Bone Crossed mt-4

by Patricia Briggs

  "You will do as I say because you want me to stop hurting your friends," she purred. "The wolves are more worthy targets… but there is that delicious policeman—Tony, isn't it? And the boy who works for you. He has such a big family, doesn't he? Children are so fragile." She looked at Estelle's man, dead almost at her feet.

  Stefan stared at her, then looked at me. And once I saw his eyes, I knew the emotion he was trying to hold back… rage.

  "You sure?" I asked him.

  He nodded. "Come."

  I wasn't happy about doing it, but she was right. I wanted my friends safe.

  I sat on the chair and scooted forward until my arms wouldn't be stretched out trying to reach the sharp brass. I slammed both hands down and tried not to wince as the thorns bit deep—or gasp as magic pulsed in my ears.

  "Yum," said Wuife—and I nearly jerked my hands away again. Could he taste me through the thorns, or was he just trying to harass me?

  "I sent Stefan to you," Marsilia said. "Will you tell our audience what he looked like?"

  I looked at Stefan, and he nodded. So I described the wizened thing that had fallen to my floor as closely as I could remember it, working to keep my voice impersonal rather than angry or… anything else inappropriate.

  "Truth," said Wulfe when I finished.

  "Why was he in that state?" Marsilia asked.

  Stefan nodded so I answered her. "Because he tried to save my life by covering up my involvement in Andre's… death? Destruction? What do you call it when a vampire is killed permanently?"

  The skin on her face thinned until I could see the bones beneath. And she was even more beautiful, more terrible in her rage. "Dead," she said.

  "Truth," said Wulfe. "Stefan tried to cover up your involvement in Andre's death." He looked around. "I

  helped cover it up, too. It seemed the thing to do at the time… though I later repented and confessed."

  "There are crossed bones on the door of your home," Marsilia said.

  "My shop," I answered. "And yes."

  "Did you know," she said, "that no vampire except Stefan can go into your shop? It is your home as much as that ratty trailer in Finley is."

  Why had she told me that? Stefan was watching her, too.

  "Tell our audience the why of the bones."

  "Betrayal," I said. "Or so I am told. You asked me to kill one monster, and I chose to kill two."

  "Truth," said Wulfe.

  "When did Stefan know you were a walker, Mercedes Thompson?"

  "The first time I met him," I told her. "Almost ten years ago."

  "Truth," said Wulfe.

  She looked toward the bleachers again and addressed someone there. "Remember that." She turned to stare at me, then glanced at Stefan as she asked me, "Why did you kill Andre?"

  "Because he knew how to build sorcerers-demon-possessed. He'd done it once, and you and he planned on doing it again. People died for his games—and more people would die for yours, both of yours."

  "Truth," said Wulfe.

  "What care we how many people die?" asked Marsilia, waving at the dead man and speaking to everyone here. "They are short-lived, and they are food."

  She's meant it rhetorically, but I answered her anyway.

  "They are many, and they could destroy your seethe in a day if they knew it existed. It would take them a month to wipe all of you out of existence in this country. And if you were creating monsters like that thing Andre brought into existence, I would help them." I leaned forward as I spoke. My hands throbbed in time with my heartbeat, and I found that the rhythm of my words followed the pain.

  "Truth," said Wulfe in a satisfied tone.

  Marsilia put her mouth near my ear. "That was for my soldier," she murmured in tones that reached no farther than my ears. "Tell him that."

  She lowered her mouth until it hovered over my neck, but I didn't flinch.

  "I do think I would have liked you, Mercedes," she said. "If you weren't what you are, and I wasn't what I am. You are Stefan's sheep?"

  "We exchanged blood twice," I said.

  "Truth," said Wulfe, sounding amused.

  "You belong to him."

  "You would think so," I agreed.

  She let out a huff of exasperation. "You make this simple thing difficult."

  " You make it difficult. I understand what you are asking, though, and the answer is yes."

  "Truth."

  "Why did Stefan make you his?"

  I didn't want to tell her. I didn't want her to know I had any connection to Blackwood

  whatsoever—though probably Adam had already told her. So I attacked.

