Mercedes Thompson 03: Iron Kissed

by Patricia Briggs

  “Not much trouble that you need to worry about,” I told him after a moment. “If I thought there’d be a problem, I’d have warned you. Mostly it’s just Adam overreacting.”

  And it was overreacting, I’d decided after thinking things over all morning. Only a moron would believe that I was joining Bright Future in order to protest the fae—and somehow I was pretty sure that stupid fae didn’t last long. If they talked to Uncle Mike—or Zee (even if he was still angry)—they’d know that I was still trying to clear Zee.

  I might know a few things that made the fae uncomfortable, but if they wanted me dead for it, I’d already be dead.

  Gabriel whistled. “Jesse’s father installed the whole security system without asking you? I guess that’s pretty aggressive.” He gave me a concerned look. “I like him, Mercy. But if he’s stalking you—”

  “No.” He’d go away if I told him to. “He feels he has reason.” I sighed. Things just got more and more complicated. I couldn’t involve Gabriel in this mess.

  “Something to do with Zee’s arrest?” Gabriel laughed at my look. “Jesse warned me yesterday that you’d be preoccupied. Zee didn’t do it, of course.” The confidence in his voice showed how innocent Gabriel still was: it would never occur to him that the only reason Zee hadn’t killed O’Donnell was because someone else had gotten there first.

  “Adam’s afraid I’m stirring up a hornet’s nest,” I said. “And he’s probably right.” I wasn’t really mad about the security system. It was more than I could afford—and it was a good idea.

  I always get angry when I’m afraid—and Adam terrified me. When he was around, it was all I could do not to follow him around and wait for orders like a good sheep dog. But I didn’t want to be a sheep dog. Nor, to his credit, did Adam want me to be one.

  Which was something I didn’t need to tell Gabriel. “I’m sorry to be such a grouch. I’m worried about Zee, and the security system gave me something to fuss about.”

  “All right,” Gabriel said.

  “Did you come back to help me with this engine or just to talk?”

  Gabriel looked at the car I was working on. “There’s an engine in there?”

  “Somewhere.” I sighed. “Go do some paperwork. I’ll call you in if I need a second hand, but there’s no reason for both of us to get dirty if I don’t need you.”

  “I don’t mind,” he said.

  He never complained about work, no matter what I asked him to do.

  “It’s all right. I can get this.”

  My cell phone rang about fifteen minutes later, but my hands were too greasy to pick it up so I let it take a message while I worked on cleaning up the engine well enough that I could figure out where all the oil was leaking from.

  It was almost quitting time and I’d already sent Gabriel home when Tony walked into the open garage bay.

  “Hey, Mercy,” he said.

  Tony is half-Italian, half-Venezuelan, and all whatever he decides to be for the moment. He does most of his work undercover because he’s a chameleon. He’d worked a stint in Kennewick High School posing as a student ten or fifteen years younger, and Gabriel, who knew Tony pretty well because Gabriel’s mother worked as a police dispatcher, hadn’t recognized him.

  Today Tony was all cop. The controlled expression on his face meant he was here on business. And he had company. A tall woman in jeans and a T-shirt had one hand tucked under his elbow and the other holding firmly to the leather harness of a golden retriever. Dogs are sometimes troublesome for me. I suppose they smell the coyote—but retrievers are too friendly and cheerful to be a problem. It wagged its tail at me and gave a soft woof.

  The woman’s hair was seal brown and hung in soft curls to just below her shoulders. Her face was unremarkable except for the opaque glasses.

  She was blind, and she was fae. Guess what fae I’d run into lately that was blind? She didn’t look like someone who could turn into a crow, but then I didn’t look much like a coyote, either.

  I waited for the sense of power I’d sensed from the crow to sweep over me, but nothing happened. To all of my senses she was just what she appeared to be.

  I wiped the sweat off my forehead onto the shoulder of my work overalls. “Hey, Tony, what’s up?”

