Blood Magic (4 page)

“Still haven’t settled on a name?”

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a name neither of you has any strong associations for? Cullen likes the old-fashioned names. And magically, the older names are stronger, so—”

“Does that count?’ Lily asked, startled. “I thought the idea that names have power over you was an old wives’ tale.”

“Oh, that part’s bullshit—for us, anyway. It’s true for anyone who has what Micah calls a true name, but humans mostly don’t, or we don’t know it. No, for us names don’t so much have power as affect power. We don’t understand how, but . . . well, look at your people.” She waved a hand, accidentally slapping the bare back of a fair-haired man who was talking to two equally bare-chested men. “Whoops. Sorry,” she said with a grin when he turned around, one sandy eyebrow raised.

Lily knew there were a lot of superstitions about names in Chinese culture. She hadn’t really paid attention—it had seemed like one of those relics of the past the older people cling to. “Hi, Jason,” she said to the fair-haired lupus, who was eyeing Cynna appreciatively; and, “Flirt later,” she told Cynna, taking her elbow and getting her moving. “We really should get you back to Cullen. It must be nearly time for the dancing.”

At a lupus party, you always eat first. Best if none of the wolves is hungry.

Her mind slid back to what Cynna had said. “You mean all that stuff about, ah . . .” Numbers. There was something about the way a name added up, wasn’t there? Oh, yeah. “You mean that business about the number of strokes in the name matters?”

“Uh . . . you might say that some elements of the Chinese system are disputed by other practitioners. But every people in the world pays attention to names and how they’re bestowed.”

“I can see where that would make it hard to pick a name.”

“No kidding.” She heaved a sigh. “I suggested Isaac, but Isaac makes Cullen think of a little guy with glasses who shot him once. So he suggests Andrew, but then we’d call him Andy, and to me Andy is a guy with a hairy back and no sense of humor.” She shook her head. “Didn’t have much class in bed, either, so I’m thumbs down on that one. I’m leaning toward Micah. Both of us like him, so it’s got good associations. What do you think?”

“Micah’s a good name.” If you wanted to name your kid after a dragon, that is. Which might strike Cullen and Cynna as exactly right.

“Hey! Hey, Lily!”

She turned and saw a woman exactly her height but younger, with a rounder face, shorter—and trendier—hair, and an abundance of earrings.

The earrings and the hair were new. Beth was always trying new things. Lily waited while her little sister plunged through the crowd toward her with all the frisky determination of a half-grown pup.

“Hi, Cynna,” Beth said as she reached them. “Wow, you are so pregnant. You look tremendous. Makes me want to go get knocked up, but I’m not quite that shallow. When do you count the loot in that jar?”

Cynna beamed. “The baby jar comes last, after the dancing. It’s really full, isn’t it?”

“Sure is. Speaking of dancing, you don’t mind if I dance with that mouthwatering husband of yours, do you?”

“Might as well. Everyone else will. Cullen’s a fantastic dancer.” Cynna grinned. “Even when he keeps his clothes on.”

“You think he will, then?” Beth looked wistful. “I never got to see him dance at Club Hell, and Lily says he’s not working there anymore. I’d sure like to see—”

“Beth,” Lily said warningly.

“—him in a G-string. It’s a purely innocent lust,” she assured Cynna. “Coupled with a certain artistic curiosity.”

Lily spoke dryly. “Except that you aren’t an artist.”

“It’s okay,” Cynna said, but she had a funny expression on her face. She tipped her head, looking at Lily. “Is this how you feel when I flirt with Rule? Sort of smug and embarrassed, only you have no idea why you’d be embarrassed?”

“Lily probably stops at smug,” Beth said. “She doesn’t do embarrassed. How come I haven’t seen any teenage boys here? Babies, I’ve seen. Toddlers and kids of both sexes. Teenage girls, yes, but no teenage boys.”

Lily exchanged a glance with Cynna. “After lupus boys reach puberty, they live separately until the age of seventeen or eighteen.”

“Really? Wow. That’s the most sensible system I’ve ever heard of.”

Lily grinned because she knew what Beth meant, but the boys weren’t sequestered because young male adolescents are obnoxious. They lived apart so they wouldn’t eat anyone.

From the other side of the field she heard deep voices break into song. “Hey, listen! That’s that Russian song. ‘Kalinka.’”

