Human Nature (5 page)

“That was fast.”

“Hal’s a good attorney. He’s meeting us at the jail. I need to be the first one into Jason’s cell.”

“What?” She glanced at him as she slowed. They’d reached the city jail, which was part of the local cop shop. “You know I can’t arrange that. They’ll have a guard bring him out.”

“Jason has been locked up for twenty-four hours. He is uncomfortable in small, enclosed spaces.”

Uh-oh. She should have thought of that. “As uncomfortable as you are?”

“Somewhat more so.”

HAL
Newman’s white hair, silver-rimmed glasses, and charcoal gray suit fit the image of a top-flight defense attorney. He was California-fit and probably had his plastic surgeon on speed dial, judging by the smooth skin and general lack of sagging. He had the handshake down, too—just firm enough, neither hasty nor lingering.

The distinct tingle of magic when their palms touched didn’t go with the image. It went with someone who turned furry on occasion—and would never need a plastic surgeon.

Lily shot Rule a glance. He smiled blandly.

No wonder the clan used Newman. He
was
clan. “Mr. Newman,” she said, “I understand you have some recommendations concerning Mr. Chance’s release that Chief Daly is reluctant to allow.”

The chief looked smug. “We follow procedure here.”

They were in the chief’s office—her, Rule, Newman, and the chief jailer, a morose fellow named Hawes. It was crowded. Daly was no neatnik, and he hadn’t bothered to shift the piles of papers from the single visitor’s chair to let any of them sit.

Lily gave Daly a nod. “It’s usually best to do so. What are your procedures for releasing a lupus after he’s been incarcerated for over twenty-four hours?”

“We’re supposed to treat them like everyone else now, so that’s what we’ll do. Follow the same procedure we would for anyone else.”

“Under the law”—Newman had a deep, rolling baritone—“equal treatment does not necessarily mean identical treatment. Some classes of prisoners require different treatment. A wheelchair-bound prisoner, for example. Minors, obviously. And the courts have consistently ruled that visually impaired persons must be—”

“Stuff the legal mumbo-jumbo.” Daly leaned back in his chair, convinced he had the upper hand. “Jason Chance isn’t blind or in a wheelchair. He isn’t a minor. He’s an able-bodied adult and he can walk out of here just fine on his own two legs.” He smirked. “Once he’s on two legs again, that is.”

And that was the problem. Under the law, Chance had to be treated as having all the rights and responsibilities of citizenship when he was shaped like a human. Unfortunately, Daly now had a wolf locked up. Shortly before his lawyer arrived, Jason Chance had succumbed to his instinctive response to his race’s claustrophobia. He’d Changed.

If Daly weren’t a turd, that wouldn’t matter. Rule could tell Chance to Change back. Rule possessed the heir’s portion of the clan’s mantle; even beast-lost, Chance would obey his Lu Nuncio. But Daly refused to allow Rule into the cell, or even into the jail itself. He refused to allow Newman in, too—“can’t take chances with a wild animal like that. He’s vicious. Likely he’d savage you.”

And when Newman insisted he was entitled to see his client, Daly had said, “Wolves don’t have attorneys.”

Legally, he was right.

“What,” Rule asked in a low voice, “do you intend to do with Jason?”

“Why, not a thing. But that wolf, now, he can’t stay here. That’s obvious. This is a jail for humans. Don’t worry—I wouldn’t do anything inhumane.” Blue eyes glittered with malice and pleasure. “He’ll be tranq’ed before we move him. Got an expert coming with a dart gun.”

Rule’s voice dropped even lower. “Tranquilizers don’t work on lupi.”

Daly’s eyes opened wide in mock surprise. “You sure? Because if he can’t be sedated, we do have a problem. The way that beast is acting, well…” He shook his head. “Can’t take chances, and that animal is dangerous. I’ve already had to move the other prisoners out of that cell block, which creates a hazard. Can’t keep them stacked up three or four to a cell.”

This time, Rule growled. The sound was eerily like a wolf’s, not the weak imitation a human throat makes.