  “Mercedes Thompson, I’d like you to meet Dr. Stacy Altman from the University of Oregon’s folklore department. She is consulting with us on this case. Dr. Altman, this is Mercedes Thompson, who would doubtless shake your hand except hers is covered in grease.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Again.

  “Ms. Thompson,” she said. “I asked Tony if he would introduce us.” She patted his arm when she said his name. “I understand you don’t think the fae the police are holding is guilty: though he had motive, means, and opportunity—and he was found next to the freshly killed dead body.”

  I pursed my lips. I wasn’t sure what her game was, but I wasn’t going to let her railroad Zee. “That’s right. I heard it from the fae who was with him at the time. Zee is not incompetent. If he’d killed O’Donnell, no one would have known it.”

  “The police surprised him.” Her voice was cool and precise without a trace of accent. “A neighbor heard fighting and called the police.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “If it had been Zee, they would have heard nothing, and if they had, Zee would have been gone long before the police showed up. Zee doesn’t make stupid mistakes.”

  “Actually,” Tony told me with a small smile, “the neighbor who called said he saw the vehicle Zee was driving pull up to the house after he called the police having heard someone scream.”

  The doctor who was a Gray Lord hadn’t known about the neighbor before he told us both. I saw her lips tighten in anger. Tony must not like her, since he’d never play a trick like that on someone he liked.

  “So why are you trying so hard to pin this on Zee?” I asked her. “Isn’t it up to the police to find the guilty party?”

  “Why are you trying so hard to defend him?” she countered. “Because he used to be your friend? He doesn’t appear to be appreciative of your efforts.”

  “Because he didn’t do it,” I said, as if I were surprised she’d asked such a stupid question. From the way she stiffened, she was as easy to get a rise out of as Adam. “What are you worried about? It’s no skin off your nose if the police do a little more work. Do you think a fae in the hand is better than searching the reservation for the guilty one?”

  Her face tightened and magic swelled in the air. It was searching the reservation that she was here to prevent, I thought. She wanted a quick execution—maybe Zee was supposed to hang himself and save everyone the publicity of a trial and the inconvenience of an investigation that put intruders’ noses into the reservation. She was here to make sure there were no screwups.

  Like me.

  I considered her and then turned to Tony. “Did you put Zee on a suicide watch? Fae don’t do well in iron cages.”

  He shook his head while Dr. Altman’s mouth tightened. “Dr. Altman said that as a gremlin, Mr. Adelbertsmiter would be fine with the metal. But if you think I ought to, I will.”

  “Please,” I said. “I’m very concerned.” It wouldn’t be foolproof, but it would make it harder to kill him.

  Tony’s eyes were sharp as they looked from me to Dr. Altman. He was too good a cop not to notice the undercurrents between the two of us. He probably even knew it wasn’t suicide I was worried about.

  “Didn’t you tell me you had some questions to ask Mercedes, Dr. Altman?” he suggested with deceptive mildness.

  “Of course,” she said. “The police here seem to respect your opinion about the fae, but they don’t know what your credentials are—other than the fact you once worked with Mr. Adelbertsmiter.”

  Ah, an attempt to discredit me. If she’d expected to fluster me, she didn’t know me very well. Any female mechanic knows how to respond to that kind of attack.

  I gave her a genial smile. “I’ve a degree in history and I
read, Dr. Altman. For instance, I know that there was no such thing as a gremlin until Zee decided to call himself one. If you’d excuse me, I’d better get back to work. I promised that this car would be finished today.” I turned to do just that and tripped on a stick that was lying on the ground.

  Tony was there with a hand under my elbow to help me back to my feet. “Did you twist an ankle?” he asked.

  “No, I’m fine,” I told him, frowning at the fae walking stick that had appeared on the floor of my garage. “You’d better let go or you’ll get covered with grease.”

  “I’m fine. A little dirt just impresses the rookies.”

  “What happened?” Dr. Altman asked, as if her blindness was something that would keep her from knowing what was happening around her. Which I was certain it did not. I noticed that her dog was staring intently at the stick. Maybe she really did use it to help her see.

