“Rule.” Cullen shook his head, sighing as if Rule were a slow pupil. “You have two heirs’ portions. By the time Toby hits First Change, Victor will be long dead. If you’re Leidolf Rho, you can give Toby the heir’s portion of that mantle.”
TWENTY-SIX
AT two o’clock, Cullen sauntered into Lily’s temporary field office in the sheriff’s building. Two of her people were there—Brown and Brown Two—and a couple of deputies. She’d just finished briefing them on their new hunt: for a death. One that occurred on the day of the Turning.
Deacon, who’d been out of his office since before lunch, escorted Cullen in. “Ran into this guy downstairs. He claims he’s one of your people.”
“He is. I told you to expect him. Everyone, this is Cullen Seabourne. He’s consulting for me.”
“Yeah?” Deacon gave Cullen a head-to-toe look-over. “Looks like a Hollywood type, not a cop. An actor, maybe.”
Cullen smiled sweetly. “No, I’m a stripper.”
Lily rolled her eyes. Cullen never tired of his favorite punch line. “Retired stripper, and currently a consultant for the Unit, Sheriff. Like I told you.” She felt like the kid who’d been followed home by a disreputable mutt.
Not that Cullen resembled a mutt, but he had the disreputable part down.
“Christ, woman, would you close your mouth?” the male Brown said to the female Brown. “You’re getting drool on your chin.”
Brown Two shot him a venomous look—but she did take up the slack in her jaw.
“Okay, could we talk about the case for an eensy moment here?” Lily said. “Cullen’s going to brief you on wraiths.” She’d skimmed that explanation earlier, waiting for the expert.
The expressions on her team’s faces ranged from skeptical to incredulous. Except for Brown, of course, who remained as generically disgusted as ever. “Never thought I’d be taking ghost lessons from a goddammed stripper,” he said, stuffing another piece of gum in his mouth.
Cullen beamed at him. “Nonsense. I’m officially undamned, and I’ve got the holy water to prove it. My wife insists I keep some with me, just in case. Never know when you might trip over a demon, right? The briefing’s in just a sec, kiddies.” He turned to Lily. “I’ve got a—”
“You’re married?” Deacon exclaimed. “I thought you were a w—uh, a lupus.”
“Oh, I am. I’m also a newlywed. Ring’s still shiny.” Cullen held out his hand, ostentatiously admiring the gold band.
Lily said dryly, “Cullen’s goal in life is to be the exception to every rule.” In this case, he claimed that the Turning provided the exception. There was some reason to think the influx of magic since the Turning would improve fertility for his people, so the ban on marriage could be dropped. Maybe he’d be proved right . . . eventually. So far the birth rate hadn’t changed. “You can congratulate him later. I’d like to get some work done.”
“So driven. So masterful.” Cullen offered her a sly grin, and the rest of them a little bow. “I need a moment to confer with your fearsome leader. Then I’ll tell you my ghost stories.”
He dug in his pocket as he crossed to Lily. “You need to have a word with the Etorri Rhej,” he said much more quietly, handing her a wrinkled scrap of paper with a phone number scrawled on it. “I called ahead and arranged it. She agreed, but you need to call now. She’s got an appointment in thirty minutes.”
“Thanks. Could you try to act like a grownup for a while? I’d like them to take this seriously.”
“I’ll use visual aids. Everyone loves visual aids.” He turned to grin at the others. “As I was saying, children—the first thing you need to accept is that I do know what I’m talking about. So gather round the campfire, now . . .”
Lily gave up on making him behave and made the phone call. The line was still ringing when he showed what he meant by visual aids. A small blaze sprang up in his palm. It was a pretty little fire, crackling merrily, though unusual—and not just because it was cupped in a man’s hand. It was green. Bright, springtime green.
“Show-off,” she muttered.
“Not usually,” said an amused feminine voice in her ear.
Lily winced. “Ah—Serra.” That was the honorific for a Rhej; they were never addressed by name. “This is Lily Yu. I was watching Cullen play with fire.”
“I see.” The woman chuckled. “He does enjoy that. Now, I hate to rush you, but I have an appointment. Cullen said you’re dealing with one of the scattered dead.”
“That’s one of the terms he used for it. Mostly he calls it a wraith.”
“The memories refer to wraiths as the scattered dead. I’m afraid I have very little for you, but that’s one small point—the name for these creatures in the memories. They’re scattered, not whole. That, and the fact that they eat deaths.”
“Is eating death the same as death magic?”
“Similar, but . . . I suppose it’s like the difference between a farseeing spell and a farseeing Gift. Both a wraith and death magic make use of death as a transition, the power involved when we cross to the next state. A wraith consumes that power, leaving the souls unable to transition fully.”
“Creating damaged ghosts?” With half an ear Lily kept track of what Cullen was telling the others. So far, it was the same as what he’d told her. The two Browns and the deputies seemed to be paying attention.
“Yes. Normal death magic . . . good God, that sounds awful. As if it could ever be normal! I mean that death magic generated through ritual uses a relatively small portion of the energy released by a dying. Such magic is ugly and horrible, but the souls involved are usually able to move on.”
“The wraith is more efficient, I take it. It uses—eats—most of the power released by death.”
“That’s pretty much it, yes.”
“Can these damaged ghosts hurt regular ghosts? The, uh, young medium I spoke to . . . I think Cullen was going to put her in touch with you.”
“Talia, he said. Yes, I’ll be calling her after I get back from the job interview.”
Job interview? Wasn’t being a Rhej enough of a job? Lily banked that question for later. “She said the other ghosts were afraid of the damaged ones. What could harm a ghost?”
“Frankly, I don’t see how a ghost could be harmed, but there’s a great deal I don’t know. They may simply be afraid of what, to them, is a terrifying condition. Those souls are truly trapped.”
“I thought that was true of all ghosts.”
She chuckled. “No, most of them are merely stubborn. The ones who linger, that is. Ghosts are actually common as dirt—”
“Yeah? That’s not quite what the other mediums said.”
“Not many mediums are as good as I am,” she said without a trace of brag in her voice. “Though it may also be a matter of language. Some mediums consider the newly dead to be distinctly different from ghosts. I disagree, but whatever you call them, most of the newly dead move on within an hour of crossing, often within seconds. Those who don’t move on fast enough harden into ghosts. I think of ghosts as souls with memory problems.”
“Memory problems?”
“Sure. They may be fixated on one particular memory, often of their own death. Sometimes they’re hung up on the memory of a wrong they did someone—that was the problem of the haunt at Cullen’s wedding, you’ll remember. Or they may be suppressing a memory, sometimes of dying, sometimes of something else, and they can’t move on until they allow themselves to experience that memory.”
Souls with memory problems. Lily shivered. Was that what would happen when she died? Would she become a ghost? Most of the time she couldn’t remember what the other-her had experienced. “Will destroying the wraith give those damaged ghosts back whatever was taken from them?”