Ritual Magic

THIRTY-TWO

HOME.

That was what Rule felt as they drove down the familiar asphalt road . . . in spite of the subtle push-away that began the moment they passed the gate. In spite of the fact that he had his own home now, however unfinished it might be. He didn’t really know every twig and rock here. It just felt like it. Nor had he been away for long, only since their move.

It just felt like it.

“What does it feel like?” Lily asked quietly.

Startled by the echo of his thoughts, he glanced at her. She was watching him, her eyes dark in the shadowed car. He decided she was asking about the dissonance between Leidolf’s mantle and the way the Nokolai mantle claimed this land. That dissonance only affected Rhos, and only when they were on another clan’s clanhome. If he was wrong, if she was really asking if he ached from the rejection he felt every second . . . no doubt she’d let him know. Whether he wanted her to or not. “Rather like walking into a wind that blows from every direction. It’s not a problem.”

She cocked her head. “Maybe it will be okay to visit your dad sometimes, then. Eat some of Carl’s lasagna. See some of the people you’ve missed.”

“Perhaps.” This place had been the center of his world for most of his life, and now it pushed him away. Home didn’t want him here.

“Does it help to focus on the portion of Nokolai’s mantle you hold? It must be happy to be here.”

Lily always personified the mantles, in spite of all his explanations. “I’m fine, Lily. It’s a minor discomfort, one I can easily ignore for the short time we’ll be here.” Though he’d done poorly at that so far, allowing himself to be distracted. That needed to stop. “It looks like Abel is here already.”

“We’re late.”

She sounded so grim he had to smile. Lily hated to be late. “By less than ten minutes. I think they’ll forgive us.”

His father had left the porch light on in the universal sign of welcome. The van—which held Toby, Julia, Li Qin, Madame Yu, and six guards—pulled up behind Abel’s government car. The van had been an airport shuttle in its previous life. They could have all ridden in it, had Rule been willing to bring fewer guards. He wasn’t.

No one had attacked them on the way, though, and he wouldn’t need Leidolf guards at his father’s house. He’d arranged for them to enjoy a nice four-legged run with a few Nokolai. The two clans needed to get used to each other. Some of his guards had stayed with him here at Clanhome before the move, but most had not.

He should have come here sooner, he realized as the car pulled up behind the van and stopped. He should have been bringing his men here all along to train with Nokolai the way he’d been doing in D.C. If he had, Santos might have accepted José’s authority better. Which made Santos’s failure his, as well—a failure he would have cemented in his soul if he’d killed the young man who was currently deeply miserable, but alive.

Thank God Lily had shown up in time. Stubborn woman. He smiled as he stepped out of the car and inhaled, which told him several things . . . Isen had had spaghetti and meatballs for supper. Home still smelled right, however it might push at him. And . . . “Sam doesn’t seem to be here.”

“He watches over Nettie,” Grandmother announced as she climbed down from the van, “so Benedict may attend.”

“Hey, Dad!” Toby shot out of the van at his usual pace. “Can Danny and Emmy come over? They’d like to meet Julia, I bet.”

Rule’s gaze flicked to the five-foot-nine twelve-year-old exiting the van behind his son. “I’m afraid not. We’ll be discussing confidential matters. Would you like to go to Danny’s?”

The excitement leaked out of Toby’s voice. “I guess not. Carl’s probably got cake or cookies or something.”

Toby was as interested in sweets as any other boy, but that wasn’t why he didn’t want to go to his friend’s house. He didn’t feel safe away from Rule. Rule understood that. He didn’t want to let Toby out of his sight. When he thought of how close Toby had been to those dworg, how differently it all might have ended . . . best not to think about it. They’d have to get over their mutual clinging, but for now, Toby stayed with him. “Let’s find out,” he said cheerfully enough and roughed up Toby’s hair.

“C’mon, Julia,” Toby said and set off for the front door at his usual clip.

The door opened and Isen stood there, solid and sturdy as a tree, beaming at his grandson, arms opening for a hug. “Toby!” he boomed happily, as if he hadn’t seen the boy in months. Toby barreled into him.

Then it was Rule’s turn. His father was a world-class hugger, and for a small pinch of a moment Rule felt as safe as Toby must have when those strong arms closed around him. This, too, I could have lost . . .

Enough of that, dammit. Rule moved on into the house, hating the anxiety that had trailed him like his own shadow since the dworg attack. Normally he would have slid closer to his wolf to relieve it. To the wolf, it was simple. He’d won that battle. His mate and his brother and his Rho had won theirs, as well. What was there to be anxious about in that? But the man was too aware of how easily it might have gone differently for any one of them. The man kept thinking of that, dammit, no matter how often he pushed those thoughts away.

And here at Clanhome, the wolf couldn’t help because that part of him was much more sensitive to the push-away. It made the wolf nervous and jumpy and distracted. Here, the wolf needed the man’s help to be calm.

Isen had intercepted Lily on her way in to give her a hug. Lily’s family didn’t touch easily and often the way Rule’s did, but she’d gotten used to Isen’s greetings. She might even, Rule thought as he watched her hugging Isen back, have grown to like them.

