World of Lupi 10 - Ritual Magic (23 page)

Uzis have an effective range of about two hundred yards. They hadn’t made it.

The machine guns had run out of ammo, however, so his men were finishing the last two monsters the old-fashioned way—tooth, claw, and swords. “Don’t rush,” Isen had told them. “No point in taking chances. There are sixty of you and two of them. Take your time.”

TWENTY-SIX

S
ANTOS
returned with the pair of AK-47s while Casey was chopping off the head of the last dworg José had shot with the Uzi. The one that had started eating. It certainly didn’t look alive, but no one was willing to take chances. He used the sword Cullen had found in the depths of the tankmobile’s trunk.

Cullen was too busy to wield that sword himself. He was trying to keep José alive.

Lily looked at Santos for one long moment. “How are you in hospitals? Is your control up to spending time there?”

“My control is good.”

“First, go get Cynna. Take the AK-47s back with you. Then you’ll ride in with Cullen. He has to go to the ER with José and Andy. I don’t want him unguarded.”

Santos’s expression didn’t change, but she saw his throat work when he swallowed. “What about Steve?”

“Steve’s dead. So is Agent Fredericka Parker.”

* * *

R
ULE
wasn’t answering his phone. Lily tapped in a quick text—
I’m okay. Cynna’s okay. Attacked by dworg. Casualties.
Call
me. She’d just hit send when her phone chimed. It was Ruben. “You’re being psychic, I guess.”

“I’ve had no hunches today, unfortunately. I’m calling to tell you that Benedict, Arjenie, and Nettie were attacked at the hospital by a pair of what I’m told are called dworg. Benedict held them off until Sam arrived. Sam dispatched them.”

Lily was silent for a long moment. “He held off a pair of them? All by himself?”

“They had to break through the exterior wall. That provided him with a tactical advantage, and he had a hunting knife.”

A second ambulance pulled up next to the first. “I have to go. We didn’t do as well as Benedict. We’ve got two dead—one Bureau, one Nokolai—and several wounded, three of them critical.” Andy, who’d been the black-and-gray wolf who’d leaped to attack the first dworg with Cullen. José, whose guts Cullen had packed back inside the hole a barbed tail had ripped in him. And Fielding, whose heart had stopped once while they were loading him into the first ambulance, due to shock from blood loss. Fielding hadn’t been injured by a dworg, but by shrapnel from the RPG.

Lily knelt beside Andy. He’d just come around, which was both good and bad. Bad because the pain had to be terrible. Good because it let him change back into a form the hovering EMTs were willing to transport.

Andy didn’t look as bad as Fielding and José. No blood. But his chest was caved in. One lung was collapsed, and Cullen thought there was damage to his heart, too. If he hadn’t been lupus, he’d be dead. He still might be. At any moment, he could lose this fight.

They’d brought in a helicopter for José and were loading him now. He was still alive, too. That counts for a lot with a lupus, Lily reminded herself. If they both held on another thirty minutes. Even twenty. Shit, fifteen. Every minute helped.

“Didn’t . . . freeze . . . this time,” Andy whispered. He smiled.

That smile hurt all the way down. She touched his cheek. “You were fantastic. Cynna and I wouldn’t be alive if you hadn’t acted.” She looked at Cullen and nodded. With a touch, Cullen had Andy asleep again.

“How in the hell did you get your hands on an RPG?”

“Interagency cooperation,” the Big A said.

“It’s from ATF’s raid?”

“Yeah. I’m sure the assholes would have cooperated like crazy if I’d asked.” He looked around. “This is one goddamn fucking mess, you know that? Rickie . . .” His jaw worked. Then his gaze sharpened. “Goddamn vultures.”

Lily followed his gaze. The press had arrived.

