Lily wobbled her hand back and forth, miming uncertainty. “Sure, it could be her, but we’ve thought that before and it wasn’t. I don’t think the attack on me really suggests her. When she went after me before, she wanted me alive so she could eat me or my magic or something. Last night’s shooter wanted me dead.”
Rule’s face closed down, which meant he was upset. “You thwarted her earlier plans, not once but twice. She holds a grudge.”
“Maybe, but surely she’s imaginative enough to know that there are lots worse things she could do than kill me. If I was more useful to her alive a few months ago, why would killing me be a good idea all of a sudden?”
“Because her plans have changed. Not her goal. I doubt that has changed since she was defeated in the Great War. Three thousand some-odd years isn’t a long time to an Old One.”
“And that goal is—?”
“To possess the Earth. To remake it to suit her values, her notions of what is good and proper.”
Lily drummed her fingers. “Having her avatar eaten by a hell lord may have set back her world conquest schedule.”
“Unless that’s what she intended. A year’s delay in nothing . She may have needed that time to subjugate the demon lord who ingested whatever portion of her was held by her avatar. A demon lord would make a much more powerful avatar than one born human.”
That was the problem with dealing with a perp who had, supposedly, been around since the universe kicked off—or maybe before that. The Great Bitch wasn’t omnipotent or omniscient, but her knowledge, experience, and abilities were so far beyond the human it was impossible to guess her plans. “If the Old Ones fought a war to stop her once, wouldn’t they step in now if she were trying to take over Earth?”
“Not directly. Neither they nor she can enter any realms where humans live. The Great War was fought, in part, so that those on my Lady’s side could impose just that restriction.”
“The good-guy Old Ones restricted themselves? Permanently?”
He spread his hands. “We are taught that they amended their reality in order to allow the younger races a chance to create their own.”
That was too mystical entirely for Lily. She drummed her fingers again. “Why Ruben? Why would she want him taken out?”
“I don’t know. I can speculate. His precognitive ability combined with his position may be a threat to her plans. But I don’t know.”
It was all too mushy. They had no real reason to suspect the Great Bitch’s involvement, but almost anything could be made to fit that scenario when they knew so little about her plans, methods, and capabilities. It reminded Lily of the way people in medieval times thought the devil was behind every illness and misfortune. “If your milk cow dries up, blame it on her,” she muttered.
“What?”
“Never mind.” Maybe it was her brain that was mushy. Hot licks of pain kept grabbing her attention, disrupting her train of thought. Damned pain. Couldn’t God or evolution or whatever have arranged things so pain didn’t have to hurt quite this much?
Rule was frowning, more in thought than temper. “It’s possible the attack on Ruben was her agent’s idea and promotes his plans, not hers.”
“What do you mean?”
“If Robert Friar is her agent—”
“Whoa. That’s a giant step.”
“She has to act through agents, just as my Lady does, since she’s prohibited from acting directly. Why not Friar? He’s cunning and wary and wealthy. He already has followers, an organization of sorts, and he hates us.”
She looked at him, ruffled and irritated and not sure why. “You realize you’ve stepped off into pure speculation? There’s a suggestion that Friar could be involved, but it’s wispy. Enough to justify looking into the possibility, no more. We don’t have even a wisp to say that she’s involved, much less anything linking her to Friar.”
“I’m entitled to a hunch,” he said mildly, “even if I lack Ruben’s accuracy.”
She frowned at her hand. Her only useable hand. “I’m going to be a real bitch for a while, I think.”
He touched her cheek lightly. “I’m tough. I can handle it.”
She looked up. “You think she’s involved, don’t you?”
“Isen does. I won’t adopt his conclusion without hearing his reasoning, but I respect his judgment. Also …” He got that far, then drifted into silence, frowning at his thoughts.
“Keep going.”
“If she is moving, preparing an assault on us and our world,” he said slowly, “our Lady would know this. She’d be working through her agents to stop her enemy.” He paused, meeting Lily’s eyes. “ We are the Lady’s agents. Lupi. It is very rare that she speaks to us directly through a Rhej, and she has not done that. But she has done something she hasn’t done since she created us. She has gifted one of us with a second Chosen.”
TWENTY-FOUR
ARJENIE was awake before the sun the next day. Her body was still on East Coast time, plus she’d ended up going to bed early—and without that second cup of coffee.
Shortly after Isen’s announcement that some mysterious woman was conspiring against lupi, Arjenie had been informed she was tired. True, but more to the point, Benedict had wanted to talk with Isen privately. So it was Cullen Seabourne who’d escorted her to her room, and he’d refused to tell her anything about this mysterious female enemy Isen thought was conspiring against his people.
Cullen was still around when she woke up. So was her suitcase. She discovered the latter as soon as she put on her glasses. The former was obvious after she got dressed and opened her door. Then stood in the doorway, staring.
Cullen was out there, all right, walking down the hall … on his hands.
He glanced at her. His legs lowered with easy precision, arching his body into a perfect backbend. He rose from that as naturally as another person might rise from a chair. “Ready for breakfast?”
“Yes. Wow. That was amazing. Where’s Benedict? And how did my suitcase get here?”
“Benedict’s asleep. Even Superwolf needs sleep after skipping it two nights in a row. Your suitcase is here because he thought you’d need your things and sent someone to retrieve it for you. Isen wishes me to apologize on his behalf for removing a few items before giving it to you.”
Like her athame and spell components. She’d noticed. “He may have meant well, but it was presumptuous to enter my hotel room without my permission.”
“Benedict’s good at presumption, not so good with asking permission. You’ll have to work on that. I need to talk to Carl. He makes the second-best omelets in the world, and I’m hungry. Come on.” He started down the hall.
“Wait a minute. I need to use the bathroom. And who makes the first-best omelets?”
He stopped, glancing back at her. The beautiful man hadn’t shaved today. “A woman in a little village in the south of France. Her grandmother taught Carl how to cook, and she keeps chickens. Her eggs are fresher than Carl’s. There’s a bathroom near the kitchen. You can pee while Carl cooks.”
She hmphed, but followed him down the hall to the great room or den. The kitchen, she’d discovered yesterday, opened off it at the other side of the house. “Does Carl actually talk to you?”
“Carl talks about food. Ask him about tarragon and he turns downright chatty.”