Li Qin's dear, ugly face was placid as ever, her voice as surprising in its beauty as it had been when they first met. "Have you reached the top and returned to show us the way, madam?"
That was Li Qin's notion of humor. Obviously there was only one way to the top. "I have lost my taste for gravesite conversations. They are too one-sided. We will leave now."
Obediently Li Qin turned around and started back down the trail. "We return to the hotel?"
"No. We are going home."
"Ah." Li Qin followed in silence.
"You are doing it again," Li Lei muttered. "It is most unattractive."
"I have said nothing."
"You think very loudly." They descended in silence for several minutes before she spoke again, grudgingly. "I will admit it. You were right. China is no longer home."
Li Qin answered gently, "That was not what I said."
Not precisely, no. She had said that Li Lei would not find what she sought in China. But it came to the same thing, for home was what Li Lei ached for. Home, and reunions that could never be, for so many were gone.
But not all. Not all. She stopped, turning to meet her old friend's eyes. "I have found something I didn't seek. Or it has found me." She took a slow breath, let it out. "The Turning. The Turning has come, Li Qin."
Li Qin's breath sucked in so softly even Li Lei's ears barely caught the sound. Her eyes went wide… and not placid at all.
ONE
9:52 p.m. December 19 (local); 2:52 a.m. December 20 (Greenwich)
THE National Symphony's performance of Handel's Messiah had started at eight thirty, so the choir was winding up the "Hallelujah Chorus" when the lead tenor turned into a wolf.
Until then, Lily Yu had been enjoying the evening. She hadn't expected to, not after getting the news about the investigation. And before that, there had been the problem of clothes. Lily liked clothes. She owned a fair number, too—mostly on-the-job jackets and such, but she'd brought her few dressy things to D.C., too. The assignment called for them. So she'd had her favorite black silk dress with her, and if she'd worn it four times already, so what? You couldn't go wrong with black, especially when it fit like it had been made for her.
Which it had. Her cousin Lynn was trying to get a dressmaking business going.
What she'd lacked was a coat. A dressy coat, to be specific. She'd bought a Lands' End jacket the day after her plane's wheels touched down at Reagan International Airport, but she couldn't very well toss it on over black silk.
Lily was in Washington, D.C., temporarily, taking a special version of the usual FBI training at nearby Quantico during the day and going to parties at night. The parties were work, not play. She was an FBI agent now, part of the secretive Unit Twelve within the Magical Crimes Division, but on loan to the Secret Service. The case she'd been brought in for was beyond the usual scope of that agency: a Congressman had been offered a deal by a demon.
He'd reported it. They'd been fairly sure others in the same position hadn't.
There was no denying they needed to know if any congressional critters or highly placed bureaucrats had signed in blood on the dotted line, but Lily had hated her part in the investigation— mainly because she hadn't been allowed to really investigate. Nor had she been told much of anything. The Secret Service took the first part of their name far too seriously, and most of them did not like or trust the Unit.
Lots of people felt that way about magic, of course. That's one reason Lily had kept her own Gift a secret so long.
Lily was a touch sensitive, one of the rarest Gifts. Magic didn't affect her, yet she could feel it on her skin, could identify its type and sometimes its source. For years sensitives had been used to out the Gifted and those of the Blood who were passing as normal. Supposedly the days of persecution were over, but prejudice hadn't evaporated with the lifting of official sanctions.
Lily did not out anyone. Period. The work she'd been doing for the Secret Service came close to that, but there was a difference between making demonic pact and practicing the craft or turning furry once a month or so. Lily understood that. Besides, The Powers That Be hadn't wanted a whiff of this investigation reaching the press, and she has a dandy cover for her partying. Rule spent time in D.C. often, lobbying for his people. His current cause—or his father's—was the Species Citizenship Bill, still bogged down in committee, but not dead.
So she'd shaken hands, smiled, and found one aide, a Representative, and a highly placed bureaucrat whose flesh carried a hint of orange. They'd been questioned, and though she hadn't been part of those interviews, it had looked like they were going to find whoever had brought the demon over to offer those deals.
This afternoon, she'd been told the investigation was closed. The perp had confessed by killing himself. He'd even been thoughtful enough to leave a note, so it looked like she'd be able to fly home for Christmas.
That ought to have pleased her. Pity she could so seldom feel the way she ought to.
Home was San Diego, where the weather made sense. Water didn't get hard in San Diego unless you put it in your freezer. It didn't fall from the sky often, either—certainly not as icy pellets, which it had done here the night before last.
That had been a shock. She'd always thought of Virginia as warm.
Yesterday when she returned from Quantico, a coat had been spread across her bed; a long, black coat in a sumptuous blend of wool, silk, and cashmere. An extravagantly warm and luxurious coat with a cheap red bow sitting askew on the collar… and a fat orange cat shedding all over it.
She'd removed Dirty Harry immediately, much to his displeasure.
Harry was one of Rule's extravagances. They hadn't known how long they'd be in Washington, so Rule had insisted on paying for a plane ticket for the cat. The funny thing was that he and Harry didn't much like each other, but Rule regarded Harry as Lily's dependent. So Harry had flown first-class with them, little though he'd appreciated the honor. He'd been in his carrier, of course, and sedated, the latter being as much for their sakes as his.
"I didn't have time to wrap it," Rule had said, coming into the room behind her.
"I thought we agreed to exchange presents on Christmas, not before." She'd tried to sound stern, but the way she'd been petting the coat probably gave the wrong impression.
His mouth had twitched. "I grew impatient. Forgive me. It isn't so much that I mind watching you shiver and shake and complain about the weather. I've gotten used to that, and your lips are really quite attractive when they turn blue. But I know how you hate waste, and since it seems we'll be back in California for the big day after all—"
She'd rolled her eyes and interrupted him with a kiss. Then she'd given him the tickets to tonight's shindig, her early Christmas present for him, which destroyed any chance of complaining that he'd jumped the gun with his gift.
She hadn't really wanted to complain. It was a gorgeous coat.
The gorgeous coat was draped over her shoulders at ten minutes before ten as the chorus wound up into the climactic strains of the "Hallelujah Chorus." She glanced at the man beside her.
He was a pleasure to look at. Lily was getting used to that. She cleaned up okay herself, but Rule Turner in a tux turned heads. It wasn't any one thing about him, she thought. His features were striking but imperfect: the lips a little thin, the nose a little crooked, like his smile. His cheekbones were sharp, with eyebrows parked along the same slant above eyes as dark as his hair.
At the moment he sat perfectly still, his head lifted slightly, his entire being focused on the music.
Ah, good. Good.
The magic that let lupi heal so fast was especially strong in Rule. He'd mended quickly from the surgery that put him back together after a demon ripped him apart, but something inside him hadn't healed. He was too often silent, too slow to smile.