“Sit down? Okay, but that doesn’t…okay.”
“Come on.” Lily tugged her over to the chairs and they both sat. “Now. You know that I’ve killed.”
Beth nodded solemnly. “But you’re a cop. That…it was a line-of-duty thing, right?”
“Do you think cops get a moral pass on killing?” Lily shook her head. “Never mind. I’m not good at putting words to this, but the way it seems to me, everyone is born capable of killing others. That’s hardwired in us the same as loving babies and craving sugary foods. But killing is more dangerous than a sweet tooth, isn’t it? So it gets a pretty universal thumbs-down in human cultures everywhere. That’s necessary and important, but it’s also true that we need for some people to be able to kill, under some circumstances. Cops, once in a while. Soldiers. People like you who get caught in a kill-or-be-killed situation. Problem is, we don’t give them much to go on except stupid shoot ’em up movies where the good guys blast away at the bad guys and everyone cheers. If you think the bad guys aren’t really people, you don’t have to worry about the whole thou-shalt-not-kill bit, do you? So you call them by some name that sets them outside the realm of real people—they’re gooks or weers or whores and…and I just gave you way too much philosophical shit when that isn’t what you need at all, is it?”
“Probably I’ll want the philosophical shit later,” Beth said apologetically.
A muffled sound that might have been a chuckle came from the chair across the room, reminding Lily they weren’t alone. When she glanced over her shoulder, Tony looked apologetic, too. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to overhear. Beth, is it okay if I talk to you about this?”
Beth shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”
Lily could think of a couple of reasons—he was male and lupi, and he didn’t know Beth at all. She doubted he could understand, much less help, but she held her peace. He probably wouldn’t do any harm.
Tony crossed to them and went down on one knee, putting his eyes more or less level with Beth. He held out both hands. Hesitantly she put hers in them. He squeezed and looked her in the eyes and spoke in his slow, measured way. “Someone tried to hurt or kill you. Maybe you killed him instead. Maybe you hurt him very badly. You are having a hard time with this.” He paused.
Beth nodded.
“That’s okay. Killing is not supposed to be easy.”
Beth’s mouth rounded in a silent “oh.” Tension eased out of her shoulders. “You mean I’m supposed to be confused.”
“You are.”
“And I should quit thinking I need to figure everything out right away.”
He chuckled, a rumble so low Lily barely heard it. “Pequita, no one ever gets everything figured out.”
She smiled back and looked more like herself. Flirty. “Hey, who are you calling ‘little one’?”
“Almost everyone.”
Beth laughed. It was a good laugh, and it looked like it surprised her as much as it did Lily.
Out in the hall someone said, “…give me that look. I don’t know what your problem is, but I’m perfectly entitled to go in the—”
“Deirdre!” Beth sprang up. “That’s Deirdre. I’m in here,” she called hurrying to the door, and a tall skinny blond with enormous hoop earrings and a small butterfly tat on her collarbone sailed into the room. “Beth! I just checked my messages, and I’m so sorry I didn’t check earlier! Are you all right? You look—”
“I’m good except—”
“—like you’ve been through the wringer, and I—”
“—that I’m awful, too, and I’m so glad to see you!”
The two collided in a hug and just kept talking over, under, and around each other.
Lily sighed and smiled and stood, suddenly tired. She looked at Tony, who was unwinding his not-quite-seven feet back to standing. She cocked her head and said quietly, “What would you have said to her if she’d said she felt anger or regret instead of confusion?”
Deep in those brown, bovine eyes a spark of humor glinted. “Same thing. You asked her good questions,” he added in an encouraging way.
“Then tried to give her my answers instead of waiting for her to find her own.”
“We always want to fix things for the people who matter. Can’t, mostly, but we want to.”
“I think you’re going to make a good Rho.”
“Do you?” He slid her a glance as opaque as any Isen might use. “Even though I don’t think so quick?”
“The thing Isen does best, the thing the clan needs him for the most, is people. You don’t handle people his way, but your way—” Her phone vibrated. She took it out. “Your way works, too.”
Her caller was Arjenie. She asked about Beth first. Lily wasn’t sure how she’d heard, but Rule had of course told his Rho, so maybe Isen had called Benedict, who would have told Arjenie. Lily assured her Beth was okay, then they got to the business of the call. Which was basically that Arjenie hadn’t been able to turn up a Hugo in San Francisco that fit Cullen’s description, or a Hugo who’d been through the prison system anywhere in the country who was a good match, and she was out of options to check. Lily grimaced and thanked her and disconnected.
“This Hugo you’re looking for,” Tony said. “He is here in San Francisco?”
“He was. We think he still is. Why?”
“I know people. Those in my clan will know people I don’t. Tell me about him.”
“He’s a big man—big as in fat, weighs around three hundred, or did five years ago when he hung out at a bar called Rats. At that time he was either bald or shaved his head. He’s white, maybe fifty-five years old, and has a tattoo of a lightning bolt on his forehead. He’s got an Air Gift and contacts in the magical community. At one time he was the go-to guy for people who wanted magical items stolen.”
Tony nodded slowly. “I’ll find him for you.”
Just like that? Well, Rule had said Tony had lived here a long time. Maybe he wasn’t as young as he looked, after all. Why not let him have a try? “Thank you. He’s one of the few leads we—”
“Lily,” Beth said, having detangled from her friend, and tugged Deirdre forward. “You know Deirdre, right? And Deirdre, this in Tony, whose last name I’ve forgotten—sorry. Tony, Deirdre Marks.”
“My pleasure,” Tony said gravely.
Deirdre’s eyes went big as she looked him up and down. “Wow. I mean…wow.”
“Lily, I’ve told Deirdre most of it, but I couldn’t remember his name. You know—the sorry son of a bitch who tried to get me who I don’t really want to die, even if he is a sorry son of a bitch. I’ve forgotten his name.”
Lily didn’t smile except inside, where relief broke out in a grin. “Robert. His name is Robert Clampett, but on the street he goes by Little Mo.”
TWENTY-FIVE
THREE-PLUS hours later, Little Mo had made it through surgery. The doctors put his chances at around fifty percent, but they’d go up if he made it through the night. Beth was at the hotel in a small but luxurious room on their floor. Her friend Deirdre had opted to stay there with her tonight, which sort of negated the don’t-put-your-friends-in-danger argument, but at least they were guarded.
Murray was at Laban Clanhome. It was on a small ranch outside the city, much closer than Nokolai Clanhome—the ranch where the black dragon picked up his payment for overflying San Francisco once a week, in fact. This was one of the ways Laban had benefited from its association with Nokolai. The government paid them handsomely for providing Sam a cow or three. Housing Murray gave Laban another opportunity to regain face.
Tony was somewhere in San Francisco, presumably looking for Hugo. Rule was back at the hotel, and Lily was headed there.