“Yeah!” Cynna grabbed Beth’s arm. “C’mon. You have got to see this.”

“Okay, but—”

“They’re going to dance,” Cynna said. “Some of them, anyway. It’s one of their training dances, so it’s about half dance, half acrobatics. Cullen says the one tonight will be special.”

“Okay,” Beth said again, tugged into motion, “but I need to talk to Lily a minute.”

Cynna’s eyebrows shot up. “One of those kinds of talks? The kind I shouldn’t stick around for?”

“It’s about Grandmother.”

“I’m going to go watch the dancers,” Cynna said decisively. And left.

FIVE

LILY
watched her friend disappear into the sea of bare backs and chests. “It’s amazing. Cynna has body-tackled a demon, but she scurries away at the mention of Grandmother.”

Beth didn’t smile. “I’m worried about her.”

“About Grandmother?” Lily sorted through a half dozen questions and settled on, “Why?”

“She didn’t come to the shower or the baby party.”

“Because Li Qin got sick.”

“If it were just that,” Beth said darkly, “I’d still be suspicious. When has Li Qin ever been sick?”

Now that Beth mentioned it, Lily couldn’t remember ever seeing her grandmother’s companion down with so much as the sniffles. But that didn’t mean anything. Even people with sturdy constitutions got sick now and then—and when they did, they often got really sick.

Should she be worried about Li Qin? Lily frowned and tugged on her sister’s arm. “Walk while you talk. I don’t want to miss the dancers.”

“You won’t miss anything,” Beth said. “Rule’s probably saving you a spot. Where is he?”

“Over by the dancers,” Lily admitted. She didn’t have to guess. She knew. That was one of the neat things about the mate bond. She always knew roughly where he was.

“About Grandmother . . . you must have noticed how Chinese she’s been lately.”

“I haven’t seen much of her since I got back from North Carolina.”

“That’s the other thing. No one’s seeing much of her.”

Lily shrugged. “We’re talking about Grandmother.”

“Yes, so strange is her normal, but she only turns über-Chinese when she’s annoyed or upset or up to something. I think she’s up to something, but if not, there’s something wrong. And the thing that proves it is Freddie.”

“Freddie?” Lily blinked. “Our cousin Freddie?”

“Of course our cousin. Who else could get him to come here? Aside from his mother, I mean, but she wouldn’t. So that leaves Grandmother. Why would she send him here instead of coming herself?”

“Ah . . . Beth, Freddie’s not here.”

“He
is
. I saw him not ten minutes ago. I tried to catch him, but he ducked into the crowd when he saw me coming.”

If Lily hadn’t known for a fact that there was no alcohol at the party, she’d have suspected her sister of being drunk. “Maybe you saw Paul.”

Beth’s lip curled. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

The scorn was possibly justified. Aside from the fact that they were both Chinese, Susan’s husband looked nothing like Freddie. But at least Paul was here, unlike Freddie. Lily figured he’d attended to protect Susan from attack by ravening werewolves. Or from being hit on, which would probably happen anyway, though very politely. “Beth, it couldn’t have been Freddie you saw. He wasn’t invited, and there’s no way Freddie would crash a party. Especially this one. Lupi scare him.”

“I know that. It proves Grandmother is involved. He’s more scared of her than he is of lupi.”

Lily had to grin. “It’s a good thing you didn’t decide to be a cop. You’ve got a seriously loose notion of what constitutes proof.”

“Okay, don’t believe me, but check on Grandmother anyway. She likes you best, so maybe you can find out what’s up.”

It was usually easiest to just agree with Beth. Besides, she might be right. Beth’s intuitive understanding of people owed nothing to magic, but she was often right about them. “Okay, I’ll go see her.”

“When?”

“Soon, okay? I want to see the dancing now.”

The singers had stopped, but a number of people had migrated to that end of the field and Lily wasn’t sure they’d be able to see. One of them turned around as they approached—Jason, the blond hunk Cynna hadn’t had a chance to flirt with earlier.

Lily liked Jason—she really did. He was impossible to dislike. But he was certain he owed her for something that had just been her job, and took every opportunity he could find to pay her back. She didn’t know how to make him quit, and Rule thought it was funny.

“Have they started?” she asked Jason.

“No, Michael and Sean decided they wanted their fiddles, but they’re back now. I hear them tuning up. You’d better get up front. You’ll never see from back here.”

