dumber days. Not just lupi, either. Too often, those of us of the Blood operate like little islands in the sea of humanity. We don’t talk to each other, much less cooperate.”
“I’ll assume you’re not suggesting we make common cause with banshees.”
“I think that was a joke.”
“Let me know when you’re sure.”
They turned together just short of the road, automatically moving against the wind. The ground along the shoulder was hard and dusty. Rule’s footfalls were soft; Benedict’s were all but silent, even to Rule’s ears.
“We’re used to hiding,” Benedict said. “All of us. Plus there’s a few centuries of dislike and distrust involved in some cases. There are reasons for that.”
“Some of those reasons should have stopped mattering after the Sundering. Most of the rest have been asleep for centuries.”
“You’d have me believe that’s no longer true.”
Rule nodded. “Not that I’m certain, but Cullen is.”
“You have some reason other than friendship to believe him?”
“You remembered his cat. She was his familiar.”
“He’s not a witch. He can’t be. He’s of the Blood.”
“Not a witch, no. A sorcerer.”
Benedict’s breath sucked in. “I take it you mean a real one, not some idiot dabbler. But . . . how? That path is closed to us.”
“I don’t know, except that his mother was a witch.”
“Which also shouldn’t be possible. A lone wolf sorcerer . . .” He shook his head. “You’re scaring me.”
“I haven’t gotten to the scary part yet,” he said grimly. “Cullen came to me a few weeks ago. He’d noticed some odd things about the energies he uses—turbulence, he called it. I won’t go into detail. Well, I can’t, because I didn’t understand the half of it. But basically he suspects a conflict between forces in other realms is being reflected here, and Nokolai is somehow involved—or our enemies are, with the same result.”
Benedict shook his head. “There’s not enough congruence between the realms for that. Not anymore.”
“That’s what we’ve believed. But there have been rumors of things sighted that shouldn’t have been able to cross—a banshee in Texas, a gryphon in Wales.”
“Rumors,” Benedict said dismissively.
“I know, I know—rumors don’t prove anything. But Cullen came to me because . . . damn. I almost forgot to tell you.” Rule inhaled slowly, trying to calm himself. Movement had only helped for a few moments. The restlessness was back, and getting worse. There was an odd crawling sensation in his belly. “In return for Cullen’s warning, Isen extended him the aid and comfort of the clan for a month. I doubt he’ll show up, but if he does—”
“I’ll see he gets in. Finish explaining.”
“Right.” Keep moving, he told himself. But he was going the wrong way. He was headed for Clanhome, and he wanted . . . needed . . . “Cullen came to me after an elemental took up residence in his scrying flame. It was frightened.”
Benedict made a scoffing sound. “Isn’t that how scrying works? In return for the flame—or water, or whatever is used—the elemental shows pictures. Mostly lies,” he added. “Or useless. Elementals are too simple to sustain a thought or much of an emotion.”
“Normally, yes. But this was a very old, very large elemental. And, according to Cullen, it was not from our earth.”
“You’re right,” Benedict said after a moment. “That’s scarier.”
Rule’s head was growing light, as if he weren’t getting enough air. His feet drifted to a halt. “Last night Cullen cast the bones. I saw them afterward, Benedict. Snake eyes, every one, on every side.”
Benedict never cursed, but his expression suggested he wanted to. “I’m not swallowing his story whole, understand, but if even half of it—what’s wrong?”
“I can’t . . .” Breathe. Can’t . . . “I have to go back.” He turned—and wobbled so badly he might have fallen if Benedict’s hand
“I’ll assume you’re not suggesting we make common cause with banshees.”
“I think that was a joke.”
“Let me know when you’re sure.”
They turned together just short of the road, automatically moving against the wind. The ground along the shoulder was hard and dusty. Rule’s footfalls were soft; Benedict’s were all but silent, even to Rule’s ears.
“We’re used to hiding,” Benedict said. “All of us. Plus there’s a few centuries of dislike and distrust involved in some cases. There are reasons for that.”
“Some of those reasons should have stopped mattering after the Sundering. Most of the rest have been asleep for centuries.”
“You’d have me believe that’s no longer true.”
Rule nodded. “Not that I’m certain, but Cullen is.”
“You have some reason other than friendship to believe him?”
“You remembered his cat. She was his familiar.”
“He’s not a witch. He can’t be. He’s of the Blood.”
“Not a witch, no. A sorcerer.”
Benedict’s breath sucked in. “I take it you mean a real one, not some idiot dabbler. But . . . how? That path is closed to us.”
“I don’t know, except that his mother was a witch.”
“Which also shouldn’t be possible. A lone wolf sorcerer . . .” He shook his head. “You’re scaring me.”
“I haven’t gotten to the scary part yet,” he said grimly. “Cullen came to me a few weeks ago. He’d noticed some odd things about the energies he uses—turbulence, he called it. I won’t go into detail. Well, I can’t, because I didn’t understand the half of it. But basically he suspects a conflict between forces in other realms is being reflected here, and Nokolai is somehow involved—or our enemies are, with the same result.”
Benedict shook his head. “There’s not enough congruence between the realms for that. Not anymore.”
“That’s what we’ve believed. But there have been rumors of things sighted that shouldn’t have been able to cross—a banshee in Texas, a gryphon in Wales.”
“Rumors,” Benedict said dismissively.
“I know, I know—rumors don’t prove anything. But Cullen came to me because . . . damn. I almost forgot to tell you.” Rule inhaled slowly, trying to calm himself. Movement had only helped for a few moments. The restlessness was back, and getting worse. There was an odd crawling sensation in his belly. “In return for Cullen’s warning, Isen extended him the aid and comfort of the clan for a month. I doubt he’ll show up, but if he does—”
“I’ll see he gets in. Finish explaining.”
“Right.” Keep moving, he told himself. But he was going the wrong way. He was headed for Clanhome, and he wanted . . . needed . . . “Cullen came to me after an elemental took up residence in his scrying flame. It was frightened.”
Benedict made a scoffing sound. “Isn’t that how scrying works? In return for the flame—or water, or whatever is used—the elemental shows pictures. Mostly lies,” he added. “Or useless. Elementals are too simple to sustain a thought or much of an emotion.”
“Normally, yes. But this was a very old, very large elemental. And, according to Cullen, it was not from our earth.”
“You’re right,” Benedict said after a moment. “That’s scarier.”
Rule’s head was growing light, as if he weren’t getting enough air. His feet drifted to a halt. “Last night Cullen cast the bones. I saw them afterward, Benedict. Snake eyes, every one, on every side.”
Benedict never cursed, but his expression suggested he wanted to. “I’m not swallowing his story whole, understand, but if even half of it—what’s wrong?”
“I can’t . . .” Breathe. Can’t . . . “I have to go back.” He turned—and wobbled so badly he might have fallen if Benedict’s hand
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