Ritual Magic

the coven and is an extremely strong and capable Earth witch. Lily, I am so very sorry about your mother.”
    Sympathy affected Lily the way peanuts did some people. Her throat closed right up. She nodded stiffly. “Thanks. She’ll be okay. Now, I’m sure Ida or Ruben briefed you, but—”
    “It has to be terrible for you, working this as if it was just another case. Anything I can do to help, I will. We all will.” Miriam glanced at the others, who murmured agreement or nodded.
    She could start by not looming over Lily. Miriam’s personal space dial was set to Italian or something. She always stood too close. “Thank you,” Lily said again.
And if you hug me, I’m going to belt you.
“We need to know several things that I hope you can help with. First, though, I need you to certify that . . . damn.” The electronic gong muffled by Lily’s pocket was a ring tone she didn’t hear often. Grandmother did not like talking on the phone. “I need to answer this,” she said, pulling out her phone. “Cullen, could you brief Miriam and the others?”
    “Sure. Here’s the deal, Miriam. Once you’ve run the basic tests for the record, I’d like to try a variation on a seek spell with . . .”
    Lily stopped listening, moving away as she thumbed the answer button. Her heart pounded. If it was bad news, surely it would be Rule calling, not Grandmother? “This is Lily.”
    “Do not be alarmed,” Grandmother said crisply. “Julia is resting. However, there is disagreement about her treatment. I may revoke my approval of doctors. You are needed here.”
    * * *
    R ULE had always known his people were at war.
    Long before his First Change, he and Steve and the others in their age cohort had killed thousands of dworg
.
Dworg made satisfying monsters because they were not wholly imaginary. Extinct, yes—or so everyone believed—but the clans had fought the real thing in the Great War. Sometimes Rule had died heroically in those battles, like Arnos of Etorri, but mostly he’d preferred to emulate Kierran or Tel—heroes who survived to fight another day. Those ancient tales were the stories he’d listened to, played out, and grown up on. All lupi did.
    Human history had no record of the Great War. Not surprising, given that it ended over three thousand years ago . . . or so its other participants thought. Not the lupi. War didn’t end until your opponent was dead or had submitted irrevocably. The enemy they had been created to defeat was an Old One, as incapable of real submission as she was of dying. She might have been temporarily defeated and locked out of their realm, but the war hadn’t ended.
    For over three thousand years, each generation of lupi had been raised knowing they could be the ones called upon to resume the war. So Rule had always known that his people were at war, yes, and that his could be the generation called into battle . . . much as he’d grown up knowing the Russians might decide to drop nuclear bombs on his country. It could happen. It probably wouldn’t, but it could.
    Unlike the lupi’s war, the Cold War had ended. And as year rolled into year it had been easy to believe that his generation, too, would live out their lives in relative peace.
    One year and four months ago, the Azá tried to open a hellgate.
    He and Lily and a great many others had stopped them, but they’d known
she
was behind the attempt. Persuading the other clans of this had been difficult until last September, when the Lady spoke through the Rhejes to announce the resumption of the war. In October, the battle had gone hot. Even humans knew a little about it now—at least, they knew about the battles at the Humans First rallies. Most had some idea of Friar’s connection to that carnage, though they didn’t know about the Great Bitch and her plans for their world.
    A few did, however. At the FBI and in the White House, they knew.
    It was one thing to know you might be called to war. It was another to fight it.
    Rule leaned his head back in the uncomfortable chair beside Julia’s bed and closed his eyes, relieved that she slept at last. Relieved for both of them. Dealing with a sad, frantic twelve-year-old was not easy. But with his eyes closed, the sickness came back, a sickness that pounded in him like a drumbeat.
    Wrong, wrong, wrong.
    What had been done to Julia was hideous, obscene, wrong on the deepest level. And his fault.
    That wasn’t true. He knew that, dammit. How could he have