“Thanks,” Lily said when Samuel set the chair next to Fagin’s bed. But she didn’t sit down right away, and it wasn’t Fagin she spoke to first. “It’s good to see you, Samuel. I had no idea you were here.”
“Rule called while the two of you were trapped by that elemental. He wanted one of us with Dr. Fagin at all times. He asked for me specifically.” A smile broke the usual gravity of his face.
Lily’s breath hitched. Samuel wasn’t LeBron. His smile wasn’t quite the same as his father’s had been. But there was something about seeing that reflection of the man in his son . . . it eased her. “I’m glad he did.”
He shrugged. “He knows I’m still hunting a job and could come right away.”
“He knows you can do the job or he wouldn’t have asked for you.”
“I should hope not,” Fagin said, “considering it’s my life this dashing young man is protecting. Clearly you two know each other?”
Lily glanced at Samuel and caught him doing the same with her. Yes, they knew each other. Not well, yet it was an intimate connection. She’d heard quite a bit about Samuel before she met him at his father’s firnam. LeBron had given his life to save Lily’s. She smiled and agreed that they did, indeed, know each other. “You’re in good hands.”
“Glad to hear it. You can’t know everyone in both of Rule’s clans, so there must be some connection . . .”
“You are incurably nosy, aren’t you?” Lily finally sat in the chair Samuel had brought for her. “How are you doing? You don’t look doped up.”
“Oh, I’m on pain medication still. If I doze off midsen-tence, that’s why. They tell me my lungs are in good shape, which is a blessing. I still cough now and then.”
“The expert I talked to thinks it was an SIP. That stands for self-igniting phosphorus. The British stockpiled a lot of them during WWII that they didn’t use, but I doubt yours came from one of those stockpiles. Seems like they’d be too old.”
His eyebrows climbed. “You’ve been busy for an incarcerated woman. Have they dropped the charges?”
“No,” she said shortly. “I’m out on my own recognizance. Also on administrative leave. I don’t think it will take that long for them to do the official firing.”
“Lily . . .” Fagin heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry. If there’s anything I can do—”
“You can answer some questions about patterning and”—she glanced at Samuel—“about what we discussed at Ruben’s party.”
Fagin’s eyebrows climbed. “Ghosts?”
“We talked about ghosts twice, didn’t we? I was thinking of the second conversation.”
“How intriguing. Samuel, I believe the things I was wearing when they brought me here must be around somewhere. If you wouldn’t mind . . . thank you.” Samuel handed him the shopping bag, and he began rooting around in it. “In case you’re wondering, Samuel is interested in ghosts, also. Have you seen the news reports?”
Puzzled, she glanced at the TV. A dark-haired woman was talking, but the sound was too low for Lily to catch the words. “About my arrest?”
“No, about the ghosts. There have been several sightings reported in the D.C. area in the last few days. They did a local color piece on it last night.”
“I’m told that death magic can throw ghosts.”
“So I’ve heard. Ah, here it is.” Fagin pulled his hand out of the sack and held it out. On his palm rested a small crystal. “I don’t suppose you have a hammer in your purse?”
“You’re more prepared than I am.” She took the little crystal. “You carry one of these with you everywhere?”
“That one won’t be fully charged,” he said apologetically. “I was conducting a small experiment to see how long it took proximity to my Gift to drain the crystal. That’s why I had it in my robe pocket—I was keeping it close all the time.”
“Better than nothing. I can’t set a circle.”
“No more can I. We’ll have to hope that two sensitives are enough to disrupt the skills of any listeners who might happen to be paying attention.”
“I don’t know. Friar’s shown a keen interest in you. If Rule were here . . .” Though he would be, and soon. The stretched feeling had eased entirely. He was close. “Well, listening isn’t seeing, is it? We’ll just have to take advantage of Friar’s limitations.” Lily stood, put the crystal on the linoleum floor, and drew her weapon.
Fagin jerked fully upright. “I don’t think that’s—”
“I’m not going to shoot it,” she said, amused. She knelt, reversed her grip, and smashed the butt on the crystal. It crunched, and she felt the wave of magic roll off it. She stood and holstered her weapon. “That felt a little weaker than at Ruben’s. How long do we have?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe thirty minutes. Maybe less.”
“We’ll keep it as quick as possible, then.” Lily pulled her notebook from her purse and handed it and a pen to Fagin. “Write down anything really sensitive. First I’d like to hear about what kind of backup you have for that translation Cullen’s so interested in.”
Safety-deposit, Fagin wrote. Thumb drive. He jotted down the name of a bank, the branch location, and three digits. “I’m afraid I can’t recall the entire number, and of course the”—he paused and wrote key—“isn’t available at the moment.”
Because the elemental wouldn’t let them in to get it. But if Deborah was able to get in, she could get it for them. “I may have a way to make it available. Where is it?”
Fagin wrote top desk drawer. “How?”
“We’ll get to that in a minute.” The key wasn’t enough, not when Fagin couldn’t go there himself. Lily took back the notebook and wrote limited power of attorney. “If you’re willing,” she added out loud, “that should do it. I can set it up. Is Cullen okay for the person named?”
“He can’t possibly be mobile yet.”
“He’s not healed, but he is mobile.”
Fagin sighed. “How annoying. It will be weeks before I’m on my feet again, and my burns weren’t as bad as his. Yes, he’ll do. What can you tell me about Ruben?”
“He’s with . . .” She hesitated, then finished the sentence by writing Isen. She looked at Samuel. “If I tell you not to discuss or reveal anything written or spoken in this room except with your Rho, will you consider that binding?”
He nodded. “Rule said I was to obey you unless there was a conflict with his orders.”
“All right. You’re not to discuss or reveal what Fagin and I say or write about here except to Rule.” She wrote on the notebook: Ruben is now lupus and the Rho of Wythe clan and held it up where Fagin and Samuel could see.
“What? But that—that—surely that’s impossible!”
“I can’t tell you how it happened, but you’re aware that lupi have an Old One on their side. She took a hand in things.”
“Great heavens above.”
“I knew it,” Samuel breathed. “I knew the Lady would fix things.”
Suddenly curious, she asked Samuel, “Do you think—uh, will they accept him?”
“Of course! I mean, he’s got”—he glanced at Fagin—“he’s got the authority now.”
Authority meaning mantle. The thing she’d finally gotten rid of. The thing that would have let them talk freely without worrying about Friar magically eavesdropping.
“But where is he?” Fagin said. “Is he able to . . .” He gestured and she handed him back the notebook. He wrote Shadow Unit. “There are lines of communication. It’s not good for him to be out of touch.”