Blood Lines

THIRTEEN

"WELL, now, if there is a demon around, it's the quiet type." Chief Mann leaned back in his creaky office chair and laced his hands over a stomach Cynna could have used for an ironing board. If she ironed, that is. He treated them to a laid-back grin. "Hasn't stirred up any trouble."

Nutley was small. The town boasted a single traffic light; the speed limit was twenty-five. Jail and cop shop shared space in the basement of the courthouse, a stout redbrick building that held down one end of Main Street.

Cynna felt as if she'd accidentally wandered into Mayberry.

Not that Chief Mann resembled Andy Griffith. No, he was a manly Mann, six feet of the sort of sculpted muscle body builders love to see in the mirror. But he had the folksy bit down pat, and he was sure white enough for Mayberry. So was every other cast member she'd seen so far. Kind of weird in a little Southern town. "Aside from killing Randall Frey, you mean."

"Don't know exactly what happened to Randall. His father didn't say."

Agent Timms snapped, "And you didn't think it was worth asking."

If Nutley's boss cop was Andy, then Cynna had brought Opie with her—a quarrelsome, grown-up version of Opie, that is. On uppers. MCD Agent Steve Timms was short, wiry, and wired.

His boyish face, complete with red hair and freckles, clashed with his passion for weapons. She'd heard more than she ever wanted to know about the properties of the M72 LAW they'd borrowed from the Army—LAW being one of those cute acronyms government types adored. This one stood for Light Anti-Tank Weapon.

But he also knew how to use a dart gun. He used to shoot lupi with one, back before the Registration Act was ruled unconstitutional—and he'd survived, which said a lot for his skill. Darts were their fallback weapon. If the demon had possessed someone, they'd need to tranq the host.

Cynna didn't think they'd need it. Some demons loved the opportunities afforded them by possession, but if this one was like the one she'd killed last night, it was all fight, no stealth.

She'd been wrong about one thing, though. Timms didn't dislike her. Not when she was his ticket to the biggest, baddest quarry he'd ever sighted down on. He was all aquiver over the prospect of bagging a demon.

Chief Mann shrugged those impressive shoulders. He wore an old flannel shirt, jeans, and boots. "None of my business. The law's got nothin' to say about what happens to a wolf."

"So Randall was killed in wolf form." Not surprising; Rule had Changed, too, when faced with a demon. Still… "Did you see the body?"

That amused him. "Yes, ma'am, I did. It was pretty torn up, but a torn-up wolf doesn't much resemble a human."

Cynna fought the urge to tell him to quit calling her ma'am. He'd probably just start calling her honey or sugar, and then she'd have to hit him. That was not the way to get along with the locals, and besides, she had a headache.

She was no healer, couldn't do a thing about her swollen jaw. But she did have a nifty little spell that blocked pain, though it only worked on her. Had to be careful with it, since pain was nature's way of saying, "Watch out," but a little more power should be okay. She upped the trickle feeding the spell. "Did you ask Victor Frey who or what killed his son?"

"Course I did. Told that other FBI agent I would, didn't I? Victor said he didn't know."

"Did you get a description?"

"He didn't see the killer."

Cynna nodded as if he'd said something reasonable. "Did you ask any of the others? Like, say, someone who'd actually witnessed the killing."

"Appears Randall was alone when it happened."

Timms snorted. "And you believed that."

Chief Mann looked at him. "They're always alone when one of 'em kills another one, son. Doesn't pay to get your panties in a twist about it."

Timms leaned forward, all but vibrating with intensity. "It seems to me you've got a pretty cozy relationship with this werewolf, Chief. Makes me wonder if you're getting paid to look the other—"

"Hey." Cynna tapped his arm. "Chill. You're out of line." She'd never been the one to put on the brakes when it came to harassing the local cops. Wouldn't Abel just bust something laughing if he could see her now?

Timms gave her a hard look, but he settled back in his chair.

"I'm hoping you can drive out to the Leidolf clanhome with us, Chief," Cynna said, trying a big smile to see if that helped.

