“That’s right.”
“Well, why? You all seem pretty suspicious of each other. Why are they exempt?”
“It’s a long story and an old one. “
“You’re good at summaries.”
Rule heard the smile in his brother’s voice. “I’ll attempt it. Have you heard of Horatio at the bridge?”
“Of course. Though his name was really Horatius. He and two other generals held off invading Etruscans until the bridge could be destroyed, then he leaped into the river in his armor and swam to safety despite a spear wound. He actually lived through it. I don’t think the other two did.”
“Etorri performed a similar feat, though in worse circumstances and with far worse casualties. Their Rho sacrificed his entire clan holding off the dworg at a narrow pass. Had he retreated, as it seemed he must, the dworg would have attacked the rest of the force from the rear during a pivotal battle. The clans would have been decimated or destroyed, and our world might well have fallen to the Great Bitch.”
Arjenie digested that a moment. “Dworg?”
“Imagine the offspring of a troll and a demon.”
Cullen snorted. “Only not as mellow and harder to kill. Happily, there aren’t any dworg left. At least not in our realm, and I hope not anywhere. Here.” He held something out to Lily. “We’re nearly there. Time to take up charms against the foe.”
Lily accepted the small silver disk, etched on one side. “All I have to do is lick it?”
“Or dunk it in any liquid—water, blood, lemonade. Doesn’t matter. Wetting it activates it, then slap it against someone’s skin. Got to be flesh to flesh to work.”
Weapons were strictly prohibited at the circle … but a sleep charm was not a weapon. Cullen had made one for each of them, holding on to Lily’s until the last minute because her Gift would slowly leach power from it. A very small amount, true, but Cullen had fashioned the charms to hold very little power—so little that they wouldn’t trigger a charm designed to detect magic, if anyone bothered to check.
Arjenie was still focused on Etorri. “So you trust them because of what one man did a long time ago?”
Rule answered this time. “We honor them for that, and always will. We trust them because, in the three millennia since, their honor remains unstained.” He did not glance at Cullen. “It’s not that they’re saints. An individual Etorri can be selfish, misguided, self-righteous., prickly, arrogant … but he will not break honor. Etorri agreed to camp on the mesa last night and hold it as neutral ground for the rest of us. They will have done so.”
Arjenie frowned. “Isn’t Nokolai honorable?”
Cullen chuckled. “Sure. But Nokolai is taking sleep charms to an heirs’ circle.”
“What he means,” Lily said, slipping her phone back in her purse, “is that Nokolai likes to be tricky. We don’t intend to use the charms. They’re a last resort. But we’re sure as hell exploiting a loophole in the ‘no weapons’ rule by carrying them. I guess Etorri wouldn’t do that.”
We. She’d spoken of Nokolai as “we” quite automatically. Warmth flooded Rule. “I doubt it would occur to Frederick or Stephen to do such a thing.”
“Honorable and thickheaded,” Cullen said. “That’s Etorri. I prefer a clan known for thinking. Looks like we’ve arrived,” he added.
Benedict had pulled to a stop in the turnaround, but not at the curb. He got out, leaving the motor running, and moved several orange traffic cones out of the street, then climbed back in and parked so that those in the car had a view of the street leading to the turnaround.
The traffic cones had not been placed with the approval of the California Department of Transportation. Lily had winced when she learned how Nokolai intended to secure parking spaces for everyone, but she hadn’t argued. She understood the need to keep innocent bystanders at a distance.
Rule pulled his phone from his shirt pocket and placed a call. “Scott,” he said, “as soon as you’ve parked, take my compliments to Stephen and tell him Leidolf and Nokolai are here and await the rest.”
“Will do. Kyffin’s a block behind me,” Scott said as the white Hyundai pulled up behind their car. “I think Ybirra’s a few cars behind them.”
“Excellent.” Rule disconnected and looked over his shoulder. A wiry man with short hair and gold-framed glasses climbed out of the Hyundai and set off at an easy lope for the apartment complex to the north. The glasses were an affectation—there was nothing wrong with Scott’s vision. He liked the geek look. It helped him pass for human.
“Why don’t you just call the Etorri guy?” Arjenie asked. “Doesn’t he have a mobile phone?”
Rule had done that, of course, earlier. He was confident the others had, also. But … “There’s a political and a practical reason,” he said, settling back against the seat to wait. “The political reason is that the other clans have insisted on following old protocols, developed when travel was time-consuming and arduous, for this meeting. I observe that respect for the formality of the past by using another old protocol and notifying Etorri personally.”
“That’s sarcasm, lupi style,” Lily added. “What he means is that Wythe and Ybirra have been jackasses, so he’ll make them wait while we do things ceremonially.”
Rule flashed her a grin. “More or less, yes.”
“And the practical reason?”
Benedict answered tersely. “Friar. We don’t know what he’s capable of. Best to have someone check on Etorri in person. Kyffin has arrived.”
“I noticed.” A black Impala was easing into the turnaround. When Rule saw who was behind the wheel, he couldn’t help grinning. In defiance of all protocol, Myron had driven himself to the meeting, leaving his guard to ride shotgun. There was some logic to this. Myron—in spite of being Lu Nuncio—was a terrible fighter. Best to leave his guard’s hands and eyes free for any threats, because Myron was not the man to counter them.
When the Kyffin Rho had assumed his clan’s mantle, his son had still been diapers. But he’d had two cousins who clearly carried the founder’s blood; both good fighters with good control, obvious candidates for Lu Nuncio.
Instead Jason had named his uncle, a very clever man but a poor fighter … who would rejoice when the time came to transfer the heirship to his great-nephew. A few decades back, Myron had been an enthusiastic hippie, participating in peace demonstrations and civil rights marches. Today he was a reluctant and irreverent Lu Nuncio.
Jason could get away with a less than combat-ready Lu Nuncio because he was young, popular with his clan, and an excellent fighter himself. Plus Kyffin was one of the least combative clans. Rule had heard of only one Challenge within Kyffin since Jason became Rho, and Jason had fought it himself.
Kyffin’s technique would not work with Leidolf. Especially not with Rule as Rho.
As the Impala parked behind Scott’s Hyundai, a red Camry slowed for the turnaround. Rule got a glimpse of the passenger in the rear seat. Javier Mendoza, Ybirra Lu Nuncio. He reached for Lily’s hand, but spoke to his brother. “We’ll wait on Wythe. They’ll be right behind.”
Sure enough, a second Camry—this one silver—glided into the turnaround before the first had parked. The windows were heavily tinted, but Rule was betting that was Edgar’s son, Brian.
Rule waited until that car, too, had parked. Then he waited another few minutes, until a red Ford joined their parked cavalcade.
“Showtime,” he said, and reached for the handle of his door. Benedict reached for his. Together they opened their doors and got out.
THIRTY-SEVEN