Ritual Magic

And then men he’d lived and played with, men he’d fought beside and loved for the kin they were, would try to kill him. Or so he had to assume. He’d told his men—his Leidolf clansmen—to avoid death wounds if possible, but they, too, might have to kill.

And all of that assumed that the cheap acrylic caps they wore worked as they were supposed to. So far they had. If that changed, they would all die tonight.

Not yet, he begged the Lady, for whatever luck her grace might bring. Don’t let me die yet. If he could live long enough to give Lily and Cullen a chance . . . and with them, his son, his father, his clan. And everyone and everything else.

There was only one way to reach the node behind Isen’s house . . . from the outside. But there was another way, of course. Through the house. Which could be reached through the tunnel that opened up in Isen’s study.

* * *

LILY sat on the cool dirt floor of the tunnel and checked her watch. Seven more minutes. She swallowed and told her heartbeat to settle down. It didn’t listen.

It was dim here, but not dark. A mage light bobbed up near the low ceiling. Cullen’s doing. He was pacing, moving cat-quiet but too restless to stop.

Cullen had many talents. Waiting wasn’t one of them. Lily, on the other hand, was normally pretty good at it. Cops got plenty of practice in the fine art of waiting.

Nothing was normal tonight. You’ve done this sort of thing before, she told her jittery heartbeat and checked her watch again. Her hand shook, a fine tremor that seemed to begin in her belly. Dammit, dammit, dammit . . . She’d gone into bad situations before, yeah. High-stakes situations, when she had no idea if her plan had any chance of working But she’d never imagined going into a fight not knowing if her plans were even hers. If her thoughts were her own.

She was immune to compulsion, but like Friar kept pointing out—damn him—not to persuasion or corruption. How could she trust the decisions she made tonight?

Lily sucked in a shaky breath and rubbed the toltoi with her thumb. Was it warmer than usual? She wanted that to be true, wanted to think it was protecting her. She wished like hell Drummond would show up and tell her if someone or something was influencing her. She thought his name as hard as she could.

Nothing.

Getting here had been simple enough. Nerve-wracking, but simple. This tunnel was larger and more elaborate than the one they were putting in at their place. It had three arms leading to three access points: one at a stand of trees only thirty yards from Isen’s house; one under the water tower; and one at the general store.

Lily and Cullen had driven up to the general store and walked in. Simple.

They hadn’t used the Mercedes. The clan kept an old truck near the gate. Supposedly it was there for the guards, but people borrowed it all the time. The old truck was such a familiar sight that Rule thought no one would pay any attention to it, but if someone had—if they’d been stopped—Lily would have pretended to be Cullen’s prisoner. Cullen would have pretended to be among the compelled, delivering Lily to Miriam.

It was Rule who’d seen that the problem with trying to figure out who was under compulsion went both ways. No doubt Miriam knew who she controlled, but those she’d compelled into obedience couldn’t know who was like them or what she’d told others. At worst, Cullen figured they’d confuse anyone who tried to detain them long enough for him to use a sleep charm.

As it turned out, they hadn’t needed to do anything but drive up and go inside. No one stopped them; as far as they could tell, no one saw them. The store was closed at this hour, but it was never locked. People went there after hours all the time and left a note about what they’d bought along with cash or an IOU. The entrance to the tunnel was in the floor of the storeroom in back. The storeroom was locked, but locks didn’t slow Cullen down. The trapdoor there was warded, but Cullen had created the ward, so he could take it down pretty quickly. That was one reason he was with her.

The other reason, of course, was his shields. The shields he’d mysteriously acquired almost two years ago had withstood the illusions of an immortal Chimea and the power of another ancient artifact, one created by the Great Bitch herself. They’d probably hold against anything the knife could do, as long as he didn’t actually touch it.

Rule’s approach was much harder, coming at the house from over the ridge. She and Cullen couldn’t know exactly when he’d be in place, but they’d set a time for when he should be ready. They’d have to hope Rule’s distraction got under way on schedule.

Lily checked her watch again. This time her breathing hitched. She stood and nodded at Cullen.

He swarmed up the rungs set into the wall that led to the trapdoor. He’d go through first because he was faster, stronger, and able to throw fire, among other things. She’d follow when he gave the all clear. He paused at the top of the ladder, listening, then pushed the square door open a crack. It wasn’t locked, but it was thick and a Persian carpet covered it on the other side, so it would be heavy. He paused to listen again. Maybe he was sniffing, too. If so, he clearly didn’t smell anything he wasn’t expecting. He lifted it a bit more and slithered up and out.

Lily climbed the first two rungs of the ladder and waited. Cullen had left the trapdoor slightly askew, but the rug still lay atop it. She couldn’t see or hear a thing.

Suddenly the mage lights behind her winked out. It was utterly black. “Don’t shoot!” Cullen said loudly.

Oh, God, oh, shit—

Another voice—male, but too low and muffled by the rug and trapdoor for her to make out the words.

“Sure, okay, on the floor, I hear you. No bullets needed.” And Cullen flopped down on top of the trapdoor, telling Lily plainly to stay put, stay hidden. “Not giving you any trouble, Pete. Do you and Jim really need those handcuffs?”

Pete must have come closer, because his voice was a bit louder. She recognized it now and heard some of what he said: “. . . told me to . . . what she says.”

“I understand. You do exactly what Miriam says, right?”

“That’s right.” A pause. “Jim, hold your gun to his head. Cullen, I have to gag you so you can’t cast.”

Muffled but clear, a woman’s voice: “Oh, look what you’ve found.”

Miriam. She sounded delighted.

“Yes, ma’am. Just as you said.” Pete’s voice was as flat and uninflected as a robot’s.

Miriam moved closer. She must be only a few feet from the trapdoor. “Cullen, did you really think you could come so close without my lord sensing all that lovely, hot magic of yours? Oh—you can’t answer me, can you?” She giggled like a little girl. The sound was jarring. “It must be hard on someone as arrogant as you, being trussed up like this. But don’t worry—you may be a bit uncomfortable, but Dafydd doesn’t want you killed. He’s not at all bloodthirsty and would spare everyone if he could, but he particularly wants us to keep you alive. He’s curious about those shields of yours. They remind him of some he saw a very long time ago, but there’s no way you . . .” A pause, then, contritely: “You’re right, love. I’m sorry. I do run on, don’t I? And we are rather short of time. Pete, please have your man take Cullen to one of the bedrooms and make sure he can’t get loose.”

Pete gave exactly those instructions—“Take Cullen to one of the bedrooms and make sure he can’t get loose.” Lily heard Cullen lifted off the trapdoor . . . which was still ajar. There’d be a lump in the rug from it, but that wasn’t telling them anything they didn’t already know. Pete certainly knew about the trapdoor. Miriam must, too. Any second now Pete would push back the rug and move the trapdoor aside. He’d smell her then. Did she draw her weapon now or ease back down the ladder first?

He’d hear her if she moved. Lily forced one sweaty hand to release its grip on the rung by her shoulder and pulled out her weapon. She couldn’t shoot Pete in the head. He’d open the trapdoor and look down here, offering her an easy shot to the head and no clear shot otherwise, but she couldn’t take that easy shot. If she could have asked Pete, he’d have given her a mildly disgusted look because the answer was obvious. Only that wasn’t her answer, which was probably weakness on her part, but she’d try for another spot. One he might survive. She got her Glock up and ready.

“Pete.” Miriam’s voice was full of reproach. “Why didn’t you tell me about the tunnel?”

“I didn’t know you wanted me to.”