She considered that as they followed the hearse in a stately procession. "There seem to be a lot of cars headed for Nutley."
"I noticed," Rule said grimly. "I think we're arriving with half of Leidolf. Randall's memorial will follow Paul's tomorrow. The clan is coming for that, both out of respect and because Victor will call the naming then."
"You mean he'll name the new heir tomorrow?"
"No, that's when he sets the date for the ceremony. Traditionally the Rho calls the naming, then speaks the names of those of the blood—the ones who potentially could carry the mantle."
"But it always goes to a son of the Rho."
"Almost always," he corrected. "The blood is strongest in a son of the Rho, but others in the clan will have founder's blood, too. We're hoping like hell Victor breaks with that particular tradition."
"But could he name Brady? I thought the heir had to have at least one son."
"Brady sired twin sons several years ago. One was stillborn, but the other lived a few days. Technically, that qualifies him, but the clan won't like it. I'm not sure they'd accept him."
"Do they have a choice?"
"There's the testing. It's part of the ceremony. Victor names his heir, then he's tested."
"Challenged, he means," Cullen put in. "That's one of the reasons for the wait between calling the naming and holding it. It gives the clan time to talk over who will handle the Challenge. When Rule was named, of course, there wasn't any question about that. Benedict Challenged."
"What?" She swung around to stare at the big man. "You Challenged Rule? Fought him?"
It was Rule who answered her. "If the heir can't command the most powerful fighter in the clan, he can't be Rho. I wouldn't call Benedict's Challenge a formality," he added with a thread of amusement, very dry. "He made me work. But if he hadn't been willing to have me as heir, I wouldn't have won."
"There's always at least one Challenger," Cullen said. "No matter how popular the choice of heir. But there can be more. If Brady is named, I'm betting there will be plenty."
"Is he likely to win a Challenge? Is he a good fighter?"
Cullen sighed. "He's good. Rule could take him. So could Benedict, but that goes without saying. I'm not sure who within Leidolf—"
Benedict spoke in his deep, quiet voice. "Victor will not name Brady unless he wishes his son dead. Alex Thibodaux is a good fighter, and he has honor. If Brady is named, Alex will Challenge and kill him."
That notion seemed to brighten everyone's day.
THE little town of Nutley looked worn but not worn out—lived-in, Lily decided, mentally comparing the streets they passed to the map she'd studied. She liked to know where things were, just in case. They were second in a small line of vehicles behind the hearse, whose driver held to his principles and drove below the speed limit.
She returned to the cancer question, turning her head to ask Cullen, "What's this organizing principle you mentioned?"
"If you figure that out, let me know."
Benedict spoke quietly. "Some say it's purely physical, that the magic takes its template from our bodies. Some say our will or intent shapes it. And some believe the Lady creates a pattern for each of us."
She twisted further to look at him, sitting directly behind her. "Which do you believe?"
"If it came from the Lady, it would work all the time. No one would develop cancer. If it came from our bodies, we'd all be ;
about thirteen years old, physically—the age of our first Change, !
when the magic arrives. If will or intent formed it, old bastards like Victor would live forever. He's got the will for it."
He'd just eliminated every theory he'd mentioned. "But what do you believe?"
"That the adolescent cancer arises when a lupus's body tries to reject the magic, and the two battle instead of melding. That we live to a certain age because we're supposed to. That some suffer cancer in old age because sin has twisted their magic."
"Sin?" she repeated, startled. It was the last thing she'd expected from Benedict. "That's… very biblical of you."
And it was all he intended to say, apparently. He didn't respond.
"Benedict can be downright Old Testament at times," Rule said, "for someone who was raised to follow traditional Navajo beliefs."
They were climbing now, leaving Nutley behind. Lily tried to set her mind on the case, on what their options would be if the Chicago lead didn't pan out. But she was so damned aware of Rule she couldn't concentrate.
It still hit her at times, this physical draw. Mate bond or love? She wasn't sure—was no longer sure it mattered. But it embarrassed her to feel this physical acuity with others present. It wasn't arousal, precisely, but it led that way.
Still, she found herself watching him. Warm afternoon light slid over his face, marking the strong cheekbones. She loved his eyebrows, those winged slashes so much more expressive than her own. His hands on the wheel drew her gaze. Strong hands, long fingers… gold glinted at his wrist. He'd worn a watch today; he'd didn't always. The cuffs of his dress shirt looked very white against his skin and the dark wool of his suit jacket.
Like most of the Western world, lupi wore dark colors for funerals. But they wore them for all important ceremonies, also.
Black, deepest blue, and charcoal represented the depths through which the moon moved.
At least, that's what they wore when they wore anything at all. Lily was glad this wasn't one of the skin-only ceremonies. Not that she'd have had to strip—nudity was required only of those who might Change. But where do you look in a crowd of naked men?
She was pretty sure where her eyes would be drawn.
Since nudity was, thankfully, not called for, Lily had packed * her best black slacks and jacket; she'd wear a dark blue shell beneath. Funeral colors weren't necessary until the memorial tomorrow. Though Paul would be buried tonight, only his closest kin would be present for that. Lupi considered burial a private business.
The coat Rule had given her was slung over the back of the seat. The cleaners had delivered it just before they left. She wished they'd been a few hours slower. Paul had bled into that coat.
The hearse was slowing. Its turn signal came on. Nearly showtime, she thought as they, too, slowed for the turn.
The hearse bumped off down a dirt road. They turned—and stopped abruptly. Three men wearing blades much like Benedict's had stepped in front of their car. Lily glanced at the others. They seemed calm, as if they'd expected mis.
One of the men stepped up to the window, which Rule opened. "Nokolai isn't welcome here."
"I'm accompanying the body of Paul Chernowich—as you know."
"He isn't." The guard jerked his chin toward Benedict in the backseat.
"If there is a ceremony, Nokolai must witness it as well as Lei-dolf. My brother accompanies me for that and because of the threat of demon attack, not from any lack of respect for Leidolf. My Chosen is with me," Rule added. "It would be odd if I—or Leidolf—refused her the protection my brother can provide."
The guards discussed it among themselves, then consulted someone via cell phone while four cars behind them waited. The hearse waited up ahead, too, its driver having realized his escort was detained. Eventually the guards announced that Benedict would be allowed onto Leidolf land if he surrendered his right to Challenge.
Benedict refused. He made a counteroffer: he would avoid all Challenges if possible and would bind himself not to Challenge someone named Alex.
"That's his counterpart," Cullen explained while the guards consulted some more. "Head of their security, and their best fighter. He'd have to accept a Challenge if Benedict issued one."
"The others wouldn't?"
Rule took up the explanation. "Benedict's reputation makes it unlikely that anyone but a young fool would accept a Challenge from him. It would be an embarrassment to refuse a Challenge, but no real loss of status in this case. Everyone knows Benedict would win. But Alex's position makes him a sort of placeholder for the Lu Nuncio the clan currently lacks. His refusal of a Challenge would reflect upon the entire clan. If Benedict Challenged, Alex would have to accept."