Blood Lines (33 page)

Emotion clutched her so tight and fierce it tore her breath away for a moment. But only for a moment. So much had changed . . .

So much was changing, and would continue to change. She looked at Li Qin seated next to her and obeyed a rare impulse. She reached for the other woman’s hand and squeezed it.

Li Qin looked up, surprised. Her cheeks flushed faintly with pleasure. She gave Li Lei that sweet, serene smile.

Love arrived in so many guises. Though it had taken her years, Li Lei had learned not to spurn any of them. She nodded at Li Qin and released her hand.

It was time. “I will speak now.”

TWENTY-SIX

“I
cannot fix it.”

Until Grandmother spoke those words, Lily hadn’t realized how much part of her clung to the idea that Grandmother could, indeed, fix anything. That she would know what to do for Rule.

Childish. If her fear had redoubled after that failed effort, it was her own fault. She’d hidden her hope from herself and was paying the price. Add guilt to that for the way Grandmother had risked herself, and what little she’d been able to eat rested unhappily in her middle.

“By all means,” Rule said, “speak.”

Grandmother was amused by Rule’s sharp tone, but she didn’t stop to fence with him. “I wish your word that what I say does not go beyond this room, save for whatever you choose to tell your father. Your pledge will bind the lupi here.”

Rule considered that a moment, then nodded.

Grandmother looked at Lily. “You will feel it your duty to report to your FBI. I ask only that you speak of this to no one except Ruben Brooks and those on this—what is the silly name? Task force. Yes. You may tell them.” She looked at Cynna. “I do not know you. I do not know what moves you, what your word means to you.”

Cynna stared back at her. “I’m not the one who tried to ensorcell someone.”

Grandmother snorted. “I did not try. In that much, I succeeded. Do I have your word you won’t repeat this except to your FBI people?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

If Grandmother objected to the casual phrasing, she didn’t say so. She looked them all over one more time, then began. “I tell you a tale I believe is true. It was told to me by one who knows, and it begins in times so ancient the suns have since changed. I will skip most of that beginning,” she added dryly. “Or we would be here a very long time. The part that matters today concerns those you call Old Ones.”

“Like the goddess?” Lily asked. “The one we don’t name?”

“Her, and others. Many others. We call them gods, angels, devils—they are none of these, and all. Their true nature is beyond us. Many of them . . . call them guardians, though what they guard is hard to say. Reality, perhaps. They are those who remained when the last Great Cycle ended and the universe died and was reborn.”

Rule made a small noise. “Tell me you aren’t talking about the big bang.”

“Scientists name it that.” She shrugged. “I tell you only that some from the last Cycle lingered into this one, though whether they stayed from duty or love, avarice or failure, karma or choice, I do not say. Perhaps only part of them stayed behind. Our words do not stretch to encompass such as they. Some of them took as their purpose the balance between the realms.”

She paused to sip her tea and made a face. “Cold tea,” she announced, “is an abomination. Perhaps three thousand years ago, those who tend the balance saw it was in danger. Others disagreed. There was much conflict, much devastation.”

“The Great War,” Rule said slowly. “You’re speaking of the Great War.”

She nodded once. “It touched our realm but was fought in many. Your Lady played a part, as did your people. In the end, those concerned with balance won. They . . . moved things.”

Lily licked dry lips. “Uh . . . the realms?”

“Yes. Such a feat is difficult, even for them. But enough of them chose to work together to do this much: our Earth was closed to most of the other realms. Magic here dwindled—slowly at first, so that for centuries little seemed different. Then faster. And they—even they—were forbidden to enter here or to meddle in our affairs.”

“That’s why the Great Bitch can’t cross?” Cullen said sharply. “Because she’s forbidden by others of Her kind?”

Li Lei shrugged again. “
Forbidden
is a human word. I do not know what laws or bindings act on such as they.”

“The task force,” Lily said suddenly. “Fagin, the guy in charge, believes that magic began dwindling about four hundred years ago, not three thousand.”

Grandmother looked at her. “His guess is not so bad. By then, the remaining magic was not enough to . . . hold things together. That is when the dragons left, and the last of the elves, and many others of the Blood, and their leaving made a hole. Magic poured out faster than ever. And the Book of All Magic—”

“Was lost,” Cullen broke in. “Or was it?”

Grandmother fixed him with a severe stare. “You,” she announced, “are going to be a problem.” She folded her hands on the table. “The shift in the realms, the closing of ours from the others, was not meant to be forever. The story I know calls the moment when the realms return to their previous state the Turning. Two nights ago, I felt it happen.”

No one spoke for a long moment. It was Cynna who broke the silence. “Excuse me, but are we supposed to just, you know, believe that? We’d already figured out that the realms are shifting, but the rest of this . . . are you claiming that, of all the people on the planet,
you
felt this Turning and knew what it was?”

For whatever reason, that made Grandmother smile, as if at a good joke. “Yes.”

“What you’re saying,” Lily said, leaning forward, “is that magic isn’t going to return to the level of four hundred years ago. It will go back to what it was three thousand years ago.”

“Yes. Though not right away, I think.”

“And the Codex Arcanum?” Cullen demanded. “The Book of All Magic. You started to say something about it.”

She looked at him and sighed. “Yes. According to legend . . . theory . . . a good guess,” she decided. “We will call it a good guess, made by the one who told me this tale. He believes that what you call the Codex was taken away and hidden when the magic failed. He believes it will return at the Turning, or be returned—or even that the Turning is a sign it has already returned. As do others,” she finished grimly. “Including She we do not name. That is what She wants: the Codex Arcanum. The Book of All Magic.”

