Patricia Briggs Mercy Thompson: Hopcross Jilly

by Patricia Briggs

  “Shh,” Adam comforted me. “It’ll be over soon.”

  WARREN ARRIVED NOT LONG AFTER THAT. TOO LATE to help with Adam, but he and Mary Jo held on to Ben while Samuel scrubbed his hands free of black skin and blisters. He hadn’t changed twice and started healing wrong, but it was still bad enough.

  Adam had closed his eyes and was resting while I stood with my hands wrapped around his upper arm, one of the places where he hadn’t lost any skin. The connection between us hadn’t reset yet, and I had to rely on my senses to tell me what he felt. It surprised me, given how unhappy I’d been with that bond, that I missed the connection when it was gone. My ears told me that he wasn’t fully asleep, just catnapping.

  Ben wasn’t as quiet as Adam had been, but he was obviously doing his best to keep his cries down. Finally, he sank his teeth into Warren’s biceps and dug in.

  “Attaboy,” Warren drawled without flinching. “Go ahead and chew some if it helps. Too far from the heart to do me much harm. Dang, but I hate fires. Guns, knives, fangs, and claws are tough—but fires are the worst.”

  Adam’s hands looked like raw hamburger, but at least they didn’t look like burnt hamburger—and one of them reached over and closed over my fingers. I tried to let go of him, but he opened his eyes and held on to me.

  “Okay, that’s it,” Samuel said, and he stepped back from Ben. “Sit him down on the stool and leave him alone a bit.”

  “I brought an ice chest filled with beef roasts,” Warren said. “It’s out in the truck, so we can feed them.”

  Samuel jerked his head up. “Your Alpha was in trouble, and you stopped and went grocery shopping?”

  Warren smiled with cool eyes while blood dripped to the floor from the arm Ben had gnawed on. “Nope.”

  Samuel stared at him—and Warren gazed at the wall beyond him without backing down a bit. He might like Samuel, but Samuel wasn’t his Alpha. He wouldn’t cede the lone wolf the right to question his actions.

  I sighed. “Warren. Why do you have an ice chest filled with roast on hand?”

  The cowboy turned to me and gave me a wide smile. “Kyle’s idea of a joke. Don’t ask.” A light blush bloomed on his cheekbones. “The freezer and the fridge are already full at Kyle’s house. We put them in the ice chest out in the garage to take back to my apartment, where I have an empty freezer, but I hadn’t gotten around to it yet.” He looked toward Samuel. “Bit snappy, aren’t you?”

  “He’s waiting for Mercy to start in on him,” said Adam. His voice was faint, but, hey, we all had good hearing. “And Mercy is wondering if she should do it with all of us listening in or not.”

  “What’s Mercy got on you?” asked Warren. When it was obvious Samuel wasn’t going to answer, Warren looked at me.

  I was watching Samuel.

  “I just can’t do it any longer,” he said, finally. “It’s better to go now, before I hurt someone.”

  I was too tired to put up with his garbage. “The hell you can’t. ‘Do not go gentle into that good night,’ Samuel. ‘Rage, rage against the dying of the light.’ ” He’d helped me memorize that poem when I was in high school. I knew he’d remember.

  “ ‘Life’s but a walking shadow,’ Mercy, ‘a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more.’ ” He countered my Dylan Thomas with Shakespeare, spoken with as much weary bleakness as any stage actor ever managed. “ ‘It is a tale. Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying . . . nothing.’ ” He said the last word with a bite of bitterness.

  I was so angry I could have hit him. Instead, I clapped my hands in mock appreciation.

  “Very moving,” I said. “And stupid. Macbeth killed his overlord and followed his ambition, bringing misery and death to everyone involved. Your life is worth more, I think, than his was. More to me—and to every patient who crosses your path. Tonight, it was Adam and Ben.”

  “Count me in on that,” said Warren. He might not have been in on the cause of the conversation, but any wolf would have caught the gist of what we were talking about. “If you hadn’t been here when that demon got ahold of me not so long ago, I’d be dead.”

  Samuel’s reaction was not what I expected. He ducked his head and snarled at Warren, “I am not responsible for you.”

  “Yes, you are,” said Adam, opening his eyes.