Isen did not attempt to greet Madame Yu with a hug. He gave her the sort of nod he would have given another Rho and told her she and Li Qin were welcome. “And this is Julia.” His voice softened with his smile. “You’ll call me Isen. It’s not what you’re used to, I’m sure, but what choice do you have? Courtesy demands you address me as I wish, and that’s my wish.” And he took Julia’s hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm and patted it. “Come, come, and let me introduce you to Carl. He’s going to let you and Toby help him make tarts. Apple, I believe. Do you like apples?”

Julia was happy to talk about apple tarts, happy to go off with Isen. Lily stopped there in the entry hall and shook her head, smiling. “Your father does have a way with . . . well, with just about everyone.”

Because he liked just about everyone. Each person mattered to him. Some more than others, yes, but Isen’s heart remained open. Even now, even in the midst of war and loss . . . “He risks so much,” Rule murmured. “I haven’t half his courage.”

Lily cocked her head in a silent question.

He slid his arms around her and pulled her to him. “I need a moment.” Because this, too, he could have lost. He could have lost Lily. Friar had tried to kill her—again—and would keep trying. His heart beat fast in fear that threatened to swamp him, drown him . . . how could he be with both Toby and Lily every moment? He couldn’t. Couldn’t protect them both, couldn’t keep them safe . . . Can’t, can’t, can’t pounded in his mind with every too-hard beat of his heart.

Gradually his heartbeat slowed. She was here now, and for once not asking questions. “Anxiety attack,” he explained.

“You?” Her eyebrows lifted, as did the corners of her mouth. “Must mean you woke up on the wrong side of perfect yet again.”

“I believe I did.” He smiled down at her dark eyes, the beautiful oval of her face . . . her skin was soft, but nothing like porcelain or ivory or anything so fragile and protected. His nadia was a California girl who’d been impatient with her mother’s lectures about sunscreen when she was young, and still forgot it more often than not. Often on purpose, he suspected. Her skin was sunshine and honey, not cream, and right now she smelled of toothpaste, of almonds from her lotion and apple from her shampoo, and Lily. The loveliest smell in the world.

A smell that stirred him . . .

“Wrong time, wrong place,” she told him. That wasn’t telepathy. If his face hadn’t given away his reaction, his body certainly had.

“True.” He eased away, but took her hand. “End of time-out. Let’s go deal with something other than my delicate feelings.”

She snorted softly, squeezed his hand, and went with him.

LILY liked Isen’s house. She liked it even better now that she wasn’t living here anymore. Though that, like most truths, had layers. Because she had lived here for a few months the place felt homier to her now, which was funny because it hadn’t felt like home when she was staying here.

Minds are weird, she decided. Hers included.

They’d assembled in the great room at the back of the house. It was large and flooded with light in the daytime; now the windows were covered by remote-control-operated blinds that hadn’t been there a month ago. Isen was showing off his new toy—the remote—to Karonski. One of the blinds started to lift, paused, and headed down again.

Rule headed straight for the new toy. Lily paused, looking around.

Near the fireplace, Li Qin smiled at Hardy, who seemed to be singing something to Cynna. At the far end of the room, Cullen sat at the big table with Arjenie, both engrossed in their discussion—magical shit, no doubt. They both loved to talk about magical shit. He had little Ryder on his shoulder. She was asleep. Grandmother sat at the other end of the table, and as Lily came in, Benedict handed Grandmother a cup and saucer.

That would be tea, not coffee. Grandmother detested coffee. Lily had never seen anyone in this household prepare or drink tea, and Grandmother was extremely particular about hers. She moved closer to listen.

Grandmother held the cup near her face. She inhaled, then sipped. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “It is good tea.”

“Carl,” Benedict explained.

“You may sit beside me,” Grandmother informed him. “I wish to hear about your daughter. She is recovering?”

Benedict didn’t talk much. He didn’t smile much, either, but when he did, it transformed him. He sat beside Grandmother now, all but glowing. “The doctor let her wake up this morning and try some healing. She did great. She says there’s nothing wrong she can’t fix, given time and rest. They’ve taken her off the sedatives so she can keep herself in sleep most of the time. That’s better for healing.”

From out of nowhere, Lily was hit by this wave of feeling—feeling both vast and weightless, universal and utterly particular to this room, this moment, these people. Every one of whom she loved. Every one of whom had woken up this morning on the wrong side of perfect, just like Rule, just like her, each of them capable of annoying, delighting, or disappointing her; capable of heroism, misunderstanding, quarreling, laughing, or sitting stubbornly on some stupidity he or she refused to abandon. All of them so different, and so connected.

The feeling ebbed, then passed. She thought: Love? Karonski? And of course that was ridiculous, but even as she shook her head at herself, she knew that it could be both ridiculous and true. This . . . all this, the room, the people here, the odd little pairs and groups they’d formed, the ways each was finding to connect to the others . . . this was what she fought for. For these people, yes. And for moments like this, punctuated by coffee or tea, with a baby on one man’s shoulder and a saint humming over by the fireplace . . . everyone gathered together to work toward their common goal. She fought for them, and for people she’d never met and never would, people who deserved a chance to make their own moments, built from their own flawed choices, with the people they found.

If everyone is here, a crystalline voice announced in her head, we should begin.