World of Lupi 10 - Ritual Magic (30 page)

She also needs us. The Queen of Winter has sought Nam Anthessa for many centuries. She wants badly to destroy it.

“If it can’t be destroyed without its name,” Rule said, “and it would take more time than we have to discover that name, I don’t see how involving her helps.”

I will explain, and you will understand why I accepted Winter’s invitation. This is not one of the Queens’ Realms, and the Queens have good reason not to act here. If Winter believes Nam Anthessa is here she will act, but in a way that minimizes her cost and risk. She will seek to take possession of it so she may spend the necessary time and focus to uncover its name, then destroy it herself. She is capable of doing so more quickly than I, but it is unlikely she would finish before the stability of this realm breaks down. Therefore, I will negotiate so that she will send a Hound.

Lily frowned. “A hellhound, you mean? We want that?” According to Arjenie’s half sister Dya, they were bad news.

There are hellhounds and there is the Queen’s Hound. The second begins as the first. I will not explain the distinction now. Both are dangerous, and either will do for our purposes.

“And what will you negotiate with?” Rule asked.

Good question. What did they have that the Queen of Winter might want? The knife, yes, or at least its approximate location, but she must have guessed that, or she wouldn’t have sent the mysterious emissary.

How I choose to bargain with Winter is not your affair.

Cynna spoke. “If this knife can’t be destroyed without its name, what can a Hound do?”

Hounds are exceptions to many things. They are Wild Sidhe, all of whom are dangerous, but hellhounds are feared more than most due to the nature of their powers, which are limited in number but absolute within those limits. They cannot be corrupted or turned aside from a hunt given them by their Queen. They are not true immortals, but they are extremely difficult to kill. And they can kill anything.

“Anything?” Rule repeated.

“Even immortals,” Cullen said, “according to stories I’ve heard. Even a semi-sentient, semi-immortal artifact, I guess . . . because that’s what it means for that damn knife to possess a true name, isn’t it? It’s alive. Aware. Sort of.”

Yes. Because Nam Anthessa is aware, it can employ its own power. It is highly dangerous. Magically, it can compel. Spiritually, it can persuade and corrupt. If you should encounter it before I return, do not, under any circumstances, touch it. Immediately remove everyone from its vicinity, including yourselves. The emissary suggested the equivalent of sixty-one feet for a safe distance, but his knowledge relates to sidhe. I do not know if humans would be more or less susceptible than sidhe.

“Would wards help?” Cullen asked.

Certain types of wards would diminish the effect of the knife’s compulsion. They would not affect its ability to persuade and corrupt, which is based on
arguai
, not magic. A holy person should be proof against that. I do not know if holiness on the part of one would protect others.

“If it’s that dangerous,” Cynna said, “how can one of these hellhounds be trusted to destroy it? Unless they’re saints—”

Hounds are immune to persuasion. I do not know the mechanism for their protection, but I trust its efficacy.

Isen was frowning. “There must be some reason Winter hasn’t set one of these Hounds on the trail of that knife already.”

She has. They haven’t found it. Hounds cannot be turned away from the hunt, but they require what you might call a scent or a trail to follow. Nam Anthessa is good at hiding its nature. It is worth noting that its call-name translates roughly as Eater of Truth. This is why Winter will not send a Hound of either sort unless she is convinced the knife is here. She is fond of them. If she sends one to us and it fails to find Nam Anthessa before the damage to our realm becomes irreversible, it might be lost to her.

When Sam paused this time, Lily jumped in. “But why is Friar doing this? Why does he want to tamper with the dead, mess up time, and destabilize the realm? How does that help
her
? She wants a realm and lots of people to rule over.”

Apparently what I thought obvious is not.
There was a distinctly acerbic flavor to that thought.
If the agent of hers who wields Nam Anthessa—presumably Robert Friar—chooses the right victims for the blade, it will create a rent in the fabric of our realm such that
she
is able to enter. This is like causing an earthquake in order to knock down a locked door. The door may come down, but there will be considerable additional damage. It seems she is willing to accept such damage in order to gain entry.

The Great Bitch wanted in. She wanted in badly enough to destroy some part of their world to get here. This was really, deeply, seriously bad. “And if this Hound comes here and finds the knife and destroys it, will that restore—dammit.” Her phone was vibrating.