Lily put a hand on his arm. His muscles were rigid. But a quick glance told her his eyes were still brown, not black-swallowed. He was in control.

She took a few seconds to consider options. Was Daly crazy enough to think he could get away with shooting Chance in wolf form? Maybe he just intended Rule to think he would. Maybe he wanted Rule to jump him so he’d have an excuse to lock Rule up, too.

Or maybe he meant it. He might really have one of his people shoot Chance. It wasn’t illegal to shoot a wolf—not if the animal could be considered a danger to others. Not even if it was only a part-time wolf, and killing him meant killing the human, too. Daly might believe he could get away with it—a beast-lost lupus
was
a danger, no doubt about that.

If he had been free he would be, that is. Which was the whole problem.

“All right,” she said crisply. “You’ve made your position clear, Chief Daly. Officer Hawes, please escort me to your prisoner.”

The jailer blinked. “Uh—don’t have a prisoner now. He’s a wolf, and a wolf isn’t a prisoner.”

Which meant that legally they could do all sorts of things to him. Things that would keep him panicked and furious, unable to reason, unable to understand that he was better off in his other form. They’d keep him beast-lost because Daly wanted him that way. “Then let me put it this way. You have a witness I need to see in one of your cells, and I don’t care what form he’s wearing. I require immediate access to that witness.”

Daly remained complacent. “Sorry. Can’t do it. That animal’s crazy, and until we have him subdued—”

“Chief.” She stepped up to his desk and looked down at him. “You can’t stop me.”

“I for damn sure can. This is
my
jail, under
my
authority, and I’m responsible for—”

“I’ve presented you with my badge. You’ve had time to confirm that I am, indeed, an agent of Unit Twelve of the Magical Crimes Division of the FBI. Under the Domestic Security and Magical Crimes Law as amended on January tenth of this year,
you cannot stop me.
If you continue to try, I will arrest you for impeding my investigation.”

His mouth opened. Closed. Red arose in a vascular tide to suffuse his face. Finally he spoke in a voice all but strangled with fury. “You wouldn’t dare.”

There were all sorts of things she might have said or done to defuse the situation, ways she could show respect for his position while insisting on her own authority.

Lily didn’t even try. She planted her hands on his desk and leaned forward until her face was a foot from his. His breath smelled like stale chili. The veins stood out in his neck and forehead, and his freckles were pale splotches in his red face.

Her lips curled up. Softly she said, “Try me.”

Hatred burned in his eyes. “You’ll regret this. You’re going to regret this for a real long time.”

The Del Cielo jail was larger than expected for a town this small, but the city rented spaces to the state—and given the state’s overcrowded system, it had no trouble funding the operation of its jail this way.

The setup was pretty standard. Probably built in the fifties, Lily thought, with cinderblock walls and cement floors. There were two cell blocks, each opening off a small control center with three screens—one for the hall splitting each cell bock, apparently. The third was dark.

Lily had suspicions about that dark screen. “Got a problem with your cameras?” she asked as Daly jammed a key into the old-fashioned lock on a heavy steel door.

He didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at her.

The moment the door opened, she heard the growling. Daly stepped aside and gestured for her to precede him.

She didn’t like that, didn’t want the man at her back. He hated too much; she didn’t know his limits. But neither could she afford to look weak. She walked through the door.

There were three cells plus a shower on one side, four cells on the other. And two officers with high-powered rifles trained on the occupant of the fourth cell.

Something too pure to be called anger sizzled through Lily. She felt as if her hair should have bristled. She felt as if she could growl, too.

The sonofabitch. The stinking sonofabitch had intended to do it. He’d meant to arrange Chance’s death. The stage was all set.

Unconsciously she brushed the large shirt she’d donned in lieu of her jacket. Rule’s shirt, imbued with his scent. How far would Daly’s hatred take him? Lily walked slowly down the short hall, watching the men with the guns. They were nervous. Their eyes flicked to her. One said, “Chief—”

“Shut up, Mills,” Daly said from behind her.

