Mortal Sins

SIXTEEN

RANDOM killers. That’s what Rule had called them, but Lily wasn’t convinced Meacham and Hodge were truly random. There must be something connecting them, some commonality.

Probably some person. She wasn’t discounting Cullen’s theory about an out-realm creature being responsible, but that seemed more of a stretch than a human agent who’d stumbled across a previously unknown ability or ritual.

As she stepped out on the porch, she was hoping hard that Rule’s nose would turn up that connection, human or otherwise.

“I need to talk to Brown a minute,” she said to Rule as he closed the door behind them. The ERT techs were busy combing through Mrs. Asteglio’s grass, but almost everyone else had left. Nathan Brown stood in the next-door neighbor’s driveway, talking to a city cop. “He’s the most senior agent. Before I do, though, what’s worrying you about Toby?”

“Not now. Not here.”

She considered him. His eyes were hard, heavy-lidded—which meant he intended to shut her out. Or maybe he was shutting something else out. But what? Worry squeezed her like a boa softening up dinner, only she didn’t know what she needed to worry about. “All right. But I know something’s wrong.”

“Possibly wrong. Maybe. And I can’t discuss it here.”

Here, with all these pesky humans around . . . Well, she could understand that. “Okay. Meet me at Hodge’s place?”

His smile was small. “Certainly. I’ll Change into something more furry for the occasion.”

She headed for the neighbor’s drive. Nathan Brown was short, chubby, and pale, a Pillsbury Doughboy of a man with luxuriant hair the color of pecans and an oversize mustache. He had twenty-two years on the job, and he didn’t like her.

Lily didn’t assume his dislike arose from prejudice. It might, but she suspected his resentment was more generic. He was regular FBI; she was Unit. The Turning had led Congress to put a lot of authority into the hands of Unit agents. People like Brown, with all the experience and seniority Lily lacked, didn’t always appreciate being seconded to a newcomer. Especially one as young as Lily.

Tough. She motioned for him to step aside from the young officer he’d been talking with. He scowled, but did, joining her near the street. “You’ve got the city cops doing the knock-on-doors?”

“Partnered with our people, yeah. You got a problem with that?”

“No, it’s a good idea. People might be more comfortable, more forthcoming, with those they see as their own. I’m going to check out Hodge’s house before I let the ERT in. Anything I need to know before I do that?”

“Guess you don’t worry much about contaminating a scene.”

“I’ll take precautions. I need to know if there are magical traces in his house. He wasn’t Gifted himself, so anything I find along those lines could be meaningful.” She paused a beat. “Rule will be checking the place for scents, too.”

Brown’s gaze flickered to Rule, who was headed down the street for the single-story house on the corner. “You’re kidding me, right? You don’t really plan to walk your doggie around the house.”

“The attorney general will be formally issuing a new policy on scent next week. I’m anticipating it.”

His eyebrows lifted in exaggerated surprise. “Friend of yours, the AG? He keeps you posted on things?”

“No. He is friendly with my boss, and Ruben keeps me posted. As I was saying, the new policy will specifically allow the use of witnesses who are able to distinguish scents with great acuity.”

“Great acuity. Huh.” He reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out an opened package of gum. “Guess you are going to walk your doggie around the house.”

Lily drummed her fingers on her thigh. “Okay. I don’t need to know if you dislike me because I’m Unit, or because I’m Gifted, or if I just look like your ex-girlfriend. I do need to know if that dislike will interfere with you doing the job.”

Something flashed in his eyes—anger, maybe, or surprise. Hard to say when his scowl didn’t change. “I always do the job, ma’am. You don’t have to worry about that.” He held out the gum. “Want some? No? You’re probably wondering why the office sent you a son of a bitch with a lousy attitude who doesn’t know shit about magic, and doesn’t much care for those who do.”

“I’m hoping you do know shit about investigating.”

“I do.” He nodded. “I do. But what you really need me for is all these goddamned cops littering the landscape. We’ve got county cops from the previous case, city cops with this one, and no goddamn guarantee any of them will tell us one word more than they have to. But you lucked out. I’m a goddamned genius at keeping things straight with the goddammed locals.”

“Must be your inherent charm and charisma.”

“That’d be it. Now, I’ve got work to do, so unless you need me to hold your hand—”

“Go. Please.” She did, too.

Hodge’s house was a small, single-story frame structure set on a large, unfenced corner lot. There was a lovely mix of annuals, perennials, and small shrubs in the beds flanking the sidewalk that bisected the front yard; the grass was lush. She didn’t see Rule.

He must have decided to check out the yard. She headed for the side of the house, where a large, bushy cedar blocked the view.

His clothes were there, left in the dirt. Automatically she picked them up and folded them, then kept going to the back of the house. As soon as she rounded the corner, she saw him wiggling under the partly closed door of a detached garage. He stood, shook himself, and trotted toward her.

Rule made a very large, very beautiful wolf. His fur was a black and silver mix, heavy on the silver and palest on his face, where his eyes were rimmed in black like an Egyptian houri.

Good, so good, to see you like this.

The thought fluttered across her mind like a breath of smoke tattered by the air it rode—there; then wisp; then gone. But the place it came from wasn’t gone. Mostly she couldn’t touch those memories, but the part of her that had been through hell with Rule, knowing him only as wolf, was still there. Still her.

Lily stopped moving and found that a smile had settled on her face. Rule came to her and pushed his nose against her hand. She grinned.

He wasn’t much like a dog—too big, too smart, too wild—but he did love a good pet. She rubbed him briefly behind the ears. “Did you find anything interesting out here?”

He gave his head a single shake.

“Come on, then. I’ll bag your feet on the porch.”