  "Because you murdered his menagerie. The people he cared about," I said hotly.

  "Truth," Stefan ground out.

  "Truth," agreed Wulfe softly.

  Marsilia, her face angled toward me, looked obscurely satisfied. "I have what I need of you, Ms. Thompson. You may vacate the chair."

  I pulled my hands off the chair and tried not to wince—or relax—as the uncomfortable pulse of magic left me. Before I could get up, Stefan's hand was under my arm, lifting me to my feet.

  His back was to Marsilia, and all his attention seemed to be on me—though I had the feeling that all of his being was focused on his former Mistress. He took one of my hands in both of his and raised it to his mouth, licking it clean with gentle thoroughness. If we hadn't been in public, I'd have told him what I thought of that. I thought he caught a little of it in my face because the corners of his mouth turned up.

  Marsilia's eyes flashed red.

  "You overstep yourself." It was Adam, but it didn't sound like him.

  I turned and saw him stride over the floor of the room without making a noise. If Marsilia's face had been frightening, it was nothing compared to his.

  Stefan, undeterred, had picked up my other hand and treated it the same way—though he was a little more brisk about it. I didn't jerk it away because I wasn't sure he'd let me—and the struggle would light Adam's fuse for sure.

  "I heal her hands," Stefan said, releasing me and stepping back. "As is my privilege."

  Adam stopped next to me. He picked up my hands—which did look better—and gave Stefan a short, sharp nod. He tucked my hand around his upper arm, then returned with me to the wolves. I could feel in the pounding of his heart, in the tightness of his arm, that he was on the edge of losing it. So I dropped my head against his arm to muffle my voice. Then I said, "That was all aimed at Marsilia."

  "When we get home," said Adam, not bothering to speak quietly, "you will allow me to enlighten you about how something can accomplish more than one purpose at the same time."

  Marsilia waited until we were seated with the rest of the wolves before she continued her program for the evening.

  "And now for you," she said to Stefan. "I hope you have not reconsidered your cooperation."

  In answer, Stefan sat in the thronelike chair, raised both hands over the sharp thorns, and slammed them down with such force that I could hear the chair groan from where I stood.

  "What do you wish to know?" he asked.

  "Your feeder told us that I killed your former menagerie," she said. "How do you know it to be true?"

  He lifted his chin. "I felt each of them die, by your hand. One a day until they were no more."

  "Truth," agreed Wulfe in a tone I hadn't heard from him before. It made me look. He sat with Estelle collapsed at his feet, Lily leaning against one side, and Bernard sitting stiffly on the other. Wulfe's face was somber and… sad.

  "You are no longer of this seethe."

  "I am no longer of this seethe," Stefan agreed coolly.

  "Truth," said Wulfe.

  "You were never mine, really," she told him. "You had always your free will."

  "Always," he agreed.

  "And you used that to hide Mercy from me. From justice."

  "I hid her from you because I judged her no risk to you or the seethe."

  "Truth," murmured Wulfe.

&nb
sp; "You hid her because you liked her."

  "Yes," agreed Stefan. "And because there would be no justice in her death. She had not killed one of us—and would not, except that you set that task to her." For the first time since he sat in the chair, he looked directly at her. "You asked her to kill the monster you could not find—and she did it. Twice."

  "Truth."

  "She killed Andre !" Marsilia's voice rose to a roar, and power echoed in it and through the room we were in. The lights dimmed a little, then regained their former wattage.

  Stefan smiled sourly at her. "Because there was no choice. We left her no choice—you, I, and Andre."

  "Truth."

  "You chose her over me ," Marsilia said, and her power lit the air with strangeness. I took a step closer to Adam and shivered.

  "You knew she hunted Andre, knew she'd killed him—and you hid what she did from me. You forced me to torture you and destroy your power base. You must answer to me." Her voice thundered, vibrating the floor and rattling the walls. The suspended lights drifted back and forth, making shadows play.

  "Not anymore," said Stefan. "I do not belong to you."

  "Truth," snapped Wulfe, suddenly coming to his feet. "That is fair truth—you felt it yourself."