But Lily didn’t have to finish her question out loud for Sam to hear it.
I do not know. Time itself will heal. I suspect that the spiritual damage connected with the lost memories will heal as well. I do not know if this means that the victims will regain their memories.

Not what she wanted to hear, but better than a flat “no.” She took out her phone and looked at the display and huffed out a breath. “I have to take this.”

She listened first, then asked a couple of questions. As soon as she disconnected she turned to Karonski. “That was an SDPD homicide detective I used to work with. He wants me to check out what looks like a ritual murder in case the body’s contaminated the way the other site was. Only it doesn’t make sense. There’s two victims, one dead, one critical. But they were gunned down, not throat-slit.”

“That doesn’t work,” Cullen said.

“I know. But if something other than gunplay went on . . . they got the living victim transported quickly, then pulled back because of the risk of contamination, which is exactly what they needed to do, but that means they haven’t examined the scene or the body. Maybe this Nam Anthessa was used in some way other than cutting the throat, and they didn’t see the wound.”

I sense no additional troubling of time. I do not believe Nam Anthessa has been used tonight.

“That’s good. I still need to go.”

“Go,” Karonski said.

Lily shoved back her chair.

So did Rule. “You mean
we
need to go.”

THIRTY-FOUR

T
HE
Torrey Pines Reserve was closed at night, but people interested in committing murder often don’t worry much about park rules. Maybe the killer hadn’t realized that rangers sometimes work late. Two rangers had been busting some asshole for camping on the beach below the bluff when they heard gunshots. When they checked that out, they found a bloody scene complete with arcane symbols.

“You sure the EMTs knew to keep latex between them and their patient?” she asked T.J. as they headed up the Guy Fleming Trail. The body was at the north overlook; no one waited there but the dead. Once T.J. arrived, he’d kept everyone away except for the EMTs.

“I told ’em. Sent word to the hospital, too.” T.J., aka Lieutenant Thomas James of the San Diego Police Department, looked less like Santa Claus than he had a few months back, when he’d grown a beard. He’d made a saggy Santa, but he did have the white hair and twinkle. Behind that twinkle was a canny and suspicious cop’s brain. The SDPD had been warned about the steps to take if they found an apparent ritual murder. T.J. had followed that directive.

“I guess you haven’t heard anything more about Ms. Ward’s condition.”

“Not yet. You a fan?”

“I saw
Duck Walk
five times when I was a kid.” Not to mention the
Pygmalion
remake
a couple years ago, plus a dozen other movies that every person in the country must have seen at least once. Angela Ward was an old-fashioned, capital
S
Star. Four Oscars, more than any other living actor; four husbands, too, though she’d been single for years now. She called herself retired, though this or that director was always coaxing her back for a part. She’d chosen San Diego for one of her homes, though she spent most of her time in Hawaii.

She’d be wishing she’d stayed in Hawaii, if she lived to make wishes. She’d been tied up when they found her. Unconscious. The EMTs said she’d damn near bled out. Bullet wounds in the abdomen and upper arm.

“You see anything?” she asked the man ahead of them.

“Trees.”

Trust Cullen to find an excuse for sarcasm. She needed him along, though, and for the same reason he was up front now. He’d see any icky magic before stepping in it. They made quite a cavalcade. Cullen first, then her and T.J. with Rule right behind. Behind Rule, two cops with some of the gear they’d need at the scene if they were able to enter it. Behind them, the six lupus guards Rule considered necessary.

Lily hadn’t argued. Not after the dworg.

On the way over, she’d tried talking to Sam. Either he was finished chatting or he hadn’t heard her. The latter was possible. Likely, she supposed. Even the black dragon might find it hard to eavesdrop telepathically on so many people in different locations, none of them near him, while keeping watch over Nettie. She hoped he’d be available for questions when she finished with the scene. She had several.

The two rangers who’d found the victims were back at the park road. So was the scene-of-crime squad. Lily had checked the rangers for traces of icky magic. Nothing on them. Maybe no icky magic here at all. Maybe she wasn’t needed. “Doesn’t make sense,” she muttered. “Bullets?”

“That part doesn’t,” Cullen agreed, “but the location does. There’s a baby node on the lookout.”

She wondered if Cullen knew the location of every node in a hundred miles. Probably. “They used a ley line the first time. Why change? Maybe this isn’t the same bunch.”

