"They agreed I could repair their cars instead-and they pay me for parts. That way they save face, and I only have to repair Stefan's bus and an occasional Mercedes or BMW. Stefan's not bad for a vampire."
There was a growl from the seat beside me.
"It's okay," Adam told Samuel. "We keep an eye on her. And she's right, Stefan's not bad for a vampire. Word is that he runs a little interference so she's not bothered."
I hadn't known any of the vampires had intended to bother me-or that Stefan would care enough to stop them.
"I didn't know that," said Zee, who'd obviously overheard Adam's comment. He hesitated. "Vampires are bad news, Mercy. The less you have to do with them the better-and writing a check and mailing it every month is safer than dealing with them face-to-face."
"I can't afford it," I told him again. "I'm still paying the bank and will be until I'm as old as you are."
"Well, it doesn't matter," he said at last. "I didn't have to deal with him, anyway. Your new supply house sent the wrong part. I sent it back to them and called with a word to their sales manager. The right part should be here on Friday-best he could do with Thanksgiving tomorrow. I called the number on the vampire's file and left a message. What kind of vampire plays the Scooby Doo song on his answering machine?" It was a rhetorical question, because he continued. "And a woman came by and said your Politzei friend had sent her."
I rubbed my forehead. I'd forgotten about Tony's girl. "Did you figure out what's wrong with her car?"
"Mercy!" he snapped, insulted.
"No insult meant. Was it something worth fixing?"
"Wiring harness is bad," he said. "Mercy…"
I grinned because I'd seen the effect this woman had on "I'm married to my job" Tony. "You like her," I told him.
Zee grunted.
"Did you give her a quote?"
"Haven't talked to her yet," he said. "She's got poor and proud written all over her. She wouldn't let me give her a lift, so she and her kids walked home. She doesn't have a phone number except a work phone."
I laughed to myself. There was more than one reason that Zee didn't have the kind of money the older fae generally amass. Well, I'm probably never going to be rich either.
"Okay," I said. "What kind of deal are we talking about?"
"I called the Politzei," Zee said. He knew what Tony's name was; he even liked him, though he did his best to hide it. He just disapproved of letting the human authorities get too close. He was right, too-but I don't always follow the rules of wisdom. If I did, I wouldn't be hauling two werewolves in my van.
"What did he say?" I asked.
"He said that she has an older boy who's been looking for work after school."
I let him say it; it was just too fun to listen to him squirm. He liked to play the gruff, nasty old man-but he had a marshmallow heart.
"With my Tad gone, you're short a pair of hands."
And with Mac dead. I lost interest in teasing the old gremlin.
"It's fine, Zee. If you talk to her, you can tell her that her son can work off the bill. If he works out, I'll offer him Tad's job. I assume you've already fixed the car?"
"Ja," he said. "You'll have to talk to the lady yourself, though, unless you need me tomorrow, too. She works day shift."
"No, I won't need you. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I'll leave the shop closed-if you would remember to put up a sign in the window."
"No problem." He hesitated. "I might have a lead for you on Jesse. I was just getting ready to call you. One of the fae who is still in hiding told me she might be able to help, but she wouldn't tell me without talking to you."
"Still in hiding" meant either that the Gray Lords hadn't noticed her yet, or that she was of the terrible or powerful sort.
This time it was Adam who growled. Such are the joys of trying to have a private phone call in the presence of werewolves. Somehow it didn't bother me so much when I was the eavesdropper.
"We're about an hour out of town," I said. "Could you set up a meeting tonight at a place of her choice?"
"All right," he said, and hung up.
"You caught all of that?" I asked them.
"Adam can't go," Samuel said firmly. "No, Adam, you know it yourself."
Adam sighed. "All right. I even agree I'm not fit to be on my own-but I want Mercy there. We can call Darryl and-"
Samuel held up a hand. "Mercy," he said, "what caused you to bring Adam all the way to Montana rather than calling on his pack for help?"
"It was stupid," I said.
"Maybe, but tell us anyway."
