knows how to build a goddamned Model T.”

Rule felt cold. “But that sort of spell might well be in the Codex.”

Cullen licked his finger and drew a
one
in the air. “Your point, ace. Both the shields and the tampering with my memory took skills that haven’t existed since the Codex vanished.” When Cullen’s fists clenched this time, he didn’t relax them. “He’s got it, Rule. The original power reading was no glitch—it takes ungodly amounts of power to open a gate. That’s when the Codex returned. And the son of a bitch who messed with my mind has it.”

It made sense. It made too damned much sense. “You think this Michael tampered with your memory, then kindly equipped you with shields?”

Cullen waved that away impatiently. “He needed something from me. I wish to God I could remember what, but it’s gone. The shields were my payment—which suggests he’s not a complete son of a bitch, or at least that Molly wouldn’t let him kill me. But he forgot to take away one thing. I know what he looks like.”

And if Cullen had been hot to find the man before, now the need was burning him up. “Maybe,” Rule said slowly, “we should let the Codex stay hidden.”

“Make like an ostrich, you mean? If we pretend nothing bad’s coming, the boogieman won’t get us.” Cullen was disgusted. “
She’s
after it. How can we not do our damnedest to get hold of it first?”

He was right, yet—“The Codex is the biggest Pandora’s box the world has ever seen. If it contains the kind of knowledge you believe it does—”

“That
She
believes it does, too.”

“Then who can be trusted with it?”

Cullen ran a hand over his hair. “If you’re thinking I can’t be, you’re probably right. Oh, not that I want to set myself up as world ruler. I don’t have time for that. But better to have it in Nokolai’s hands than the government’s.”

The government. Lily. “What are you saying?” Rule snapped.

“Don’t tell Lily. Not yet. She’ll been dead-set on telling that damned task force, and—”

“I have to tell her. The last time I kept things from her—” Rule gave a quick, harsh bark of laughter. “That’s when she ended up in hell. So did I.”

Cullen shook his head. “What you withheld was clan business and had nothing to do with what happened to the two of you.”

“I can’t hold back on her.”

“You already are.”

LILY
grabbed her purse and her computer, slammed the car door, and headed out of the garage at a good clip. Automatically she scanned the backyard, but she couldn’t spot the guard.

It gave her the willies, frankly. She was glad the guards were there, but she didn’t like the idea of anyone being so well-hidden.

The back door opened just as she reached for it. She jumped, then stepped through. “That’s damned disconcerting,” she told Benedict, who was holding the door for her.

He smiled. Benedict was a man of few words—often no words.

“Rule!” she called, setting her laptop on the table, then digging her phone out of her purse before tossing the purse there, too. She hit the speed dial for Cynna’s cell.

“Things are popping,” she said, glancing at her watch as Rule came into the kitchen. “Come on, Cynna, pick up,” she told the ringing phone, continuing to Rule without a pause, “I’ve got a lead. I’m going to have to go to Chicago, so I guess some of the guards will—damn.” Cynna’s voice mail invited her to leave a message.

She did, telling her to call back ASAP, then explaining to Rule as she slipped off her bulky jacket. “The woman I talked to in Baltimore was scared—Jiri’s done quite a number on her followers—but she finally gave me a name. This one’s new—the Secret Service didn’t have it. Hamid Franklin joined the movement well after Cynna left. Apparently he was one of Jiri’s favorites, so . . .”

His stillness and lack of expression finally sank in. “What is it? What’s wrong?” Dumb question, when so much was wrong—but there could always be more.

There was.

“I can’t go to Chicago,” he told her. “Paul’s body is being released to me today.”

TWENTY-EIGHT