  Across from us, high in the bleachers, a vampire stood up. He had soft features, wide-spaced eyes, and an upturned nose that should have made him look something other than vampire. Like Wulfe and Estelle's human, he strode down the seats. But there was no bounce to his step or hesitation. His path might as well have been straight and paved for all it impeded him. He landed on the floor and walked to Wulfe.

  He wore a tuxedo and a pair of dark-metal gauntlets. Hinged metal on the top and chain link below. He flexed his fingers and blood dripped from the gloves to the floor.

  No one made any move to clean it up.

  He turned, and in a light, breathy voice, he said, "Accepted. He is no man of yours, Marsilia."

  I had no idea who he was, but Stefan did. He froze where he sat, all of his being focused on the vampire in the bloody gauntlets. Stefan's face was blank, as if the whole world had tilted from its axis.

  Marsilia smiled. "Tell me. Did Bernard approach you to betray me?"

  "Yes," Stefan said, without expression.

  "Did Estelle do the same?"

  He took a deep breath, blinked a couple of times, and relaxed in the chair. "Bernard seemed to have the seethe's best interest at heart," he said.

  "Truth," Wulfe said.

  "But Estelle, when she asked me to join her against you, Estelle just wanted power."

  "Truth."

  Estelle shrieked and tried to get to her feet, but she couldn't move away from Wulfe.

  "And what did you tell them?" she asked.

  "I told them I wouldn't make a move against you." Stefan sounded utterly weary, but somehow his words carried over the noise Estelle was making.

  "Truth," declared Wulfe.

  Marsilia looked at the gauntlet-wearing vampire, who sighed and bent to Estelle. He petted her hair a couple of times until she quieted. We all heard the crack when her neck broke. He took his time separating her head from her body. I looked away and swallowed hard.

  "Bernard," Marsilia said, "we believe it would be good if you return to your maker until you learn the habit of loyalty."

  Bernard stood up. "It was all a trick," he said, his voice incredulous. "All a trick. You killed Stefan's people—knowing he loved them. You tortured him. All to catch Estelle and me in our little rebellion… a rebellion born from the heart of your own Andre."

  Marsilia said, "Yes. Don't forget that I set up his little favorite, Mercedes, to be the lever I needed to move the world. If she hadn't killed Andre, if he hadn't helped her cover it up, then I could not have sent him out from the seethe. Then I could not have used him to witness against you and Estelle. Had you been of my making, disposing of you would have been much easier and cost me less."

  Bernard looked at Stefan, who was sitting as if it would hurt to move, his head slightly bent.

  "Stefan, of all of us, was loyal to the death. So you tortured him, killed his people, threw him out—because you knew that he'd refuse us. That his loyalty was such that despite what you had done to him, he'd still remain yours."

  "I counted on it," she said. "By his refusal, your rebellion is robbed of its legitimacy." She looked at the man who'd killed Estelle. "You, of course, had no idea that your children would behave so."

  He gave her a small smile, one predator to another, "I'm not on the chair." He pulled off the gauntlets and tossed them into Wulfe's lap. "Not even by such a slim connection." His hands were bloodied, but I couldn't tell if it was from one wound or many. "I've heard your truths, and can only hope you'll find them as galling as I."

  "Come, Bernard," he said. "It is time for us to leave."

  Bernard rose without protest, shock and dismay in every line of his body. He followed his maker to the doorway, but turned back before leaving the room entirely. "God save me," he said looking at Marsilia, "from such loyalty. You have ruined him for your whim. You are not worthy of his gift—as I told him."

  "God won't save any of us," said Stefan in a low voice. "We are all of us damned."

  He and Bernard stared at each other across the room. Then the younger vampire bowed and followed his maker out the door. Stefan pulled his hands free and stood up.

  "Stefan—" said Marsilia, sweet-voiced. But before she finished the last syllable, he was gone.

  CHAPTER 10

  MARSILIA FROZE FOR A MOMENT, STARING AT THE PLACE Stefan had been. Then she looked at me, a look of such malevolence I had to work not to step back even though there was half of a very large room between us.

