Lupi 09 - Mortal Ties

can vanish?” Jasper said, befuddled.
    “Lupi don’t disappear,” Lily said. “It just seems like it. They’re good at concealment.
     Tell me what Friar said.”
    Jasper did that while Rule gave Chris his instructions. Rule listened to see if Jasper
     altered anything or left it out—he didn’t, until he added that Hammond Middle School
     was close to the hotel, much closer than his house, so he had a few minutes. Not many,
     but a few. Rule disconnected and signaled to Scott:
Bring Cullen here.
Scott grimaced, no doubt anticipating more complaint. But Cullen wouldn’t bitch about
     this. He never did when the emergency was real.
    “He didn’t tell me to bring the prototype,” Jasper was saying to Lily. “Does that
     mean he’s got it?”
    “Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe…tell me something. If you still had the prototype, would
     you have brought it to this meeting if Friar told you to?”
    “No. Not like this, with no guarantees. Too easy to kill me and Adam both and take
     the damn thing.”
    “He probably knows that.”
    Jasper scrubbed his face. “He does. Of course he does. I’ve been clear about that.
     I wish to hell I’d quit panicking. It plays hell with thinking. So the next question
     is, how do I leave here without being seen? There’s no time to leave the way I came
     in, so I’ll have to exit as someone else.”
    “If you’re in the center of my men when I leave,” Rule said, “you won’t be clearly
     visible.”
    “I need to get there ahead of you, and you’re supposed to leave your men here.”
    “Friar knows I won’t do that. He wants something to hold over you—you didn’t do the
     impossible, so he won’t honor his end of the deal. Which he has no intention of doing
     anyway, but he wants you to keep thinking he will if you jump through his hoops just
     right.”
    “Right. Right. That sounds like him. I still need to leave before you do.” He looked
     at Lily. “Do you have some makeup I could use?”
    “Makeup? Uh—sorry, but I don’t think any amount of makeup will make you look like
     a woman. And I don’t have anything that would fit you.”
    “No, I won’t cross-dress. But another shirt, yes, the more expensive the better, given
     where you’re staying. Not black. Black points up the resemblance between me and Rule.
     And mascara, shadow, lipstick, liner—I don’t suppose you have any glitter? No? What
     about cotton balls?”
    “L ILY was right,” Rule said from the doorway to the bathroom. “You don’t look like a woman.
     You do look different, but not like a woman.”
    “Different but charming, yes?” Jasper met his eyes in the mirror and blew him a mocking
     kiss. “You don’t approve.”
    “It’s disconcerting, like looking in the mirror and seeing someone else there. Was
     Chris able to shut down your recordings?”
    “I think so. He seemed to follow instructions well.” Jasper’s voice was clear in spite
     of the scraps of washcloth he’d stuffed in his cheeks in lieu of cotton balls to change
     their contour. In six minutes he’d transformed himself—removed his shirt, gelled his
     hair into spikes, and applied liner, mascara, and shadow with a lavish hand. He was
     now brushing on blush. He met Rule’s eyes in the mirror again. “It’s my SFGS disguise.”
    “Will this do?” Lily said, pushing past Rule and holding out a white cashmere scarf
     he’d given her recently.
    “Perfect, if I had a shirt to—ah, you’ve got something.”
    She handed him the silk shirt that had been draped over her arm. “Todd donated it
     to the cause.”
    Todd liked color. The shirt was lime green with a paisley pattern picked out in royal
     blue. It was slightly too small, but Jasper dealt with it efficiently, rolling up
     the sleeves and leaving it unbuttoned. He draped the scarf around his neck, twitching
     it until it fell to his satisfaction.
    “SFGS?”
    “Stereotypical Flaming Gay Slut.” He put down the blush brush, picked up the lip gloss
     Lily had contributed, and his voice changed, turning light and merry. “Works a treat,
     sweetie. Everyone notices me. No one sees me. Ask for a description later and you’ll
     hear about the shirt, the pants, the makeup. Hotel staff do pay some attention to
     prostitutes their customers bring here in case they cause trouble—either the prostitutes
     or their customers. But they won’t give much more of a description than the man I
     annoy by my mere presence in the elevator. They