Lupi 08 - Death Magic

medal.”
    “The president wanted to. Their spokesperson said they respectfully declined to receive any sort of award, and besides, they never leave their reservation, so what were we talking about?”
    That startled a laugh out of her. “I’m told they don’t like to have a fuss made about bravery.”
    He smiled. “Apparently not.” The smile faded. “As for publically honoring the heroism and sacrifice of the lupi . . . I hope that happens eventually, but right now the country is too divided. There’s a great uneasiness, even among some who agree that they were heroes—a feeling that if the country didn’t harbor lupi in the first place, none of this would have happened. And, of course, there’s that vocal minority that believes the government is engaged in a massive cover-up and the lupi really were behind it all, not Paul Chittenden.”
    Lily grimaced. The Humans First movement hadn’t died. It was diminished, but not dead.
    “Lily.” Croft leaned forward earnestly. “People need heroes. Let them have one.”
    “Yeah, don’t be a dick,” Al Drummond said. He was sitting in the other visitor chair, looking his usual pallid self. “Take the damn medal.”
    She wanted to tell him it was physically impossible for her to be a dick. She wanted to tell him to go away— which he had so far refused to do. Not that he was around every minute, but every so often, he popped up, usually with unwanted advice.
    But people look at you funny if you start talking to your invisible friends, so she didn’t. And in the end, Lily agreed to accept the medal. It would be months, maybe a year, before they did the big presentation ceremony. Who knows? She might still end up dismissed and disgraced and not have to go through with it.
     
     
    THREE days after that, on the night before Lily and Rule were scheduled to fly home—at last—they were in their bedroom at the Georgetown house, getting ready.
    Rule sat on the bed as he slipped on his shirt. He could stand without using the crutches; it had taken some insistence on his part, but they’d casted the leg as soon as the outer wound closed, and having it casted helped. But standing hurt more than he liked to admit, so he stayed seated as much as possible.
    The femur had barely begun healing; his eye hadn’t started. He kept a square of gauze taped over it, knowing it was an ugly sight. His healing had prioritized the internal injuries. That was normal. But it was taking forever for him to feel normal.
    So many dead. Too many, and the war had only begun.
    “Am I the only one who thinks it’s just weird to be going to a dinner party?” Lily asked as she turned away from the closet, a necklace in one hand. “Or for Deborah and Ruben to be giving one, for that matter.”
    “Deborah wants to feel normal. And it’s just us and Isen, not really a party.”
    “Fasten this for me?” Lily said, and held out a necklace. The one he’d given her . . . gods, was it only two weeks ago? “No, don’t stand up.” She huffed out an impatient breath and dropped to her knees in front of him. “Here.” She pulled her hair aside. “I’m hoping Fagin’s right about those white stones.”
    He took his time fastening the necklace, enjoying the slight, involuntary shiver his touch gave her. He’d been too damaged for them to make love, but his guts were healed now, so tonight, that would change. He promised himself that. “What about the stones? They’re agates, by the way.”
    “That’s what he said. He also said that white agates are supposed to offer protection against malign or confused spirits.”
    That made him grin. “You’re hoping to keep Drummond from dropping in while we eat our steaks?” Lily said the ghost wasn’t around constantly. Just now and then—usually with some sort of unwanted advice.
    “Damn right. If it works, I’ll wear this all the time.” She stood. “I’ll get your shoes. No, stay there,” she told him firmly. “Why was it okay for you to help me constantly when my arm was messed up, but you don’t want to let me help you?”
    That was apparently a rhetorical question, for she went back to the closet without waiting for an answer. Rule finished buttoning his shirt and waited obediently.
    Coming to First Change as an adult had made a big difference in Ruben’s adjustment. He’d returned to Washington yesterday in his two-legged form—but only temporarily, and not alone. In addition to Isen, he’d brought five Wythe guards.