World of Lupi 10 - Ritual Magic (10 page)

“No way. I don’t have any truck with magic.”

“Learning how to shield keeps magic from messing with you.”

He considered that and agreed that he would pray on the matter, maybe ask Hardy what he thought when he came back—“since,” he told her, “I don’t have a shiny track record for figuring out the rights and wrongs of things on my own.”

Could a brain-damaged man without any touch of magic understand how imperative it was for an empath to be able to shield? Even if Hardy did understand, what song could he sing to persuade Liddel to give it a try? “You do that. I’m leaving you my card. Call me if you want that contact I told you about. Call me if you remember anything, or if anything happens you think I should know. I need to be able to reach you, too.”

His grin was lopsided, given that he lacked two teeth. “Should be easy enough for the next couple three days. I’ll be in detox.”

Lily tracked down Denise in the break room, which gave her the chance to meet the infamous Dr. Plackett. Plackett—Dr. John L. Plackett, according to his name tag—was about five-five and puffier than the Pillsbury Doughboy. He didn’t even glance at Lily when she entered, too busy giving the nurse a dressing-down for having phoned in “a false alarm.”

Lily took some pleasure in identifying herself, correcting him, and commending Denise for having called her. Denise flashed her a grateful smile and escaped.

Lily and the Doughboy doctor then exchanged information. Plackett informed her there was nothing wrong with Mr. Liddel “aside from the ruination of his body and brain through excessive drinking,” and she informed him he was wrong. She had by then perfected a spiel to give physicians. She opened by speaking of “magically induced trauma with potentially serious medical repercussions,” made a suitably ominous reference to a potential state of emergency due to the number of victims, and concluded with the need to keep his patient hospitalized and avoid drawing media attention. Since most hospitals hated media attention, the last bit was usually easy for doctors to agree to.

A few were reluctant to agree to the first part, about admitting the patient. Everyone had a budget. That was when Lily told them about Barbara Lennox. Most doctors were too conscientious to risk releasing a patient who could lapse into a coma, and the rest were too worried about lawsuits.

Plackett proved to be the exception. “I assure you this patient is not on the verge of a coma.”

“If you know something about the spell that damaged these people that leads you to that assumption, you need to share that information. If you don’t, how can you assure me of any such thing?”

He smiled with such vast superiority that she was reminded of an elf she’d once known and hadn’t killed. “I am a board-certified emergency room physician with over eighteen years of experience. You may rely on my assurance.”

“I understand Mr. Liddel plans to go through detox.”

“Ah—yes.” Plackett pursed his lips. They were puffy, too. “I will, of course, make the proper referral, but we are not set up for that here.”

“It’s very important that I keep track of him. Please see that my office is informed of where you transfer him.” She handed him one of her cards. “While you’re looking for a spot for him, you’ll keep him here, of course. Given the possibility of coma, he must have ongoing medical supervision.”

Plackett took her card and huffed out a breath. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a bed at a detox facility for an indigent? There are waiting lists. Long waiting lists.”

“I understand that you are reluctant to admit him while you search for a bed, but—”

“Reluctant? I can’t keep him here. Medicaid won’t pay for it. Unless there’s a new diagnostic category I don’t know about—one for admission based on magically induced trauma with medical repercussions?”

“You’re pretty good at sarcasm. Not top of the line, but pretty good. Who has the authority to admit him, if you don’t?”

That chapped his ass. “I have the authority. That doesn’t mean I’m going to jump when you say jump. If the FBI wants Festus Liddel hospitalized, the FBI can pay for it. Or you could put him up at the Hilton with a private nurse. Or take him home with you. I don’t care. Keeping track of him is your problem, and I will not be bullied into making it mine.”

“He’s your patient. I’ve told you he’s at risk for coma, and that’s not your problem?” She shook her head. “If you have the authority but lack the willingness, I need to talk to your superior. Or maybe I should cut to the head of the line. I get to do that. Who’s the CEO here?”

“You are not going to wake up the CEO.”

“Be a shame if I had to do that, wouldn’t it? He might think one of his staff should’ve shown a little initiative so he could get in his eight hours without being pestered by rude federal agents.”

Plackett caved. He knew he was caving and hated it and hated her, but he agreed to admit Liddel until the man could be transferred to a detox facility. Then he stomped out of the break room.

Someone else entered. “You made an enemy there.”

With a sigh of relief Lily turned to face Rule. She’d wanted him with her for hours. “Yeah, I’m all torn up about that. What are you doing here?” Her throat tried to close up. “If you have news—”

“No, nothing like that.” He came to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Julia is with Sam. We won’t hear from him for at least another twelve hours, probably longer. I came to get you.”