Ouch. Apparently big, wide smiles were out for the time being. She resisted the temptation to pump up the power into the pain-blocking spell. "I'd appreciate being introduced to the Rho. I've got a warrant, but I'd rather not use it if I don't have to. I'm hoping he'll cooperate."

"Well, that's good thinking—Victor doesn't like feelin' pushed around. But… clanhome? Rho? You speakin' English?"

Could he really know that little about the lupi living so close to his town? "Victor Frey is the Rho or leader of the Leidolf clan, which has its clanhome—uh, the land owned by the clan—just outside Nutley."

"Victor's in charge, all right," he said, nodding. "And he owns a few acres. I don't know about that clanhome stuff, but I can take you out to see Victor." He reached for the Stetson hat on the corner of his desk, unhooked the bomber jacket draped over the back of his chair, and shot a glance at Timms. "Y'all be polite, though. He's suffered a loss."

Cynna snagged her tote and followed. The tote held several vials of holy water packed in a foam wedge. The vials were specially made, designed to shatter on impact. It was usually best to apply holy water to a demon from a distance.

Pity she hadn't done it that way with Rule.

They stepped outside into light burnished to gold by the setting sun. The air was chill and dry, and winter-bare trees and white clapboard buildings dragged long shadows behind them. Somewhere a dog barked, over and over, in tired repetition. On three sides of the little town a rolling stack of browns and greens climbed the mountains to a lumpy blue horizon. In the west the hills were dark, blackened by the glare of the descending sun.

Dammit. It was nearly five o'clock. The drive down here had only taken a couple hours, but before leaving D.C. she'd had to change into something better for hunting demons than her got-a-meeting clothes, pack a bag, and collect Timms and his arsenal. By the time they finished talking to Victor Frey, it would be fully dark. Cynna wasn't crazy about chasing a demon at night.

Maybe she wouldn't have to. So far she hadn't Found any lurking demons. Surreptitiously she raised a hand and did a cast, not putting all her power behind it, just running a quick check. Even with only a partial pattern, she ought to Find it if it was within a mile or three.

"You tryin' to flag a taxi, ma'am?" Manly Mann was amused.

"No." Still no trace of a demon. Maybe Timms was destined for disappointment. "We'll follow you out," she said, "if that's okay."

He gave an amiable nod and headed for his cop car in the middle of the reserved spaces in front of the courthouse. Cynna spoke firmly to Timms as they made for the public lot across the street. "We're not here to investigate the chief."

Timms scowled. "If he's in bed with those werewolves—"

"Our assignment is the demon," said Cynna, who had been in bed with a werewolf and had liked it very much, thank you. "If it's still around, we kill it. Whether it's here or not, we need to talk to those who saw it, check out the scene, examine the victim's body… you know. Investigate. We'll need Victor Frey's cooperation for that, and the chief can help us get it."

Timms muttered something under his breath Cynna pretended not to hear.

A few courthouse employees had jumped the gun on quitting time. A dumpy woman was cranking up her shiny red Mustang as Cynna and Timms reached the parking lot; two men carrying briefcases got into matching SUVs. A battered pickup pulled out of the lot.

One car was arriving, not leaving. A white, late-model Camry with D.C. plates turned into the lot and parked in the empty spot two spaces down from the Ford Cynna had borrowed from Lily. Cynna glanced at the driver as he climbed out, then stopped dead. Her hormones did the Snoopy dance.

Cullen Seabourne stood there grinning at her. His T-shirt was old and tight, his denim jacket in worse shape than hers, and his jeans worn threadbare in interesting places. Two days of stubble decorated that impossibly gorgeous face, and he'd needed a haircut at least a month ago.

At least one person here was dressed worse than she was, even if shabby looked a lot better on him than it did on her. She parked her hands on her hips. "Well, hell."

"Been there, done that," he said cheerfully. "You going to introduce me to your sidekick?"

"What are you doing here?"

His eyebrows climbed. "Isn't it obvious? I'm going to help you bag your demon."

"It's not my demon, and you are not—"

Timms spoke right over her. "Who is he?"

