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?"
"Every day." Ten minutes, as he'd been set to do.
"I don't mean penance. I mean running, being wolf as wolf is meant to be."
Anger licked at Rule's insides. He suppressed it. "Nag later. Did you learn anything?"
"Not much." Cullen slouched back in his chair. "I was in New Orleans. You'll be getting a Visa bill for the trip."
Rule nodded, accepting that for the explanation it was. Cullen's financial morals were peculiar, but within their bounds he was quite straitlaced. If Cullen had billed the trip to him, it was clan business, which meant he'd gone in search of help for Rule's condition. "You went to see a Vodun priest or priestess?"
"The one I hoped to consult hasn't been seen since the hurricane, but I talked to a couple others. One let me use her workshop." He lifted his butt enough to dig into his pocket and pulled out a small, silk-wrapped bundle. "Don't say I never gave you anything."
Rule unfastened the black silk gingerly. The contents were unremarkable: a single white feather. It looked like it had come from a chicken. "I hope I'm not supposed to eat this."
Cullen snorted. "No, you wear it next to your skin. Just a sec…" He dug into another pocket. "Here." He passed Rule a thin strip of leather. "This has been purified. Use it, not silver or gold. The original charm wards off evil spirits—not exactly your problem, but we tinkered with it."
"We?"
"The priestess whose workshop I used helped me work out some of the changes. The original charm was Vodun—got it from the guy who's missing—so I needed advice on the modifications. If it works, it'll stop the demon stuff from growing."
"And if it doesn't?" Rule picked up the feather. There was a small silver cap on one end with a loop to run the leather strip through.
"I suppose it could cause a rash." He grimaced. "Hell, Rule, I don't know. It's the strongest charm I could make. I think it will work, but I don't know. Even if it does, it won't last more than a week. Maybe less."
Rule turned the charm between his fingers. It felt like just a feather, no zing or punch at all. He wondered what it would feel like to Lily. "Blood magic, Cullen?" Most Vodun magic involved blood, or so Cullen had once told him. And most blood magic came with an expiration date.
Cullen scowled. "It's not black."
But it was probably gray. Rule suspected that any moral penalties from the charm wouldn't redound to him but to his friend. It was probably too late to object. The charm was made. Refusing it wouldn't lessen any price Cullen had agreed to pay.
But he didn't like it. He didn't like it at all. "Our friendship is getting unbalanced. You went to hell for me. Now you've taken on God knows what kind of burden to—"
"Shove it. First, you were my friend when it cost you—and don't tell me it didn't. Second, you're now my Lu Nuncio. What happens to you affects the whole clan. I'm allowed to protect the clan."
Rule turned away abruptly and grabbed the chicken carcass. He yanked open the refrigerator. "Do you have any idea what that's like? People guarding me, protecting me, paying for my safety with their lives—do you know what that's like?" He grabbed the milk, spun, and hurled it across the room.
The carton splatted against the wall. Milk went everywhere.
"Feel better?" Cullen said cheerfully.
"No." What a mess. What a goddamned mess.
"Funny. It usually brightens my day to break things. Oh, well." He shoved back his chair. "Let's get it cleaned up. Where's your brotherly shadow?"
"You," Rule said, incredulous, "are going to help clean up?"
"I'll hand you the sponge and point out any spots you miss." He looked around. "Where is the sponge?"
Rueful, Rule shook his head. "That's going to take more than a sponge." He went to the pantry and took out the mop. "Benedict's upstairs with Toby. I promised not to leave the house without him."
"I'm surprised he agreed to put a whole floor between you."
"The warden cut me a deal." His brother had probably heard everything—Rule's temper tantrum, much of their current conversation. Benedict's hearing was uncanny, even for a lupus. Rule picked up the burst carton. "Throw that away, will you? I'm supposed to spar with Freddie later." Methodically, he began mopping. "For some reason everyone thinks I'm strung a little tight."
"If you start acting as erratic as me, we're in trouble." Cullen dumped the carton in the trash and added quietly, "You've had more… incidents, haven't you? Blackouts, I guess we could call them."
"Four." He carried the mop to the sink, rinsed it, and brought it back to finish. Three times in the last two days his memory had simply ceased working. "The gaps are short—between ten and twenty minutes. So far, no other symptoms. Lily knows about one. I haven't told her about the other three, so don't mention them."