“I don’t need to be fetched, but if you want to go with me, I’m headed back to St. Margaret’s next.”

“It’s three thirty in the morning. You’re headed to bed.”

“Oh, that’s going to work—pop in and tell me what to do. I’ve got . . .” Her brain felt sluggish. Too sluggish for math. “Last time I checked, thirty-two possible cases had been reported to the Unit. I’ve confirmed fourteen of them—no, fifteen with Liddel—and eliminated two, which means—”

“That someone else will have to check out the other fifteen reports, plus however many more have come in.”

“Who?” she snapped. “Cullen is tending to Sam’s mysterious security measures. No one else can tell if magic was involved. The traces left by whatever happened are too weak.”

“But others can interview the victims and their families and make educated guesses, which you can confirm after you’ve slept. You can’t do it all yourself, Lily. If you try, you’ll make mistakes.”

Because she was too tired to think straight, he meant. Rule could go all night and into the next day with no real problem. Sometimes that was handy. Sometimes it irked the hell out of her. “You’re right, and while that is deeply annoying, I’m not as mad as I should be. Why is that?”

“Perhaps because you vented some of your spleen on the unfortunate doctor.”

“That
was
fun.” Reluctantly she started moving—toward the coffeepot, not the door. “I need to keep my brain working long enough to delegate intelligently.”

“I can’t believe you’re going to drink that.”

“It’s not quite thick enough to chew, so yes, I’ll drink it.” She poured a half cup. “Ruben’s still up. He’s like you.” Lupus, in other words, and not in need of sleep the way mere humans were . . . though he’d not arrived at that state in a way anyone could have expected. “With me having to run around to verify reports, he’s been coordinating things from D.C. I’ll check in with him and—shit, that reminds me.” She took a sip of sludge and grimaced. Nasty. “Are we private?” His ears would tell him more than hers could.

“Reasonably. Scott will hear.”

Scott knew about the Shadow Unit, so that wasn’t a problem. “You know Ruben’s putting Karonski in charge of the Bureau’s investigation. He decided to put me in charge of the other one.”

Rule didn’t say a thing. Not a thing. He was way too still.

She frowned. “Is that a problem?”

“I’m not sure why he didn’t tell me himself.”

“Extreme busyness, I imagine. He knows you and I work together anyway, so . . . this bugs you. It’s not just that he didn’t tell you personally. You have a problem with me being in charge instead of you.”

“Nonsense. I don’t object to your doing what you do best, certainly far better than I could. But Ruben should have told me.”

“Is this a lupi thing? He committed a sin against the hierarchy?”

“He treated me like a subordinate. Not like a Rho.”

“You are his subordinate in the Shadow Unit.”

“I am his second, but I am not of his clan, and I’m a Rho. He misstepped. I’ll explain this to him when there’s time.”

“He’s very new at being a lupus.”

“I know. Drop it, Lily.”

There was something off about Rule’s reaction. She couldn’t put her finger on it, and admittedly, she didn’t know everything there was to know about lupi and their fixation on hierarchy, but she knew Rule, and he was . . . watching her patiently. Not looking at all like he’d had his oh-so-dominant toes stepped on.

So maybe she was wrong. She rubbed her face. She was tired enough to be wrong about half the things she thought right now. “Okay. Calling Ruben.”

Ruben was very interested in hearing about Hardy, who might be the saint that Drummond thought would show up, but he agreed that details could wait until morning and seconded Rule’s suggestion that she get some sleep. He would coordinate the ongoing work with Ackleford himself for now.

“You had another chat with Drummond?” Rule asked when she disconnected. He had, of course, heard both sides of the phone conversation.

“Yes, and I need to fill you in about that. Drummond says this is connected to an artifact that damn elf gave Friar. He called it evil. But first . . .” She frowned. Something was nagging at her. Something about Hardy that had floated back into her head while she talked to Ruben, then floated out again. What . . .

Oh, yeah. “What’s this song?” She hummed the tune Hardy had hummed to her.

“‘Mother and Child Reunion.’ Paul Simon.”

“Son of a bitch.” Adrenaline worked even better than caffeine. She headed for the door double-quick.

Rule kept pace. “What is it?”

“I need to find a nurse. Denise. Brown hair, one-sixty, five-five or so.”

“I haven’t seen her. Why do you need her?”