“Agent Yu, FBI,” Lily said crisply. “Your chief isn’t happy with me right now, or he would have introduced us. Stand down with your weapons.”

The two men looked at their boss. “No,” he said tersely. “You don’t command my men, Agent.”

“Idiot,” she said just as crisply. Then she reached the cell.

The wolf was small, for a lupus—which meant he was only twenty or so pounds heavier than an average wolf. His teeth were whiter than usual for a canid—but then, he brushed them in his other form. They were also large and bared. He had a lovely coat, brindled gray, with the hackles raised fully. His ears were flat. A continuous growl issued from deep in his chest.

He was backed up against the far wall.

A beta, Rule had said. He’d fight if threatened. He felt extremely threatened at the moment, and who wouldn’t? He was also a man, even if the man was buried deep at the moment. He knew what those rifles meant.

Lily moved close to the bars of the cell, positioning herself carefully.

“Agent Yu?” one of the officers said. “You’re blocking my shot.”

“That’s the idea. If you shoot that wolf, I will arrest you.”

“He’s dangerous, ma’am.”

“He wouldn’t be, if he’d been handled correctly. I’m sorry to say that your chief is a bloody, bigoted fool. If he’s given you orders to shoot if the wolf moves”—and he had, the craven bastard; she saw it in the way the officer’s gaze flickered—“you will disregard those orders. Jason Chance is my witness, and I will not allow you to tamper with my witness.”

The man was confused, uncertain. The other one was cut more from Daly’s cloth. He sneered and shifted position, keeping his rifle trained.

She moved with him, blocking his shot—and took her phone out of the shirt pocket. “Perhaps I should mention that I’m on an open line right now, transmitting images to FBI headquarters in Washington. Smile for the camera.” She held out her phone.

Daly took an involuntary step back. “That’s a phone, not a web cam.”

“That’s right. It’s my new iPhone. Cool, isn’t it? Want to see?” She turned it so he could see the screen—which showed his two men with their rifles trained on the cell’s bars.

The rest was anticlimax.

Daly left. His men stayed, but lowered their weapons. She sat on the floor and waited, carefully not looking at the wolf. Sure enough, after about five minutes he approached—still bristling, still growling, but with his ears pricked.

He wanted to know why she smelled like his Lu Nuncio. She told him, subvocalizing—which both kept the officers from hearing and let him know she was clan. No one outside the clans would think to do it.

He stopped growling.

She showed him the necklace she wore, the
toltoi
charm she’d been given to mark her status as Chosen.

He dropped to the floor, whining submissively.

“You’re getting out,” she assured him. “Rule’s here. Your lawyer’s here, and bail’s been posted. But we need you two-legged. Can you Change back?”

Ten minutes later, Lily left the cell block with a young man who looked like every cliché of a California surfer dude—sun-streaked blond hair, athletic body, and a quick, white grin. He wore ragged jeans and a blue T-shirt with a stylized wave.

The clothes had been on the floor of his cell. And he probably wasn’t as young as he looked.

BOBBIE’S
Grill was Rule’s suggestion. The food, he said, was nothing special, but it arrived quickly and the portions were generous. Speed and portion size mattered for the same reason they were eating supper so early: the Change burns calories, and a hungry wolf is an edgy wolf.

Besides, his stomach was on the same clock as hers, and hers said it was after eight. On the way there, Lily checked her official email and found that the request for the police reports on Hilliard’s death was still pending. Big surprise.

She also saw that the photos she’d sent of the tattoo had been passed to Arjenie Fox, a young witch who worked in research. Arjenie was good. Lily sent her a quick note asking to be contacted as soon as she knew anything.

Once they arrived, Lily saw one more reason Rule had chosen Bobbie’s. It had outdoor seating. At this hour, the majority of customers were rushing home from work and opting for take-out, so they had the patio to themselves. The low wall around the patch of cement didn’t do much to reduce traffic noise or provide privacy, but the openness would be soothing to a claustrophobic lupus newly released from a cell.

Another plus: fish tacos. “Did you know they don’t have fish tacos in D.C.?” she asked Jason as Rule put down the plastic trays with their order.