She rolled her eyes. "Agent Timms, Cullen Seabourne. Cullen's a lupus," she added, not sure which of the two men she wanted to needle but figuring they both deserved it.

Timms narrowed his eyes at Cullen. "You don't look like part of the Unit."

"Oh, no," he said blithely. "I help out when I can, but the FBI isn't interested in my professional skills. I take my clothes off for a living."

CYNNA told Cullen he wasn't going with them to speak to the Leidolf Rho. She told him to go back to D.C., where he might be of some use. She was firm. She let him know his help was not needed.

So why was he sitting next to her in the backseat of Lily's Ford while Timms drove?

Well, .she did know why she'd let Timms get behind the wheel. She wanted to be free to do a cast every so often. But how, exactly, had the man with the face of a god and the morals of an alley cat ended up in the car with them?

Surely she hadn't caved in to her body, which really appreciated being close enough to reach out and touch. Because she was so not touching him. No way, no how. She was working, dammit.

Besides, he was a jerk. Oh, not an all-around jerk. She admitted that. Cullen had risked everything to rescue Rule, so he had friendship potential. But where women were concerned, he set off her jerk-o-meter.

Cynna knew a jerk when she lusted after one—which was usually, she admitted. Rule was the single, shining exception to her lousy taste in men. Not that she was looking for Mr. Right. She couldn't imagine pledging to live with one person for her entire life. It boggled her brain that people did this regularly. How could they possibly know?

But she was tired of waking up with yet another Mr. What-Was-I-Thinking. She meant to change that, even if her stupid hormones hadn't yet signed on with the plan. "Victor Frey may not allow you on his land."

"Victor thinks I'm scum," he agreed. He sat in a comfortable sprawl that took up more than his share of the seat, with his knee nearly touching her thigh. "But that means he'll think he can use me. Victor gets off on using people."

"Guess we'll find out soon." The cop car ahead of them turned off on a dirt road marked by a small sign that read, Private Property. Keep Out. "Don't they have guards, like at Nokolai Clan-home?"

"You won't see them unless they decide to stop us. You haven't picked up any trace of the demon that killed Randall?"

She shook her head. "My range is limited, though, because the pattern's from a dead demon, and I'm looking for a live one. Also, I haven't done a full cast yet—just quickies."

They turned onto the dirt road. Its ungraded surface trended mostly upward, winding through a slew of trees.

Cynna was a child of the city. She didn't really approve of trees. Not wild trees, anyway, and not in such numbers, and especially not when they held hands overhead as if they wanted to be ready to drop a branch on intruders.

Enough with the trees, she told herself. "Uh… I guess Lily and Rule briefed you."

"Thoroughly enough that she felt obliged to threaten my tongue. That's her gentle way of suggesting I don't discuss top secret secrets in front of those who lack my wisdom and discretion." He wiggled his eyebrows at the back of Timms's head. "Speaking of being briefed, did Rule warn you about Victor Frey?"

"Said he's mean, smart, and hard to predict."

"That's one way to put it. Victor's a treacherous son of a bitch. He'll try to charm you."

"I'm hard to charm."

"Pretend, then. He doesn't expect much from women, so you can lull his suspicions that way, and you're going to need every advantage you can get. If you'd sleep with him, too—"

"What?"

"Okay, that's out. Not that I blame you, but for some reason a lot of women have slept with Victor—or not slept, as the case may be, but I'm trying to be tactful. Did Rule mention that Victor's surviving son and possible heir is crazy?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "You're talking figuratively?"

"No, I'm pretty sure that's the literal truth. Brady Gunning is a sadistic sociopath."

"Gunning? Isn't he a Frey, too?"

"Not unless he's named heir. Mummy and Daddy don't marry when Daddy's a lupus—you know that. So we carry our mother's surname."

"Rule doesn't."

"An accepted heir usually adopts his father's surname."

So Rule hadn't started out as a Turner. Maybe that's why the FBI had never been able to dig up much about him before he "came out" as the Nokolai prince. "Will this Brady Gunning be there today?"

