That had made Toby snort. The grown-ups he knew here in Halo still talked about sex like that. “Hey—you made sure no one was listening, didn’t you? That’s why we went outside and walked around. So you could be sure nobody would hear us, because the mantles are the Lady’s secret.”
“That’s right. We keep many secrets from the humans around us, but only one at the Lady’s behest—the clan mantles.”
Toby nodded. The Lady wasn’t like Santa Claus. She wasn’t like God, either, who you had to believe in, but not everybody did, and even people who did believe argued about Him. But the Lady was real, one hundred percent, and the clans didn’t argue about her because the Rhejes had the memories of what she’d said, only mostly she didn’t talk to them or do much. But sometimes she did. “Lily’s human, but she knows about mantles, doesn’t she?”
“She’s both Chosen and clan. She knows.”
“So the Lady didn’t say humans couldn’t know. Just the out-clan.”
“That’s right.” Dad touched his shoulder, smiling. “You’re full of questions this morning. If I . . . That’s Lily,” he said, and headed for the house.
Toby followed. He hadn’t heard anything. Maybe Dad just picked up that Lily was here? The mate bond let him know where she was, so . . . But it was a more ordinary connection this time, he saw. Dad had his phone up to his ear and was talking, then listening.
It didn’t sound like it was good news. “Shit. Yes, I see. Tell your reporter friend I appreciate the notice . . . No, that won’t be necessary.”
“What is it?” Toby asked as soon as Dad set the phone down.
“I’m afraid reporters are on their way here. They were tipped off about the hearing. I’ll have to talk to them, but you and your grandmother don’t.”
Toby’s heart sped up. “I think I should.”
“No.” Dad headed for the stairs. “Mrs. Asteglio?”
Grammy called back, “Almost finished. I’ll be right down.”
Toby figured he’d better talk fast, ’cause he knew what Grammy would say. “Listen to me! Listen. People like kids. I mean . . .” It sounded dumb when he tried to put words to it, but Toby pushed on. “You’re sort of the image for lupi, right? That’s why you went public and why you do a bunch of stuff, letting people see that lupi are okay. Wouldn’t I make a good image, too? I’m just a kid, but I’ll be a wolf one day, only I don’t look scary or anything.”
Dad stopped at the foot of the stairs. “You’re suggesting you would be good PR for our people?”
Toby nodded. “Humans need to stop being scared of us, right? Well, no one’s gonna be scared of me.” He grimaced. “Old ladies think I’m cute.”
“You’ve a good point, and I’m proud that you’re thinking of our people. However—”
“It’s not the paparazzi, is it? Just regular reporters?”
Dad’s eyebrows lifted. “What do you know about paparazzi?”
“Well, they hounded that poor princess to her death. That’s what Mrs. Milligan says, anyway. And they make up stupid stuff, like that dumb story about your love slaves that was in one magazine next to the alien baby pictures. And they try to take pictures of people when they’re naked.”
Dad’s lips twitched. “Not a bad description. Paparazzi are photographers who . . . you might think of them as lone wolves. A problem on their own, and dangerous when they travel in packs.”
“Rule, a van just pulled up out front. A television van.” Grammy stood at the top of the stairs, looking like she’d bitten into a rotten apple—and meant to spit it out on someone. “How did they find out?”
“That . . . is something I need to explain. Toby.” Dad knelt, putting his hands on Toby’s shoulders. Which made him feel queasy, because it meant he wasn’t going to like what Dad had to say. “I’ve some news that may be upsetting. Lily learned of it from an acquaintance of hers who works for the AP.”
Toby swallowed hard and didn’t say a word, because he knew. The moment his dad said “the AP,” he knew.
Dad’s eyes were angry, but he kept it out of his voice. “Your mother is in town. She’s told the other reporters about the hearing.”
THIRTEEN
THE sharks were circling when Lily pulled to a stop three doors down from the Asteglio house. The press had taken all the closer parking.
But reporters weren’t the only ones on Mrs. Asteglio’s grass. A gaggle of teenagers, several women, a young man holding a toddler on one hip, and assorted sizes of children filled any gaps between cameras, microphone wielders, and the rumpled suits of the print press.
Lily kept her “no comment’s” polite as she threaded her way past outthrust microphones to the semi-safety of the porch. Someone must have threatened them, or they’d have been banging on the door.
The door opened before she could touch the knob. She slid inside, and Rule closed it on the shouted questions.
He was looking especially magnificent. He’d changed into his usual black—black dress slacks, black silk-blend shirt. He wore a pretty dark expression, too, though his voice was mild. “I did say you weren’t to come.”
“I don’t mind well, do I? How’d you get the sharks to stay away from the door?”
“Anyone who comes up on the porch will be asked to leave the property entirely—and so will not be included in the interview I grant the rest.”
“You’re mean. I like that.”
“On the phone you mentioned a problem with the investigation.”
“I’ll fill you in later.” She glanced around.
The foyer opened on the left to the stairs; at the rear to the kitchen; and on the right to a living room that held two sofas and an upright piano. Mrs. Asteglio stood beside the large picture window backing one of the sofas, glaring out at the invaders on her lawn. She was a lanky woman a little over Lily’s height with gray hair cropped no-nonsense short and pampered skin. Lily had never seen her without makeup and pretty pink fingernails. Today she wore robin’s egg blue slacks with a button-down shirt in a gingham check.
Toby stood a few steps behind Rule, his chin held at a stubborn angle that reminded her of his grandfather, Isen. His eyes were very much Rule’s, though—dark, liquid, hinting at secrets, with the same dramatic eyebrows.
She smiled at him. “Hey, there.”
“Hi, Lily. Tell Dad this is my business, too.”
Lily glanced at Rule, eyebrows lifted, but before he could respond, Mrs. Asteglio announced, “I’m going to go out there and tell them all to go away. They can’t come on private property. Those journalists”—she made the word sound like a curse—“and my neighbors, too, who ought to be ashamed of themselves.”
Rule shook his head. “Your neighbors might leave, but the press will just camp out on the sidewalk and street. The best way to be rid of them is to give them a little of what they want. I’m not the biggest story here, so if I give them a few sound bites, they’ll go back to pestering Lily and the sheriff.”
“And me,” Toby said. “I’ve got sound bites, too.”
“You can just forget that notion, young man,” Mrs. Asteglio told him firmly.
“I need to,” he insisted. “It’s clan business.”
The older woman huffed out a breath. “It’s my grass they’re trampling, my family they want to gossip about, and my daughter who told them about—oh, about your father, and the hearing. Things that should be private. That makes it my business.”
“But Grammy—”
“You want to see yourself on television, but you don’t realize what it would be like, so it’s up to the adults in your life to do what’s right for you. If . . . Rats!”