  “That chap your hide?” suggested Warren gently. He shrugged. “People die. I know that; you know that. Even wolves like us die. Fewer people die when you are around. Those are the facts. Being upset about them don’t make them false.”

  Samuel stalked away from us all. There wasn’t much room to get away, though, and he stopped with his head down. “I was hoping this could be easier, Mercy. But I forgot—you don’t do easy.” He turned around and met my eyes. When he spoke again, it was in that gentle patronizing tone I thought I’d cured him of a long time ago. “You can’t save me, Mercy. Not when I don’t want to be saved.”

  “Samuel,” said Adam in a demanding tone, much stronger than his condition allowed. He raised himself up on his elbows and stared at the other wolf.

  Samuel met Adam’s eyes . . . and I saw shock in his face for just an instant before he began to shift to wolf. It was a dirty trick, something Alphas—strong Alphas—could do, forcing the change on another wolf. I suspected that if Adam hadn’t caught Samuel by surprise, it would never have worked. Adam held Samuel’s gaze while we waited with bated breath. Fifteen minutes is a long time to hold still. And at the end of it, Samuel was gone, leaving the white-eyed wolf in his place. The wolf smiled at Adam.

  “Might not be able to save you, old son,” Adam said, lying back again and closing his eyes. “But I can buy us a little time to kick you in the butt hard enough you stop thinking about ‘tomorrow and tomorrow’ and start thinking about how much your butt hurts.”

  “Sometimes,” said Warren, “it’s real easy to see you were in the military, boss.”

  “Butt kicking being part and parcel of the service, both on the giving and receiving end,” agreed Adam, without opening his eyes.

  Mary Jo had been staring at Sam. “His wolf is in control,” she said, horrified.

  “Has been for a couple of days,” agreed Adam. “No bodies yet.”

  He didn’t know about the fae at the bookstore . . . but I wasn’t sure the fae counted. It had been a defensive killing rather than an uncontrolled killing spree, though Sam had nearly taken me as dessert afterward.

  Sam met my eyes thoughtfully, and I realized that he seemed . . . different, more expressive, than he had in Phin’s bookstore—just as I was used to seeing Samuel’s wolf. I’d thought he was getting more aggressive earlier, but I could see that he’d also been becoming . . . less Samuel, even less Sam. Our little disaster might have bought us a little more time.

  “Ah take it that the Marrok does not know about Samuel?” Warren broke the silence, sounding very cowboy, very laid-back—which was usually a sign that he wasn’t.

  “Sort of,” I said. “I told him he didn’t want to know yet, and he believed me. But only on the condition that I’d talk to Charles. According to Charles, the good news is that if Samuel’s wolf was more independent of him, he’d have started causing mayhem right away. Bad news is that if we don’t get Samuel out of his funk soon, his wolf is going to fade, too.” As he had been doing. “And we’ll be left with a dead Samuel anyway, but only after a bonus of lots of other dead bodies.”

  “A regular Vikin’ funeral,” commented Warren.

  Mary Jo gave him a sharp look, which he returned.

  “Ah can read, as long as they’s lotsa good pictures,” he said, speaking even slower than usual and using a lot more Texas-cowboy grammar.

  “That’s my line,” I told Warren. “I resent your stealing it.”

  Ben laughed. But then asked, “How is fading different from just having the wolf in control?”

  Wolves are blunt creatures, mostly impatient with the softpedaling that the rest of the world
considers politeness.

  “I gather Sam will turn all fang and no brain and will eventually just fall over dead,” I told them. “Probably less damage than what normally happens when the wolf is in charge. Especially since the wolf doesn’t stop until someone stops him. But not good.”

  “He’ll be easier to kill if it comes to it,” said Warren, recognizing the advantages. Samuel was old, powerful, and clever—if his wolf was half as smart, it would take Bran or Charles to take him. This way, any of us with a silver-loaded gun could do it.

  Sam didn’t seem bothered by the conversation. He half closed his eyes and snapped his teeth at Warren with mock fierceness. His ears were up, showing that he was only playing.

  They hurt my heart with their fierce full- on acceptance of reality.

  “Pack up, kids,” said Adam, with his eyes still closed. “It’s time to take this party home.”

