hers. And sighed. “I think you’re right. If I can’t stop being angry with her, does that mean my heart isn’t clean?”
“It means you’re mad. That’s all it means.”
She was right . . . mostly. There was one other meaning to his anger. One cause that he hadn’t wanted to see. Fear was the tinder that anger burned, wasn’t it?
He was afraid of the Lady.
It was a thought so foreign he almost couldn’t grasp it. How could he fear that which made him who and what he was? Without the Change, the clans, the moon and the magic, he wouldn’t be. Someone else might have been born and given the name Rule Turner, but that man would not be him.
Moonsong, mantles, and magic. The half of him that ran on four legs and knew so much of love and blood and loyalty . . . all of that was not just from the Lady, but of her. How could he fear what was so much a part of him?
The answer floated up as if he’d always known it. For the first time, he’d found something his Lady could ask of him that he was not willing to give. His life, yes. That was hers. But not Lily’s.
He knew now that the Lady hadn’t asked that of him. Lily was whole and healthy. Perhaps she never would ask it. But he also knew that part of him wasn’t the Lady’s. Part of him could not be given freely to her, and fear rose from that part like a chilly mist.
He had an image suddenly of his wolf in a deep cavern, advancing cautiously into that cold mist. Sniffing. And snorting, unimpressed. It’s only fear.
Slowly the knots inside him eased. It was only fear. Nothing strange about fear. For several moments he didn’t move as the world returned to him . . . the blare of the stereo, the scent of Lily, of Mark, of the car itself. The warmth along his side and his shoulder from Lily’s body. The barely there bump of her heartbeat.
Lily was with him and she was physically healed and whole again. The other problems weren’t going away, but in this moment, things were good. She was here, and she was okay. She kept telling him that. Maybe he should believe her. “This was supposed to be my chance to comfort you.”
“It’s not an either-or deal. Comfort goes both ways.”
He found himself smiling. Yes, it did.
THIRTY
CULLEN was in the kitchen when they got home—or as close to home as they could manage on this coast. He sat at the kitchen table scowling at a bunch of complicated glowing lines that hung in the air in front of him. On the table in front of him was a battered leather journal—probably the one he’d rescued from Fagin’s library.
“The rest of your resources aren’t here yet, it seems,” Rule said. “Coffee?”
“Sure. I’ll start with Cullen.” She took out her spiral and sat beside him. “Hey. Have you noticed you aren’t alone in the room?”
“It is noisier here than it was a moment ago.” He still didn’t look at her. He reached up and used two fingers to drag one glowing glyph slightly to the left. “I’m busy.”
“Rule says you’re one of my resources, so stop doodling and pay attention.”
“This is important.”
“Whoever firebombed Fagin’s library wasn’t going after him or his books. They wanted to kill you.”
Now she had his attention. Bright blue eyes narrowed at her. “You sound pretty sure of that.”
“We’ve got two minds behind what’s happened lately. One’s subtle and devious and likes things convoluted. The other’s direct. Guess which one’s likely to opt for a bomb?”
“I’ll buy that, but why does it tell you what the target was?”
“Fagin’s been in D.C. for months. Him and his library. A lot of people knew about that grimoire he’s been translating—the Harvard press, for one. Some of his colleagues.” She had names. They should probably be checked, just to be sure. But that was a job for someone who could call the local cops and ask for a favor. “The one new element here is you. You show up in D.C. and a day later you nearly get crispy-fried.”
He shook his head. “Why would anyone who knows anything about me use fire to take me out?”
“Friar knows you’re good with fire. I’m betting he’s the convoluted thinker in this deal. I think the direct guy is working with him, not for him. An ally.” She glanced at Rule. “Like