Rescuing the women would not end the war. That would end only with their enemies’ deaths or complete defeat. If Rule lived through this night and their enemies were undefeated, he would travel to Leidolf Clanhome and call Leidolf to war. If Isen lived, he would call up Nokolai’s subject clans, who must answer a call to war.
And if neither of them lived, Benedict would become Rho. And he would call up Nokolai’s subject clans, and continue the war.
The Lady had granted the Rhej one word. That word was war.
From well behind him, a mourning dove called. Rule stiffened. That was the signal from the lookout near the road. Someone was coming. If the lookout could see who it was, and that he was short and Asian, he’d . . .
The dove called again, twice.
That was it, then. The sorcerer was coming. They were out of time.
Isen had never been very good at birdcalls. The rapid-fire coo-coo-coo-coo of a black-billed cuckoo—which didn’t actually live in California—was the only one he could do well. “Plan B,” Rule whispered.
Cullen gripped Rule’s arm, then pointed at the sky and whispered, “That’s her.”
What? Rule didn’t . . . No, wait—something pale and misty, almost invisible, flowed along a route he thought followed the dirt road that led here, as if following a car on that road. He switched to subvocalizing. “What do you see?”
Cullen answered the same way. “Power. Lots and lots of it.”
“Do you think she’s finished the transformation Sam spoke of?”
“I don’t know. The power is . . . It’s different than anything I’ve seen before. It oscillates, or flickers, or . . . maybe it isn’t fully in our realm. Maybe she can’t hold it here consistently until she’s here consistently.”
“That would be good.” He glanced to his left, at the tall boulder where he’d sent the gnome. His father wasn’t visible, of course. He forced himself to relax. And waited some more.
“Dammit,” Cullen muttered very low, “they’re supposed to have been tracking the patrollers. How long does it take to—”
The cuckoo sang again—four quick notes. The gang members patrolling near the house had been dealt with.
Rule pulled viciously hard and fast—exploded out of the bushes on four feet. A moment later, so did four others—four wolves wearing collars. Collars with a small charm fixed to them. They raced at top speed for the yard where the men were taking heed of them—taking heed slowly, to Rule’s eyes. Too slowly to keep them alive.
A dozen lupus warriors against thirty-six gangbangers was good odds. Five against thirty-six would be harder. But the rest had the harder job—they had to keep the Chimei and the sorcerer busy long enough for the gnomes to finish.
No one could be left alive at their backs.
Rule raced past the point he’d been told marked the first ward. Nothing happened. He raced past the place the second ward was supposed to be. Nothing.
The sorcerer or the Chimei set very good wards, more sophisticated than anything Cullen could do—one to keep out small objects like bullets. Another that would repel humans.
Didn’t do a damned thing to slow down a wolf. Rule heard a shot as he leaped for his first target. His teeth slashed through the man’s jugular. Blood sprayed everywhere, including down his throat, hot and sweet.
Then the other four wolves were amid the men.
A HUNDRED yards away, an erect old woman stepped out into the middle of the dirt road, just where it met the yard, and began drawing a circle in the dirt.
She wasn’t alone. On her left side stood a beautiful young man, a trifle pale, wearing a diamond in one ear and another around his neck. On her other side an older man planted his feet. He was grizzled and bearded and looked like some minor forest god.
A white panel van trundled down the road toward them. The driver must have seen them. He hit the gas.
“Chimei!” the older man boomed as the van raced toward them. “Sorcerer! You have offended my Lady, and we are at war!”
The niceties had been observed. From either side of the road, the six two-legged Nokolai warriors opened up—with machine guns.
The van was riddled. It veered hard right—a tire blew out, and it skidded into the ditch.
The shriek of some vast bird of prey split the air.
TWENTY feet belowground, rock groaned. Dust sifted from the cracked ceiling. Lily gripped her makeshift spear tightly and looked at Cynna.
Rule was here. Almost here, anyway—close, so close. He’d been close for hours. She’d woken up to feel him near and had let Cynna know—or hoped she had—by setting her makeshift spear close at hand and handing Cynna one of the magically enhanced knives.
Since then, she’d lost another five hundred thousand at gin. It would have been more, but Cynna was distracted, too.
Moments ago he’d rushed closer. She’d sprung to her feet, spear ready. For what, she didn’t know—but God, she was so ready for something.
The earth grumbled louder. And trembled.
Cynna bit her lip. “Maybe we should get under one of the b—yikes!”
A big chunk of the cement block wall closest to her had turned to dust. Peering out of that dusty hole was a small gray man.
No, a gnome. Three feet tall, weird little snoutlike nose, no chin. Baggy fuchsia shorts with yellow suspenders. A gnome.
“Bad thing is coming!” The gnome beckoned urgently. “Hurries you!”
The hole—the tunnel—was sized for a gnome, not for adult human women. “You heard the gnome,” Lily said. “Hurry.”
Cynna didn’t argue. They’d long since settled that protecting the baby came first—and the baby wouldn’t get out on his own. She got down on her hands and knees and started crawling.
Lily got down on her hands and knees, too, while the little gnome fairly hopped with fearful urgency. “Hurries, hurries!”
The lights winked out. The damned glowing bulbs they’d been unable to shut off went out on their own, leaving her in absolute darkness, blacker than any night.
The little gnome shrieked—and shoved Lily hard, toppling her on her side. He pounced on her, curving his little body over her as if those fragile bones could shield them both—as earth and rock shrieked along with him. And everything overhead collapsed.
THIRTY-EIGHT
THE agony and bliss of the Change whirled through Rule. When it ended he stood two-legged and naked in mud sticky with blood. He grabbed one of the weapons on the ground—an assault rifle, the reason he’d picked this spot for the Change. The model was unfamiliar, but it was similar enough to what he’d used. He fired a quick round.
The man at the window who’d been firing at them fell back. “Carl!” Rule snapped at a wolf streaking for the window, clearly intending to leap in. “Wrong way! Go get the damned package!”
Carl skidded, whirled, and raced the other direction.
Rule hit the dirt as someone else began firing from the house, rolling until he was behind the picnic table that still held playing cards and beer cans. It wasn’t much cover. “Remy, Jones—take cover and Change. We need weapons to keep them busy until Carl gets back.”
He didn’t call Mike. Mike lay still and unmoving in the bloody dirt. One of the gangbangers had gotten lucky—briefly. Very briefly.
Rule sprayed another round, providing cover for the others as they Changed. Remy was almost as fast he was, but Jones took a little longer.