Ritual Magic

near Isen’s tankmobile.
    José had a quick, appealing smile. “It’s good to see you, Lily. Ah . . . Isen said I was to mention the chain-of-command issue.”
    Lily looked at the
other
three men standing about ten feet away . . . Santos, Joe, and Andy. Her Leidolf guards. José and the guards with him were Nokolai. The two clans had been enemies for at least two hundred years. Rule was now Rho of one and Lu Nuncio of the other and was trying to mend that, but some habits were hard to break. At the moment no one looked hostile, perhaps because they were avoiding looking at each other at all. “Right. Santos.”
    “Yes?”
    “This is José”—she pointed—“and Casey and Steve. While we’re all together like this, José’s in charge.”
    Santos’s dark eyes flickered with outrage. He glanced at José, who was a head shorter and about fifty pounds lighter. A decade older, too, but that didn’t show. His response was carefully courteous. “May I ask for your reasoning?”
    “First, I’m not going to put you over someone who’s been subordinate to your boss, and Scott was under José in D.C. Second, I’m told you’re good. I believe it, but I know José better than I know you. I know what to expect, how he thinks, how he reacts when the shit hits the fan. That’s an edge I don’t intend to give up just to smooth your ruffled fur.”
    Santos didn’t like it. That was obvious in the very blankness of his face, but he nodded.
    She glanced at Joe and Andy. She didn’t expect any problems there. Santos was pricklier and more dominant than the other two. They each nodded.
    Good enough. Lily turned to follow Cynna and Cullen, who’d headed about a third of the way down the parking lot, arguing cheerfully—something about a ley line. José gave low-voiced instructions for how the men should station themselves. Lily carefully did not check to make sure Santos and the others obeyed. That was José’s job.
    “I still say you’re too close,” Cullen said to Cynna, “but have at it. Just because I was playing with ley lines before you were born doesn’t mean you should listen to me.”
    “Glad you realize that.” Cynna set her tote down.
    He looked at Lily. “José could kick Mr. Macho’s ass.”
    “When they’re two-footed, yeah.” Two-footed wasn’t Santos’s best form for fighting, and Lily had seen José take down fighters who outweighed and outmuscled him every bit as much as Santos did. As a wolf, though, Santos was supposed to be one of the best. Lily had heard Benedict’s assessment: superb in wolf form and potentially excellent on two feet, though mishandled and mistrained. Currently a pain in the ass.
    Santos had issues. A lot of issues. Rule hoped to reclaim him. He said that Victor, the previous Rho, had wanted to make a weapon of Santos, alternately petting and punishing, trying to obliterate the man’s sense of right and wrong so that the only “right” was Victor’s word. Victor had been a grade-A son of a bitch. “But Santos has to be able to take orders from people who can’t kick his ass. Me, for one.”
    “True.”
    The door into the building opened and Fielding hurried out. “Have you started?”
    “Not yet. There won’t be much for you to see,” Lily warned him.
    “More than I’ve seen until now,” he said as he moved to join them. He glanced around, obviously noting the guards. “What are they—”
    “They’re my men,” Lily told him.
    He grimaced, but didn’t comment out loud. Maybe he didn’t consider lupi men, or maybe he didn’t approve of her having bodyguards. Either way, he didn’t want to make her mad. He really wanted to watch the magic happen.
    Cynna was drawing her circle with her special chalk, using a piece of string.
    Fielding whispered, “Is it okay if we talk?”
    “Sure,” Cullen said. Not whispering.
    “Why the string?”
    “Same reason you used a compass to draw a circle back in geometry class. Circles don’t have to be mathematically precise, but the cruder the circle, the more power is needed to close and maintain it.”
    Cynna finished drawing, crouched, and touched the chalked line to set the circle. She moved to its center and opened the plastic baggie, shaking the fillings out into the palm of her hand. She spoke a Swahili word and made a quick gesture with her other hand. After that, nothing at all happened, to Lily’s eyes.
    Or to Fielding’s. “What’s she doing?” he asked.
    “Copying all the patterns