Cyrus flipped on the TV and turned it loud enough to drown out our conversation, at least to human ears. “And if you do find them, you could. This smells bad, Lia.”
“So do the Corps’ prisons.”
“You talk like a war mage.”
“I am a war mage.”
“No, the Corps is your job. I’m talking about what you are.”
“Don’t start this again, Cyrus.”
He remained lounging in a threadbare recliner someone had squashed into the narrow space beside the bed. He’d taken off the garbage-stained shirt, and his white undershirt straps were bright against his suntanned skin, his dark hair just a little long and curling over the back of his neck. The flickering light from the TV gilded his lashes and highlighted a few places where he’d done a less than perfect job shaving. He was the image of a weary vacationer, tapped out, irritated, and ready to go home, except for his eyes, which didn’t match.
“You want this job because it makes you feel human. You surround yourself with them, all day, every day. You bathe in their scent, thin though it is, and tell yourself that they’re your true clan. That lycanthropy is only a disease—”
“Because it is!”
Cyrus smiled grimly. “Being Were has never been about genes; it’s not even about the change. It’s about being proud of what we are and what we stand for, the old ways, the honorable ways, in a world that no longer understands what that word means.”
“This from a card cheat.”
“You refuse to see what is obvious to everyone else. You’re Were, like it or not. And you always will be.” He lit up a cigar as he spoke, cupping the end in his big hands, flicking the lighter closed with a practiced flip of the wrist. It was the casual action that got me, the attitude of someone higher in clan status condescending to explain the obvious to an inferior. It was doubly maddening since no clan would have touched either of us.
I decided not to let him, or my temper, get me off point. “Are you going to help or not?”
He blew smoke in my direction. “I’ve done what I could. If it’s not enough to make you reconsider, I don’t know what will.”
Cyrus had confirmed what I’d already suspected: not one, not two or even three, but all five of the missing girls were high clan—from Leidolf, Maccon, Tamaska, and Rand, as well as Daniela from Arnou. That much had been obvious from their names, but the file hadn’t included the small matter of them all being the daughters of clan leaders. Somebody had a serious death wish.
“I need a name, a place, a starting point,” I told him impatiently. “Not reasons to quit.”
He just looked at me, implacability clear on that strong face. It made me want to scream, even though I’d known this wasn’t going to be easy. Unlike me, Cyrus had been clan once. His wolf form had the distinctive black and tan markings of the Arnou itself. Moreover, he had the rare distinction of having been born wolf, which added a cache at any level. He’d had every advantage: marriage into the highest clans, guaranteed wealth from their investments, power, prestige, and the knowledge that if he got into trouble, the family would back him to the last.
Unless, as it turned out, he got into trouble with them.
I’d never found out what he’d done to be named vargulf, the Were equivalent of blacklisted. It must have been something pretty bad, as it’s considered a fate worse than death. All the privileges of rank were forfeited, including clan protection. It wasn’t quite the same as hanging a target on his back, but it was close. Anyone who had a grievance against him, including anyone jealous of the position he’d once held, was free to kill him without fear of clan retribution. He had no reason to do Arnou any favors.
“I thought you said that being Were is all about honor,” I said a little desperately. Because I could haul him off to jail—maybe—but I couldn’t force him to help me. “Was that more talk? Or did you mean it? Because if you meant it, I don’t see how you can stand by while a girl of your own clan—”
“Ex-clan. And I didn’t say I was going to stand by. I said you were better off out of it.”
“Meaning what?”
“That whoever did this managed to overcome, not only the girls themselves, but their bodyguards. Were bodyguards,” he said for emphasis, as if I’d thought they’d be something else. “Your superiors must really want to get rid of you, to send you on such an errand.”
“The Corps is a little busy lately,” I said dryly. There had always been animosity between the Silver Circle and its Black counterpart, a bunch of dark magic users with no scruples and less conscience, but it had recently erupted into full-scale war. This left the Corps seriously stretched for help and probably explained why they had yet to toss me out on my ear. “And no one else knows much about Weres.”
“No one else has had a vendetta declared against them, either. Lobizón blames you for the deaths of their wolves.”
“I know.” It was old news, the proclamation being issued the day after the battle as custom required, “before the blood of the dead grew cold.” It wasn’t the vendetta itself that worried me, though. The clan had already seen what two mages could do; I doubted they wanted to be facing a whole cadre of us. What was keeping me up nights was the thought of what would happen if word leaked back to my superiors. If they discovered that I’d been marked for death by an important member of their vital new alliance, I’d be out the door in about a nanosecond. And that would leave Dad and me facing, not a handful of Weres, but the whole clan.
On our own.
I’d lived with what had felt like a hand clenched around my neck for seven months, knowing that it was only the Were dislike for speaking about clan business with outsiders that was saving me. Ironically, Lobizón’s respect for tradition was currently my best defense. But it was anyone’s guess how long it would hold.
“Lobizón isn’t involved in this,” I said, trying to sound as if the vendetta was no big deal. “And I intend to stay as far away from them as possible.”
“That would be a good trick.”
Something in Cyrus’ tone worried me. “Why?”
“Because they’re currently in town for the Ulfhring,” he informed me quietly. “I thought you knew. It begins tomorrow.”
“They’re holding it here?” The clan leaders usually assembled in upstate New York for their yearly meeting, in Arnou’s home territory. “Why the change?”
“The new alliance. They want to show solidarity with the mages, and they’re based here. Every senior clan leader is either already in Vegas or will be soon, along with his or her entourage. You need to lay low until they leave, not go prying into their business.”
“It’s not prying if we were invited,” I pointed out absently. No wonder Gil was nervous. All the clans with missing daughters were in town and were planning to chew his ass out. Possibly literally, if he didn’t turn up something soon.
“You can try that argument on the families of the Weres you killed,” Cyrus said quietly. “But I wouldn’t give good odds on your success.”
“You can’t expect me to just sit around. The Ulfhring can drag on for days!”
“Then let your partner check things out for you.”
“I don’t have a partner.”
Cyrus placed his cigar in an ashtray, then before I could blink, he’d crossed the room and invaded my personal space. “What happened, Lia? Did no one want to work with someone who smelled a little too much like clan?”
“I just transferred here.”
“You’ve been here six months.” It looked as if I wasn’t the only one keeping tabs.
“I told you, we’re shorthanded—”