Lupi 09 - Mortal Ties

they’d
     sent her to had wanted to talk about feelings, not actions. She hadn’t known what
     to say to a child who dreamed of murder.
    Grandmother had. She’d patted Lily on the back and said, “Of course you wish to kill
     him. However, you cannot. Now go kill the weeds in my garden. Pull them out by the
     roots. Pull out the grass, too. Kill as much of it as you can.”
    Lily still loved to garden.
    It had taken another twenty years for her to understand there had been another reason
     for her to become a cop. She’d needed the rules. She was capable of killing, and she’d
     needed to know exactly what the rules were so she wouldn’t kill unless it was absolutely
     necessary.
    She stood in the circle of Rule’s arm and watched the bonfire, feeling its heat on
     her face. Two people had brought fiddles and were starting to play. She’d dance in
     a bit. Her head hadn’t been concussed, and if her ribs were still bruised, that wouldn’t
     matter. Rule’s gunshot wound—which he had not told her about until she saw it—was
     fully healed. So she’d dance with Rule, and with others, too. She’d lived, and he
     had, and everyone here tonight had made it through this year in spite of the war.
     They would celebrate that.
    Some hadn’t made it through the year. Too many.
    Lily wasn’t sure if she would have killed Benessarai if Drummond hadn’t shown up to
     exact that promise, but maybe. Maybe she would. That was not a comfortable thing to
     know about herself. If she’d killed him, it wouldn’t have been because she had to,
     or even for the pragmatic reason that it was damn hard to imprison a sidhe with his
     skills. She’d have done it because she could, and he deserved death for what he’d
     done.
    She still thought he deserved to die, but it wasn’t up to her. It never had been up
     to her. That’s what she’d tossed on the fire a few minutes ago.
    Sometimes the bad guys did redeem themselves, wholly and completely. That’s what she’d
     learned from Drummond. That’s why it wasn’t up to her.
    “This is going to sound stupid,” she said, “but I kind of miss him.”
    “Miss who?”
    “Drummond.”
    “You’re right. That sounds pretty stupid.”
    She elbowed him. “You’re supposed to reassure me.”
    “Can’t. I tossed that sort of thing on the fire just now.”
    She turned in his arms to look at him directly, looping her arms around his neck loosely.
     “I’m guessing you don’t mean you’ve given up reassuring me.”
    He ran a finger along the side of her face, which was still a bit swollen. “I gave
     up thinking I can make better choices for you than you can. Being less than honest
     with you. And in all honesty, it does sound pretty dumb for you to—”
    Rule was really ticklish under his arms. She got him good, and of course he retaliated,
     so they were both laughing when Cynna rang the cowbell good and loud, welcoming in
     the new year.

EPILOGUE

    I
N
a place that was not quite a place as we think of them, two people were doing what,
     here, people often do in a bed.
    No, not that. Though their reunion had been joyous and prolonged and had included
     plenty of sex—or something as like to sex as makes no difference, even though they
     did not have bodies as we know bodies—just now they were sleeping. Or enjoying something
     very like sleep, but enough of the circumlocutions. We have no way of truly understanding
     that place, so we’ll continue from this point on as if they were here and use the
     terms we know
…
    He woke first. That was habit and normal and familiar and quite wonderful. It gave
     him the chance to watch her sleep when he had thought he’d never have such a moment
     again.
    A restless man most of the time, this morning—and it was morning, in all the ways
     that matter—he was at peace. At least until she woke and smiled at him. She touched
     his cheek, tracing furrows put there by a life lived hard and mostly right, though
     when he’d gone wrong, he’d done so spectacularly. As she’d told him tartly at one
     point, forthey’d talked as well as making love. “When are you leaving?” she asked.
    He scowled. “What are you talking about?”
    “Oh, please. When have you ever been able to relax and enjoy a vacation?”
    He blinked. “Vacation? They, uh, said this was a place of rest. I thought…it’s beautiful
     here.”
    “It is. Very beautiful.” She was laughing at him now. “Rest, vacation—whatever we
     call it,