“Part of me did. No, wait, listen.” She put her hands on each side of his face as if she knew how tight he was there. How much he was holding back, holding in. “The first time, when Brian was dying, I didn’t notice anything like that. If the Lady was telling me things about what I’d agreed to, I didn’t notice it. But I think she did, because this time . . . in Ruben’s kitchen, I knew. I didn’t get any of it in words, but I knew exactly what I agreed to when I let that mantle go and flow into Ruben. The part of me she can talk to, it doesn’t have words, so I can’t hold on to what she says. I just know she cleared it with me first, and I agreed. I think that happened the first time, too, only it was such a different way of—of talking—I forgot it even happened.”
He felt like he was swimming in smoke—thick, acrid, and blinding both nose and eyes. He didn’t know what to say. What to think.
Lily stroked his face and spoke gently. “So the thing is, if you’re mad at the Lady for what she did, you have to be mad at me, too. It turned out okay, but she and I both risked me.”
“It didn’t turn out okay. You’ve lost your career.”
“I kind of think that’s the Great Bitch’s fault. And Friar’s. And maybe Sjorensen, or Drummond, or even Mullins. Someone set me up, but that someone wasn’t your Lady. She took advantage of the situation, I guess, to get me to go to Ruben so she could pass on the mantle. But she didn’t set me up.”
“You wouldn’t have gone there in person if she hadn’t tricked you into it. You’d have called, but you wouldn’t have been there when Drummond showed up. You wouldn’t have been arrested.”
“And if Ruben’s phone is tapped—and I’m betting it is—calling would have had the same result for me, but Ruben wouldn’t have gotten the mantle. He’d probably be in jail now instead of at Wythe Clanhome.”
The anger that had ridden him for days was draining out. Or burning down, if not out, leaving everything smoke and fog. He shook his head, but it did nothing to banish the fog. “You’re okay with it. You’re okay with being manipulated that way.”
“I’m okay with it the same way I’m okay with the mate bond. Or your father.”
That startled him into silence.
She grinned. “If you could see your face . . . what I mean is, sometimes it drives me crazy, not knowing what the mate bond’s going to do, and I hate that, but the bond makes me part of something other than me. There would be an ‘us’ even without the bond, but it helps, doesn’t it? When I was locked up, I knew you were hundreds of miles away, but that was good. It meant you and Ruben had gotten away, and knowing that helped. It helped a lot.”
“And my father?” he said dryly.
“He reminds me of the Lady.” She paused, her frown saying it was hard to find words. “I heard her. I didn’t get words, but I heard her voice, and . . . you know how Isen is. Tricky, sometimes manipulative. He never tells you everything, and you never know what he’s going to do. But whatever it is, it will be done with a clean heart. The Lady can be tricky, too, and she sure as hell doesn’t tell us much, and I have no idea what she’s going to do, and I don’t like that. But I think ... I feel like she’s got a clean heart. Like she’s clean all the way through.”
He put both arms around her and pulled her close and rested his head on top of hers. And sighed. “I think you’re right. If I can’t stop being angry with her, does that mean my heart isn’t clean?”
“It means you’re mad. That’s all it means.”
She was right . . . mostly. There was one other meaning to his anger. One cause that he hadn’t wanted to see. Fear was the tinder that anger burned, wasn’t it?
He was afraid of the Lady.
It was a thought so foreign he almost couldn’t grasp it. How could he fear that which made him who and what he was? Without the Change, the clans, the moon and the magic, he wouldn’t be. Someone else might have been born and given the name Rule Turner, but that man would not be him.
Moonsong, mantles, and magic. The half of him that ran on four legs and knew so much of love and blood and loyalty . . . all of that was not just from the Lady, but of her. How could he fear what was so much a part of him?
The answer floated up as if he’d always known it. For the first time, he’d found something his Lady could ask of him that he was not willing to give. His life, yes. That was hers. But not Lily’s.
He knew now that the Lady hadn’t asked that of him. Lily was whole and healthy. Perhaps she never would ask it. But he also knew that part of him wasn’t the Lady’s. Part of him could not be given freely to her, and fear rose from that part like a chilly mist.
He had an image suddenly of his wolf in a deep cavern, advancing cautiously into that cold mist. Sniffing. And snorting, unimpressed. It’s only fear.
Slowly the knots inside him eased. It was only fear. Nothing strange about fear. For several moments he didn’t move as the world returned to him . . . the blare of the stereo, the scent of Lily, of Mark, of the car itself. The warmth along his side and his shoulder from Lily’s body. The barely there bump of her heartbeat.
Lily was with him and she was physically healed and whole again. The other problems weren’t going away, but in this moment, things were good. She was here, and she was okay. She kept telling him that. Maybe he should believe her. “This was supposed to be my chance to comfort you.”
“It’s not an either-or deal. Comfort goes both ways.”
He found himself smiling. Yes, it did.
THIRTY
CULLEN was in the kitchen when they got home—or as close to home as they could manage on this coast. He sat at the kitchen table scowling at a bunch of complicated glowing lines that hung in the air in front of him. On the table in front of him was a battered leather journal—probably the one he’d rescued from Fagin’s library.
“The rest of your resources aren’t here yet, it seems,” Rule said. “Coffee?”
“Sure. I’ll start with Cullen.” She took out her spiral and sat beside him. “Hey. Have you noticed you aren’t alone in the room?”
“It is noisier here than it was a moment ago.” He still didn’t look at her. He reached up and used two fingers to drag one glowing glyph slightly to the left. “I’m busy.”
“Rule says you’re one of my resources, so stop doodling and pay attention.”
“This is important.”
“Whoever firebombed Fagin’s library wasn’t going after him or his books. They wanted to kill you.”
Now she had his attention. Bright blue eyes narrowed at her. “You sound pretty sure of that.”
“We’ve got two minds behind what’s happened lately. One’s subtle and devious and likes things convoluted. The other’s direct. Guess which one’s likely to opt for a bomb?”
“I’ll buy that, but why does it tell you what the target was?”
“Fagin’s been in D.C. for months. Him and his library. A lot of people knew about that grimoire he’s been translating—the Harvard press, for one. Some of his colleagues.” She had names. They should probably be checked, just to be sure. But that was a job for someone who could call the local cops and ask for a favor. “The one new element here is you. You show up in D.C. and a day later you nearly get crispy-fried.”
He shook his head. “Why would anyone who knows anything about me use fire to take me out?”
“Friar knows you’re good with fire. I’m betting he’s the convoluted thinker in this deal. I think the direct guy is working with him, not for him. An ally.” She glanced at Rule. “Like the dragons are our allies. God knows they don’t tell us everything. I doubt Friar tells his allies much.”