Lupi 08 - Death Magic

dangling, blackened feet glowering down at Rule. “No firemen,” he said. “No water.”
    Rule said, “You put out the fire?”
    “Fagin’s elemental isn’t fast enough. Earth elemental, y’know. Not quick. So I did it.”
    “And you’re sure there is no ember, no tiny trace of anything smoldering?”
    Cullen was scornful. “’Course I’m sure. It’s Fagin’s library . The bastards firebombed his bloody library . Bloody damned irreplaceable shit in Fagin’s library.” He scowled in contemplation of the magnitude of this offense, then added as an afterthought, “And there’s the elemental. Doesn’t like water. Might hurt someone. Can’t let it hurt them, can I?”
    Fagin—who’d finally allowed them to put the oxygen mask on and was being wheeled away to the nearest ambulance—pulled the mask down again. “No hosing the house,” he ordered, then coughed some more.
    Lily glanced back at him. “I’ll take care of it. Keep your oxygen mask on and behave.” She pulled out her ID once more. “Captain, may I have a word with you?”
    It helped that the captain was basically a reasonable man. He was royally pissed at Cullen, of course, but when Lily explained who Fagin was and that his library might contain documents vital to national security, he was willing to listen. When she told him Cullen was Fire-Gifted and able to put out much larger fires than this had been, he snorted, but kept listening.
    It helped even more when the elemental chimed in.
    She was talking to the captain when she felt it—a vibration groaning up through the soles of her feet. She grabbed the man’s arm. “What the—”
    “Son of a—”
    The rest of the captain’s exclamation was lost in a sudden crack! like a muffled gunshot. The sidewalk near the street buckled. “What the hell?” He glared at Cullen. “I’ve had it with you. Officer—”
    Cullen peered down. “Not me. The elemental. Uh . . . you might want to get your men to back up. Maybe move the truck.”
    Along the street the earth began to crumble up , clods of concrete and dirt clumping together in gravity-defying cohesiveness. Firefighters scrambled back, exclaiming.
    “Is that thing emerging?” Rule asked sharply.
    “Don’t think so,” Cullen said, watching the slow heave of earth with bleary eyes. “But you should get on the porch. Ought to be okay there. It agreed to protect the house. Porch is part of the house.”
    Rule grabbed Lily’s hand and the two of them scrambled up the steps. A second later, Scott landed beside them. He’d jumped.
    “Cullen,” Rule called, “What’s it doing?”
    Cullen’s voice came from above, mixed with the deep grinding of earth as a wall continued to rise along Fagin’s property line. “Not sure. But I was wrong about one thing.”
    “What’s that?”
    “It’s not a small elemental.”

TWENTY-ONE
     

     
    THE problem with earth elementals was that they were very literal.
    A warded wall of dirt and stone, concrete and grass, sticks and boards from the fence that used to divide Fagin’s yard from his neighbor’s now encircled the property. It was roughly four feet wide at the base and nine feet tall. The ward extended above the wall, Cullen had said. It was unlike anything he’d seen.
    The good news was that they didn’t need to worry about firefighters increasing the damage to Fagin’s library with water. They didn’t need to worry about subsequent attacks, either. Nothing was getting across that property line.
    That was also the bad news. Cullen was pretty sure the ward went both ways—keeping things out and keeping them in. He was also pretty sure he didn’t want to test it to find out. He’d said so when Rule retrieved him from the roof—just before he passed out.
    “The Rhej will meet us at Memorial in Bethesda,” Rule said, putting up his phone, “once we’re able to leave.”
    “Bethesda? You’ve got to be kidding. There must be closer hospitals.”
    “All of which consider their facilities inadequate to treat a lupus patient.”
    “Assholes.” Lily leaned her head back against a chunky post holding up the roof over the porch and let her eyes close.
    The air was still and sullen and smelled of burned things: ash and smoke and a whiff of chemical nastiness mixed with the singed-pork stink from Cullen’s burned flesh. The temperature had dropped enough to make her glad for her jacket. Clouds had moved in to dull the day, hanging low as if working themselves up to rain.