“Don’t tell them,” Cullen said.

Lily stared at him. His eyes were glazed, his face tight with emotion. “What?”

“Don’t tell the FBI about the Codex. I’m not sure I trust me with the knowledge that it’s back—that
maybe
it’s back. I for damned sure don’t trust anyone else.”

“I have to,” she said. “They have to know.”

His eyes flashed with such anger she almost reached for her weapon. He shook his head sharply, thrust his chair back, stood, and strode for the door.

Lily pushed to her feet. “Cullen—”

Rule laid a hand on her arm. “Let him go. He’ll come back when he’s ready.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

HE
wasn’t ready for three days.

While Cullen was gone, Toby did indeed learn to play mah-jongg. So did Timms, who came to see Cullen the day after he took off, then returned at Madam Yu’s regal invitation.

Madam Yu also became a student, or perhaps collaborator was the better word. Or guinea pig. She received a
kilingo
of Cynna’s pain-blocking spell, and when she was able to make it work, Cynna imprinted the spell on two of the guards, who had less success. She didn’t know if the spell lost potency from being copied or if the guards simply weren’t able to work a spell of that sort. They decided to wait for Cullen’s return before imprinting it on anyone else.

Rule’s wound healed completely, though the scar remained. And he continued to lose time.

Early Tuesday morning, Cullen turned up at the door, unshaven and looking like he’d slept in his clothes. Which Rule assumed he had, for however little time he’d spent sleeping. “Have you eaten?” he asked, holding the door.

“Yes.” Cullen frowned. “Not lately, though, now that you mention it.”

“The kitchen, then.” Rule headed that way.

They met Lily winging through on her way to the back door. She wore one of her pretty suits, this one with a dark blue jacket and a black pencil skirt. The coat he’d given her wasn’t back from the cleaners yet, so she was shrugging into the Lands’ End jacket.

Her face went blank. “Cullen.”

“Like the proverbial bad penny, here I am once more.” He sank into one of the chairs, a subtle lessening in his usual grace telling Rule exhaustion rode him hard. “Miss me?”

She scowled. “I was worried.”

“That I’d absconded with your secrets and gone off to pursue the you-know-what?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ve got to go,” she told Rule, and came to him for a quick kiss . . . which didn’t turn out to be so quick. He handed her the umbrella she kept forgetting. This was the third day of drizzle, but Lily hadn’t adjusted to the notion of consistent wetness. She frowned at it, patted his arm, and sped out the door without looking back.

Normal. They both worked at keeping things as normal as possible. Rule knew she was afraid for him—he smelled it on her—but they both pretended otherwise. It helped.

Cullen was looking him up and down. “It’s stronger. Not by much, but . . . stronger.”

Rule kept his expression even. “So Lily says, also. Do you want eggs or meat?”

“Meat.” Cullen propped his elbows on the table and leaned his head into his hands, scrubbing his face. “Where’s Cynna?”

“Albuquerque.” They’d eaten deli food last night. Rule took what was left of the rotisserie chickens from the refrigerator. “She left last night.”

“Albuquerque?” Cullen straightened. “What the hell’s she doing in Albuquerque?”

“Did you think you could set her down, go away, and find her still where you put her when you came back?” Rule poured a glass of milk. “You know women better than that. Here.”

“I didn’t think—” Cullen began indignantly, then broke off and grinned. “All right. I didn’t think, and that’s going to bite my tail, isn’t it? But really—why Albuquerque?”

“She’s interviewing one of Jiri’s former students. So is Lily, though her target lives much closer, in Baltimore.”

“Ah.” Cullen lost interest.

Lily—via Ruben—had pried open the Secret Service’s files on those in Jiri’s inner circle. One was in prison; three had vanished beyond the ability of the Secret Service to locate; two were dead. Of the remaining four, Lily had spoken with two, sent Cynna to talk to one, and was supposed to meet with the last one today.

Fortunately, the mate bond was in one of its more elastic periods, and Baltimore was less than forty miles away. Even if her target lay on the far side of the city, it shouldn’t be a problem.

Cullen had gone back to scrubbing his face, probably trying to stay awake long enough to eat. Rule sliced off a drumstick and thigh, put it on a plate and set that, a fork, and the plastic tub of potato salad in front of his friend. “Eat,” he said, and sat opposite him.

Cullen needed no encouragement, tearing into the chicken as if it had been days since he’s eaten. That was unlikely. He might delay sleep more than was wise, but he kept himself fueled. It was one of the few good habits he’d developed while clanless. Lone wolves couldn’t afford to get too hungry.

With the chicken reduced to bones, he started on the potato salad. “I wasn’t off sulking, you know. At least, not the whole time.”

“I realize that. Lily, however, has known you during one of your more stable periods,” Rule said calmly. “Her expectations are different.”

Cullen looked up, his eyes dark with anger—then gave a bark of laughter. “Women and expectations. Go together, don’t they?” He sighed, pushed the empty container away, and picked up the glass of milk. “I’m feeling a tad volatile. You may have noticed. I should probably go burn something.”

Rule let his eyebrows express astonishment. “You mean you haven’t?”

Cullen’s grin was easier this time, less edged. “No. Haven’t been laid in far too long, either.” He broke off to yawn hugely. “Lord, I’m tired. I did spend some time four-footed. Have you?”