“That’s it? Your grandmother’s enemy?’
“He, uh, sort of knows Grandmother. Or knows about her.” Lily wasn’t sure if they really had some kind of history, or if Zhou had just heard rumors. Grandmother wouldn’t say. Zhou Xing was old-school, though. He believed things his Westernized younger brothers didn’t. Lily suspected he had a Gift of some sort, too, but had never managed to shake hands with him to confirm that. “Never mind. Just tell him that and to call me if he wants to know more.”
“Should I look inscrutable?”
“You might have to settle for clueless.”
He grinned around a mouthful of beans he’d raised to incinerator levels with the addition of extra jalapeños. “I can do clueless. You going to deal me in if he does call?”
“I will. As much as I can, anyway. Dammit, I want to say more,” she said, frustrated beyond words. “I can’t.”
“Guess the muckety-mucks have you muzzled.”
She grimaced. “You could say that.” Though the muckety-mucks responsible for her muzzling weren’t with the FBI, as T.J. assumed. She was afraid they were a lot bigger and badder than that.
Who could have crafted a treaty that was literally unbreakable even for dragons? One that could be passed down through blood or magical inheritance?
Old Ones. Beings who could pass for gods if they wished. Lily’s hands felt clammy. For the first time she thought maybe she shouldn’t push, shouldn’t fight against bonds placed on her without her consent. These waters were deeper and more turbulent than she could conceive.
But she didn’t know if she could stop pushing. Like an animal chewing off its leg to escape a trap, Rule had said. It was a good analogy. She just wasn’t sure she could do anything different.
T.J. dragged a bite of tortilla around his plate, mopping up the last of the sauce, ate that, and burped happily before wiping his face almost as clean as his plate. “Damn good enchiladas. Mine are better, but those were damn good.”
“I know you grill, but enchiladas?” She shook her head. “Pull the other one.”
“Naw, I’m not messing with you. Camille and me have a deal. After my time-out, I had to learn to cook. Got pretty good at it after a while.”
“Your time-out?”
He grinned. “You’ve still got the instinct. Yeah, about ten years in she gave me a time-out for bad behavior.”
“Why? What did you do?”
“You’re sure nosy all of a sudden.”
“I’ve always been nosy. Humor me, okay?”
He shrugged. “Mostly it was just stupidity, me trying to keep the job from touching her, thinking she couldn’t understand, all that crap most of us pull.”
“She moved out?”
“More like she handed me my hat and pointed to the door. She claims she had to get my attention. Guess she was right, but it took three months of cold suppers and a cold bed for me to stop being pissed long enough to start hearing what she said.” He tilted his head. “You’ve got something on your mind.”
“I’m just . . . well.” She drummed her fingers. What was it exactly she wanted to know? “You might say I’m gathering data.”
He snorted. “Pretty sure that isn’t what I’d say, but you can, if you want.”
“Why did you and Camille get married instead of just living together? Was it because that’s what people expected?”
“Helluva question. If you want kids, you want them to have your name, don’t you? Well, I guess that’s a man’s perspective, so you . . . shit. You’re not. You are not pregnant.”
He’d made it an order. She couldn’t help grinning. “No, I’m not.” On impulse, she pulled out the chain that held the toltoi and her engagement ring.
“Son of a bitch. You broke up with that Turner guy? You’re getting married? Who to?”
“I’m still with the Turner guy. I’m going to marry him.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“I think you’re supposed to say congratulations.”
“This’ll be a real marriage? The whole deal?” He waved his fork in circles, as if to indicate what a “whole deal” looked like.
“A real marriage. License, rings, vows, till-death-do-us-part.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“We’re keeping it quiet until Rule can hold a press conference. You know what those vultures are like. I don’t want to dodge idiots asking about my honeymoon plans while I’m working this case, so don’t tell anyone in the department.”
“That bunch of gossips. Hell, no, I won’t breathe a word. I’ll just let ’em know I know something I’m not telling. It’ll drive them crazy.” He paused to savor the prospect. “You going to go public with this soon?”
“As soon as possible.” Lily wasn’t sure why she’d told T.J., except that he was a friend and she was tired of not telling people. She glanced at her ring, and reluctantly slid it back inside her shirt. Soon, she told herself. But T.J. couldn’t really help with her basic question. His generation had married automatically. You fell in love, you got married, period. Unless you were a hippie. T.J. hadn’t been a hippie.
Camille had. Maybe she should talk to Camille.
Later. Right now she’d better get moving. “When you talk to Zhou,” she began. And stopped, staring at the TV.
“Hey!” T.J. waved a hand in front of her face. “You day-dreaming about the big wedding?”
“I’ve got to go.” She shoved back her chair, grabbed her notebook, and jammed it in her purse. “The hospital on the news—that’s Memorial, downtown. That’s where Rule is. And Cullen. And Cynna.” And Max and Jason and Nettie—all of them there, where black smoke billowed and sirens screamed. “I’ve got to go.”
“You’ll go with me. Shut up, Yu,” he told her, though she hadn’t said anything. He was on his feet, too, and pulling out his wallet. “I’ve got a siren. You don’t. End of argument.” He tossed a flutter of bills on the table. “Let’s go.”
She got two steps in before he grabbed her arm. “Hold up.”
“What?” she snapped.
He nodded at the TV screen.
Lily caught the word helicóptero from the excited news-caster as the scene switched to an aerial view of an elegant black shape drifting down through the smoke like an enormous burnt leaf. Wings beat or tilted artfully as the black dragon rode the air down and down to settle on the roof of the hospital.
“Son of a bitch,” Lily said.
TWENTY-SEVEN
IN addition to a siren, T.J. had a police radio in his car. They listened to that and to regular news in their mad race to Memorial. From what she could piece together, the fire had abruptly poofed out about the time Sam settled on top of the building. Firefighters were baffled.
Lily wasn’t, not about the cause—but the motive had her wondering. Sam was an ethical being, but his standards didn’t often overlap with human morality. Lily felt sure he hadn’t suddenly decided to become a scaled firefighter.
There were reports of a bomb, garbled and unconfirmed. There was no official word on casualties, but according to someone interviewed by a reporter, the hospital’s sprinklers hadn’t activated and much of its tech had malfunctioned. So it could be bad.
Lily couldn’t get Rule or Cynna on their cell phones. She knew Rule lived. The mate bond made that a certainty. She didn’t know about any of the others.
Even with a siren, T.J. was unable to get very close. It seemed as if half the people in the downtown had fled when the dragon appeared—and the other half had left their cars or their offices to get a better look. Sidewalks and streets alike were jammed.
T.J. parked well down Frost Street. As soon as the car stopped, Lily slid out into the oven-dry heat—and jumped as a cool mental voice said, Your mate and compatriots live.