“You’re kidding.” He shook his head and reached for the salsa. “How could they not, a cosmopolitan place like that?”

“They’ve never even heard of fish tacos.” Lily grabbed her tacos and began doctoring them with extra shredded cabbage, a generous dollop of salsa, and pickles. Rule had had to ask for the pickles; for some reason they weren’t a universally approved accompaniment for fish tacos.

“Go figure.” Jason said that around a healthy mouthful of tortilla and batter-fried fish. He swallowed. “That was so cool, what you did with the phone. I didn’t know you could do that—make it work like a web cam.”

“I don’t think you can.” Lily decided the tacos needed more salsa and spooned it on. “At least, I know I can’t.”

“It was a bluff?” Jason hooted and slapped his thigh. “Man, I’d like to be a fly on the wall when Daly realizes you bluffed him.”

Rule frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Daly had a pair of officers training rifles on Jason,” she explained. “With orders to shoot if he moved. I had to persuade him he couldn’t get away with it, and I was short on options.”

Jason turned to Rule. “I wish you’d seen it. She’s got guts. They were aimed for me, so she stepped up between me and their guns. Told ’em their chief was a bloody idiot.” Jason grinned. “And when they didn’t—”

Rule broke in, his voice flat. “You stepped in front of their rifles.”

Uh-oh. Rule hadn’t been thrilled about her going in there alone in the first place. “I needed to interfere with their line of fire.”

“Dammit, Lily, Jason can heal most wounds! You promised me—”

“I promised I wouldn’t get in the cell with Jason until he Changed back. I didn’t.” But Jason had never been the main threat. Lily’s pleasure in the fish taco faded. She put it down and said quietly, “He’s a bad cop, Rule. Daly’s not just a bully with a badge. If he hasn’t yet killed, using the badge to protect himself, he will.”

He met her eyes. She saw the turbulence in him, the desire to go back and tear Daly apart. Maybe rip down the jail, too. After a moment he grimaced. “I suppose now you’ll tell me it must have been a good decision, since you’re still alive.”

“He intended to kill Jason. I wasn’t sure about that until I saw how he’d set the stage. I interfered with his plans, but he was damn near mad enough to go ahead anyway. So I bluffed.”

Jason spoke—more subdued now, but with a stubborn set to his jaw. “She handled herself. Handled Daly, too. She told him her phone was transmitting images to FBI headquarters. He bought it. Hell, I did, too…well, not immediately, because I was beast-lost at the time.” He flushed beneath his tan. “I’m sorry for that. I couldn’t…I knew I shouldn’t Change, but I felt so trapped, I—”

“It’s all right, Jason.” Rule managed a wry smile. “I understand the experience, believe me.”

“You wouldn’t have given in. You wouldn’t have Changed.”

“I’m Lu Nuncio. You aren’t. Why would you expect yourself to behave as if you were?”

Jason’s grin flickered. “Just as well I don’t, isn’t it?”

Rule’s phone sang out the opening bars from Mozart’s
Night Music
. That meant it was his father. Lily turned to Hal Newman while Rule answered. “Why haven’t I seen you around Clanhome?”

“You have.” Mischief lurked in eyes as blue as those of the other Newman. “We didn’t actually meet, but I was visiting my son and granddaughter there the first time you came to Clanhome. You looked right at me. What a blow to my ego that you don’t remember.”

Lily frowned, calling up memories of a day that remained vivid, if somewhat jumbled. There’d been a lot going on. “A large, silvery gray wolf?”

“Beth likes to play horsie.”

“Beth.” She smiled. “That’s my sister’s name.”

Jason perked up. “You have a sister?”

“Two. One older and married. One younger and…” She looked at Jason’s tanned and appealing face and finished wryly, “probably interested in meeting you.” Beth thought Lily took too many risks. Lily thought the same of Beth. Different risks.

Lily kept the conversation on lighter matters, ably abetted by Newman, who insisted she call him Hal. She had plenty of questions for Jason, but she’d let him eat first, get himself steadier. Rule didn’t take part; he was filling his father in on the day’s events. Lily had finished both of her tacos by the time he disconnected.

