“You’re all right?”
“Aside from being pestered in my own home when I just want to go to bed, yes.”
A smile spread over his face. “This is marvelous. Bloody marvelous.”
Lily let her head drop back on Rule’s shoulder. “How do I make him go away?”
“Sorry.” Cullen flowed to his feet, looking not at all sorry, and began to pace. Cullen was a dancer. An exotic dancer, actually, otherwise known as a male stripper, but however annoying he could be, he was a pleasure to watch in motion, the most innately graceful person Lily had ever seen. “You know what a selfish sod I am. It’s just that now you won’t be able to turn me down.”
“For what?”
Rule answered before Cullen could. “He wants to be part of the official hunt for Harlowe.”
She lifted her head and met Rule’s eyes. She’d guessed that Cullen might be doing some searching of his own. She’d wondered if Rule knew… and hadn’t asked. Apparently he had known and hadn’t told her.
Their relationship posed some tricky questions of loyalty for both of them. She looked at Cullen. “Why?”
“The staff, of course. I have to find and destroy it.”
A pang of pity held her silent. Cullen had suffered terribly after being taken prisoner by the mad Helen. Because he had some sort of sorcerous mental shield, Helen had been unable to use the staff to take over his mind— which she’d mightily resented.
His eyes had been put out. He’d been locked in a glass cage, taken out occasionally in shackles to be questioned. He’d been beaten and threatened repeatedly with death.
Lily didn’t blame Cullen for hating, but his hatred made him unreliable. Even if sorcery weren’t illegal, she couldn’t have used him. “I can’t do that. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not talking about anything official. Make me a consultant, like Rule. You need me.” He moved closer. “I can help you Find it.”
“I’ve a Finder on the team now.”
His eyebrows went up. “Assuming she’s any good—”
“Wait a minute. Why did you say ‘she’?”
“Playing the odds. Almost all Finders are female.” While she was still absorbing that, he went on persuasively, “Finders need something concrete to fix on, and you don’t have a piece of that abomination of a staff for her to handle, do you? So she’ll have to try for Harlowe, and he’s protected.”
“What do you mean?” she asked sharply.
“I’ve scried for him. He’s shielded in some way, most likely by the staff itself.”
If he was right, Cynna wasn’t going to be the case-breaker Lily had been hoping for. “If a Finder can’t locate him, how could you?”
His smile reminded her of Harry. Smug. “He isn’t shielded one hundred percent of the time, and unlike Finding, scrying isn’t tied to the moment.”
“You’ve lost me.”
“With scrying, the images come from elementals. Water’s past, earth’s present, air is future, and fire scrambles them all up. I scry with fire, which means fire elementals, which means I may get images from past, present, or future.” He paused. “Two days ago, I saw Harlowe in the flames. Without the staff.”
“Two days ago.” Anger hit with a punch of renewed energy. She swung her feet to the floor and sat up straight. “It took you long enough to mention it.”
“You’re pissed,” he observed. “But why am I obliged to keep you filled in, yet you don’t have to tell me anything? And don’t wave your badge at me. You can’t compel me to divulge information the law doesn’t recognize as valid.”
“I can,” Rule said evenly. “And will, if necessary. Lily was attacked tonight.”
For a long moment the two men looked at each other without speaking. Some kind of complex message seemed to pass between them. Finally Cullen smiled. “Happily, you won’t have to. Like I said, that’s why I’m here. It took me two days because I needed to do a spot of research to be sure of my conclusions. Turns out my initial impression was correct. I saw Harlowe in hell.”
Lily blinked. “I thought… when you said flames, I thought you meant your scrying flame. If he’s in hell, he’s beyond our reach.”
“Purge your mind of theological cartoons.” Cullen headed toward the door, where Harry waited, tail twitching.
“I did mean my scrying flame, not the brimstone sort. Hell isn’t a travel destination for dead sinners. At least, this one isn’t.” He reached for the door. “I make no claims about the other sort.”
This hell? The other sort? How many hells were there? Lily rubbed her temple. “Harry isn’t supposed to go out this late.”
“No?” Cullen quirked an eyebrow at the cat. “Sorry. Her door, her rules. At any rate, hell—or call it Dis, if you prefer,” he said, coming back to sit on the coffee table beside her laptop. “That’s what the natives call the place, according to a couple of my sources. I wonder whether they borrowed the name from Dante or inspired him? Anyway, Dis is the demon realm.”
“And you say Harlowe is there?”
“Is, was, or will be, give or take a week or so. It ties in nicely with the demon attack, doesn’t it?”
“It sure as hell…” Lily winced. That phrase was altogether too apt. “How could you tell where he was?”
“Demons, luv. I saw a couple of demons with him.”
“We thought She might be there,” Rule said. “It’s the closest realm to ours, and we know She tried to open a gate to hell. Maybe She brought Harlowe to Her when that attempt failed.”
Cullen’s grin flashed. “Due to our brilliant heroics. I didn’t get the idea Harlowe was Her devoted follower, though. More of an opportunist. It seems unlikely She’d exert herself much on his behalf. Could be he got his hands on the staff, and it reverted to Her when you”—he nodded at Lily—“killed Helen. He got taken along for the ride.”
When you killed Helen… her hands gripping that blond head, pounding it against the cave’s stony floor… The cold fingers of guilt or superstition crawled along Lily’s insides, leaving a slimy trail in their wake. She shook her head. Dammit, she wasn’t going to blame herself for doing what she’d had to do. “So you think Harlowe could have ended up in hell accidentally.”
“Could be.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Which doesn’t tell us much, and we’re getting off track.”
“And you’re a single-track kind of guy.”
“I won’t argue.” He leaned forward. A shiny stone on a leather cord around his neck slipped out of his shirt.
“Is that a diamond?” Lily asked, surprised. Cullen wasn’t exactly rolling in money. Rule said he spent almost everything on scraps of old spellbooks and such.
“Synthetic. Pretty thing, isn’t it?” Cullen tucked it back inside his shirt, then stood and stretched, looking more like a cat than the part-time wolf he was. “I won’t press you right now. It’s late, you’re tired, a bit battered— probably not sympathetic to my cause. But I leave you with this thought: How will you destroy the staff without me?”
“Ah.” That was Rule. “So that’s what you’re thinking.” He recited softly, “Suits scipio scindidi—Id uri, uri, uri! In niger ignis incendi—Aduri vulnus ex mundus.”
“Exactly. And I must say I’m pleased that you’re familiar with the Indomitus—so many aren’t in these degenerate days.”
“You used to quote it at me when you were drunk.”
“I’ve always had a good memory,” Cullen said complacently.
“What in the world are the two of you talking about? Briefly, please.” Lily rubbed her temple and wondered when she’d be able to go to bed. “It sounded like some sort of poetry.”