He’d made a show of it, arriving in a litter carried by six slaves, his silk robe so heavily embroidered with gold thread one might have mistaken him for the emperor. Li Lei had asked herself: why did he not ride on a showy stallion or fly through the air, as sorcerers were said to do?
She had answered the second question by adding her own extrapolation to what Sun Mzao had told her. The sorcerer could fly, but not through his own arts. That skill belonged to his demon lover, and while she could carry him, she would be unlikely to make the effort in such a cause.
The answer to the first question was even easier. The sorcerer did not know how to ride. He was known to be a commoner. She believed he was actually a peasant.
Now, Li Lei believed commoners were no more stupid than the nobility, and were perhaps a shade smarter, on the whole. But much of the peasantry existed in such profound ignorance and need that they were forever warped in their thinking. Whatever the sorcerer’s innate intelligence might be, his thoughts, plans, and goals were distorted. He behaved as a child—shrewd in his way, but always grabbing for whatever shiny object caught his attention, lashing out when it broke, then moving on to the next bit of glitter.
At the fire he’d made himself impressive, raising his arms and commanding the flames in a loud voice—and fire answered him, yes, but sluggishly. He had triumphed over the blaze, but he had used a great deal of power to do so.
Fire was not his by nature. So Sam had said, and so her own observation confirmed. Li Lei smiled at the dark house where she had once lived, where so many she loved had died so horribly.
No, fire was not his. But it was hers.
THIRTEEN
NETTIE put Cullen back in sleep, left Jason some instructions, and went to get some regular sleep. Rule had a word with Jason, too, then called Max. Lily called her boss, Ruben Brooks, though at this hour she used his office line, not his mobile. He’d get her message in the morning. Cynna patted her tummy and went to use the bathroom. Jason left.
When Cynna came out, Lily had a question for her. “Blood magic, Cullen said. Could it be Vodun? Nettie said the spell reminded her of a Vodun curse.”
“Vodun uses a lot of blood magic, but they aren’t the only ones with blood spells. Some traditions consider blood magic just plain bad, like Wicca—though some Wiccans argue that it’s okay if you use your own blood. Wicca isn’t uniform like Catholicism. The Catholic Church ties itself up in knots on the subject, but that’s par for their course.” She lowered herself into the chair by the bed and heaved a sigh. “You think a single cup of coffee would hurt the little rider?”
“I think you don’t like coffee, so you must be getting desperate.”
“I’m not going to sleep,” Cynna said.
Rule put away his phone. “You’ll lie down, though, while we wait for Max to get here. Jason’s gone to arrange for a bed. That chair isn’t comfortable.”
“Well.” After a moment she grinned tiredly. “Guess I won’t argue. Max is coming?”
“He’ll be here in half an hour or less.” Rule glanced at Lily. “I asked him to sneak in. He’s rather distinctive. I don’t want him associated with this room.”
“Good thinking.” And it hadn’t occurred to her, which meant she probably needed either coffee or sleep, too. “Cynna, what can you tell me about blood magic? Anything might help.”
“It’s pretty much what it sounds like—magic that’s sourced in part or whole on blood. Blood is highly magically active. Doesn’t matter if it’s from a null or a big, bad werewolf—it’s got juice.”
“I don’t get that. Lupus blood carries some of their magic. Blood from a Gifted person might, too, I guess. But blood from a normal human? How is that magic?”
“Magic’s everywhere. Or potential magic, maybe. Thing is, mostly it’s sort of transmuted into being instead of acting. That’s what spells are for. They take a bit of that being and make it acting.”
“I know you think that makes sense.”
Cynna ran a hand over her hair, making the spikes stand up straight. “Cullen’s better at explaining than I am. Say you use a rose in a spell—and it’s a good spell, and you know what you’re doing, because if it’s a poorly crafted spell, nothing happens. But this is a workable spell cast by someone with a bit of magic to feed into it. Some bit of that rose stops being rose and acts as rose. It’s like the difference between a noun and a verb.”
“And blood has lots of potential magic?”
“You could put it that way.” Cynna yawned hugely. “Sorry. One reason blood spells have a bad rep is that a person’s blood can be used to power a spell against them. A hex or curse, in other words. That’s what someone’s done to Cullen, though it isn’t like any hex or curse I’ve ever heard of.”
“He said the spell was powered from his blood. That’s what any blood curse does, isn’t it?”
“Not exactly. The way he said it . . . I’m guessing, but it sounded like it’s drawing power from him now. Not like it was initially powered by blood someone stole from him somehow, but like it’s powered from his blood while it’s in him. That’s real tricky. I never heard of a spell that could do that.” She shook her head, sighed. “He’s going to want to figure it out, and not just the way a sane person would, so he can get rid of it. No, he’ll want to understand it.”
She sounded gloomy, but not for the reason Lily’s anxiety spiked. A spell like Cynna described would be hard to defeat. It wouldn’t run out of power as long as Cullen was alive. “Nettie said the spell made Cullen’s body fight against his magic.”
“That fits. Healing—ordinary healing—is delivered through the blood. The spell either interferes with that or makes the blood actively toxic. Cullen’s magic keeps fixing things, but it can’t get rid of the spell, and the spell keeps messing up his blood again.”
Lily’s phone sounded. It was the chime that meant the call had been forwarded from her official number, so she answered it. “Yu here.”
“Hey, babe.”
The gravelly voice was immediately familiar. Funny. She’d thought she didn’t remember Cody’s voice that clearly. Lily felt a smile tug at her mouth. “I never did break you of that habit. What’s up?”
“Not a damned thing.” He sounded tired. “We’re winding up here. Thought I’d let you know. Oh, and the big boss wolf said to tell you one of his people picked up a scent, but it petered out. He wants to know how the vic’s doing. I’d like to know, too.”
“He’s alive. He’s also still reacting to a nasty spell that damn near killed him, which makes this case mine.”
Cody was silent for a long moment. “Guess I can’t argue with that. Never thought I’d see you on the fed side of the fence, though.”
“It feels weird sometimes.” All at once she had a dozen questions to ask him. Questions that had nothing to do with the case. Nothing to do with the present at all. With an effort she shoved them away and asked the ones that mattered.
Still no sign of the weapon. No physical evidence at all, basically. They were talking about what role the sheriff’s department would have in the investigation when someone knocked on the door. “Got to go,” she said quickly, drawing her weapon and sliding her phone back in her pocket.
Rule opened the door. It was Jason. At her nod, he wheeled in a folded-up rollaway bed with one hand. Under his other arm he carried a large bundle of blankets.
The blankets spoke. “Can’t goddamn breathe in here.”
“Hang on a sec.” Jason set the bundle down, unwrapped the top blanket, and revealed four and a half feet of scowling gnome.