"I was trying to get in touch with Darryl, and I suddenly felt uneasy. I remembered a snippet of conversation between Ben and Darryl earlier that night, but in retrospect it wasn't much."
"What were Ben and Darryl doing talking to you?" asked Adam in that mild voice he used to cozen people into thinking he wasn't angry.
"I can take care of myself, Adam," I told him. "I was taking the trash out and ran into them. All Darryl did was tell Ben to leave me alone. He said, 'Not now. I don't know why I decided it meant he knew that something was going to happen."
"First you felt uneasy," said Samuel. "Then you came up with this stupid reason."
"Yes." I felt my face flush.
"How do you feel about his pack now?"
I opened my mouth, then shut it again. "Damn it. Something's wrong. I don't think Adam should go to the pack until he can defend himself."
Samuel settled back with a small, smug smile.
"What?" I asked.
"You noticed something," Adam said. "A scent or something at my house that makes you think someone from my pack is involved. Instincts." He sounded grim. "I thought it was odd that they came so soon after my wolves left."
I shook my head. "Look, I don't know anything."
"We're not going to kill anyone," said Samuel. "Not on the basis of your instincts, anyway-but what's the harm in being careful? Call your friend back. We'll see to his information tomorrow, when Adam has enough control to be on his own."
"No," said Adam.
"Damned if I will." It felt odd not to be arguing with Adam. "The faster we find Jesse, the better."
"I can't be in two places at once," Samuel said. "And I won't allow you to go out on your own and talk to who knows what kind of fae."
"We need to find Jesse," I said.
"My daughter comes first."
Samuel twisted around to look at Adam. "You have a dominant wolf in your pack that you trust? Someone not in line to be pack leader?"
"Warren." Adam and I said his name in the same instant.
Warren was my favorite of Adam's pack, and the only wolf whose company I sought out. I met him shortly after I moved to the Tri-Cities, before I even knew there was a pack in town.
I hadn't met a werewolf since I'd left Montana, and I certainly hadn't expected to meet one working the night shift at the local Stop and Rob. He'd given me a wary look, but there were other people in the store, so he accepted my payment without a word. I accepted my change with a nod and a smile.
After that we'd mostly ignored each other, until the night a woman with a fresh shiner came into the store to pay for the gas her husband was pumping. She gave Warren the money, then took a firmer grip on the hand of the boy at her side, and asked Warren if he had a back door she could use.
He smiled gently at her and shepherded the two frightened people into a small office I'd never noticed before at the back of the store. He left me to watch the till and went out and had a short talk with the man at the pump. When he came back, he had two hundred dollars cash for her, and her husband drove away with a speed indicating either terror or rage.
Warren and I waited with the battered pair until the lady who ran the local women's shelter drove over to collect her newest clients. When they left, I turned to him and finally introduced myself.
Warren was one of the good guys, a hero. He was also a lone wolf. It had taken him a while to trust me enough to tell me
why.
Perhaps in other ages, in other places, it wouldn't have mattered that he was gay. But most of the werewolves in power in the US had been born in a time when homosexuality was anathema, even punishable by death in some places.
One of my professors once told me that the last official act of the British monarchy was when Queen Victoria refused to sign a law that made same-sex acts illegal. It would have made me think more highly of her, except the reason she objected was because she didn't believe women would do anything like that. Parliament rewrote the law so it was specific to men, and she signed it. A tribute to enlightenment, Queen Victoria was not. Neither, as I have observed before, are werewolf packs.
There was no question of Warren's staying in the closet, either, at least not among other werewolves. As demonstrated by Adam and Samuel just a few hours ago, werewolves are very good at sensing arousal. Not just smells, but elevated temperature and increased heart rate. Arousal in werewolves tends to bring out the fighting instinct in all the nearby males.
Needless to say, a male wolf who is attracted to other male wolves gets in a lot of fights. It spoke volumes about Warren's fighting ability that he survived as long as he had. But a pack won't accept a wolf who causes too much trouble, so he'd spent his century of life cut off from his kind.