The last of their conversation had been particularly interesting, though Rule’s portion had consisted of, “She would, yes” and “I don’t think so” and “No, she won’t.”

“That was about me,” Lily said.

He looked at her, his face unreadable. “In part.”

Hal—who’d eaten his tacos with a knife and fork—shepherded an errant bit of fish back inside the tortilla as he spoke, a trace of apology in his voice. “I couldn’t help overhearing. The Rho is offended by Chief Daly?”

He meant that he’d heard both sides of the conversation—though Lily suspected the “couldn’t help” part was hooey. He must have been listening carefully in order to hear Isen.

Sometimes she really envied lupi their hearing.

Rule’s answer had an oddly formal ring. “Irrevocably offended.”

Jason and Hal both went still for a second. Then Hal smiled, said, “Good,” and popped his last bite into his mouth.

Lily looked from one male face to the next. “What? What does that mean? Is he offended the way a Mafia don is just before he takes out a contract?”

“Of course not.” Hal smiled at her. “If Chief Daly were clan, a statement of irrevocable offense would mean Challenge. That’s not applicable with a human, obviously.”

“Challenge to the death?”

“Well…yes, if the offense is irrevocable. With clan,” he repeated. “Daly is unlikely to accept such a challenge, if Isen were foolish enough to offer one, isn’t he?”

She didn’t trust those twinkling blue eyes. She looked at Rule. “Hal asked you if the Rho was offended. Not Isen. The Rho.”

He sighed. “You pick awkward moments to deepen your understanding of us. Yes, there is a difference. If a Rho declares irrevocable offense, it means the offense was to the clan and it cannot be cleared by apology or atonement. Nokolai’s full resources will be bent toward removing Daly.”

“From his job or his life?”

“Murder is an untidy way of dealing with the human world. The repercussions are too unpredictable. Isen means to ruin the man, and he has many resources to draw upon—some of which you might not consider entirely ethical, so I won’t discuss them.”

She studied him a moment. Unethical might mean bribes, blackmail, or a frame. “Daly’s a bad cop. I want him out, but legally.”

“Isen didn’t tell me what he plans. He won’t, and I won’t speculate on them. He understands that your view is different on such matters and doesn’t wish to offer you uncomfortable choices.”

Offer her uncomfortable choices. Ha. That sounded just like Rule’s father. Lily scowled, but let the subject drop…for now. She turned to Jason. “I’d like to make this official now, ask you some questions. You’ve got your lawyer here.”

But it was Rule Jason glanced at, not Hal. Rule said, “Before you begin, Lily, I need to ask Jason something.” He looked directly at the young man. “Did you kill Steve Hilliard?”

“No. Of course not.”

Rule nodded and leaned back. “All right. Then I expect you to answer Lily’s questions honestly and completely.”

“Okay. Sure. Whatever I can do to help.”

Lily took out her notebook and pen. She could have asked to record the interview, but she wanted him relaxed. She took him through the basics—his relationship to the deceased, whether he knew about Hilliard’s will—he did—and where he’d been and what he’d done the night Steve Hilliard was killed.

Home alone, he told her.

“Jason,” Rule said. Just that.

The two of them locked gazes for a bare second before Jason looked down. “Okay, I wasn’t home and I wasn’t alone, not until about three the next morning. But the lady I was with doesn’t need to be dragged into this. She has nothing to do with it. She didn’t even know Steve.”

Hal sighed. Lily suspected Jason hadn’t told his lawyer about his alibi, either. “I’ll keep her out of this if I can,” she said, “but I have to speak with her and confirm what you’ve told me.”

He grimaced, flicked a glance at Rule, and looked at the table. “She’s married. She’d be really upset if her husband found out. They don’t have, uh, an open relationship.”

Rule spoke quietly. “And if your seed had caught in her womb, who would have raised your child?”

“I know, I know…but she’s so sad. I wanted to make her feel better about herself.”