She couldn’t argue with that, but his methods were embarrassing—and never mind what Beth had said. She damned well could be embarrassed. He grabbed her hand and called out cheerfully, “The Chosen’s back here. She needs to be up there.”

Sure enough, the crowd parted, people turning with a smile, shifting to let her pass. Jason pulled her forward.

“My sister,” Lily said. “I’d like her to see—”

“Your . . . oh, my.” Jason paused, his eyes traveling over Beth as a smile spread. “I can’t believe I overlooked this one. Yum.”

Beth dimpled at him. “My name’s Beth. I’m the nice sister.”

“Very nice,” he assured her, his eyes making it clear which elements he considered especially worthy. “And yet I can’t help hoping . . . not
too
nice?”

Lily resisted the urge to roll her eyes, settling for retrieving her hand from Jason’s grip. She didn’t think he noticed. “Jason, this is Beth. Beth, Jason Chance. Can you hit on each other later? I really don’t want to miss this.”

Beth didn’t resist. She rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m nicer than
that
.”

“No doubt. I’m going to find Rule. You coming?”

Beth slid a sideways smile at Jason. “I’ll catch up with you.”

Lily suspected her sister was going to miss the training dance. Oh, well. Jason wouldn’t show Beth any more of a good time than she wanted to have, and at twenty-three, Beth was technically a grown-up. Lily went to find Rule.

The violins had started by the time she reached the front of the crowd, passed there by people she knew and those she didn’t. Someone had brought a drum, which he was beating slowly. The dancers had assembled into a circle of about a dozen half-naked men, arms locked together. None of them moved. They seemed hardly to breathe.

Rule wasn’t watching the dancers. He was with them.

Lily’s breath caught in surprise. Like the others, he wore only ragged cutoffs that hung low on his hips. He was magnificently male, achingly human . . . yet in that moment she almost glimpsed his wolf hidden in the human architecture—a powerful, intense presence illumining the taut muscles and hooded eyes of the man. Friendly, perhaps, that wolf, but not tame. Not at all tame.

Someone had started a small bonfire in the center of the circle. The ruddy dance of the firelight turned the blades of Rule’s cheekbones hard, gathering shadows to make mysteries of his eyes. Then he looked up, caught her gaze on him, and grinned.

In delight, she grinned back. After a moment, she thought to look at the others in the circle—and was startled to see Rule’s brother, Benedict. He looked like the statue of some Aztec god turned flesh, his expression as calm and unrevealing as stone, his skin gleaming in the firelight.

She’d never seen Benedict join the dance before. He probably taught it—he trained young Nokolai in fighting—but she’d never seen him dance it. Why was he in the circle tonight?

Opposite Rule stood Cullen. He was the most overtly beautiful of them all, his face almost too perfect in its coined symmetry. His eyes glittered with excitement—a merry Pan or Loki about to launch some cosmic mischief.

Benedict gave a short nod to the drummer, who suddenly kicked up his tempo. The fiddles joined in with a wild opening flourish, the singers launched into the old Russian song—and the dancers erupted from stillness to fury.

The steps were simple enough. The speed and vigor of those steps flung the men into a rapid clockwise swirl that spun itself from fast to faster before snapping out into a line—and the line dipped in a wave as each man sank to his heels, kicked out with each leg, and rose again.

After three undulations of the line, those on the ends spun forward. First two men, then four, then more, flung themselves into the air as if they could take flight—and they nearly did, over-leaping one another in a dizzy pattern.

Then they began hurling one another into the air—a pair of lupi using their hands as a catapult to send a third flying, somersaulting through space, landing with a bounce to leap again or join hands with another to send someone else up. There was a pattern to it, but they moved too fast for her to pick it out. Faster than human, certainly, but also faster than she’d seen them dance before.

In a heartbeat they clicked into a new pattern—not bouncing as they landed, but catching one another to build two pyramids of five lupi each, three on the ground, two on their shoulders. The pyramids kept one man aloft like a living projectile, tossing him between them. Cullen.

He’d land on one set of shoulders, crouch, and be hurled to the other side, his body tucked up like a ball, righting himself at the last second to land on the opposite pyramid, still crouched—and be flung back.

Two times. Three. Four—and then both pyramids dissolved while he was in the air, those who’d formed them melting away into the crowd.

One man stood where five had been. Benedict. He watched, unmoving, as Cullen shot at him like a cannonball. Benedict dipped his knees slightly as he stretched up one hand.

