Lupi 09 - Mortal Ties

wasn’t enough. He leaned forward to sniff them, too. “He didn’t see it.”
    “A lookaway spell?”
    “Yeah. Though the one you’re looking at is a fake.” He rose to stand with his hands
     on his hips, scowling around at his invaded domain.
    “I take it he didn’t find the real one, either.”
    “I don’t keep it here.” He dropped to his haunchessuddenly. “If that dung-begotten abortion of a thief got hold of my—” He started to
     reach under the table.
    “No hands!” Lily reminded him firmly. “No touching.”
    Cullen swung his scowl around at her. “And how the hell am I supposed to know if he
     found my copy of Czypsser’s grimoire if I don’t look?”
    “Smell?”
    “Shit, the whole place stinks of him!”
    She frowned confused. “Does he have an unusually strong odor, then?” The perp couldn’t
     have been in here long. “Or did he touch a lot of things?”
    “No.” Cullen grudged that answer. “Go investigate somewhere else for a while.” He
     turned away and stalked over to the glass étagère.
    “Have you found anything else missing?”
    “No.” Cullen bent to study one of those outbreaks of order: an empty shelf. His worn-to-a-thread
     jeans looked ready to give up the battle for intactness any moment. His running shoes
     were equally ragged, and his spice brown hair stood up in spikes. He was as pretty
     a bit of eye candy as any woman was likely to see, and he was in a rage.
    Not just pissed off. He’d been that earlier. Maybe it was a lupi thing, set off by
     the smell of an intruder in his space? Whatever the reason, he all but vibrated with
     anger. “Not,” he added crisply as he stopped scrutinizing the barren shelf, “that
     I can tell for sure without
touching
things.”
    She nodded. “Makes sense, if he’s a pro.”
    “A pro?” Brilliant blue eyes focused on her. His lovely mouth sneered at her. “He
     left behind my copy of Czypsser’s grimoire! Do you know what that thing’s worth?”
    “He came here for one thing, got it, and got out. Didn’t let greed make him linger
     because he knew he didn’t have much time.”
    His eyes were even wilder than his hair, the blue flame-bright—and starting to darken.
     The pupils seemed to be growing as black ate into the irises. “If the rat bastard
     is a pro, he’d better be ready to be professionally eviscerated. When I—”
    “Cullen.”
    “—get my hands on him I’m going to ask real nicely how he got past the flare ward,
     and if I like his answer maybe I won’t—”
    “Cullen!”
    Cullen stopped midword. Closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and ran both hands through
     his hair. Again. “I’m okay.”
    The black had receded from his pupils, so she believed him. “Good. Let’s step outside.
     I need to call the CSI team in. While we wait for them, I’ve got some questions about
     your prototype.”
    He fell into step beside her. “When I think about all the hours and hours of work
     I put into it, and then some—”
    “Best if you don’t think about all those hours right now. Think about how you’re going
     to condense what you know about the prototype so you don’t drown me in explanations.”
     She paused on the other side of the doorway. David and one of his squad had taken
     up positions there. She checked her phone. No bars. She put the phone back and pulled
     out her flashlight. “Looks like I’ll have to head up out of this ditch your place
     is in to use my phone.” She glanced at David. “You’ll keep the scene secured until
     my CSI people get here?”
    He nodded. “I checked with Pete. Until further notice, I’m under your orders.”
    “Good. That includes keeping Cullen out.” She started for the trail she’d come down
     a few minutes ago. “Cullen?”
    “No one put me under your goddamn orders,” he grumbled, but he followed. He even brought
     the mage light with him.
    It provided plenty of light, so she flicked her flashlight off and stuck it back in
     her purse. “So what’s the side effect that makes the prototype not ready for prime
     time?”
    “It can create persistent, temporally displaced illusions in nulls.”
    “Temporally displaced…unpack that for me.”
    He shrugged. “Memories. Vivid, hallucinogenicmemories of shit that never happened. Usually shit that couldn’t have happened, like
     flying rats in goggles and aviator jackets.”
    “Flying rats.”
    “With wings. Dressed up like World War I pilots.” He sighed. “That one came