Lupi 08 - Death Magic

shadows cast by souls. She’d wondered at the time what the hell that meant. She still did. And she really, really wished this one would go into the light or something and quit following her.
    “What the hell you mean, the cargo don’t go here?” Mike demanded. “I was told to bring it to the stage. This is the stage.”
    A muffled voice told Mike he had to take the truck to Fourteenth Street—“at the back of the gathering, by the Washington Monument. You’ve heard of it? Big pointy thing sticking way up in the air?”
    “Shit. I gotta call Big Thumbs.”
    “You’ve got to move this thing, and quick!”
    “I do what Big Thumbs says, asshole, not you.”
    Lily nodded at Scott, then at the doors at the rear of the truck. He moved into position.
    So did Drummond.
     
     
    RULE ended the conversation with Harry quickly—and his phone immediately vibrated again. He answered.
    It was Mark from on top of the Smithsonian. “Silver catering truck just pulled in behind the stage.”
    He’d known she was here. He felt her. “Good.”
    “And there’s some kind of upset at the back of the crowd near the Washington Monument—people moving away from one spot. Not running, just avoiding that spot for some reason.”
    “Keep an eye on it. You see Deborah?”
    “She and her guards are just the other side of the Monument. She seems to be resting.”
    The elemental could be doing something that made people uneasy . . . but Matt would call if that were so. Assuming Deborah could tell, that is. “Okay. Notify José. Out.” Rule disconnected. “The catering truck’s here. They’re behind the stage.”
    Parrott had kept his speech brief and was introducing someone. “Give her a warm welcome, because she’s seen the light and is here to tell the truth about what happened when Ruben Brooks fled justice. Ladies and gentlemen, Lily Yu!”
    And Lily walked up the steps. Only it wasn’t Lily.
    It looked precisely like her. It moved like her. It wore black slacks and a red jacket identical to one that hung in Lily’s closet . . . that thing was wearing her face, her form, stolen from her while she was locked up. The mate sense told Rule where Lily was—behind the stage, not on it. And moving. Lily was in motion, which meant she’d made her move—yes, look at Parrott turning to look behind the stage.
    Crisp now and certain, Rule spoke. “That’s not Lily. It’s a dopplegänger. Lily’s making her move, though, so we need to as well. As planned—positions!”
    Rule had kept the Nokolai guards with him. He’d expected trouble to come from the stage, and his Nokolai knew many useful tricks. Like this one, which was part of one of the training dances.
    Six men dropped to their hands and knees, shoulder-to-shoulder in the short grass. Three men leaped onto their backs and linked arms to steady themselves.
    Cullen grabbed Rule’s arm as he started to move. “There’s something weird about the Lily-double.”
    Rule shook him off. “It’s not Lily. Of course it’s weird.” And along with Andy and Sean, he quickly scaled the lupi pyramid to crouch atop Jacob’s shoulders, with Andy and Sean doing the same on either side of him. Jacob’s hands gripped his ankles.
    When he leaped, Jacob shoved. And Rule sailed toward the stage.
    The human record for the standing long jump was a little over eleven feet. Rule wasn’t human, and Jacob’s push gave him extra momentum. He still wouldn’t make it to the stage in a single leap, but he passed over the heads of those at the very front to land lightly in the clear strip between the crowd and the stage. Andy and Sean landed on either side of him.
    Their order had been settled ahead of time. Rule wanted to go first, but he was a Rho. He couldn’t risk himself unnecessarily. So when Sean bent, cupping his hands, it was Andy who accepted that stirrup. Sean heaved. Andy sailed onto the stage.
    Rule was right behind him. He grabbed the edge of the stage with his hands and heaved himself up.
    The not-Lily thing stood halfway between the podium and the stairs, unmoving. Parrott was nowhere in sight. Kim Evans had surged to her feet and started forward, telling them to get off, get off—
    Not-Lily’s face lit in a sudden grin. It sprinted fast—faster than anything human could move—to Kim Evans, stopping behind her, drawing something from its pocket. As Rule raced toward them, it grabbed the woman’s hair, tipped her head back. And slit her throat.
    Blood geysered out,