Cullen shrugged. "If not, he'll show up soon. Leidolf Clan-home is smaller than Nokolai Clanhome. Not many clan actually live there, but most are close by. They'll be descending on their clanhome for the naming."

"The naming. Of the new heir, you mean?"

He nodded, frowning into space as if he'd half forgotten she was there.

Which was another good reason not to touch. Cullen Seabourne was fantastic fling material, and she'd been tempted to pursue that option when they first met. But then she'd gotten to know him. In between hot, sweaty bouts of sex he was likely to forget you existed.

Not that it mattered, since she wasn't going to have hot, sweaty sex with him. She dragged her thoughts back to business. Cullen hadn't answered her question about why he was here instead of chasing dragons, but Timms was listening. She'd ask again when they were alone.

In the meantime, she might as well see if anything nasty was hiding in all those trees. Cynna trickled power into the kielezo for the dead demon, letting it itch there a moment as it built. Then she held up her hand, and—"Ow!"

They'd bounced over a rut so hard she'd hit her head on the roof.

"Sorry." Timms didn't sound sorry.

Cynna scowled at the back of his head. The headache she'd already started on ached in earnest now. "Slow it down. I can't do a cast if I'm bouncing off the roof."

"What does it matter? You haven't found anything."

Sitting in the driver's seat seemed to have gone to his head. "Slow. It. Down."

"Rebellion in the ranks," Cullen said sympathetically. "Want me to bite him for you?"

Timms's shoulders twitched.

"Better not," Cynna said. "He'd shoot you, and Lily would be pissed if we got blood all over her car."

Cullen grinned. "No, he wouldn't. Not before I—"

"Cullen—"

"Shut the fuck up," Timms said.

She swung toward him. "What?"

"Him. Not you. I'm not working with a damned werewolf. A damned werewolf stripper."

"Yes, you are. You know why? Because I'm in charge." Good Lord. Had that just come out of her mouth? If she didn't watch it, she'd be telling him she was the decider, and then she'd have to wash her mouth out with soap.

"I know I can't be possessed," Timms said. "You say you've got faith, too, so you're safe. But him?" Timms snorted. "If a godless heathen of a werewolf gets possessed, he's gonna take us both down."

"No worries," Cullen said, leaning back at his ease. "This particular godless heathen can't be possessed."

"You know that, Timms," Cynna said, exasperated. "At least you should, since I told you on the way out. Lupi claim they can't be possessed. You'd better hope that's true, since we're going to be around a number of lupi, and it would be real inconvenient if the demon was in one of them. And while we're there, you're going to be very, very quiet. I don't want your prejudices screwing things up."

Timms breathed his way through a few moments of silence. He sounded more grumpy than truly pissed when he spoke. "If I slow down, I'll lose sight of the chief's car."

"Not a problem," Cullen said. "The road leads to Victor's place. Can't miss it."

Cynna looked at him. "You've been here before."

"Not lately, but yeah, I have."

He didn't signal discomfort—no frown, tensed muscles, averted eyes. His voice didn't go flat or sharp, and every luscious inch of his body stayed easy, announcing how little the subject mattered. So why was she struck with the notion that this rutted tree tunnel was memory lane for him, and damned unpleasant memories at that?

She thought of a neighborhood in Chicago and how she'd feel if she returned there accompanied by people from her new life. People who thought she was basically okay. The last thing she'd want would be for anyone to notice her reaction. "Is it normal for there to be this many trees?"

He blinked. "You've heard of forests?"

"I've even been in one." They'd been looking for an eleven-year-old girl… She pushed that memory aside. "But it had space between the trees, and those trees were a lot taller. These are all tangled up together. They lean out over the road."

"Leaving aside whether we can call this a road—" They hit another bump for emphasis. "This is a deciduous forest that's been logged in the past. What you're seeing is new growth, which includes a lot of shrubby stuff. Older forests, especially conifer forests, have less competing growth."

"Yeah, these trees are so into competition they've decided to take on the road. They're trying to push it right out of here."