“Maybe, but not for that reason. A lot of spells and rites can use either one, depending on the skill of the caster. They could’ve used a ley line the first time because it was their first time. Ley lines aren’t safe, but they’re safer than nodes. Even a small node has a lot of raw magic.”

The trail wound around and up. They moved slowly, giving Cullen time to study both the trail and the area near it. The wind off the ocean was strong and cold, whipping Lily’s hair around and making her think again about cutting it. Assuming the fabric of time held together long enough for her to get an appointment . . . she dug in her pocket and pulled out an elastic. A couple of quick twists and one problem was solved.

What happened when time was damaged? When the fabric of the realm was damaged?

What did the Great Bitch
want
to happen?

It was, maybe, a mistake to try to get inside the head of a being older than the cosmos, due to being impossible. Lily still had to try. G.B. thought her goal was noble. She wanted to save humanity from itself. Therefore, she didn’t want to destroy humanity . . . but anything short of utter annihilation might work for her. Might work out great. Knock everyone back to the Stone Age, flash some power around, start helping the survivors of the devastation you’d caused, and bingo. Before you knew it, you had everyone worshiping you, just like they ought to.

Maybe understanding that much helped, but trying to figure out what kind of damage might occur was a distraction. She didn’t need specifics to know it would be a heaping helping of world-class horrible. She didn’t need to prepare for the horrible. She needed to stop it. That meant stopping Friar. How did you stop someone if you couldn’t find them? If—

“Now I see something,” Cullen said.

Lily stopped, her arm flashing out to bar T.J., who’d already stopped. “What?”

“Leakage from the node. It looks . . .” He tipped his head to one side. “Well, that’s not good. Wait here.” He left at a run.

Lily tucked her flashlight under her arm, pulled off her shoes so she’d know if she hit a patch of icky magic, and jammed them into her purse. “Do like he said. Wait here.” She gripped the flashlight and set off the way Cullen had, only slower. Three footfalls later she added, “Dammit, Rule!”

“You’ll let me know if there’s contagion.” He ran easily just behind her.

“I could lie.”

“You won’t. Not about that.”

Wisps of power brushed her face as she ran—overflow from the node. Her feet didn’t touch anything icky, just rocks and sticks that jabbed. There wasn’t much brush at the crest of the trail, but the lookout was at a high point and it was dark. Lily didn’t see what waited there until she reached it.

A man’s body lay facedown on the flat, sandy ground. Near one outflung hand was a small wooden altar, tipped on its side. Near his feet was a small duffel bag. A large shape—a pentagon? No, a hexagon had been drawn or painted on the bare ground of the overlook. Under the beam of her flashlight it glowed a bright, cheery yellow. Six dark candles were distributed evenly around the painted shape, which enclosed the body and the toppled altar. Cullen stood in front of it, glaring at them. “Does anyone listen to me? Does anyone ever freaking listen to me?”

“There’s no contagion.”

“No, there’s a goddamn major working that got interrupted at the worst goddamn time possible, so instead of dissolving like it ought to, it jammed. Then it got fed a lot of blood. And it’s still tied to the goddamn node, and now it’s about to blow up. So sit down
out of my way
and shut up.” He began pacing around the hexagon, eyes narrowed as he studied the ground.

Sometimes you really had to listen to the experts. Lily sat on the trail. Rule dropped down beside her. After a moment, she turned off her flashlight. It might be a distraction.

Cullen made a slow circuit of the hexagon. There was barely room for him to stay outside it in one spot; the overlook was enclosed by a low pole-and-cable fence meant to keep idiots from straying off the trail or falling off the cliff on the ocean side. He crouched twice, tilting his head, and muttered under his breath now and then. At last he stopped, nodded briskly, and raised his arms. He began chanting too low for Lily to hear the words. All at once he snatched something invisible out of the air, flung it up, and shouted,
“Ak-ak-areni!”

Fire shot up from the candles—fire as red as molten lava. It leaped from candle to candle, then inward to the center of the hexagon, where the six crimson flows collided with each other—and with a seventh, this one from Cullen’s other hand. Rainbow fire, that one, green-blue-orange-purple-yellow, every color but red. It merged with the lava fire and exploded into eye-searing white. White that shot straight up in a brilliant column three or four stories tall . . . and gradually dissipated, like the slow, shiny fade-out of fireworks.

