“Huh? Wait a minute. Wait. I didn’t agree to hold out on Ruben. I can see why you’re suspicious, but you’re wrong.”
“You’ve worked for him a while.”
“Long enough to be certain-sure he’s righteous. Shit, if I had half his integrity I could count on a straight shot to heaven when the time comes.”
“Ah… you believe in heaven?”
“Hey, I’m a good little Catholic girl now.” A stab of honesty made her add, “Or at least I’m Catholic. Which reminds me.” She reached for her tote again.
“Let’s say Ruben’s as straight as you think he is,” Lily said as Cynna bent and rummaged in her tote. “That doesn’t mean he can turn a blind eye to what I’m planning. Even if he were willing to do that, someone wants Rule declared dead and the case closed. Someone who can either persuade or order Ruben to go along.”
“Sure. The Big Dick. Oh, here it is.” Cynna grabbed the little paper sack and straightened.
Cullen nodded. “I see. The FBI has a master penis. That explains a lot.”
Cynna grinned. “He’d like to think so. Dick Hayes is the acting director. I don’t think he’s bent, exactly. He’s just an asshole. Here.” She came up to Lily, dug into the sack, and held out a little cross on a gold chain.
Lily flinched.
Cynna drew it back, her forehead wrinkling. “I take it you aren’t Christian.”
“It’s not that. I’m not sure what I am, but…” She blinked quickly, but Cynna had seen the sheen in her eyes. One hand went to her throat. “Rule’s necklace is missing. I… it may not turn up, but I’m not going to wear another one in its place. Not yet.”
“The toltoi isn’t just from Rule,” Cullen said in a low voice.
Lily gave a single nod and left her head down, her hair screening her face.
Better give her a minute, Cynna thought. The tied-down ones hated it when they came apart with someone watching. She turned to Cullen. “What about you? I’ve got an extra.” The one she’d gotten for Rule. “It’s been blessed and all.”
His eyebrows sketched skepticism. “Doesn’t the effectiveness of holy symbols depend on the faith of the wielder?”
“Partly, but not altogether. It makes a difference what kind of demon you’re dealing with. Some don’t respond to holy symbols at all. Ah… someone I know thinks it depends on what kind of pacts the demon’s lord has with the various Powers. Demons are big on deals.”
“Interesting theory.” Cullen accepted the necklace and dribbled it from one hand to the other, frowning as if he were considering some weighty question. “When did you…” His voice drifted off as the door opened.
It was the ponytail nurse, and she was not happy about a patient checking out against doctor’s orders. It was in-teresting to watch Lily handle her. She didn’t get angry. Ponytail and the hospital weren’t important enough to get angry over. She gave the facts: She was leaving. She wanted her prescription. They could bring her some papers to sign if they liked, but they had to do it quickly because she wasn’t waiting.
It was amazing how well not arguing worked. Cynna resolved to try it sometime.
When the nurse huffed out the door, Lily leveled that steady gaze on Cynna. “If you’re not going to Find this person yourself, I need the name.”
Some people had such a clear grasp of right and wrong. Cynna envied them. Finding the moral highroad out of a welter of possible paths was always a struggle for her. It would be wrong to lie to Ruben. She was sure of that. And opening a hellgate—pretty much everyone would tell her that was wrong.
But it was wrong to leave Rule in hell. It was wrong to turn her back, pretend she couldn’t do anything to help— and giving them Jiri’s name and description wouldn’t help. They’d never find her.
Another memory swam to the surface. The remembered voice was soft, male, and irritated. He’d been dying at the time. “Stop talking of paying back. Is no back. Only now. Only on.”
That settled her. Paying it on couldn’t mean turning away. “What the hell. I’m in.”
TWENTY-SIX
THE huge eyes blinked.
She came back to herself with a jolt, knowing time had passed. How much? She didn’t know. Seconds. A day.
Never mind. She scrambled to her feet, moving because she could. Because, whatever happened, she wanted to meet it on her feet. She put out a hand. Rule was there. Without having to look, she’d known that he’d come up beside her. She rested her hand on his back.
Had he been trapped by the dragon’s gaze, too?
The lupus didn’t look into my eyes. The demon knew better, but did it anyway.
The dragon hadn’t spoken. Those great jaws hadn’t opened or the mouth moved. The words had just appeared in her mind, sharp as glass—thoughts, but not her thoughts.
But that was impossible. She was a sensitive. Magic couldn’t—
Yet I can. I am dragon.
With those words came a sense of something beyond arrogance. Power, perhaps. A vast, knowing power.
Vocalize. Your thoughts are mush. Forcing them into the sort of speech you are accustomed to gives them a small degree of clarity.
Her heart was trying to knock its way out of her chest. “Are we conversing, then?”
Rather than dining, you mean? Amusement, desert-dry, gusted through her mind. When I hunger, I hunt. I don’t have dinner fetched.
“Why did you have us fetched?”
Utility. Politics. Curiosity. The great head lowered in a graceful arc.
She jumped back. Her bad ankle gave out, dumping her ingloriously on her butt. Rule didn’t move, but his fur bristled. Gan squealed in terror.
But the movement didn’t signal a change of mind about the dragon’s dinner plans. It seemed to be settling in for a chat. It rested its head on its tail like a cat curling up for a nap, leaving the three of them entirely circled by dragon.
That long body gave off a lot of heat, she realized. That’s why the sand was so warm. “That didn’t really answer my question. Why did you bring us here?”
It has been many moons since I’ve seen a human. And never have I seen one linked to both a lupus and a demon. Most curious. How did you become half-souled?
“If you mean how did I lose my memory—I don’t remember.”
Those eyes blinked again. Ah. You didn’t know. Its gaze shifted to the quivering lump of demon fifteen feet away. Your demon didn’t tell you.
“Not my demon,” she muttered. “A demon. Not mine.”
Rule’s head swung toward her, as if she’d surprised him. Then he looked at Gan, growling.
“Don’t listen to the dragon,” Gan said. Its attempt at bravado was cancelled by the way it crouched with both arms over its head, as if that would protect it from the dragon’s jaws. “He doesn’t know anything about it. Besides, he can lie. I can’t. Who are you going to believe?”
She snorted. “You lie all the time.”
That annoyed it so much its arms fell away from its head. “No, I don’t! I can’t lie. Everyone knows what I mean even if I say something else. That’s how it works.”
“You may not tell out-and-out whoppers, but you lie by misdirection. Not all that well, actually, because you’ve never learned to manage your face. Maybe demons aren’t used to reading expressions for clues because you all pick up each other’s meanings. By picking your words carefully, though, you can mean what you say and still be lying.”
Clever small bite. Demons prize the ability to deceive without lying. They do this by watching their words, as you say, and also by finding a self who means what they wish to say. This little one you call Gan doesn’t have many selves, so it must rely primarily upon its choice of words.