Lupi 08 - Death Magic

tired now, I’m nowhere near passing out. Only . . .”
    “Keep going.”
    “It lasted longer, my vision went blurry, and my hand . . .” She held it out, studying it as if it didn’t belong to her. “It went numb. I dropped my notebook, dropped the damn thing right in front of Mullins, and”—her brows snapped down—“and you’re happy about that?”
    “I am.” He patted her shoulder. “That’s excellent news. At least I think it is. Assuming your hand and vision are okay now—”
    “They’re fine.” Automatically she squeezed her hand into a fist, proving once again that she could.
    “Then it’s good news. Probably. Sit down and I’ll tell you what the Rhej told me. How long did the attack last?”
    “Less than ten minutes. More than five. What did she tell you?”
    “You aren’t sitting down.”
    “Your keen powers of observation are a wonder to all of us.” She spooned beans into the grinder. “I’ll sit when I need to. Start talking.”
    He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, and wisely decided to accept that. “Consider what I tell you hemmed in by all sorts of qualifications about it being speculation. That’s why the Rhej didn’t pass it on to you and Rule earlier. First the part we’re sure of. The mantle’s been healing your arm.”
    “Slowly, yes.”
    “It looks like slowly is better than quickly for you. We—the Rhej and I—think the healing the mantle has been doing on your arm caused you to have that first TIA. The Rhej says that any TIA causes damage. Minor damage, so small that the long-term effects are close to nil, but the mantle doesn’t seem to know that. Lupi healing sets priorities, and the brain’s number one, so the mantle tried to heal that damage quick-quick. But that quick healing was too hard on you, so you had another TIA, which kept the cycle going.”
    “Shit.” She slapped the button and the grinder buzzed away. “Double shit. Stupid damn mantle. Can’t it tell it’s screwing with me?”
    “No. The mantle is a magical construct. It isn’t sentient.”
    “That’s what Rule always says, but it’s not an artifact like that damn staff you burned. I don’t care what you say.” She rested a hand on her stomach, frowning. “It’s . . . it feels like it’s alive.”
    “Oh, yes.”
    “But you said—”
    “I said it’s a magical construct. I didn’t say it lacked life. Artifacts are charms on steroids. Constructs are—pay attention here, this gets complicated— constructed . And sentient means—”
    “Capable of thought and reason. Which, okay, I’m not doing so hot with right now.” She scraped the newly ground coffee into the insulated French press she’d bought Rule a couple months ago. “So the mantle’s alive, but it doesn’t think.”
    “Let’s not try to define thinking right now. Suffice it to say that mantles can’t be reasoned with and give no signs of reasoning on their own, which is why it’s doing the wrong damn thing with you. But living things are capable of learning or adapting. Some more than others. Plants pretty much suck at learning, but they can adapt to some extent.”
    “So what kind of living thing is a mantle? Plant, virus, bacteria, cute little kitten?”
    “The immortal kind.”
    She stared. “But they can die. That’s why I’ve got the Wythe mantle in here causing all these problems—to keep it from dying.”
    “If the holder of a mantle dies without an heir to receive the mantle, the mantle is lost, not dead. The constructed part is destroyed. The living part goes back where it came from. Back to the Lady. Mantles hold a bit of the Lady’s life within them.”
    It made a weird kind of sense. The mantles were what kept lupi from being beast-lost. They imbued Rhos with authority that was literally inarguable . . . and the lupi’s Lady was the one authority lupi would not or could not deny. “Why didn’t I know this?” she demanded. “I’ve asked Rule questions about the mantles dozens of times. I’ve talked with the Nokolai Rhej about them. Why didn’t I already know this?”
    Cullen’s mouth quirked up. “Because it’s a secret.”
    “Ninety-five percent of everything about you people is a secret!”
    “This one is secret from pretty much everyone. Only the Rhejes and the mantle-holders know.”
    “Then how did you . . . oh.” Cullen had been born to Etorri, not Nokolai. Etorri was a very small clan, steeped in honor, and—for complicated historical reasons—the