* * *

T
HREE
miles away, a woman sat cross-legged on the beach, her head tipped back, her mouth round in a silent “oh” as the brilliant white light faded. It was time to go, and yet she lingered. The wind off the ocean was chilly. It felt good on her hot cheeks . . . hot cheeks, shivery stomach. She’d felt so odd ever since she picked up that knife. For just a moment longer she’d sit here and smell the ocean . . . brine and fish, the Mother’s moist breath. Only she wasn’t thinking of the Mother. She was wondering if anyone had died in that beautiful flash of light. If she’d killed people she didn’t even know.

You are sad, F’annwylyd?

“A little.” Apologetically she added, “I’ve never killed anyone before.”

They would die anyway. Does it matter greatly when?

It did to them. And to her, too, though he wouldn’t understand that. She hoped no one had been near when the node exploded. The others . . . no, she didn’t regret them. She’d been shocked by how loud the gun was, that was all. She’d owned the weapon for ages and dutifully took it to the firing range two or three times a year to make sure she stayed familiar with it, but she’d never fired it without the protective gear at the gun range. She’d never really thought she’d shoot it anywhere else.

You grieve.
A ghostly warmth stroked her cheek.
Though it is not the dead who grieve you. I wish I could put my arms around you. Comfort you.

Tears sprang to her eyes. Ah, look at her, indulging in melancholy when there were important things to do! Vital things. “Soon. Soon I’ll feel your arms—and all sorts of other parts of you, too.” She laughed, suddenly flooded with a wild, exuberant energy, and bounced to her feet. She had places to go, things to do.

People to kill. On purpose.

* * *

L
ILY
was still blinking bright spots out of her vision when Cullen plopped to the ground with a satisfied sigh. “Glad that worked.”

“So am I,” Rule said dryly.

“The node’s still not entirely stable. I think . . .” Cullen tipped his head, studying something only he could see. “Yeah, it’s settling down. Should be safe enough, but I’ll keep an eye on it.”

“My turn, then.” Lily stood. “I guess you don’t see any power radiating from an ancient artifact or you’d be rooting around, looking for it.”

“No, but if this Nam Anthessa is as good at hiding as Sam said, maybe I wouldn’t. If you see a knife, don’t touch it.”

“Sam made that clear. It’s safe to cross the line?”

“Sure. Not a whiff of power left in it. I may have damaged some evidence. Couldn’t be helped, so don’t bitch at me about it. But the missing blood isn’t my fault.”

“What missing blood?”

“There’s no blood on the ground inside the hexagon. Some outside it, but none inside. I think the
übrik
rune drank it.”

That was seriously creepy. Lily flashed her light over the ground. “I don’t see any runes.” Though there was a drift of ashy residue of some sort she hadn’t noticed before. And the once-yellow line of the hexagon was burned black.

“No runes?” Cullen stirred himself to come look. “Huh. That’s weird.”

“Meaning?”

“I guess my pyrotechnics burned them up.”

Lily decided not to worry about it. The scene was already thoroughly compromised—first by the rangers, then by the EMTs, and now by Cullen’s efforts to keep something—either the runes or the node, she wasn’t sure which—from exploding. “Rule . . .” She realized he’d moved. He was a little ways down the trail, talking to Scott. And when had Scott come up past T.J. and his two cops?

Rule looked at her. “Scott, Barnaby, and Mike are going to stay with you. I’m going to take the others for some four-legged sniffing.”

“Okay. Before you Change, would you let T.J. and the rest know they can come up?” Time to put her shoes back on. Lily took out the baby wipes she kept in her purse for occasions like this. By the time she’d wiped both feet—which were scratched and tender in spots, but she didn’t find any blood—and put her shoes back on, Scott and T.J. were coming up the trail together. She didn’t see Rule, but she knew where he was—about forty feet away, and not sticking to the trail.

“I’ve got to say,” T.J. said when he reached them, “you do know how to mess up a scene, Seaborne.”

“Would’ve been a bigger mess if the node had exploded.”

Lily shivered. That answered that question. “T.J., you said you took some pictures from the scene earlier. We need to document what’s changed. Can you have your guy snap some more while I look things over?”

“Will do. We need the SOC squad. They’re going to bitch enough as it is.”

“You can send for them now.”

T.J. called the scene-of-crime people in and gave instructions to his two cops—a woman whose name Lily hadn’t caught and a grizzled sergeant named Armstrong whom she knew slightly.