Lupi 08 - Death Magic

brownies? What can a timid race who never leave their reservations do?”
    “Brownies are timid, but intensely curious. And they don’t stay on their reservations all the time. They never have.”
    She blinked. “That’s . . . really surprising. I guess it means they’re good at sneaking.”
    “Extremely good.”
    “How do they report what they see? I’d have noticed if a bunch of brownies were hanging around the house to tell you stuff.”
    He grinned. “Mostly by cell phone. Modu makes one that’s two and three-fourths inches high, less than a third of an inch thick, and weighs about as much as a spool of thread. It’s a great favorite with them.”
    She snorted. “Brownies with cell phones. Okay, what about the irregulars?”
    “The majority of ghosts are irregulars, and they vary greatly in duties, capabilities, and knowledge. Most of them are highly trustworthy, but aren’t suited for the work of an agent. Some know a great deal about what we’re facing. Others don’t. They don’t get the identifier that you did.”
    “The secret decoder ring.” She rubbed the dull pebble in her hand, frowned, and set it on her thigh. “Fagin said he wasn’t an agent.”
    “He’s an irregular, yes.” He ran his fingers over her arm again. Her healed arm. “So are Mark and our other guards. Many of the irregulars are what you might call support staff. A few may become active agents, but aren’t ready yet. Others have specific, limited duties. A small number are . . . I think of them as sleepers. We may never need to call on them, but if we do, they’re in place.”
    She chewed that over in silence, then picked up her pebble. After five seconds, it glowed briefly, then winked out. Thoughtfully she slid it in her pocket. “And associates? You called them a resource. They’re not part of the ghosts?”
    “Associates provide specific services or information for a fee. Some are decent people. Some are not.” He couldn’t feel where the bullet had gone in at all, but he could feel a bit of scarring where it had blown out the front of her bicep. Not much. “Associates don’t know about the Shadow Unit, and we want to keep it that way. You’ll be given access to a database with a list of associates, some background on each of them, and what kinds of skills they offer.”
    “It’s ... really weird that you’ve been setting all this up—you and Ruben and probably others, but you’ve been part of it. And I didn’t know. I’m not angry.” A quick glance at him. “It’s just weird.”
    He slid his hand up her arm to her shoulder. “It’s been weird for me, too, Lily.” He bent to rub the side of his face along the top of her head. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. They locked you up and I was far away. I was—”
    She shifted and put her fingers on his lips. “No guilt. None. You did what you had to do, and I did what I had to do. And”—she sucked in a breath—“and I’m not ready to talk about the rest of it. About . . . my job. Not yet. Anyone else asks how I’m doing I’ll say okay, and that will be bullshit. It’s true, but it’ll still be bullshit, and I don’t want to give you bullshit. Only I don’t . . . I don’t have more right now.”
    He looked into her eyes for a long moment. He wanted to push, wanted that badly. It couldn’t be good for her to keep everything throttled down inside, and he didn’t mind angering her. Anger might help her. And yet... “I suppose you think that, loving you and trusting you the way I do, I should accept that.”
    Her lips moved in a small smile. “Yeah, I do. For now, anyway.”
    Slowly he nodded. “For now.”
    She sighed and settled against him.
    “You could tell me about the jail.”
    “You just agreed—”
    “This isn’t about spilling your guts. Or about your career. Give me facts, not feelings.”
    She rolled her eyes. “It was a holding cell. It stank. The food sucked and the company was on a par with the food. You’ve been in jail. You know what it’s like.”
    “Don’t tell me what it’s like. Tell me about this particular jail. How many were in there with you?”
    “It varied. The lowest number was ten. Made it downright roomy for a while.”
    He kept asking questions. Solid, factual questions that kept her talking . . . and let him peek between the cracks. She was relaxed now, dealing with facts. He forced himself to stay relaxed, too. He wanted to kill those who’d put her in jail, who’d robbed her of what