  Home.

  I glanced worriedly at Warren. Adam would be up and functional in a day or two—thanks to nifty werewolf superpowers of healing. But the pack was still a mess.

  “Right, boss.” Warren nodded at me and continued to talk to Adam. “I reckon I’ll stick by you for a bit, though, if you don’t mind. Darryl will be there, too.”

  WE PACKED ADAM INTO THE BACK OF WARREN’S TRUCK on top of a thick camping pad and underneath a sleeping bag. Werewolves are pretty immune to the cold—especially the kind of cold the Tri-Cities could manage most winters. But we weren’t taking any chances with him. He accepted our fussing with a sort of royal amusement that managed to be appreciative, too, though he didn’t say a word.

  “Camping?” I murmured to Warren under my breath after we’d gotten Adam settled. “You actually got Kyle to go out camping?” Kyle was very happy with the comforts of civilization. I couldn’t see him spending a weekend in the woods voluntarily.

  “Nah,” he muttered. “Not overnight anyhow. But I’m hopeful for next spring.”

  “But you had sleeping bags and camp pads in your truck.” I couldn’t help the smile that grew on my face. “Does this have anything to do with the ice chest full of meat?”

  He ducked his head, but he was grinning. “You don’t ask me what you don’t want to know, Mercy.”

  Mary Jo rode in the back of the truck with Adam while I drove my car with Ben beside me and Sam in the back. Ben had offered to drive the Rabbit so I could ride with Adam, but his hands were raw and painful. Mary Jo wasn’t going to do anything to hurt Adam; whatever resentment or hatred she felt for me didn’t interfere with her desire to keep him safe.

  As soon as I started driving, Ben said, “You need to find out who the second man on watch was.”

  “What?”

  “The other wolf Adam had watching with Mary Jo. She doesn’t want to tell, and she’s higher rank than I am, so I can’t ask her. If Warren asked . . . She’s one of the crowd that thinks he shouldn’t be pack.”

  “What?” I’d thought the homophobic elements in the pack were all men.

  Ben nodded. “She’s quieter about it than most, but she’s also more stubborn. If Warren gave her an order she didn’t want to comply with—like one that would make her narc on someone she cares about—she’s likely to defy him. He’d have to hurt her, and that would hurt him more because he likes her—and doesn’t have any idea that she’s one of the stupid people.”

  I’d always thought Ben was one of the stupid people, too. I guess that must have shown in my face because he laughed.

  “I was bitter when I first came here. Eastern Washington is a big comedown from London.” He didn’t say anything for a while, but about the time I turned onto the highway he continued in a soft voice. “Warren’s okay. He cares about the pack, and that’s not as common in the upper echelon as you’d think. Took me a while to appreciate—and that’s on me.”

  I patted his arm. “Took us a while to warm up to you, too,” I said. “Must be your charming personality.”

  He laughed again, and this time it was with genuine humor. “Yes. No doubt. You’re a right bitch sometimes, you know?”

  The response was elementary-school automatic. “Takes one to know one,” I said. “You think there was someone else who watched Adam jump into a burning building to save me and didn’t do anything to stop him?”

  “I think that Adam sends us out in pairs. One man on point, the second as backup. Always. Mary Jo wasn’t out there alone when you and Samuel left. She wasn’t the only one who watched whoever set fire to your house.”

  He paused. “I think I know who it is, but I’m prejudiced, so I’ll keep my mouth shut. Just remember: Mary Jo . . . she’s good folk when it comes down to it. She’s been a firefighter since they allowed women to be on the teams. She may not like you that much, but she’s got no bone to pick with Samuel. I don’t think she’d have stood by and watched arson taking place without someone stepping in and influencing her. There aren’t many of the pack who could override her good sense like that.”

  “You think someone else made the decision to disobey orders.”

  Ben nodded slowly. “I do. Yes.”

  “Someone Adam trusted enough that he didn’t insist on their attending the meeting he held at his house.”

  “Yes.”

  “Damn it.”