“To help me find someone.” As they headed for the nurses’ station she told him briefly about Hardy, ending with, “Drummond told me I was getting a saint. I thought . . . well, you’d have to meet Hardy to understand, but there’s something otherworldly about him. Plus, it seemed like it would be just my luck to get a brain-damaged, singing saint who can’t answer questions straight out. But he was humming that song to me. He patted my cheek and hummed that song. How does it go? Something about not giving false hope on a ‘strange and mournful day,’ then the refrain about the mother and child reunion. How could Hardy know how well that fit?”

“I don’t know. Because he’s a saint?”

“Or because he’s anything but.”

TEN

D
ENISE
was gone. While Lily had been talking to Rule, the shift had changed. Plackett, too, had left. Lily checked to make sure the doctor had admitted Liddel, then tried to find out more about Hardy.

Everyone in the ER knew the man. He came to the ER at least once a week, but not as a patient. They didn’t think they’d ever treated him for anything. He sang, he played his harmonica, and he listened to the patients, especially the homeless or otherwise abandoned. Sometimes he brought in patients. Some of the homeless showed up at the ER regularly, like Liddel, while others resisted medical care until they were in bad shape. Those were the ones Hardy could sometimes persuade to come in for treatment.

Everyone knew Hardy. Most of them liked him. No one knew anything about him. Was Hardy his first or last name? No one knew. Did he have a regular spot to eat? To sleep? No one had a clue.

“They don’t like to tell you where their flops are,” one nurse told Lily. “I asked Hardy once—the weather was really stinky and I was worried about him—but he just smiled and sang an old hymn about everyone gathering by the river.”

San Diego was lacking in rivers, so that wasn’t much help. Lily thanked him and turned to Rule. “I’ll bet the shelters know him. He’d have been too late to get a bed tonight, but—”

“Lily.”

“I know, I know. I can check with them in the morning. But first—”

“Call whoever you need to from the car.”

“But . . .” She closed her eyes. The brief shot of adrenaline had worn off. She felt downright dizzy with fatigue. “Okay. All right.”

Lily’s mobile backup fell into step behind them as they left the ER. “Where’s your team?” she asked Rule.

“José is at the car. Barnaby is going to see if he can find out anything about Hardy. He knows some people. Jacob is watching our room.”

She hadn’t even seen Rule talk to Barnaby. Clearly her brain had gone to sleep ahead of the rest of her. “What room?”

“I’ve rented a room at the Hilton for tonight to cut down on driving time.” He opened the door of his Mercedes and waited for her to climb in.

“The Hilton? I mean . . . there’s always Motel 6.”

“Ah, well, there are other ways to cut back on expenses, aren’t there? Take the downstairs bathrooms. Do we really need to buy everything new? I’m sure, with a good scrubbing, the old toilet would be—” He broke off at the look on her face and touched her arm. “Joking, Lily. Joking. If you’re too tired to know that, maybe we’d better leave before you keel over.”

Lily sighed and got in the car, scooting over so Rule could slide in next to her. The Hilton would certainly be closer than driving all the way home, though Lily’s commute wasn’t as long as it had been when they were at Nokolai Clanhome.

They’d bought a house.

It lay about halfway between the city and Nokolai Clanhome and came with forty acres and a small, derelict motel, which was being turned into housing for the guards and others from Leidolf. That clan was, in a roundabout way, the reason they had to buy the place, so they’d put a rush on getting the extra housing ready. It was nearly finished.

The house wasn’t. It was in bad shape, too.

The setting was pretty—rolling hills that screened them from their neighbors on two sides, with the back shielded by an abandoned orchard. There were a couple of ley lines running beneath the land—not that any of them could use ley lines, but like Rule said, you never knew when such a thing might come in handy. The house had been built in the thirties in the Spanish Revival style, with lovely high ceilings. It had also had hideous shag carpet, holes in some walls, scabrous kitchen cabinets, an ancient roof, and faulty electrical. But it was structurally sound, and Rule had negotiated a really low price.

It was also big. Really big. Two stories plus a partly finished attic and a full basement. Lily didn’t trust the basement—what Californian wants to be underground when the earth starts to rock and roll?—but it was being reinforced. Originally, the ground floor had held a large living room, small dining room, and huge kitchen; a study with hideous wallpaper, a fireplace, and beautiful built-in bookshelves; and a bedroom intended as the master. The second floor was all bedrooms—six of them—plus the house’s only bathroom.

What kind of nutcase built a house with seven bedrooms and
one
bathroom?

That was being changed, as was so much else. Not on the second floor, not yet, because they were living there while the first floor was gutted and rebuilt.

