“Rule, if you feel the fire as well as see it—”
“Either you lead me or I follow blindly.” He looked at flames. But he didn’t hear them.
“I hate to say ditto,” Cody said. “I really hate it. But ditto.”
“All right. But if either of you feels fire as well as seeing it, get back in the damned car. And don’t attack anything unless I say so.” She opened her door. Rule could smell the fire, the smoky burned stink of it—but she’d said there was a real fire, hadn’t she? A block away.
Rule slid across. Drew hard on his mantle. And stepped out into flame.
He felt heat—but the heat of a hot day not yet cooled from the sun’s departure. Not the heat of burning. He wasn’t burning. He drew a breath and concentrated on the earth beneath his feet and listened.
Moonsong, sweet and cool and pure. Yes. It sang to him and to the mantles, and the mantles . . . Almost he heard them, too, echoing their own notes in that song. He pulled earth up through his feet, threw himself into the moonsong—and into the Change.
His body splashed apart in ripples of agony—and reformed, the pain gone as completely as if it had never been. His vision was lower down now, the colors flatter, the perspective subtly different. His hearing had sharpened, and the world was alive with scent.
And flames still licked the air, but they were gauzy, insubstantial. He saw through them, saw Lily frowning at him as she bent to pull her clutch piece from her ankle holster. He saw real fire, too—the one Lily had spoken of, behind them and a block to the west. Those flames crackled hungrily.
He gave her a nod—I’m well; I see you; I see truth now— and moved aside to let the deputy out. And saw that fake-fire coated the car like a virulent ghost. Just the car, for about three feet out.
Beck’s face was shiny with sweat as he hesitated by the open driver’s side door. The flames were real to him. Would he burn if he believed himself burning? Surely he couldn’t—
He shoved himself out—and started screaming.
Rule moved lightning-quick, grabbing the man’s shirt in his jaws and dragging him several feet, away from the ghost-flames. The screaming cut off. Beck lay on his back panting, eyes huge.
“Goddammit, Cody, you weren’t supposed to—are you all right?” Lily knelt beside him.
“Guess I’m alive.” He pushed up on one arm, shaky. “The fire’s all over the car, but it’s not here. God.” He held out a hand, turned it over. “I’m not crisped. It sure as hell felt like the skin was melting right off me.” He looked at Rule. “Thanks.”
“You’re both seeing fire,” Lily said flatly. “The same illusion. And it’s just on the car?” Rule nodded. “That’s not good. That’s focused on us, and it’s . . . shaped, intentional. It’s not just your fears being pulled from your head. She gave you fire on purpose.”
Rule growled and took a step forward.
“You’re right. Let’s go. Cody, can you—okay, guess you can,” she said as the deputy climbed to his feet. “Let’s move.”
Lily set off at a lope. Rule ran easily beside her—and the deputy kept up with both of them.
Despite Rule’s current form, the man remained very present. And thinking hard.
Cody Beck had real courage. Rule hadn’t expected the man to be a coward—Lily wouldn’t have cared about him if he were craven or stupid—but he hadn’t expected that degree of bravery.
Cody Beck was also about half crazy. His courage was real, but foolhardy. Had the ghost-fire extended well beyond the car, Rule might not have been able to get him out of it in time. He could have died, the injuries so real to his brain and senses that his heart stopped. Or he could have been thrown into shock, forcing them to deal with him instead of the threat to Lily’s family.
Rule-wolf snorted at all the words the man dragged through his head. Cody Beck was strong and admirable, yes. And flawed, but who was not? And he was not right for Lily . . . which was clear to the wolf without all that thinking.
Lily’s parents lived in a lovely middle-class section of the La Jolla area. There were streetlights on every corner, porch lights, and landscape lighting in many cases. Yards were small, but beautifully tended. Some were xeriscaped or grav eled; some stubbornly retained their grass lawns. There was a lot of stucco, of course, in a mix of colors and styles. It was a pricey neighborhood, but Edward and Julia Yu had bought their home many years ago, when there were still a few bargains to be found.
Tonight smoke and ash from the fire drifted over the yuccas and the palms, the pale driveways, and the red-tile roofs. And the dogs howled.
In the yards, they howled. In the houses, they howled. Little dogs, big dogs—every dog for blocks around was howling. Whatever fell magic the Chimei used, it spoke to dogs, too.
Rule could almost feel that magic pressing on him, and understood the animals’ need to howl. As he ran—an easy pace, much slower than his top speed—he leaned heavily into listening. He listened as he would for the moon’s song, but it was those separate notes he leaned into, the notes the mantles had echoed when he Changed. The notes that named them, perhaps. Could a snatch of moonsong be a name?
Yes—clearly, yes. Sam possessed his name, and what else would a dragon be named by but dragonsong?
He didn’t see monsters looming in the darkness. He saw a woman sitting in her driveway, deep scratches on both bare arms, rocking herself and sobbing. He saw another auto accident—two cars, their front ends smashed and permanently mated. No drivers or passengers, though he smelled blood. He heard Cody Beck’s harsh breathing and smelled his fear, but the man ran steadily. Rule wondered what he saw.
Then he saw smoke billowing from a second fire, dark enough to show against the smear of stars. It was farther away, but perhaps larger than the first fire. He didn’t hear the bustle and shouts of firefighters. He did hear sirens, but they weren’t close.
Where were all the people? Aside from that lone woman, he saw no one, heard no one, smelled no one. It was night. They should be home from work, busy with dinner and family. Were they cowering in their houses, frozen by fear? Killing one another? Running in packs down other streets, maddened by visions too terrible to face?
Then, as they passed one house, he heard screams inside. Several voices, not just one. Lily stopped. He shoved at her. Keep going. Our enemies aren’t here. To stop this, we have to stop our enemies.
Beck pulled his weapon from its holster. “I’m going in.”
She slapped his arm—the one with the gun. “Put it up. Put it up, or you’re going to shoot what you think is a rapist and it turns out to be a ten-year-old. You go in, what will they see when you try to save them? A monster come to eat them? And you won’t know if what you see is real, or which parts are real. How can you help if you don’t know?”
“Then, dammit, if you can tell—”
Lily didn’t answer. She just started running again. Faster.
Rule ran beside her. So, too, did Beck—with his weapon back in its holster.
They were nearly to the Yus’ street. That was it, less than a block away now. The Yus’ house would be to the left, the third house on the left. And at last he heard people. Voices talking—one was Madame Yu. She told someone, “Leave or die. Your choice.” And laughter. Ugly laughter.
Then a shot. Two shots, close together.
He glanced up at Lily, torn. He doubted she could have heard her grandmother from this far away, but the shot—that, she’d heard. She waved him ahead. “Go. Go. I’ll be right behind you. Go.”
Rule kicked into his top speed. In seconds, the other two were well behind. He rounded the corner.
There it was, the Yus’ home—a pale, pretty stucco split-level with a double-wide driveway that swallowed most of the front yard. In a flash, with the air streaming past, he took in the scene. Lights were on—inside and on the porch, plus muted solar lights lining the drive.