Lily managed not to sigh, but she wanted to. Lupi had no moral objections to adultery per se. Only to situations where it would be difficult to claim a child born from the union. “I can’t guarantee her husband won’t learn or guess about your affair, but I’ll do what I can. Her name?”

He gave her the name, an address, a phone number, and the time and place of their assignation—which, if accurate, would certainly alibi him, since he said neither of them had slept. And since they’d met at a motel and he’d used his charge card, there would be a record of their stay.

Next she asked about the tattoo. As she’d thought, it hadn’t been there when Jason last saw Steve around eight. Jason had never heard Steve express any interest in being tattooed, and was convinced he wouldn’t have done it voluntarily. Tattoos, to a lupus, meant the old registration laws.

Then she asked about Mariah Friar and the baby she claimed was Steve’s.

“Yeah, he knew about that. He was…” Jason glanced at Rule. “Well, you know Steve. It hurt him for her to claim that, but he was gentle with her. Told her the baby wasn’t his. She didn’t believe him. Didn’t want to, I think. She loves the idea that she really poked a stick in her old man’s eye, you know?”

“Is she estranged from her father?”

“Yeah, but…see, Mariah’s always trying to get a reaction. She wants him to get mad. To react like she mattered. He won’t react because—this is kind of creepy—he says his daughter died. That’s how he puts it. Mariah Friar is alive, but his daughter is dead.”

“You know Friar?”

“It’s a small town. We’ve bumped a few times, but I avoid him whenever possible.”

“You seem to know Mariah pretty well.”

“Well…yeah.”

Something in those guileless blue eyes made her ask, “How well?”

“Geez.” He rubbed his short hair with one hand. “If I answer that honestly, you’ll think I’m scum. But Mariah’s like clan. She thinks of sex as comfort or friendship or just pleasure. She isn’t hung up on fidelity.”

Lily didn’t say anything. Rule didn’t either. Maybe he smelled disapproving, though, because Jason spoke earnestly to him. “She was pretty messed up back when you knew her. She’s a lot more together now, or I wouldn’t…but Steve really helped her. She feels good about herself these days.”

Lily took them back to the subject. “You met Mariah through Steve?”

“More or less. There’s this group, see. They’re all pretty young, or most of them, and they see themselves as rebels. They want to, uh, champion our cause. Mariah’s one of them.”

“Is this group mostly female?”

“Well…yeah, but not all of them.”

“Lupus groupies.”

“Some of them, maybe.” Jason looked uncomfortable, glancing again at Rule. “They’re pretty tame compared to the ones you’d find in the city at a place like Club Hell. More witch wannabes than lupus groupies, really.”

Rule spoke. “And one practicing witch.”

“Adele doesn’t like to be called a witch. Everyone thinks that means Wiccan, and she isn’t.”

“Adele?”

“Adele Blanco.”

Lily looked at Rule. He hardly ever interjected himself into an interview. “You know her.”

“Slightly. She’s older than the others in her little group.”

Interesting. Apparently Adele wasn’t “a lovely older woman.” Lily studied Rule’s face, which gave away nothing. But that, too, was a giveaway. “You don’t like her.”

Rule shrugged. “We had a disagreement a few years ago.”

“Rule checks in on us from time to time,” Jason said. “A few years back, he decided too many of the younger lupi were hanging with Adele’s group, that we were, uh, listening to her more than was good for the clan. Rule told us to stop gathering here, and Adele took it wrong. You don’t like her?” Jason asked Rule, more curious than upset. “I didn’t think you blamed her.”

“
Blame
is the wrong word. I believe she enjoyed her influence over the younger people too much.”

“I don’t see it like that. Some of her ideas don’t work out, but she helps, too. She organized that protest outside Friar’s home. She teaches some of the group who have a bit of a Gift.”

Lily asked, “What’s her branch of spellcraft, if she isn’t Wiccan?”

“She calls herself an eclectic. She draws from a lot of traditions.”

“Any that involve tattoos, like the Msaidizi? The Dizzies,” she added when it was obvious the Swahili word meant nothing to him.