Lupi 08 - Death Magic

in their place at the rally.
    Having all the bad guys outside was obviously best. Having all the victims in one place and secured inside the truck made it harder for the bad guys to use them as hostages. The tricky part was that she was trusting Drummond. Sort of.
    Lily was going with her gut—and maybe with Mullins’s gut, too. Drummond’s sense of right and wrong might be twisted as hell, but it was strong. Strong enough for him to sacrifice his career and his bloody stupid war against the Gifted to keep a bunch of homeless people from being sacrificed. In his screwed-up head, everything he’d done was supposed to protect people. Lily and Ruben, the lupi, the Gifted in general—they weren’t really people to him. But he couldn’t let “innocents”—people without Gifts or the knack of turning furry—be killed.
    She wouldn’t turn her back on him, but she’d use him. He had an advantage she couldn’t overlook. He’d supplied the thugs in the first place.
    Or rather, he’d arranged things. Dennis Parrott hadn’t known how to go about hiring muscle who wouldn’t object to wet work. Drummond might claim he didn’t know about the death magic, but he’d known his compadres were planning murder. Like most cops, he knew people on the other side of the law. He’d set up a meet between Parrott and Randy “Big Thumbs” Ballister. “Big Thumbs” got his name from saying he’d “squish that prick like a bug,” accompanied by a motion with his thumb. Word was, he did a lot of squishing.
    Most of the operation would be carried out by the lupi. If everything went right, Lily wouldn’t even be needed. That grated on her. She didn’t like sending others into danger while she stood around giving orders, but she wasn’t going to risk lives just to soothe her ego. Lupi could do things she couldn’t.
    So Lily squatted across the street from the Webster house, tucked behind a hugely overgrown juniper. The world was growing lighter, though still wrapped in shades of gray; she could see clearly enough. The catering truck was parked in the cracked driveway, its open rear facing the house. Its driver had just climbed back behind the wheel and rolled the windows down so he could enjoy a smoke.
    He was a bit of a wild card; surrounded by metal, he’d be hard to take, and there was no cover to reach him unseen. They were hoping Big Thumbs’s men were scared enough of him to obey, no matter what. If not . . . that’s why Lily had picked this spot. It was the only place with cover that gave a good view of the man.
    Two men emerged from the front door, a long, blanket-wrapped bundle carried between them. Another man—Big Thumbs himself—stood by, watching.
    If the count was right, that was the next-to-last hostage. And here came two more men with another bundle. Where the hell was . . .
    She sighed with relief as a white Ford that any self-respecting criminal would make for a cop car pulled up, blocking the catering truck. Drummond climbed out, slammed his door.
    The first two men hastily heaved their bundle into the truck and hurried to back up their boss. They didn’t bother with subtle. Both drew their weapons.
    Lily could hear Big Thumbs clearly. “What the hell you doing here?”
    “Parrott thinks I’m his goddamn messenger boy, that’s what. He says he left something behind last time. Fancy card case, metal—might make it through the fire when you torch the place, and it’s got his initials on it, so he wants you to find it.”
    “Why the hell didn’t he call me?”
    “He doesn’t have a throwaway with him, asshole. He’s not making calls to you on his regular phone.”
    Big Thumbs thought that over, then grunted. “I hate working with damn amateurs. He pays good, but he’s a pain in the ass. Where is his goddamned card case supposed to be?”
    “Wherever he’s been holding those ceremonies. He said you’d know what he meant.”
    “Okay, but if we run late, he’d better not bitch about it.” Big Thumbs nodded at the last two men, who’d deposited their burden in the back of the truck and slammed the doors. “Look for the man’s fancy card case. Should be out back.”
    There was a brand-new, eight-foot wooden fence closing off the backyard. It stood out like a sore thumb in this neighborhood. According to Shannon, the backyard was where the worst stink of death magic came from.
    That’s also where Scott and Chris were waiting. Those two men wouldn’t be coming back.
    Big Thumbs