  She closed her eyes and brought her features back under control. "Wulfe," she asked, "do you have it?"

  "I do, Mistress," the vampire said. He stood up and drifted over to her, pulling an envelope out of his back pocket.

  Marsilia looked at it, bit her lip, then said in a low voice, "Give it to her."

  Wulfe altered his path so he came more directly to us. He handed me the envelope that was none the worse for the time it had spent in his pocket. It was heavy paper, the kind that wedding invitations or graduation announcements are engraved on. Stefan's name was gracefully lettered across the front. It was sealed with red wax that smelled like vampire and blood.

  "You will give this to Stefan," Marsilia said. "Tell him there is information here. Not apologies or excuses."

  I took the envelope and felt a strong desire to crumple it and drop it on the floor.

  "Bernard is right," I said. "You used Stefan. Hurt him, broke him, in order to play your little game. You don't deserve him."

  Marsilia ignored me. "Hauptman," she said with calm courtesy, "I thank you for your warning about Blackwood. In return for this, I accede to your truce. The signed documents will be sent to your house."

  She took a deep breath and turned from Adam to me. "It is the judgement of this night that the action you took against us… killing Andre… has not resulted in damage to the seethe. That you had no intention of moving against the seethe was borne out by your truth-tested testimony." She sucked in a breath. "It is my judgement that the seethe suffered no harm, and you are not an ally turned traitor. No further punishment will be taken against you—and the crossed bones will be removed…" She glanced down at her wrist.

  "I can do it tonight," said Wulfe in gentle tones.

  She nodded. "Removed before dawn." She hesitated, then said in a quiet voice, as if the words were pulled from her throat, "This is for Stefan. If it were up to me, your blood and bones would nourish my garden, walker. Take care not to push me again."

  She turned on her heel and left out the same door Bernard had taken.

  Wulfe looked at Adam. "Allow me to escort you out of the seethe so that no harm comes to you."

  Adam lowered his eyelids. "Are you implying I cannot protect my own?"

  Wulfe dropped his eyes an
d bowed low. "But of course not. Merely suggesting that my presence might save you the trouble. And save us the mess to clean up afterward."

  "Fine."

  Adam led the way. I let the other wolves pass me and tried not to be hurt when Mary Jo and Aurielle deliberately avoided looking at me. I didn't know what cause… or rather which cause was bothering them—coyote, vampire prey, or causing Marsilia to target the pack. It didn't matter, really—there was nothing I could do about any of it.

  Warren, Samuel, and Darryl waited until the others were gone, then Warren gave me a little smile and went ahead. Darryl paused, and I looked at him. I outranked him, which put me at the end of the pack, to protect us from attack from behind. Then he smiled, a warm expression I couldn't say I'd ever seen on his face, not directed at me anyway. And he went ahead.

  "Oh no, you don't," said Samuel, amused. "I'm outside the pack, and so I can tag along with you."

  "I really need a good night's sleep," I told him as I fell into step beside him.

  "I guess that's what comes from fraternizing with vampires." He put a hand over my shoulder. A cold hand.

  I'd been so busy sweating with fear I'd become accustomed to both the feeling and the smell. I hadn't noticed that Samuel was scared, too.

  The last time he'd come here, Lily had taken him for a snack—and Marsilia had done worse, robbing him of his will until he was hers.

  For me it would have been terrifying. I couldn't imagine what it would feel like to a werewolf who lived only because he controlled his wolf. All the time.

  I reached up and put my hand over his. "Let's get out of here," I said. And all the way through the room, I was conscious of the two still bodies on the floor, and of the vampires and their menageries, who sat silently on the bleachers, obedient to orders I couldn't hear. They watched us leave with their predatory eyes, and I felt them on my back all the way to the door.

  Just like the ghost in the bathroom at Amber's house.

  I SAT SHOTGUN IN THE SUBURBAN ADAM HAD DRIVEN over. I didn't know if it was a rental or a new vehicle—which is what it smelled like. Paul, Darryl, and Aurielle filled the first backseat. Samuel drove his own car, a nifty new Mercedes in bing cherry red.