The new roof, windows, and steel beams were in place. One of the walls that had come down was load bearing, which had made Lily nervous, but the architect assured her that steel beams would do the trick. The kitchen was maybe half-done, and they’d just finished framing in the new walls. Lots of electrical and plumbing still to do before they could put up drywall, but the study would end up as the dining room. The original dining room, which adjoined the master bedroom, was slated to become a luxurious master bath plus a walk-in closet.

The floor was finished, at least—and hadn’t that been a hassle, deciding what to use! Lily had leaned toward bamboo. Rule had been torn between the beauty of a dark-stained hardwood and the practicality of carpet, which offered better traction to a wolf’s paws. In the end, they’d gone with stained and polished concrete. It looked great, was highly customizable, and wouldn’t get scratched up by anyone’s claws.

Lily’s brain got constipated when she thought about what all this was costing, so she tried not to. She might have signed the mortgage papers along with Rule, but he was covering the renovations, so she didn’t have to contemplate it. If he said he could afford it, he ought to know. She ought to trust him. She did, but it was a godawful amount of money, especially when added to the cost of their wedding . . . which was supposed to happen in two weeks and five days.

“What is it?” Rule asked.

“I . . . the wedding. Should we postpone it?”

Rule went still. “Do you want to?”

“I don’t know. It seems like we should, but . . . Mother won’t be able to . . . and I don’t know who’s doing what. I don’t even have the final guest list.”

“I have all that information. I can do what needs doing, but if it hurts too much to hold the ceremony with your mother’s situation so uncertain, we will postpone it. Is that what you want?”

“I think I should want it, but I don’t. Only there’s the trip, too. Our honeymoon trip. How late can we wait to cancel our reservations? And the plane tickets. Did we get the refundable—”

“It doesn’t matter. We can decide about that later.”

“Okay.” She drew a shaky breath. “Do you think Mother will want to be flower girl instead of mother of the bride?”

“Ah,
nadia
,” he said and gathered her to him.

She rested her hands on his chest, keeping an inch of space between them. “Don’t do this. If you do this, I’m going to—”

“Relax?” He stroked her hair. “Behave in an un-cop-like manner? Fall asleep?”

Fall apart, more like. Exhaustion was melting outward from her bones to her muscles to her brain, taking down what few defenses she still had. “I don’t want to stop doing the job. Without the job I’m just a daughter. Nothing good is happening with me-the-daughter. My father’s very angry.”

“Yes, he called me.”

“Did he yell?”

“Not precisely. Did he yell at you?”

“He said he would forgive me eventually, but for now he didn’t want to see or speak to me. Then he hung up.”

Rule kept petting her. He didn’t say anything.

“I’ve never . . . in all my life he’s never . . . I don’t know what to do with that. I don’t know what to do.”

“He’s a good man. He’s hurting and scared and angry. He thinks you made the wrong decision, but he’s a good man. He loves you.”

She couldn’t have hurt him so much if he didn’t. “There’s no one to hold him the way you’re holding me. He’s got Susan, I guess, and Beth when she gets here, but he’ll want to be strong for them instead of letting them be strong for him. And he’s too angry at Grandmother to let her help. He said she’d gone too far this time. What did he tell you?”

“It was a difficult conversation. I had to tell him that Julia wishes to stay with you and me when she leaves Sam’s lair.”

“When she . . . God. I hadn’t thought about that. I hadn’t thought of it at all. I just assumed she’d go home, but she doesn’t know it’s her home, does she? But that’s what she should do. As hard as it will be on my father to have her there when she doesn’t remember him, it would be worse if she wasn’t there.”

“Hmm.”

“What does that mean?”

“Julia says she won’t live with Edward and we can’t make her. She understands that we consider him her husband. That frightens and angers her.”

“But he’s not going to do anything that . . . mentally she’s a kid! He knows that. He would never take advantage of a twelve-year-old girl.”

He rubbed his cheek along her hair. “What did you want when you were twelve, Lily?”

“To be a cop.”

She felt his smile in the way his cheek moved. “Let me put it this way. Suppose when you were twelve, strangers forced you to marry a man more than forty years older than you. Would you have felt okay about being married to him, living with him, as long as he didn’t touch you?”

“Yech. No. I would have . . . if for some bizarre reason no one could help me, not even Grandmother, I’d . . .” Probably have found a way to make herself a very young widow. But at twelve, she’d had issues her mother didn’t. Julia was unlikely to turn homicidal if forced to live with Lily’s father, but running away was a real possibility. Lily sighed. “We’ve got extra bedrooms. No kitchen and only one bathroom, but plenty of bedrooms.”

“Which is fortunate, because Madame Yu and Li Qin will also be staying with us.”