Ritual Magic

“Halt!” someone called from the upper deck.

Oh, good, more company.

“Who or what is it?” Rule demanded.

“The Queen of Winter sends us here, with Isen Turner’s permission,” a man called back from somewhere farther up the slope. “Winter and the one you call Sam.”

“Let—” Rule stopped. Scowled. “Pete, tell him to let the Queen’s people pass.”

Apparently that didn’t contradict Miriam’s orders, because Pete repeated it. A few minutes later a man and a woman jumped down onto the upper deck. They looked oddly alike—brother and sister, maybe? Both were tall and rangy. He was darker; she was more striking, with an angular face, a stern blade of a nose, and warm brown hair pulled back in a braid. She wore a long tunic, a heavily embroidered vest that reached her knees, and baggy pants tucked into boots, all in shades of brown and gold. The tunic was belted in brown leather; a knife-size scabbard hung from the belt, partly hidden by the vest.

Her shoulders were broad for a woman. His were broader. He wore similar clothing in shades of blue but without the vest, and he had two scabbards—one at his waist like hers that held a knife, and one fastened to a harness crisscrossing his chest that held one honking big sword on his back. His face lay on the ordinary end of attractive—pleasant but unmemorable—except for his eyes. They were a clear and startling gray.

His eyebrows lifted above those clear gray eyes. “That was easy,” he said to the woman. He spoke ordinary American English.

“You’re disappointed.”

He glanced at her without answering, but his mouth tucked up in a small smile.

Not brother and sister, Lily realized. Not when he looked at her like that.

“It’s here, then?” the woman said.

“They have it.” He looked down at them. “I had expected a hunt, and I see you have the knife waiting for me. But you are much too close to it. You need to get away. Quickly.”

“If you mean Nam Anthessa,” Lily said, “you might say it has us. Some of us. The woman who wielded it is dead, but the knife’s still enforcing her commands. I’m free and so are Rule and a few others, but the rest . . . before she died she told them not to move, so they can’t. Where’s Sam?”

The man glanced at the woman beside him. She gave a small nod. He looked back at Lily. “On his way. He travels differently than we do. I was told Isen Turner was in charge of this land and people. I would speak to him, or to the one named Li Lei.”

Rule spoke. “I’m Rule Turner. Under these circumstances, I can speak for my Rho, who is currently caught by a sleep charm. The man holding it to him is one of those who can’t move. Li Lei Yu isn’t here now.”

“I’m unsure how to proceed. I was given a way to identify myself to Isen Turner or to Li Lei.”

“Hey, I know you!” Cynna cried. “Rule, I know them both. They helped us in Edge. They’re cool.”

“If you’ve come to destroy the knife,” Rule said dryly, “you’re welcome. But I was expecting a hellhound.”

“I am the Queen’s Hound. Do you accept my authority to deal with Nam Anthessa?”

Rule hesitated, but only for a second. “I do.”

“Then—”

“Nathan,” the woman said, her voice strained, “Nam Anthessa is reaching for me, and I can’t—”

Just like that, chat time was over. The man launched himself as fast as any lupus, drawing a dagger the color of bleached bones as he raced forward and leaped from the upper deck to land on the bare ground below. Right next to the black knife.

He didn’t look ordinary now. His face contorted in a snarl. His eyes blazed, shedding color until they were as pale as the blade he raised overhead, gripping it in both hands as he growled—words, there were words in that loud growl, but none Lily knew, nor were they spoken in a man’s voice—and plunged his bone white blade into the black one.

Nam Anthessa shattered.

The sound of its breaking was small, like the crunch of a cracker. The feel of it . . . Lily reeled as shards of power stung her face, her hands, every bit of exposed skin.

All around them, lupi staggered. Some went to their knees. Some moaned. “It’s gone,” Pete whispered. “It’s gone. Oh, God, oh, God . . .”

The woman came forward then and jumped onto the lower deck. “We didn’t finish introducing ourselves,” she said apologetically. “He’s Nathan. Nathan Hunter. I’m Kai Tallman Michalski. I think you have need of me, too. I’m a mind healer.”

FORTY-THREE

THERE weren’t that many places to hold a really large wedding in San Diego. Tres Puentes Resort, slightly outside the city, was the poshest and one of the most beautiful. It was named for the three bridges crossing the artful little creek that wandered through the large, open lawn and lush gardens, any or all of which could be reserved, along with the banquet hall, ballroom, smaller dining rooms, and one or more rooms to get ready in before the ceremony. Tres Puentes was usually reserved for over a year in advance, but somehow Rule had booked the place anyway. Part of the deal was that the resort wouldn’t provide the food or serving staff, due to having a smaller event that had already booked the kitchen . . . hence Philippe and the feuilles des pommes et grenades.

And she was not, Lily told herself firmly, going to think about what it cost. Not today.

“Hold still,” Beth said—not for the first time.

“I am.”

“No, you aren’t. You’re as fidgety as I’ve ever seen you. Twice as fidgety.” Her sister yanked on the hair she’d brushed back from Lily’s face. “I could almost think you’re nervous.”

“I’m supposed to be nervous—”

“That’s right,” Susan said. “It’s traditional.”

“But I’m not.” A bit jittery, maybe, but not nervous. They weren’t the same thing at all. “What time is it?”

“Five minutes since the last time you asked,” Cynna said. “Which proves what a puddle of amazing calm you are. If you were nervous, you’d be asking every minute instead of every five.”

“Don’t complain. You’re the official timekeeper. It’s your job to tell me what time it is.”

“There.” At last Beth released Lily’s hair. That was her third attempt. “All done but the orchids, and you need to have your gown on before I put them in.”

Lily studied her reflection. Her hair was pulled back from her face and fastened in a deceptively simple way at her crown. It hung down in back, long and perfectly straight—at least that was what Beth told her after wielding the straightening iron. “You don’t think it’s too severe?” she said in sudden doubt, raising one hand to touch it.

Beth swatted her hand. “It’s perfect. Don’t touch.”

“Lily,” Aunt Deborah said, “I brought my diamond drops, in case you needed them.”

Lily touched one bare ear. The hairstyle called for earrings, but . . . “No. Thank you, but no.”

“She’ll be here,” Aunt Mequi said. “There’s still time. She’ll be here.”

“Of course she will.” Lily said that as if she believed it. She almost did.

At the instant of the knife’s destruction, memory had rushed in on the amnesia victims. That sudden restoration did not instantly heal the trauma their minds had been through, however. Kai Michalski had been very busy. Not all of those who’d lost then regained their memories needed her, and not all of those who needed help would let her give it. As long as the person was competent to make a decision—and Kai had some way of determining that to her satisfaction—the mind healer wouldn’t act without permission. But she’d helped a lot of them. She’d also helped a few of the lupi who’d been under the knife’s control. She’d even been able to help Officer Crown, though he would need additional therapy, she said.

But she couldn’t help Julia Yu. Not until Sam returned, anyway, and maybe not then. She had Julia’s