"Oh, please. Don't tell me you're one of those idiots who personifies everything."

"Hey, personification is a tool in some magical systems. And Wiccans and other pagans say plants do possess intent, so—"

He snorted. "You've been watching Saturday morning cartoons. Plants lack the sense of self it takes to form independent will, though en masse they sometimes develop an accreted version of consciousness. But it's ridiculous to ascribe human motives to them."

She settled in to enjoy the argument. "I'm a simple kind of a gal. Even if these trees aren't aware in the sense we understand it, they might have a dryad or something guarding them."

"A dryad?" he repeated, disbelieving. "In a new-growth forest this close to civilization?"

She waved a hand. "Okay, not likely. But a number of African, Celtic, and American Indian traditions claim trees have spirits that people can communicate with, right? There are tons of legends about it."

"Legends are mostly allegorical. Which means," he explained kindly, as if to a three-year-old, "that they're not meant to be taken literally."

"I kind of get the difference between symbolic and literal truth. Hard to work a spell without some grasp of symbolism, isn't it? But maybe the tree spirit bit is literally true. I know a shaman who sacrifices to the oak in his backyard every new moon by burying tobacco leaves at the roots."

"Shamanic practices connect the practitioner to major and minor earth spirits or gods, not individual trees."

"He says he's contacting the tree, not some all-purpose spirit."

"He's mistaken. Oh, his oak probably does have power. Trees soak up a fair amount of magic over the years, but not everything that possesses magic is sentient. Or do you think crystals are alive and plotting against you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Sarcasm doesn't prove anything. Don't you feel something menacing about these trees?"

Not only did he not sense any menace, he thought she was an idiot. Which she was perfectly willing to debate, too.

Cynna had known Cullen wouldn't need much encouragement to argue. That's what they usually did. It made for a nice distraction the rest of the way to the clanhome, and not just for Cullen. Timms was so busy eavesdropping that he drove slower and didn't say a word.

Maybe she wasn't completely inept at the in-charge thing, after all, even if her methods were unconventional. They reached their destination without a drop of blood being spilled.

Leidolf's home territory didn't look much like Nokolai's version. The road took them to a clearing about the size of two football fields laid end to end. She saw four buildings, total: a barn, a long, one-story structure like a bunkhouse, and two houses. The first house was small and built from gray stone. Smoke trickled up from the chimney. Across from it, three pickups and a car were parked in front of the bunkhouse-type building.

They were headed for the larger of the two houses, a two-story structure at the far end of the clearing. Two vehicles sat in front of it-—a two-year-old Bronco and the chief's cop car.

"Are there any more houses?" she asked Cullen. "Hiding back in the trees, maybe?"

"Not that I know of. Leidolf is poor compared to Nokolai, but they could afford more housing here. Victor doesn't want that. He doesn't trust the mainstreaming movement, doesn't want his wolves coming out of the closet, and anyone living here is admitting he's lupus."

Victor Frey's house had all the charm of a big, white box. The wide front porch was its only grace note. There was a detached garage on the near side, and she caught a glimpse of a swing set on the other side before they pulled to a stop.

Chief Mann was leaning against his car, chatting with another man—tall, blond, and bony, with a tidy mustache and old jeans. No shirt, no shoes, nice chest. He looked about thirty. Had to be a lupus, but not the one she'd come to see.

"Shit," Cullen said.

"What?" She paused with her hand on the door handle.

"That's Brady, the local sociopath. Timms—"

"What?" Timms snapped.

"Brady's nuts, but he knows how to hold a grudge. If he can't get you now, he'll get you later, and he thinks an eye for an eye isn't nearly enough. Don't insult him."

"I'm a federal agent. He'd better be polite to me."

Cynna shook her head. "So does testosterone make fools of you all. Behave, or at least be quiet."

Cullen cocked an eyebrow. "You've read Shakespeare?"

"Hey, I'm not illiterate. No warnings for me?"

"You're a woman. His expectations will be different. But if he asks you for sex and you turn him down, do it with regret."

She snorted and opened the door.