It was I who introduced Adam and Warren, about the time Adam moved in behind me. I'd had Warren to dinner and we'd been laughing about something, I forget what, and one of Adam's wolves howled. I'll never forget the desolation on Warren's face.
I'd heard it all the time when I was growing up-wolves are meant to run in a pack. I still don't understand it completely myself, but Warren's face taught me that being alone was no trivial thing for a wolf.
The next morning, I'd knocked on Adam's front door. He listened to me politely and took the piece of paper with Warren's phone number on it. I'd left his house knowing I'd failed.
It was Warren who told me what happened next. Adam summoned Warren to his house and interrogated him for two hours. At the end of it, Adam told Warren he didn't care if a wolf wanted to screw ducks as long as he'd listen to orders. Not actually in those words, if Warren's grin as he told me about it was an accurate measure. Adam uses crudeness as he uses all of his weapons: seldom, but with great effect.
I suppose some people might think it odd that Warren is Adam's best friend, though Darryl is higher-ranking. But they are heroes, both of them, two peas in a pod-well, except Adam isn't gay.
The rest of the pack weren't all happy when Warren came in. It helped a little that most of Adam's wolves are even younger than he, and the last few decades have seen a vast improvement over the rigid Victorian era. Then, too, none of the pack wanted to take on Adam. Or Warren.
Warren didn't care what the rest of the wolves thought, just that he had a pack, a place to belong. If Warren needed friends, he had me and he had Adam. It was enough for him.
Warren would never betray Adam. Without Adam, he would no longer have a pack.
"I'll give him a call," I said with relief.
He picked up on the second ring, "Warren, here. Is this you, Mercy? Where have you been? Do you know where Adam and Jesse are?"
"Adam was hurt," I said. "The people who did it took Jesse."
"Tell him not to let anyone else know," said Samuel.
"Who was that?" Warren's tone was suddenly cool.
"Samuel," I told him. "Bran's son."
"Is this a coup?" Warren asked.
"No," answered Adam from the backseat. "At least not on Bran's part."
"Excuse me," I said. "But this is my phone call. Would you all please pretend that it is a private conversation? That includes you, Warren. Quit listening to the other people in my van."
"All right," agreed Warren. Having heard Adam, his voice relaxed into its usual lovely south Texas drawl. "How are you today, Mercy?" he asked sweetly, but as he continued his voice became gradually sharper. "And have you heard the startling news that our Alpha's house was broken into and he and his daughter disappeared? That the only clue is the phone message left on the damned Russian witch's phone? A message that she has refused to let anyone else listen to? Rumor has it that the message is from you, and no one can find you either."
Samuel leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and said, "Tell him you'll explain when we get there."
I smiled sweetly. "I'm doing better all the time, Warren. Thank you for asking. Montana is nice, but I don't recommend a November vacation unless you ski."
"Haven't put on skis for twenty years," murmured Warren, sounding a little happier. "Has Adam taken up skiing during this jaunt of yours to Montana?"
"He has skis," I said, "but his health wasn't up to it this time. I brought back a doctor, but the two of us found out that we need to go out tonight and were wondering if you were up for a little nursing."
"Glad to," said Warren. "I don't work tonight, anyway. Did you say Jesse's been kidnapped?"
"Yes. And for right now, we need you to keep it under your hat."
"I drove by your houses on the way back from work this morning," Warren said slowly. "There's been a lot of activity there. I think it's just the pack watching, but if you want to avoid them, maybe you all ought to spend the night at my place."
"You think it's the pack?" asked Adam.
Warren snorted. "Who'd call and talk to me about it? Darryl? Auriele called to tell me you were missing, but without you, the women are mostly left out of the business, too. The rest of the pack is supposed to be keeping their eyes out for you-all three of you-but that's all I know. How long do you need to keep them in the dark?"
"For a day or two." Adam's voice was neutral, but the words would tell Warren all he needed to know.
"Come to my house. I don't think that anyone except you and Mercy even know where I live. I've got enough room for all of you-unless there are a couple of people who haven't spoken up."