* * *

“. . . B
ROUGHT
Cynna back here,” Lily told Ruben. As soon as the wounded were on their way, she’d called Ruben back. “Cullen checked her real quick before he left. He says she’ll probably wake up with a bad headache soon, but she’s okay. I’m going to head to the ER now. Ackleford’s willing to take the scene until Karonski gets here. Then he needs to go to the hospital where they’re working on his man.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to talk to the press first. People are likely to panic if they don’t hear something.”

She grimaced. “Yes, sir.”

“Keep it brief.”

Brief was good. Maybe she’d get through it without falling apart. Can’t alarm the public by falling apart on camera. “Yes, sir.” She disconnected and started to rub her face, but noticed her hand was shaking. That didn’t make sense. She was sure she’d burned through every drop of adrenaline her body had pumped out.

Why hadn’t Rule called her yet? It had been . . . she glanced at her watch. Seventeen minutes. Not that long. Obviously he was away from his phone for some reason. Hell, maybe he was in the shower. “Casey,” she said to the only one of the guards—other than Santos—who hadn’t been badly hurt, “do you have keys to the tankmobile?”

“I’ve got a set, yeah.”

“Okay. I’m going to talk to the press, and then we’re heading to the ER.” She took a couple of steps, stopped, and turned. Casey was right behind her, guarding her still. He was built chunky. Solid. His hair was mouse brown, his eyes a faded blue. She didn’t know him well, just enough to put a name to his face, plus a vague impression that he was on the quiet side. He could have died today. “Casey. You did well. All of you did extremely well today.”

She wondered if it was anger that tightened his mouth—who was she, to tell him he’d done well? But it might have been grief. He’d cried earlier, about Steve. “José will be okay,” he told her, as if she’d been the one asking for reassurance. “You’ll see. He’s a fast healer.”

Her phone chimed. It wasn’t Rule, but she answered automatically anyway. Maybe because she had no idea what to say to Casey. “Yes.”

“Miss Yu?”

“Who is this?”

“Philippe. Have I called at a difficult time? My regrets, but this is urgent. I’ve left several messages for your mother, but I’m afraid she hasn’t returned my calls. It’s about the
feuilles de brick avec fruits de la passion
.”

“The what?”

He sniffed. “The pastry I make for you with the passion fruit. I am sorry to give you difficult news, but we are going to have to adjust the menu.” He launched into an account of perverse suppliers, the weather, and the impossibility of using any but a certain farm’s passion fruit.

She interrupted. “You’re supposed to call Mr. Turner, not me.”

“No, no, I have found it is much better to speak with the bride. What does the groom know, eh? Always I speak with the bride. It is her day. I must have
your
decision, Miss Yu, in order to proceed. Now, we will make a substitution. Let me explain what your options—”

Rage bubbled up in Lily. Why could no one follow directions? Orders, even. They thought they knew best and ignored what you told them to do, and people
died
. “You want my decision.”

“I have said so.” He was becoming testy. “Please listen. The options I offer you—”

“Okay, I’ve decided. You’re fired.”

She had to stab the phone twice to disconnect. That was when she noticed that her face was wet. She was crying? Oh, God, she was bawling, and she was supposed to talk to the goddamn press and not fall apart. Too late. She rubbed hard at her face.

“Here.” Casey had pulled off his T-shirt and was holding it out. He stood close—protectively close, she realized, blocking her from view as much as possible. “It doesn’t have much blood on it. You can clean up with it.” His faded blue eyes looked worried.

Casey and the others—living and dead—had fought with her and for her today. Now he was literally giving her the shirt off his back. Never mind the goddamn press and the worried public. Lupi needed to know their leaders were in control. She’d pull herself together for Casey’s sake. “Thanks,” she said, and her voice didn’t wobble or break. She dried her face dry with the unbloody portion of his shirt and handed it back.

He nodded once and pulled his shirt back on.

Lily took another slow breath. She was okay. She could do this.

When her phone rang this time, it was Rule. At last.