  “She tripped on a walking stick.” Tony, who’d disengaged himself from Dr. Altman to catch me when I’d stumbled, bent down, picked it up, and put the stick down on my counter. “This is pretty cool workmanship, Mercy. What are you doing with an antique walking stick on the floor of your garage?”

  Darned if I knew.

  “It’s not mine. Someone left it at the shop. I’ve been trying to give it back to its rightful owner.”

  Tony looked at it again. “It looks pretty old. The owner should be happy to get it back.” There was a question in his voice—I don’t think Dr. Altman heard it.

  I don’t know how sensitive Tony is to magic, but he was quick and his fingers lingered on the Celtic designs on the silver.

  I met his eyes and gave him a brief nod. Otherwise he’d pick at it until even the blind fae noticed he’d seen more than he ought.

  “You’d think so,” I said ruefully. “But here it is.”

  He smiled thoughtfully. “If Dr. Altman is through, we’ll just get out of your way,” he said. “I’m sorry Zee is unhappy with the way you chose to defend him. But I’ll see to it he doesn’t get railroaded.”

  Or killed.

  “Take care,” I told him seriously. Don’t do anything stupid.

  He raised an eyebrow. “I’m as careful as you are.”

  I smiled at him and went back to work. No matter what I’d told its owner, this car wasn’t going to be done until tomorrow. I buttoned it up, then cleaned up and checked my phone. I’d actually missed two calls. The second one was from Tony, before he’d brought the department’s fae consultant. The first one was a number I didn’t know with a long-distance area code.

  When I dialed it, Zee’s son, Tad, answered the phone.

  Tad had been my first tool rustler, but then he’d gone on to college and deserted me—just as Gabriel would do in a year or two. He’d actually been the one to hire me. He’d been working alone when I’d come needing a belt for my Rabbit (having just blown an interview at Pasco High; they wanted a coach and I thought they should be more concerned that their history teachers could teach history) and I’d helped him out with a customer. I think he’d been nine years old. His mother had just passed away and Zee wasn’t dealing well with it. Tad had had to rehire me three more times in the next month before Zee resigned himself to me—a woman and, he thought at first, a human.

  “Mercy, where have you been? I’ve been trying to get you since Saturday morning.” He didn’t give me a chance to answer. “Uncle Mike told me that Dad had been arrested for murder. All I could get out of him was that it was related to the deaths on the reservation and that I was, under the Gray Lords’ edict, to stay where I am.”

  Tad and I share a certain disregard and distaste for authority. He probably had a plane ticket in his hand.

  “Don’t come,” I said after a moment’s fierce thought. The Gray Lords wanted someone guilty and they didn’t care who it was. They wanted a quick end to this mess and anyone who stood between them and what they wanted would be in danger.

  “What the hell happened? I can’t find out anything.” I heard in his voice the frustration I was feeling, too.

  I told him as much as I knew, from when Zee asked me to sniff out the murderer to the blind woman who had just come with Tony—including Zee’s unhappiness with me because I had told the police and his lawyer too much. My gaze fell on the walking stick, so I added it into the mix.

  “It was a human killing the fae? Wait a minute. Wait a minute. The guard who was killed, this O’Donnell, was he a swarthy man, about five-ten or thereabouts? His first name was Thomas?”

  “That’s what he looked like. I don’t know what his first name was.”

  “I told her that she was playing with fire,” Tad said. “Damn it. She thought it was funny because he thought he was doing her such a favor and she was just stringing him along. He amused her.”

  “She who?” I asked.

  “Connora…the reservation’s librarian. She didn’t like humans much, and O’Donnell was a real turkey. She liked playing with them.”

  “He killed her because she was playing games?” I asked. “Why’d he kill the others?”

  “That’s why they quit looking at him as the killer. He had no connection to the second guy murdered. Besides, Connora didn’t have much magic. A human could have killed her. But Hendrick—”

  “Hendrick?”