  9

  AT THREE IN THE MORNING, I FOUND MYSELF DRINK-ing hot chocolate at the kitchen table in Adam’s house with Jesse, Darryl, Auriele, and Mary Jo. Given my druthers, I’d have had a couple of people between Mary Jo and me—because I don’t believe in throwing water on boiling oil—but by the time I’d finished pouring cocoa, the seat between Jesse and her was the only one open.

  The one good thing was that most of the wolves had returned to their homes, and Adam was still safe. Sam and Warren were in Adam’s room, doing guard duty, while the rest of us tried to decide how to proceed until Adam was up and about. All the other wolves who’d shown up had been sent away.

  I planned on joining Adam as soon as we were done here, but I knew he was all right without me. He’d eaten about ten pounds of meat and lapsed into a sleep so deep it resembled a coma. Warren was a big enough wolf to take on any two of the rest of the pack as long as the group didn’t contain Darryl, who outranked him. Mostly.

  Sam was a little unpredictable, but in his current state I was pretty sure he would be on our team. When a wolf is hurt, he is vulnerable. In the best scenario, an injured wolf will be protected by his pack mates—but when the pack is uneasy, as Adam’s was just then, it is best to keep trustworthy guards around.

  Between the two of them, Warren and Sam, they’d see to it that no harm came to Adam.

  Ben trudged in, towing one of the dining-room chairs. He slid it between Jesse and Auriele, painfully pulled his gory fingers off the chair back, and dropped to the seat. Jesse slid a cup of hot cocoa in front of him, then reached across with the can of nondairy whipped cream and squirted a bunch of sweet artificial white goo on top. Jesse’s curly hair had grown out a little, and she’d dyed it pink.

  “Thanks, darling,” Ben told her in a suggestive voice, and she scooted her chair away from him. He tipped his head so she couldn’t see his face and smiled until he realized I was watching him. I narrowed my eyes, and he cleared his throat. “E-mail’s out to the list, detailing what happened and that Adam’ll be up and about in a day or two.”

  That there was a mailing list had been news to me. I wasn’t on it, probably so they could all complain about me without hurting my feelings. Given the state of Ben’s hands, Auriele had offered to send out the report, but he’d said that computer work was his duty, and as he still had ten fingers, he figured he could complete it.

  He leaned forward and sipped his cocoa without touching the hot cup.

  “It’s instant,” I apologized. “My stash of spicy real stuff went up with the house.” I wished I hadn’t said it as soon as the words were out of my mouth. I had been doing just fine at forgetting that out in the darkness beyond the kitchen windows, my house was a pile of b
lack scraps.

  “It’s chocolate,” Ben said. “At this point, that is sufficient.”

  Silence fell, and I remembered that I was supposed to be running this. It reminded me in an odd way of the time I’d had to take over my sister’s Girl Scout troop when my mother had been sick. Fourteen preteen girls, a tableful of werewolves—there were certain monstrous similarities.

  I ran my hands over my face. “So what else needs to be dealt with before we can go to bed?”

  Darryl folded his big hands on the table. “The fire marshal hasn’t made it out yet—but the firemen seemed pretty convinced it was the wiring. The fire started near the fuse box in the hall. Apparently, the old manufactured homes sometimes go up like that, especially the first few weeks the heating system kicks in in the winter.” He glanced at me. “Do we accept that, or have you been riling people up again?”

  He might owe his ebony skin and his size to his African father, but he could do Chinese inscrutable better than anyone I’d ever met who was wholly Chinese instead of just half. It was hard to tell whether he meant the last sentence as a joke or a justifiable criticism.

  “It was the fae,” I said with a sigh, bumping the nearest table leg halfheartedly with my ankle.

  “What—all of them?” asked Ben humorously. I slid down in my chair so I could reach past Jesse and kicked his foot, which was more satisfying.

  “No, not all of them,” I said, after he yipped with mock pain.

  “You just bring us one damned thing after another don’t you, Mercy,” said Mary Jo, looking out the window.

  “Bitch,” said Ben. It seemed to be his word of the day—which was better than the usual assortment. He hadn’t actually sworn much around me that day, if I didn’t include the time while Samuel was fixing his hands. And if the only words that counted were the ones that got movies an “R” rating. I wondered if it was coincidental, if he was trying to improve himself—or if I hadn’t spent enough time with him.