TWENTY-SEVEN

R
ULE
was talking on his phone when he returned from visiting his clansman in recovery. He handed Lily one of the coffees he’d brought from the hospital’s gift shop, where they brewed what he considered a decent cup. He’d been here often enough to form an opinion. Mercy General was Nettie’s hospital, where the clan usually brought anyone injured badly enough to need surgery. Rule had met Lily there about fifty minutes earlier, escorting his own small group of casualties.

She took the foam cup in both hands. Her left wrist was wrapped in an elastic bandage, all snug and tidy. It throbbed, but she’d been lucky. She had a sprain, not a break.

Luck was one weird and capricious mother. “Gil is doing okay?”

“Excusez-moi un instant,”
he said to the person on the phone, and he told her that Gil was doing very well and already on his way home—“somewhat against the surgeon’s wishes, but he’ll rest better there.” He switched back to French as he sat beside her. Casey—who’d gone with him, along with two other guards—handed him his cup. Rule laid his arm along the back of the couch in a way that let him play with her hair.

Lily sipped and smelled coffee, baby lotion, and blood.

The baby lotion had come from Cynna’s tote. Cynna had woken up on the way to the hospital and winced and started rooting in her tote, but she hadn’t been focusing too well. Must have been a bad headache. Lily had located the ibuprofen for her. While digging for that she’d noticed the baby lotion, so she’d asked if she could use some, thinking it might cover up less pleasant smells. Like blood.

Which she should not be smelling. She didn’t have Rule’s nose. She’d cleaned up in the restroom, and while she hadn’t been able to get rid of the blood splatter on her clothes, there wasn’t that much of it, and it was dry. Chances were the smell was all in her head.

A crowded and unpleasant place, her head. She leaned into Rule and closed her eyes and tried to notice only the smell of the coffee.

“C’est bien,”
Rule said, messing with her hair.
“Oui, je vois que vous comprenez . . .
Mercy General.
Vous le savez? Oui. Merci, monsieur.”
He disconnected.

“I guess that means Philippe is back on board.”

“Complete with
feuilles des pommes et grenades
, which he assures me will outshine even the
feuilles de brick avec fruits de la passion
.”

“Grenades? We’re serving grenades at our wedding?”

“
Grenades
is French for pomegranates.”

“Oh, good. I’m feeling real fond of grenades right now, but can’t see serving them sautéed in butter or whatever.” She tipped her head. “Is Philippe really French? I figured that was just part of his image and his name was really Jim Bob or something, but the way you were chattering at him, maybe not.”

“Belgian, I think, though I’m no expert on accents. I promised to tell you that he is desolated that he bothered you at such a difficult time. I was barely able to dissuade him from rushing here immediately to throw himself at your feet and beg your forgiveness.”

In spite of everything, her mouth twitched. “I don’t know. That might have been fun.”

“I could call him back.”

“That’s okay.”

“I could call him back,” Rule repeated in a different tone. “Are you sure you’re okay with keeping him on?”

She shrugged, uncomfortable. “The wedding’s too close to get another caterer.”

“I’d rather serve Spam and Vienna sausages than have you unhappy about this.”

She turned her head to look at him. The dark fans of his lashes hung lower than usual, and she could see brackets down his cheeks. He was exhausted, worried, hurting. Just like her, but somehow he’d found the patience to deal with the damn caterer. She touched his hand to tell him thank you. “I’m going to say no on the Spam. Mother would have a fit, if she was herself. She’s not, so it wouldn’t be any fun.”

Rule sifted her hair through his fingers. “It’s not a victory if your opponent isn’t fighting back.”

Her opponent? Huh. Was that how she saw her mother? Lily took another sip of coffee. Not exactly, she decided. Her mother didn’t oppose her so much as want to fix her, or fix her life, or just hold on to the time when Lily was small and things could be fixed. How odd to think no one was trying to fix her now. Odder still to find that, on some level, she missed it. She felt as if she had to pick up the pieces her mother had dropped—plans, quirks, attitudes. As if she could hold on to those pieces now, then hand them back at some point.

