Rule answered with a smile. The woman—who was in her late forties, at a guess—smiled back shyly. That was better than slipping him her phone number, Lily supposed. Babies weren’t the only ones who adored Rule.
Her phone chimed the opening bars to “The Star Spangled Banner” as Rule passed their seats, no doubt returning the sleeping charmer to his mom. Lily answered. It turned out to be Ida, rather than Ruben himself, letting her know that a preliminary police report was in her e-mail in-box; they were booked into the Doubletree Hotel downtown; and they’d be met at the airport by an Agent Sjorensen from the local office.
Lily disconnected, ignoring the scowl of the pudgy man across the aisle. The FAA gave Unit agents a pass on the no-cell-phones rule. That was part politics, part practicality, because almost all Unit agents were Gifted.
Post-Turning, airlines used routes that didn’t directly overfly nodes, but ambient magic levels were rising even away from nodes, and magic was not good for tech. They’d discovered that having one or more Gifted aboard a plane meant a significant drop in the number of instrument malfunctions. The theory was that the Gifted unconsciously soaked up enough juice to make a difference.
The theory was true in her case. Lily had found out the hard way that she not only sopped up stray magic the way dragons did—though on a much lesser scale—but she could do it intentionally. One-on-one.
Twice now, she’d drained another’s magic.
The first time had been an accident. A killer had used her Earth Gift to trigger an earthquake. Lily had stopped her without realizing what she’d done, much less how. Afterward, the woman’s Gift had been gone, but Lily had assumed she’d burnt out.
The second time Lily had done it very much on purpose. If she hadn’t acted, she’d have died, along with most of the people she loved. And at the very least, Southern California would have descended into unremitting nightmare so that an out-realm being could feast on human fear.
No regrets there. Nightmares sometimes—hello, Helen, back again?—but no regrets. Still, Lily wasn’t reconciled to everything she’d learned about herself recently. Turned out her Gift wasn’t a human ability. Like the mindspeech she was so far flunking, it came from another aspect of her heritage, one she hadn’t known about until last month.
The dragon aspect.
Sam did not want her calling him Grandfather—and thank God for that—but in terms of magical ancestry rather than DNA, that’s what he was.
Lily drummed her fingers. Why did things have to keep changing? There’d been so much of that this past year. Things she’d always known about herself had turned slippery. Not quite false, but not quite true, either.
Did she want a baby? Yes, she admitted, looking out the small, thick window obscured by cloud. Or no, not really, at least not now. Or maybe that was a yes, however heavily qualified. But it wasn’t really up to her, was it?
Rule slid into the seat beside hers. “Seems to be raining in Nashville,” he observed, pulling his seat belt around him.
“Seems to be. You’re relaxed. Jiggling a screaming baby calms you?”
“Cute little bugger, isn’t he?”
“Were you ever a tender?” That’s what lupi called those of the clan, male and female, who tended children at Clanhome. There were a few permanent tenders, but most only worked for a year or two to give everyone a chance at it. Tending was a sought-after position.
“For a while in my late twenties, yes.” He smiled reminiscently. “I had four months with the babies and three with preteens. Later I had a brief stint tending the toddlers—that’s real work.” But his face said the memory was pleasant.
“You weren’t Lu Nuncio yet?”
He shook his head. “Once I was named, I had other duties.”
She hesitated. “Rule, back when we met, you told me that a Lu Nuncio had to prove himself through blood, combat, and fertility. I wasn’t clan then, so you couldn’t mention the—uh, the thing I can’t mention here.” The mantle, that is. Only those connected by blood to the Rho could carry it, so that was the “blood” component. Combat meant exactly what it sounded like, but fertility … “You were named Lu Nuncio well before Toby was born.”
His expression faltered, flattened. After a moment he said, “A lady I was with when I was thirty became pregnant. The child was mine. She miscarried, but technically, my fertility had been proven.”
Lily took his hand. She said nothing, asked none of the questions that pushed at her. The miscarriage had happened over twenty years ago, but his pain was still palpable.
His grip tightened on hers, then relaxed. “Her name was Sarah. She miscarried in the fourth month.”
Cautiously Lily ventured a question. “No one doubted your word about it? I mean, you knew it was your baby, but there was no proof.”
His eyebrows lifted. “It wouldn’t occur to anyone to doubt me. It’s … all but inconceivable that any of us might lie about siring a child. Even if I had, however, I couldn’t lie successfully to my Rho.” He stroked the side of her hand with his thumb. “I should have told you about this earlier.”
Probably. When he told her Toby was his only child and would probably always be his only child—that would have been a good time. But… “You didn’t keep it from me on purpose.”
He slid her a glance. “I only learned last month about a man you once loved.”
She smiled. “I didn’t keep it from you on purpose.”
He squeezed her hand.
The captain came on the intercom to tell them they’d be landing shortly, then a stewardess began announcing gates for those who had a connecting flight.
“Rule …”
“Yes?”
“Does it ever get easier? I mean …” She groped for words. Rule might look thirty, but he’d turn fifty-five in a couple of months. He ought to know stuff she didn’t. “Do you ever get your feet planted solidly enough that you don’t lose your balance when something new turns up? Something you didn’t know about yourself until—pow! There it is, right in your face.”
He looked at her a moment, his eyes dark and serious. Then he smiled, raised her hand to his lips, and kissed it. “No.”
AGENT Sjorensen met them inside the security perimeter. She had icy blond hair, red-framed glasses, and creamy skin; looked about twenty, but had to be older. Good jacket. Her skirt was too long for her height—which was short, about the same as Lily’s—and she wouldn’t be able to run in those heels.
But they were great heels. Red patent leather peep-toes.
Her mouth was a pink cupid’s bow. Her eyes were big and blue. She compensated for these professional drawbacks with a short, no-nonsense hairstyle and a ban on smiling. “Special Agent Yu.” She nodded briskly, but didn’t offer to shake hands. “And you’re Rule Turner.”
“I am, yes.” Rule seemed to be trying to hide amusement.
“And these are—?” She gestured at LeBron and Jeff, who were standing behind Rule.
“LeBron Hastings and Jeffrey Lane,” Lily said. “They’re Rule’s bodyguards. It’s a clan thing.” She held out a hand. “You’re Agent Sjorensen, I take it. First name Anna?”
The woman’s pale cheeks flushed. “Yes, of course. I should have …” She noticed Lily’s hand and belatedly took it.
Oh, my. Lily had only touched that sort of magic once, but that once had been memorable. Lily released Sjorensen’s hand.
“You pronounced my name correctly. People mostly don’t, since my grandfather didn’t Anglicize the spelling.”
Lily made a mental note to discuss what she’d learned from that handshake when she and Sjorensen were alone. The woman deserved privacy for that discussion. “I had a Swedish roommate one semester. It drove her nuts when people put a hard j in her name instead of y. Jeff and LeBron won’t be going with us—I just wanted you to be aware of them.” As she spoke Rule nodded to the guards, and they moved off. The two of them would pick up the luggage and meet them at the hotel.