It couldn’t have happened the way it looked. Because it looked like he
dribbled
Cullen—as if the curled-up ball of the man smacked into Benedict’s hand and bounced to the ground, then up into the air again, unfurling into a man only then to land lightly beside Benedict—sweaty, panting, grinning like a madman.

“And that, younglings,” Benedict said lazily, “is how the dance is supposed to be done.”

The crowd exploded—applauding, yelling. Lily heard someone call out, “Piers—for Lady’s sake!” and someone behind her was saying over and over, “Get back, get back. Give him some space.”

It was the name—Piers—that got her attention. Wasn’t that the young lupus Rule had mentioned who’d just been allowed to leave
terra tradis
, where young lupi were sequestered? If so, he was only eighteen, not an official adult yet. She turned, trying to see over or through people.

What she saw was Rule slipping through the crowd. She followed. He stopped and held out his arm. She stepped into that welcoming circle. He was warm and sweaty from the dance.

Another circle had formed, she realized—a circle of men around a panting, excited wolf with a brindle coat. One man was laughing. Another grinned and shook his head. Another sighed.

Lily was the only female in the circle. The only human. There were no children nearby, either. The wolf was surrounded only by other lupi . . . and her.

Piers must have gotten so excited that he lost control and Changed. For an adolescent, that was a huge no-no—because he might lose control in other ways, too. Lily was contemplating the wisdom of stepping back when Isen strode up to the wolf. He stopped, hands on hips, and shook his head. “Piers,” he said. Just that, but with such disappointment.

The wolf’s ears went flat. His tail drooped. His head sagged in sudden dejection.

“You know what you must do now.”

The wolf cocked his head, gave a hopeful wag of his tail.

Isen said nothing.

The wolf sighed and nodded.

“Straight back,” Isen said. “No interesting detours. You’ll Change as soon as you’re able and explain to Mason what happened.”

Mason was the lupus in charge of the
terra tradis
. Lily hadn’t met him, but she’d heard stories. He sounded like a combination drill instructor and headmaster with a sprinkling of priest.

“Isen?” one of the older men said. “Do you want me to . . . ?” He made a little circular gesture.

“Thank you for the offer. However . . .” Isen gave the abject wolf another look. “I trust Piers to take himself back.”

That perked the wolf up. He gave another, firmer nod.

“What just happened?” someone behind Lily asked.

She turned to see Susan’s husband frowning at the wolf trotting out of the circle. Paul was a tall, gangly man with rimless glasses and shiny black hair that he had cut every week so there was no chance of a single hair falling out of place. He was as serious as a rain cloud and rather shy.

“Hi, Paul. Uh—Piers was sent back to the
terra tradis
.”

“The what?” He shook his head. “Never mind. Is he dangerous?”

They all are
, Lily wanted to say. But that was both too much information and too little. She kept her mouth closed.

Rule answered in the same relaxed way he fielded questions from reporters. “Simply overexcited, but he wasn’t supposed to Change, so he had to be disciplined. We’re firm with our youngsters about the circumstances in which they’re allowed to Change.”

“I wondered because Susan and I were moved away when he . . . when he did that. Changed. We were moved away
physically
.”

“I apologize for any rudeness.”

“No, no, I wasn’t offended. I simply . . .” Paul was still watching the place in the crowd where the wolf had vanished, an odd expression on his face. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“Not many have, outside the clans.” Rule’s tone was perfectly matter-of-fact, yet somehow suggested that Paul was both privileged and too wise to make a fuss about that privilege. “Paul, I was hoping for a chance to chat with you tonight. I won’t keep you from Susan long—I think the regular dancing will start soon—but I’d like your opinion of a stock I’m considering, a medical technology company. You’ll have an insider’s knowledge of their products.”

Paul perked up much as the wolf had, if not quite so obviously. He had an important position in hospital administration—Lily could never remember the exact title, but he made a lot of purchasing decisions and loved to talk about the technology of medicine.

She hid a smile and let Rule do his thing. His flattery worked because it was sincere. He probably was considering that stock—he maintained a diverse portfolio for Nokolai—and he did appreciate hearing Paul’s opinion of the company. And before Paul left Clanhome tonight, he would be convinced Rule Turner was an unusually astute and sensible man. One with an odd ability, maybe, but his occasional furriness would no longer seem important.