She eyed him. He might be using, he might be none too clean, but he kept himself up—the shoulders and chest said he worked out regularly. A hardbody, she thought, with a face that used to be pretty before it got so used up. Jiri's type, all right, and not for spellwork.
Lily hadn't gotten much in the way of facts from her contact—just this guy's name, that he'd been tight with Jiri, and roughly when he left the movement. Cynna made a guess and went with it. "I'm told you do know things. A lot of things. You were her favorite, weren't you?"
"For a while." He puffed like he couldn't suck the cigarette down fast enough. "You know Jiri. She do love variety."
"She kept you around for a couple years, though. Right up till she did her last fade. No one's seen her since."
"Who told you? Who told you that?"
"The way it Works is, I ask. You answer. Did you get mad when she nudged you out of bed for someone else?"
"Hunh. You forget what it's like? She don't mind having more'n one in bed, when she's in the mood."
"But she kicked you out. You didn't leave because you were ready. What's the matter? Did she wring you so dry you couldn't get it up anymore?"
"Bitch." He said that without rancor.
She needed him mad or scared or both. Hadn't pushed the right button yet. "Who'd she put in your place?"
A twitch—small, but she caught it—under his eye. Like a nervous tic. "How'd I know? I was gone."
Cynna pressed him on it, but he knew better than to spill. So she switched tacks, wandering idly around the filthy room. "Guess you won't miss this place too much. You given any thought to where you'll go?"
He glowered at her. "Whatcha mean? I ain't going nowhere."
"No?" She stopped, turning to face him in surprise. "And here I thought you were a survivor. You just going to hang here, wait for her to send one of her pets?"
"She ain't gonna do that. I ain't' told you nothing—'cause I don't have nothing to tell."
"Wonder if that's what she'll think? I mean, she's going to hear that I came around. My face is kind of hard to mistake. People saw me headed here, so—"
"I din't tell you nothing," he insisted.
"Yeah, and we both know how she likes to give the benefit of the doubt, don't we?" She came closer and looked him in the eye. They were almost exactly the same height. "See, the mistake you're making, Hamid, is you're looking so hard at Jiri and what she might do that you can't see what's right in front of you."
"Like what?" His lip curled. "You? You ran off. Things got too mean and scary, and you took off."
She flipped her left hand over, and the Burger King wrapper near his foot burst into flame.
She watched, pleased, as he yelped and grabbed a half-empty liter of Coke, upending it over the flames. She'd been practicing that. She couldn't call fire directly the way Cullen did—even a few poky little flames drew down her power too much to be practical, and she had to use a spell. But fire did impress people.
Hamid rounded on her. "Crazy bitch! You crazy!"
He was mad, but he was sweating now. She sauntered up and put her face near his. "I wasn't her favorite, Hamid, like you were. Sex doesn't mean that much to her. Power does, and she shared some of that with me. She taught me things she didn't teach anyone else. You're right that I'm not as scary as she is… but I'm here. She isn't. You want to keep me happy."
"Christ on a crutch! You know what she'll do if I tell you anything!"
"You might as well, because she'll assume you did. She knows me. She knows you. She'll know which of us came out on top here."
When she left the dirty room, Hamid was scurrying around, snatching up his few belongings. He was scared enough to use the money she'd given him to relocate instead of squirting it up his nose.
Out on the sidewalk she took a deep breath. Car exhausts smelled great after that place.
She hadn't crossed any lines, she assured herself as she started back the way she'd come. Burning people was a big no-no, but intimidation was okay. And she'd gotten what she needed, hadn't she?
According to Hamid, Tommy Cordoba had started out in Jiri's bed, but he'd gone on to join a much more exclusive club. She'd made him her apprentice.
It was possible Jiri wasn't behind the murders, after all. If Cordoba had learned enough… not likely, she reminded herself. Jiri didn't share well. Cordoba would have had a hard time learning everything he'd need to know to pull off multiple bindings. It was more likely Jiri had reached a point where she needed an apprentice to handle some of the lower-level demons for her.
But Cynna's step was lighter as she left the old neighborhood.
The air had the heavy, wet feel of snow on the way, so she lengthened her stride. She made it to the Hampstead intersection before the first big flakes started drifting down. She was trying to flag a cab when her palm started itching. Absently she pulled her hands out of her pocket, scratching at one through the glove—
God, you idiot! Her palm—the one with Jiri's spell! Cynna tried to run a protective spell, but it was too late. A swirl of red misted up over her eyes.
Then she wasn't there at all anymore.
"MUST be close to a thousand people here," Lily whispered.
"Something like that." Rule wasn't usually bothered by crowds, but this wasn't a comfortable crowd for a Nokolai. Especially for the Nokolai heir. Especially when, according to Lily, Brady had been so pleased when Rule took on a son's duty to Roland Miller… and the first duty Roland had required of him was attendance at the memorials for both his son and Victor's.
Paul's memorial had been well attended, but not on this scale. It had been followed by a barbecue for which Rule, Lily, and Cullen had adjourned back to the house. Victor had apparently eaten in his room.
Randall's memorial had begun at one. For that the field was crammed elbow to elbow with Leidolf. The smell of them made him stand very still.
Lily whispered again. "Doesn't Leidolf have more female clan, though? There must be five lupi present for every woman I see."
"The women are tending the children," he said dryly, his voice very low. Traditionally clans included all their members, even the children, in such ceremonies. Leidolf had abandoned that tradition by the early sixteenth century for more human behavior. In fact, much of what he disliked about Leidolf had been taken from the larger culture around them, yet now that human norms were changing, they clung to their male-centric ways.
That could change. A clan took on some of the character of its Rho, and Victor had been Leidolf Rho for a very long time.
Someone on the eastern edge of the field was recounting a story from Randall's childhood. That was a relief—it meant the memorial was finally nearing an end. Lupus memorials moved backward through the deceased's life; the first to speak were those present at the death.
Rule hadn't been asked to speak of Paul's death. Lily had.
That had been a calculated slap at Rule, but if it was the worst that happened today, he'd be pleased. And Lily had done well. After a moment's frozen horror—she was not used to speaking in front of so many people—she'd handled the situation with her usual good sense. It probably helped that the custom was for each to speak where he or she stood, since there was no platform or podium. Rule had suggested she pretend she was giving a report to a nearly deaf police captain.
Maybe she had. Her account had been stark by lupus standards, but perhaps all the more moving for that. She'd finished by saying, "He acted with great courage. I will honor him always."
Thunder rumbled off in the east, still distant. He glanced that way and saw big fists of clouds piling up, the knuckles puffy and bruised. As he watched, lightning stitched a line from sky to ground.
He glanced at Lily and almost smiled. Back in San Diego, people got excited when it rained. They stopped working to look out the window, comment on their lawns, maybe claim credit for nature's behavior through the mysterious alchemy of car-washing. It hadn't taken long for that attitude to wear off for Lily. She was as affronted as her cat by so much rain.