Better be careful of what she held on to. Becoming her own opponent wouldn’t be fun, either. “‘Sparring partner,’” she decided, “fits better than ‘opponent.’ As for Philippe . . . I shouldn’t have fired him. Hung up on him, maybe, when he wouldn’t listen, but firing him didn’t solve anything. I was just . . . Santos didn’t listen, either. I was angry at him, and took it out on the guy who thought the worst news I’d get today would be about passion fruit.”

“Ah. Yes. I need to discuss Santos with you.” He glanced around the waiting room. It was crowded that afternoon, especially with so many lupi lurking nearby. They’d pretty much claimed this whole side of the room. “Scott, remain here. The rest of you need to wait out of easy earshot.”

Scott had a quick word with the others. They were hip-deep in guards pulled from both Leidolf and Nokolai to minimize the depletion of fighters at either location. Casey had been allowed to stay as part of the Leidolf contingent in spite of some minor wounds—minor to a lupus, anyway—so he could hear about José the moment they did.

Santos had not. He’d been sent to the barracks to await judgment.

Another attack so soon seemed unlikely, but until a few hours ago, they’d have thought dworg were unlikely, too. Unlikely verging on impossible, like opening gates in four places at once. Or flat-out impossible, like creating gates without a node to anchor them.

Someone had done it, though. Someone had used ley lines to open three gates. He, she, it, or they had used a node for the gate at Nokolai Clanhome—sheer destructive greed on their part, Isen thought, that had led to their defeat. If they’d been willing to settle for just killing him, they could have used a ley line and a smaller gate and sent three or four dworg without needing the node. That might have succeeded. Instead, those twenty-two dworg had had to race down from Little Sister, giving him time to prepare.

That was an assumption, of course. They knew their enemy had used a node for the gate at Clanhome; they were only guessing about why. Maybe they’d needed a node there because Clanhome was somehow a harder nut to crack, arcanely speaking. Guessing, too, about their enemy’s goal. But that was a strong guess. Four attacks, with three of them on those who held or could hold the Nokolai mantle? The aim seemed clear: destroy the mantle and you destroyed the clan.

Lily figured the attack on her had been gravy. The Great Bitch knew how to hold a grudge.

Since reaching the hospital, she had called or been called by several people. Karonski first. He was working the scene with the Big A, and he had a good news, bad news deal to report. Miriam had succeeded in removing the contagion from Officer Crown, which was great news. Crown had even woken up. And screamed, and kept screaming . . . they were keeping him under heavy sedation.

Then she’d talked to Ruben again. And Li Qin, who said the children—by whom she meant Julia as well as Toby—were frightened but well. And Isen, who told her he’d spoken with the other Rhos and none of the other clans had been attacked. And finally Benedict, who’d answered some of her questions.

Sam hadn’t hung around to chat after dispatching the two dworg at the hospital, but he had told Benedict a couple of things before he left: That it was impossible to open a gate within his territory without his knowledge, which was how he’d known about the dworg. And that the gates hadn’t truly opened simultaneously, but within the span of four seconds.

Dragons were hell on wheels at multitasking. In those four seconds Sam had sensed the gates; identified the first dworg to leap through; sent Grandmother a warning; taken telepathic note that Lily, Benedict, and Isen were aware of those gates; and chosen his target. By the fifth second he’d leaped skyward, heading for the hospital at top speed.

Why there, rather than one of the other sites? The pediatrics ward, Benedict had told her. Then he’d explained exactly why that mattered. Lily had nearly thrown up.

She hadn’t been able to ask Cullen about node-free gates yet. By the time Rule called and told her about the attack at their home, Cullen had been on his way to the ER. When she and Cynna got there, Cullen had been wobbling on his feet. He’d kissed Cynna, which seemed to energize him—not through pure eros, though. Cynna had slid him some clan power, enough to keep him going a little longer. Then the two of them had hurried off to scrub.

