Lupi 08 - Death Magic

reply— I’m clear to talk—you? Call if u can —and gave Scott a nod so he’d know she’d heard from Shannon. Then she spoke to Mullins. “Some of your story’s been confirmed. There were four thugs at the Webster house—three inside, one out back. The place reeks of blood and death magic. But those four have just been joined by two more in a catering truck.”
    “Fuck!” That was Drummond. “If we’d acted right away—”
    “We’d have been shot by the two who showed up late for the party.” Her phone vibrated again. This time it was a call, not a text. Shannon again. “Go ahead.” She listened, asked a couple questions, and told him to stand by for instructions. “They’ve begun loading their victims into the truck. Not bodies—victims. Out cold, but still alive.” She looked at Drummond. “They’re taking them somewhere else to be sacrificed, aren’t they?”
    He was silent.
    “To your friends at the Humans First Rally.” When he still didn’t speak she leaned forward. “Goddammit. Don’t you get it? Your buddies are perfectly willing to sacrifice their own people along with the ones you consider innocent. What do you think they’re going to do with the death magic they conjure by killing twenty-two people? I know about the dopplegängers. They must plan to make a lot of them, not just duplicate me and Ruben. Or maybe they’re planning to feed the earth elementals they’ve called. Those elementals can do a lot of damage if they’re fed well.”
    “They wouldn’t—” He shut himself up quickly.
    “They killed a United States senator who was on their side . Hell yes, they would. They’d do anything. There are children at that damn rally. Are you going to let kids be killed to protect your righteous cause?”
    “I’m not the one who insists on talking and talking and talking. You going to shut up and do something? Or are you planning to sit this out while they carry off and kill twenty-two people—including someone who’s supposed to be a friend of yours?”
    “You’re right. I’m not going to let them do that.”
    His mouth twisted. “There’s six of them now. Armed. You’d better give me back my weapon.”
    “You want in? I don’t need you. There’s me and Mullins and four lupi. Hell, the lupi probably don’t need me and Mullins, but we’ll tag along. What about you? If you want in, you’re going to have to prove to me that you mean it.”
    Scott’s head swiveled toward her. He opened his mouth—and shut it again without telling her not to be an idiot.
    Good man. “Who are you working with?” she repeated. “And what are they planning?”
    “Al,” Mullins said slowly, “you’re so far wrong, and you can’t see it, and it breaks my heart. But if you’ve ever trusted me—not just to take your back, hell, you know I’ll do that—but really trusted me, listen to me now. These people you’re in with, they’re bad. They’re going to kill people. Not just collateral damage in this unholy war you think you’re fighting—they’ll out-and-out murder people because they don’t give a shit. If it’s easier to kill, if they think it works, they’ll do it. You think you’re doing this because of Pat, to keep others from dying like she did. But it’s revenge you’re really after, and you’re taking it on people who never hurt you or her. If she could see you now, see what you’ve done, she’d be sick. You know she would.”
    Drummond’s gaze switched from Mullins to Lily and back again. His face didn’t give away a thing, no sign at all that he’d caved. But he started talking.

THIRTY-SEVEN
     

     
    IN the flat, grassy plains of northeastern Colorado, the sky was barely tinged with pink in the east. Three modest late-model cars pulled off onto the shoulder of State Highway 14 between Raymer and Stoneham, about twenty-five miles south of the Nebraska border.
    Headlights shut off. Doors opened. Seven women stepped out into the darkness. Seven small globes of light sprang into being, holding back some of that dark.
    The women looked nothing alike; in age they ranged from early thirties to over eighty, and they were as varied in build, hair, and coloring as they were in age. They weren’t quite as dissimilar in dress. All wore jackets, and three had hats. October mornings are chilly in the Colorado plains. Six of the seven wore jeans. One wore a beautifully embroidered dashiki and an elaborately wound headscarf with her jeans. The seventh