eavesdrop magically on conversations near Rule. Ruben knew that, though he didn’t know why. And Lily didn’t know Ruben knew. And Rule would be glad when he didn’t have to make quite so many who-knows-what calculations.
“Just in case, however, Deborah is going to . . . ah, there it is.”
The thrum of bass from a sound system started up outside. Rule nodded, appreciating the trick. The others might not hear it, but the windows were vibrating to the bass. “That should do it.”
Ruben sat and gestured. “Please be seated, and I’ll explain.” He waited while they did—Rule took the wooden chair nearest the door—then lobbed his first bombshell. “I wanted you to know that I will be resigning from the Bureau due to my health.”
FIVE
LILY’S stomach went tight. “I hate that. I hate it. I’d hoped . . . you look so well. Healthy. I guess the healer Nettie sent couldn’t do as much as I’d thought.”
Ruben’s smile was small and wry, but as genuine as everything else about him. “He did a great deal, or I’d be dead. I’m told the damage was extensive. He was able to repair quite a bit—enough that I can hope to be around for a while yet. Not enough, unfortunately, to raise that from “hope” to “expect.” The Unit can’t be run by someone who could die in the middle of a crisis.”
“Anyone can die. Isn’t there some way to continue to share responsibility? Croft’s good, but without your Gift . . .” She cut herself off in midquestion, glancing at Fagin with a small frown. Then she looked at Rule.
“You’re wondering why Fagin is present. No, he is not my choice to run the Unit.”
“Thank the Good Lord above,” Fagin said. “Not that I’d accept if you did try to foist it on me.”
“So why is he here? And Rule?”
Ruben ignored that question. “The news of my impending resignation is not to be spoken of outside this room. I’m delaying it because I believe strongly that it’s best if the enemy behind the attack on me remains uncertain of my role for a while longer.”
“Friar, you mean. You don’t think he’s dead.”
“Officially, he died in the explosion. For now, we want him to think we have no suspicion of his continued role as her agent.”
“We?”
Ruben smiled and ignored that question, too. So she offered him another one. “What about Croft? Does he—”
“I won’t provide a list of those who know or those who don’t. You might be tempted into unwarranted assumptions about those I haven’t informed.”
Lily nodded slowly. “So is this about the investigation? About finding the traitor? Or is it about her?”
“Both, since the existence of the traitor bears on another decision that I am asking you to not divulge. I’m establishing a clandestine organization I call the Shadow Unit to fight her and her agents and allies in our realm. This group consists of both Bureau and non-Bureau personnel and will operate without the knowledge or sanction of the government. I’d like you to be part of it.”
Lily’s stomach hollowed. Her hands went cold. She stared at him, unable to believe what she’d heard. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am entirely serious.”
Anger washed through the shock, making her insides quiver. Her eyes narrowed. She twisted to look at Fagin. “You’re in it? You’re part of this—this Shadow Unit?”
“That I am.” With his hands resting on his stomach, he looked like a badly dressed Buddha. Placid. Perhaps not really listening. “In an advisory capacity, primarily. I’m not one of the ghosts.” He smiled at the look on her face. “That’s my little nickname for those on the front lines in this war. Shadow agents, lacking any official existence. Ghosts.”
She grimaced and faced Ruben. “No.”
“You should listen before deciding.”
“It may not be in your best interests to tell me more.”
“You aren’t thinking,” he said crisply. “If I’m right, the Shadow Unit is essential to stopping an Old One from establishing her rule and worship in our nation and committing genocide along the way to creating a planetwide theocracy. If I’m wrong, I’m attempting to form a criminal conspiracy based on my delusions or lust for power, and you will need to stop me. In either case, you are obligated to learn everything you can.”
“Damn it,” she whispered. Then again, louder: “Damn it, damn it, damn it.” Her stomach roiled. Her hands clenched and unclenched on the arms of her chair. She sucked in a breath, held it briefly, then let it out with