They’d done this at a couple of other scenes, so had the routine down. Lily put plastic bags on Rule’s feet, securing them with covered rubber bands. Then she took off her shoes, cleaned her feet with an alcohol wipe, and pulled on her gloves.

Bare feet weren’t the preferred way to enter a scene you didn’t want contaminated, but they were the fastest way of picking up any magical traces inside. Lily checked the door, ready with the key she’d taken from Hodge’s pocket. But he hadn’t locked it before leaving home to kill people.

The door opened directly into the living room. It was small, cluttered, and dusty. The sofa was floral and faded; the La-Z-Boy recliner, newer and facing the television. Shelves along one wall held framed photos, books, a hodgepodge of inexpensive collectibles in glass and ceramic.

“He’s been a widower about ten years, according to Mrs. Asteglio. Looks like he kept things the way his wife had them.” Lily moved farther into the room. Here, yes—a prickly foulness on the soles of her feet, faint but unmistakable. “Check along here, where I’m standing. Traces of death magic.”

Rule sniffed. His lip curled back. He looked at her and waited.

The trick was to ask only yes-or-no questions. “You smell anything nonhuman?” He shook his head. “Human, then?” A nod. “Someone other than Hodge?” Negative. “Damn. Well, let’s keep looking.”

But twenty minutes later, the only magical traces Lily had found were the fading touches of death magic here and there, apparently left by Hodge himself after being possessed or constrained by something wielding death magic. That and a dim, indeterminate tingle on the old Bible on the table next to Hodge’s double bed.

It wasn’t the first time she’d run across a nondescript magical residue on objects of faith. You’d expect it with Wiccan holy symbols, given that religion’s connection with magic, but she’d found it on Bibles, Torahs, once on a small statue of Buddha. Magic sometimes built up in them over time, a slow, sedimentary accumulation, even when the individual who owned the object had no magic at all to confer upon it. She didn’t understand that, but it wasn’t unusual.

It was damned discouraging, though, in this case. Hodge was a man of faith, but his faith hadn’t protected him.

Still, it was confirmation that whatever they were dealing with, it wasn’t demonic. Those of strong faith couldn’t be possessed by demons.

“You find anything?” she asked Rule. He shook his head. She sighed. “Okay, let’s go. I’ll bring your clothes.”

They went to the old cedar so Rule could return to his usual form without giving the neighbors a thrill. The Change came more easily, she knew, when he had his feet planted literally on the ground. She held his clothes and waited.

Lily held a secret conviction that one day, if she watched carefully enough, she’d be able to make sense of what she saw when Rule Changed. Did his eyes alter first? Was his fur swallowed up by spreading skin? Did the bones melt before re-forming?

This wasn’t the day. If there was order in the process, her eyes refused to find it, reporting only unsynchronized snatches.

First he stood there on four feet; then the universe bent, folded, and folded again in directions that didn’t exist. Feet were two, four, and two again. Fur both was and wasn’t, but the “wasn’t” stuck. Prickles danced across her eyeballs as if the air were playing a tune on them.

Then he was a man, naked and magnificent. She handed him his underwear, not allowing herself to regret the necessity. She would see him naked again soon, she hoped. Not as soon as she’d like, with him heading for Leidolf Clanhome. But soon.

“I didn’t find any magical traces, except the nasty stuff. You?”

“Nothing.” He stepped into the shorts and accepted his pants. “I could swear no one has been in that house except Hodge himself for at least a week.”

“Then he was contaminated elsewhere.” A sigh sneaked out. It would be hard, maybe impossible, to learn who all Hodge had been in contact with away from his house. At least they had a limited time frame to work with—the four days since the other killings.

Or did they? Could the whatever-it-was have infected two people at the same time? More than two? “Maybe I’ll luck out and he’ll be able to tell me what happened to him.” If he lived. If he hadn’t been driven insane like Meacham. “I’m going to head for the hospital next, see if he made it. See if I can talk to him.”

“I’ll be gone when you return, then.” Half-dressed, Rule lost interest in completing the job, putting his hands on her shoulders. “I wish I could be in two places. I don’t like leaving you to deal with this alone.”

“I won’t be handling it alone.” But she didn’t want him to go. It was selfish, it was stupid, but she didn’t want him to go. She told herself to ignore that. “Rule . . . can you tell me about Toby now? Why you’re worried?”

He was silent, unmoving, for several heartbeats. When he spoke, his voice was carefully even. “A boy nearing First Change is kept segregated at the terra tradis. This is for the safety of the human members of the clan, of course, but also so that he’ll be surrounded by clan lupi at First Change, so the mantle will know him. Toby should not respond to either my Changing or the mantles this young. Do you remember when Cullen explained the type of cancer that sometimes afflicts us in old age?”

“Sure. That’s what the Leidolf Rho has. The magic in his system has separated from the pattern that should hold him to his proper shape. Cullen said . . . Oh. Oh, shit.” She’d just remembered the rest of it—the other time, aside from extreme old age, when a lupus might be struck down by this wild cancer.

“Yes.” Rule’s voice was soft now, almost a whisper. “Sometimes—rarely—it strikes in early adolescence, at or soon after First Change. We don’t know what goes wrong for those few, but some say . . . There are reports, anecdotal evidence . . .” He stopped. His jaw tightened.

Lily knew he was fighting for control—and that he needed it. Right now he needed the flat force of logic to keep the monsters at bay. So she waited, holding back her questions and fears to give him time.

Finally he swallowed and finished. “When a boy feels the tug of Change too young—when it pulls at him before he’s heard the moonsong—it may be a sign that First Change will trigger the cancer.”