Chapter 7
A scrappy little road wound up into the mountains northeast
of the city. About twenty miles up that road some forgotten
county planner had stationed a scenic overlook boasting a cement
picnic table and a metal trash drum. At eleven o'clock Rule
was waiting there, leaning against his car with his arms crossed
and his nose lifted.
The sun was a glaring disk in an empty sky, but there was
wind--a sharp, dusty wind smelling of sage and creosote and
rabbit. Before him the folded earth descended in irregular
humps to the city, satisfyingly distant. A mile up the road,
hidden by scruffy oaks and the curve of the little road, lay
the entrance to Nokolai lands.
Rule closed his eyes and wished for time. He needed to be
in two places at once right now--and neither was where he wanted
to be. He'd been trying to reach Cullen all morning. He needed
to find him, or at least find out if his friend had pulled
one of his disappearing acts. Every so often Cullen dropped
out of sight, telling no one here he was going or when he'd
be back. It was annoying at the best of times.
This was not the best of times.
Rule held himself in quietness, trying to settle. It had
been too long since he'd run these hills in his other form.
Too long since he'd even walked them in this one. He needed
to absorb and be absorbed by the land, and there was no time
. . . yet he was here now.
He looked upwind, searching out the source of the rabbit
scent, and found it beneath a scrubby bush, where a dun-colored
patch of fur quivered, barely distinguishable from the dirt.
Rule watched, motionless himself, and breathed deeply. It helped.
Her face floated across the surface of his mind . . . a heart-shaped
face with a strong, straight nose and eyes like black almonds.
When she smiled, her mouth made a pretty triangle and her cheeks
rounded. He thought of her skin--thick cream, with honey stirred
in. And her scent. A touch spicy. Wholly human. Unique.
The memory aroused him, turned him restless. He wanted to
see her now, not two hours from now.
And that, he thought, was not a good sign. Not good at all.
A few minutes later, tires crunched on gravel. The rabbit
bolted from its hiding spot. Rule turned to watch a dirty gray
Jeep pull up behind his convertible. Two men got out instead
of the single man he'd been expecting. Both wore jeans and
athletic shoes. Both were bare from the waist up. One--the
Jeep's driver--had three long scars across his chest, remnants
of the attack two days ago.
He was a big man, with the build of a fullback and a basketball
player's hands. Unusually dark for a lupus, he had his mother's
coppery skin. His silver-shot hair was black and very short.
The leather sheath on his back held a machete; the one at his
waist was for his knife. The blades of both would be sharp,
Rule knew, in spite of the softness of the metal. There was
too much silver in the alloy for it to hold an edge well.
The Jeep's passenger was built like the blade the first man
carried--long and slim, with broad, bony shoulders standing
in for the hilt. His face was narrow, his skin and eyes pale,
and his light brown hair was long enough to tie back. Most
people would have guessed him to be about Rule's age.
They would have been
right. But then, most people didn't know Rule's real age. "Mick." Rule straightened, a familiar
wariness stealing the bit of ease he'd snatched. "I didn't
know you were here."
"Drove down," the slighter of the two men said as he approached. "The
vineyard can toddle along without me for a few days. Toby sends
his love," he added. "Along with a request for Sweet Tarts
or anything else to rot his teeth. You know how Nettie is about
a healthy diet."
Rule's heart jumped. "You
saw him?"
"For a few minutes, before the slave-drivers carted him off
to his lessons. You're overreacting there," Mick added. "No
need to yank the boy clear across the country. No lupus would
harm a child."
Rule just shook his head. Mick didn't know about Cullen or
what he'd discovered. For now, that's how Rule wanted it. He
held out his hand and the two of them clasped forearms in formal
greeting--then Mick grinned and pounded Rule's back hard enough
to have staggered a human.
It wasn't the mock-friendly blow that had Rule pulling back,
his lip lifting in a snarl, knees flexed and arms ready at
his sides. It was the scent.
The big man gripped
Mick's shoulder. His voice was cavern-deep. "Cry
pax."
"For the Lady's sake, I just slapped
him on the back!"
Benedict snorted. "You
stink of so much seru even
a human would react. I've no time to waste on this foolishness.
Cry pax."
Mick looked sullen, but he muttered the word. Rule
eased his stance, but it would take a while for the chemicals
flooding his body to disperse.
"And you," Benedict told him, "had
better learn control. The Lu Nuncio can't afford to react
like a challenge-crazed adolescent."
Rule's lips tightened.
He didn't react that way anymore--except with Mick. "I know.
I'm on edge."
"All the more need for control." Benedict released Mick's
shoulder. "We need to get straight to business. I don't want
to be away from the Rho for long."
"Your choice," Rule said. "We could have met closer to him." Why
had Benedict brought Mick to their meeting? He must know there
were things Rule couldn't discuss with anyone else present.
"I argued with him about that, believe it or not," Mick said,
rubbing his shoulder. "Not that it did any good. But I don't
see any reason to ban you from Clanhome."
Benedict favored
him with one of those expressionless looks that used to make
Rule squirm, back when Benedict was training him. "You're
very tender about your brother's rights."
"I suppose you expected me to rejoice that he's banned." One
side of Mick's mouth tucked down. He looked away. "I've got
a problem with my little brother being Lu Nuncio. You know
it, he knows it, everyone knows it. Maybe that makes me all
the more angry when someone else shows disrespect."
"The ban is customary. Wait." He slashed a hand through the
air, cutting Mick off. "I'm aware that custom bars him from
the Rho's presence, not Clanhome. But Isen agreed with my decision."
Mick looked shocked. Rule wasn't. He'd guessed as much. Isen
hadn't been asleep or in sleep the whole time. He could have
countermanded Benedict's orders . . . if he'd wanted to.
"Rule," Mick said, "I--I don't know
what to say. Our father can't suspect
you."
Rule shrugged, ignoring
the ugly tangle in his gut as best he could. "Isen always
has reasons for what he does."
"If it makes you feel any better," Mick said, "I'm not allowed
to see him yet, either." He gave Benedict a sour look.
Benedict was unmoved. "I
let you tag along so I wouldn't have to say everything twice.
So listen."
Anger flashed in
Mick's eyes. "So
speak."
"It looks as if Nokolai has a traitor."