Each of the Tri-Cities has its own flavor, and it is in Richland that the frenzy of the dawn of the nuclear age has pressed most firmly. When the government decided to build weapons-grade plutonium here, they had to build a town, too. So scattered over the city are twenty-six types of buildings designed to house the workers for the nuclear industry. Each kind of house was given a letter designation beginning with A and ending Z.
I don't recognize them all, but the big duplexes, the A and B houses, are pretty distinctive. The A houses look sort of like Eastern farmhouses-two-story, rectangular, and unadorned. B houses are single-story rectangles. Most of them have been changed a little from what they once were, porches added, converted from duplexes to single-family dwellings-and back again. But no matter how much they are renovated, they all have a sort of sturdy plainness that overcomes brick facades, decks, and cedar siding.
Warren lived in half an A duplex with a big maple tree taking up most of his part of the front lawn. He was waiting on his porch when I drove up. When I'd met him, he'd had a sort of seedy I've-been-there-and-done-everything kind of look. His current lover had coaxed him into cutting his hair and improving his dress a little. His jeans didn't have holes in them, and his shirt had been ironed sometime in the not-too-distant past.
I was able to park directly in front of his home. As soon as I stopped, he hopped down the stairs and opened the van's sliding door.
He took in Adam's condition in one swift glance.
"You say this happened night before last?" he asked me.
"Yep." His accent is thick enough that I sometimes found myself falling into it-even though I'd never been to Texas.
Warren stuck his thumbs in his pockets and rocked back on the heels of his battered cowboy boots. "Well, boss," he drawled, "I expect I ought to feel lucky you're alive."
"I'd feel lucky if you could see your way to helping me up," Adam growled. "I wasn't feeling too bad this morning, but this thing's springs leave a lot to be desired."
"We can't all drive a Mercedes," I said lightly, having gotten out myself. "Warren, this is Bran'
s son, Dr. Samuel Cornick, who has come down to help."
Warren and Samuel assessed each other like a pair of cowboys in a fifties movie. Then, in response to some signal invisible to me, Samuel held out a hand and smiled.
"Good to meet you," he said.
Warren didn't say anything, but he shook Samuel's hand once and looked as if he took pleasure in the other man's greeting.
To Adam, Warren said, "I'm afraid it'll be easier to carry you, boss. There's the front stairs, then the flight up to the bedrooms."
Adam frowned unhappily, but nodded. "All right."
Warren looked a little odd carrying Adam because, while not tall, Adam is wide, and Warren is built more along the lines of a marathon runner. It's the kind of thing werewolves have to be careful not to do too often in public.
I opened the door for them but stayed in the living room while Warren continued up the stairs. Samuel waited with me.
Warren's half of the duplex had more square footage than my trailer, but between the small rooms and the stairways, my house always felt bigger to me.
He'd furnished the house comfortably with garage-sale finds and bookcases filled eclectically with everything from scientific texts to worn paperbacks bearing thrift-store price tags on the spines.
Samuel settled on the good side of the plush sofa and stretched out his legs. I turned away from him and thumbed through the nearest bookcase. I could feel his gaze on my back, but I didn't know what he was thinking.
"Oh, Mercy," sighed a soft voice. "This one is pretty. Why aren't you flirting with him?"
I looked at the kitchen doorway to see Kyle, Warren's current lover, leaning against the doorway of the kitchen in a typical Kyle pose designed to show off the toned body and tailored clothes.
The pose was deceptive; like Kyle's lowered eyelids and pouty, Marilyn Monroe expression, it was designed to hide the intelligence that made him the highest-paid divorce attorney in town. He told me once that being openly gay was as good for his business as his reputation as a shark. Women in the middle of a divorce tended to prefer dealing with him even over female lawyers.
Samuel stiffened and gave me a hard look. I knew what it meant: he didn't want a human involved in werewolf business. I ignored him; unfortunately Kyle didn't-he read the disapproval and mistook its cause.
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