Anesthetics didn’t work on lupi. Sleep spells and charms did, but their duration wasn’t predictable. Cullen and Cynna were alternating between the operating rooms, making sure no one woke up on the operating table.

Lily didn’t have a complete casualty count, but a lot more lupi had been wounded than were transported. Wounded wolves do not deal well with hospitals, so only the truly critical had been brought there. That included José and Andy, but not Joe. Lupi didn’t consider a broken leg serious, and he’d stopped bleeding before blood loss became an issue. Eric, who’d fought beside Rule, had a bad head injury, and two Nokolai from Clanhome had needed surgery. One had lost a leg. One had nearly bled out through a throat wound.

That was Gil, the one who was on his way back to Clanhome now. He’d healed enough by the time he arrived at the hospital that they’d patched him up in the ER. He’d needed fluids, blood, and stitching, all of which could be handled there. The one who’d lost a leg was out of surgery and would probably be discharged soon. Fielding, too, was out of surgery, if not out of danger. He’d been moved to recovery when Ackleford called Lily. José, Eric, and Andy were still in surgery.

So far, Isen had lost one of his fighters. Rule hadn’t lost any. Lily had lost two.

So far.

Soon,
Lily’s pulse whispered.
Soon, soon, soon.
Her tidily wrapped wrist throbbed in time with that mantra. Surely the surgeons would be done soon and she’d know if her tally of dead held steady or moved up.

“About Santos,” Rule said once most of the lupi had moved out of earshot. “I need you to repeat, as precisely as possible, what you told him about following José’s orders.”

She did. She remembered clearly, so it wasn’t hard.

“He indicated that he accepted this.”

“He didn’t like it, but he nodded. Steve and Joe did, too.”

“And you heard José tell him to fight alongside Steve and Joe.”

“Yes. When he didn’t—when he followed and grabbed me—I told him to let go and get back there. He didn’t follow that order, either.”

Rule looked at Scott, who hovered close. “Scott?”

Scott was as grim as granite. “Clear failure to obey. It’s my fault. I knew he had a problem recognizing authority in a woman. Most of Leidolf do until they’ve been around Lily awhile. They obey anyway, because you’ve been clear about that, but at first that’s all about you, not her. I thought Santos . . . but I was wrong. I shouldn’t have assigned him to her. With your permission, I’ll take care of it.”

“No,” Rule said. “That will be my duty, should it be necessary.”

“Wait a minute,” Lily said. “What duty?”

“One more question, then I’ll answer yours. If Santos hadn’t obeyed when you held the gun to his throat, would you have shot him?”

Scott made a small noise. She glanced at him and wondered why Rule wanted him to be part of this discussion when he’d sent the others away. “Not where he thought I meant to,” she said, “but yes. I was thinking I’d put the bullet in his front shoulder, if he needed more persuasion. That way he’d still have the use of both legs and one arm after he Changed.”

“You had no intention of killing him, then?”

“Does it matter?” And why did she put it that way? Of course she wouldn’t have . . . but memory barged in. She’d been ready to pull the trigger when she jammed her gun under Santos’s jaw, into his vulnerable throat. She’d told Rule she’d been angry with Santos. She had, but that had come later. In that moment, she’d felt cold. Focused. He
would
obey her, whatever it took.

“It may.”

“I don’t know.” With all those lives on the line and the others fighting monsters, no action had seemed too extreme. Anything was justified. “I don’t know,” she repeated, her voice cracking—a small hairline fracture, barely there at all. “He was no use to me dead. I needed him alive to get Cynna to safety.”

“You—” Scott stopped, started again. “Excuse me, Rho, but I didn’t know about this. If I may ask Lily for more details?” Rule nodded. “Lily, can you describe exactly what you said and did when you threatened Santos?”

She wanted to talk about almost anything else, but she did as he asked. Her voice held steady this time. When she finished, he looked
pleased
. He glanced at Rule. “I shouldn’t be surprised, I suppose.”