  “The guy with the forest in his backyard. He was one of the Hunters. His death pretty much eliminated all the human suspects. He was pretty tough.” There was a crashing sound. “Sorry. Stupid corded phone—I pulled it off the table. Wait a minute. Wait a minute. A walking stick, huh? It just keeps showing up?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Can you describe it to me?”

  “It’s about four feet long, made of some sort of twisty wood with a gray finish. It’s got a ring of silver on the bottom and a silver cap with Celtic designs on the top. I can’t think why someone would keep bringing it back to me.”

  “I don’t think anyone is bringing it to you. I think it is following you around on its own.”

  “What?”

  “Some of the older things develop a few quirks. Power begets power and all that. Some of the things made when our power was more than it is now, they can become a little unpredictable. Do things they weren’t meant to.”

  “Like follow me around. Do you think it followed O’Donnell to his house?”

  “No. Oh, no. I don’t think it did that at all. The walking stick was created to be of use to humans who help the fae. It’s probably following you around because you are trying to help Dad when everyone else has their fingers up their noses.”

  “So O’Donnell stole it.”

  “Mercy…” There was a choking sound. “Damn it. Mercy, I can’t tell you. I am forbidden. A geas, Uncle Mike said, for the protection of the fae, of me, and of you.”

  “It has something to do with your father’s situation?” I thought. “With the walking stick? Were other things stolen? Is there anyone who can talk to me? Someone you could call and ask?”

  “Look,” he said slowly, as if he was waiting for the geas to stop him again, “there’s an antiquarian bookstore in the Uptown Mall in Richland. You might go talk to the man who runs it. He might be able to help you find out more about that stick. Make sure you tell him that I sent you to him—but wait until he’s alone in the store.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No, Mercy, thank you.” He paused, and then for a moment sounding a bit like the nine-year-old I’d first met, he said, “I’m scared, Mercy. They mean to let him take the fall, don’t they?”

  “They were,” I said. “But I think it might be too late. The police are not accepting his guilt at face value and we found Zee a terrific lawyer. I’m doing a little nosing about in O’Donnell’s other doings.”

  “Mercy,” he said quietly. “Jeez, Mercy, are you setting yourself up against the Gray Lords? You know that’s what the blind woman is, right? Sent to make sure they get the outcome they want.”

  “The fae don’t care wh
o did it,” I told him. “Once it’s been established that it was a fae who killed O’Donnell, they don’t care if they get the murderer. They need someone to take the fall quickly and then they can hunt down the real culprit out of sight of the world.”

  “And even though my father has done everything he can think of to dissuade you, you’re not going to back down,” he said.

  Of course. Of course.

  “He’s trying to keep me out of it,” I whispered.

  There was a short pause. “Don’t tell me you thought he was really mad at you?”

  “He’s calling in his loan,” I told him as a knot of pain slowly unknotted. Zee knew what the fae would do and he’d been trying to keep me out of danger.

  How had he put it? She’d better hope I don’t get out. Because if I got him out, the Gray Lords would be unhappy with me.

  “Of course he is. My father is brilliant and older than dirt, but he has this unreasoning fear of the Gray Lords. He thinks they can’t be stopped. Once he realized how the wind was blowing, he would do his best to keep everyone else out of it.”

  “Tad, stay at school,” I told him. “There’s nothing you can do here except get into trouble. The Gray Lords don’t have jurisdiction over me.”

  He snorted. “I’d like to see you tell them that—except that I like you just as you are: alive.”

  “If you come here, they will kill you—how is that going to help your father? Tear up that ticket and I’ll do my best. I’m not alone. Adam knows what’s up.”

  Tad really respected Adam. As I hoped, it was the right touch.

  “All right, I’ll stay here. For now. Let me see if I can give you a little more help—and how far this damned geas Uncle Mike set on me goes.”

  There was a long pause as he worked through things.

  “Okay. I think I can talk about Nemane.”

  “Who?”

  “Uncle Mike said the Carrion Crow, right? And I assume he wasn’t talking about the smallish crow that lives in the British Isles, but the Carrion Crow.”

  “Yes. The three white feathers on her head seemed to be important.”