“I don’t know. I pray that it does.”
Now for the big question. “Do you know how to destroy the wraith, or stop it?”
“No. I wish I did. Whoever created it has trapped it in a terrible state. It must be suffering greatly.”
“Hmm.” Lily couldn’t summon much sympathy for the wraith, but maybe that’s because she couldn’t imagine what it was. Did it think, feel?
At that moment Cullen stopped talking to glance at his hip. “Just a moment. I’d better see . . .” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. It was a snug fit. “I need to take this call. Hey, gorgeous.” Then: “You’re what? Dammit, you were headed home! You said . . . All right, you didn’t explicitly say, but you let me think . . . That’s not the point, dammit!”
Lily grinned. That had to be Cynna calling. Which brought up another, unrelated question . . . “May I ask you something off-topic, Serra?”
“Sure, if it’ll take five minutes or less.”
Cullen was scrubbing his hand through his hair, scowling as he listened to whatever Cynna had to say. Lily watched him as she asked, “Why did you go to Cullen and Cynna’s wedding?”
“You know, you’re the first to ask me quite so directly. Most clan treat us so . . . carefully.” She was amused. “Of course, we’re careful, too. We almost never offer advice unless we’re asked, and not always then. The Lady doesn’t want us directing the clans, so we’re cautious with what we say.”
Cullen strode over and thrust his phone at her. “Here. The crazy woman wants to talk to you.”
“Just a sec. Serra? That didn’t quite answer my question.”
“I suppose not. The realms have shifted, though, haven’t they? The world is changing. It’s possible the clans will decide to change, too. And now I’m going to break my rule and offer one bit of advice. You know that the Lady rarely speaks to us directly.”
By “us,” she meant Rhejes. “Yes.”
“She occasionally gives guidance in one other way—through a mate bond. So that’s my bit of unsought advice. Listen to whatever the mate bond is telling you. And now I’m afraid I have to go. I’ve got your number. I’ll call if I come up with anything that might help.”
The mate bond was telling her something? Not in English, Lily thought as she disconnected and took Cullen’s phone. Or even Chinese.
It had forced the two of them to stay close, though. And the wraith had attacked Rule once, out in the woods. Was the mate bond telling her Rule needed her protection?
She set that aside for later and took Cullen’s phone. “Hi, Cynna. I take it you’re the crazy woman Cullen referred to.”
“Hah! As if he has any room to talk. Did you know there’s a television show about pregnant women?”
“Uh—yes, I think I’ve heard of it.”
“I was channel surfing last night and saw those big bellies. Hooked me right in. Those women had every kind of complication—preeclampsia, prediabetes, pre-I-don’t-know-what-all. I am never watching that show again. You wouldn’t believe what I dreamed.”
“I’m kind of hoping you won’t tell me right now. Middle of a case, cops standing around listening . . . you know.”
“Sorry. Pregnancy hormones have scattered my brain to hell and gone. I only hope I get some of the pieces back after the little rider pops out. Anyway, I just finished talking to that Vodun priestess I told you about.”
“I thought she won’t tell you anything over the phone.”
“Or without an infusion of cash, which is why I flew to D.C.—and flew first class, too, thanks to the upgrade Ruben okayed because of me being pregnant, so there’s no reason for Cullen to be in such a snit. It’s not like I have any edema. But he thinks I’m going to disintegrate or something if I go anywhere without him.” Her voice softened. “It’s kind of sweet.”
Lily studied the pacing sorcerer—who wasn’t burning anything, but he didn’t look close to “sweet.” Not unless you got mushy about explosions. Okay, really sexy explosions.
He was muttering something under his breath . . . cigars? He was muttering about cigars? Lily shook her head. “So what did the priestess tell you?”
“It’s what the Baron said through one of the congregants at the service. She had to hold a service, see, to give the Loa a chance to come through, and the one who showed up was the Baron. Ah, Baron Samedi is one of the Ghede Loa, or maybe the father of them. His favorite offerings are cigars, rum, and sex.”
“Cigars? What could an immaterial spirit—” Lily shook her head. “Never mind. What’s a Loa?”
“The major spirits who act as intermediaries between us and God. According to Vodun, anyway—I don’t agree, but then, I’m Catholic. But the Loa are real, whether you invest them with religious purpose or not. This Baron Samedi is in charge of graves and death, and boy, is he pissed. He did not like it that someone made a wraith. He said you have to get the wraith’s name. Well, actually, he said that if you don’t get the name, you’re in deep shit.”
“Good to know,” Lily said dryly. “He couldn’t help out a little more? Like, for example, by telling you the name.”
“Either he doesn’t know it or he can’t tell. He did have some advice, though I think he considered it orders, not advice. Some of the Loa are pretty bossy. He said to salt the grave once you find it, and when you have the living one who made the abomination—he meant the wraith—you should salt her palms.”
Lily felt questions piling up. “Her?”
“Yes, he said the practitioner who made the wraith is a medium. He used another word for it, but Thérèse says that’s what it means—spirit-talker or medium.”
Thérèse, Lily assumed, was the priestess. The mambo. “What does the salt do? Will it kill the wraith or stop it?”
“Actually, it’s supposed to help the wraith hold together.”
“Not a priority of mine,” Lily said dryly.
“I think you should do it, Lily. This Baron is no one to mess with, and he was clear about the salt.”
“You think it’s better if the wraith is, ah, more together?”
“Maybe it’ll be less likely to kill. I don’t know, but in magic, dry salt is often used as a fixative. Not salt water, mind—that has different properties. But you can use salt to fix in place a circle or a spell. So I’m guessing that maybe the salt will ‘fix’ the wraith to its grave, but I don’t know. It might do something else entirely.”
Great. “I’m supposed to send cops and federal agents out to find graves, armed with saltshakers?”
“It’ll take more than a saltshaker, I think,” Cynna said apologetically. “I’d guess a couple handfuls of salt per grave. Cullen can explain about that. Listen, Lily, the Baron said he’s coming down there to help.”
Lily wasn’t entirely sure what this Baron guy was, but she didn’t think she wanted him hanging around. “You have any idea what that means?” she asked cautiously.
“Not really. Thérèse just laughed and shook her head and said, ‘That Baron, he’s something, isn’t he?’ She’s got a weird sense of humor. Well, she did say something about you having sex at midnight near an open grave, but that’s just her trying to get white folks to do stupid stuff so she can laugh about it.”
“White folks? You tell her my last name? Never mind.” Lily rubbed her face. “Do you think this Baron shares her sense of humor?”
“Well . . . some of the Loa are kind of twisty, but he was straight about catching the wraith. It’s his province, after all—graves and death. He takes this shit seriously.”
“You think I should take what he said seriously, too, then.”