“Do you need to go downstairs and sleep?” I asked.
“No, I’m fine. Did you find out anything?”
“We picked up Phin’s scent—and four other fae who had been in there. One of them, some kind of forest fae, came back, and Sam killed it. There was another forest fae, a female we didn’t meet. She was the same kind as the one Sam killed—I’m pretty sure of it. And then there was one who smelled of swamps and wet things who hopefully is her knight of the water. The fewer allies she has, the happier I am. I met the fourth, who left traces in the bookstore earlier today . . . I guess that’s yesterday now. She looked like a happy-grandmother type. I couldn’t tell what she was.”
“Was it her?” asked Ben, and nodded at the phone.
“I can’t answer that,” I told him.
“But you can answer me,” said Jesse. “Was the old woman the one who took Gabriel?”
“I don’t know,” I said. I closed my eyes and thought about what had happened and when. “No. She was looking through Phin’s records, trying to find out who Phin gave something to. The bad guys had already tried to kill me once—if you didn’t pick up on it, the incident at my garage yesterday morning was aimed at me. They knew where they were looking.” Maybe if I could have talked to her, we’d know more about what it was that the fairy queen wanted.
“She’s not smart, this fairy queen,” said Ben. “If she were, she’d have known that you weren’t human.”
“I don’t exactly advertise,” I told him. “And, other than my connection to Adam and the Marrok, I’m not important. There’s no reason that she should know. Especially since she’s been producing shows in California.”
“She makes assumptions,” Darryl said. “Most people look at you, Mercy, and wonder if you are fae or wolf and just hiding it, because you’re mated to a wolf and working with a fae.” He stopped and raised a speculative eyebrow. “Or she thinks you are one or the other and might react and tell her which one if she kept taunting you with being human.”
“That sounds about right,” I said.
“Why not just give them whatever she wants and get Gabriel back,” Mary Jo said. “It’s not yours, and it sounds like the rightful owner is dead anyway.”
Ben snorted. “You aren’t usually this dumb. You want to hand a woman like this fairy queen an object of power that she believes can protect her from us?”
Darryl tilted his head and looked at Mary Jo. She flushed and dropped her gaze. “Don’t think I don’t remember that you disobeyed Adam,” he said. “You have no standing here, and you will not leave this house until your punishment.” He waited, then answered her question. “Ben’s right. Besides, you really think she’s going to let anyone live who knows what she has? I don’t know a damn thing about what she wants. If the Gray Lords are willing to kill Mercy just because she knows about it—Mercy who has their favor and is beloved by our Alpha—don’t you think they’d kill one of those under their power, who has no such protections? If I can figure that out from one phone conversation, this Daphne, she knows it, too. She has no intention of letting anyone go. She’d make the exchange, then kill both Mercy and the boy.”
“Or keep the boy and kill Mercy,” added Jesse, who had her dad’s clear eye for strategy. “Gabriel would rather be dead.” She was still a teenager with a streak of drama, though. I wasn’t so sure Gabriel would rather be dead than serve the fairy queen—from all accounts it was fairly pleasant from the victim’s side because they had no willpower to object.
I’d rather be dead. Maybe she was right.
“Mercy,” grumbled Darryl, “she was right about one thing: you need some sleep. Go to bed.” His voice softened. “You, too, Jesse. We can all help your boy better on a full night’s sleep.”
He was right. I was so tired I could hardly keep my eyes open.
I yawned and hooked my arm through Jesse’s. “Okay.”
AFTER DROPPING JESSE OFF AT HER ROOM, I OPENED the door to Adam’s as quietly as I could. Someone had stripped the comforter and thrown it on the floor. Adam was sprawled naked on top of the sheet—and he looked horrible. A mass of dark red scabs covered most of his extremities as well as here and there on the rest of his body.
Warren had taken off his boots and was lying on the near side of the bed on his side, facing the doorway. Sam was curled up between them at the foot of the bed.
I’d worried a little about leaving him with a wounded Alpha, but apparently he was still behaving atypically for an uncontrolled werewolf. While I closed the door, he rolled flat on his side and half looked at me. He wiggled a bit and let out a satisfied oof as he pushed Warren’s feet over a few inches. I noticed that he didn’t touch Adam.
Warren was awake—even if he looked like he was deeply asleep. I crawled over him and the corners of his mouth tipped up. I settled in between him and Adam, curling my legs up so I didn’t kick Sam.
I tried not to touch Adam, but he rolled over and threw an arm over my hip. It felt warm and safe and good—and probably hurt him. His eyes opened a slit, then closed.
I lay there a while in simple appreciation that he’d survived the fire. The door opened just as I was drifting off to sleep.
“Is there room for one more?” asked Ben. I lifted up my head to see him standing in the doorway in a pair of baggy sweats. His hair was ruffled on one side as if he’d been lying down before he came up. “If not, I can go—”
“Come on in,” rumbled Warren. “I’ll go take the upstairs guest room.”
Warren rolled off the bed, and Ben crawled on. He put one foot on mine, then let out a sigh and collapsed like a puppy who’d been playing for too long. Pack is for comfort when you hurt, I thought, putting my head back down. And for the first time in a long time, maybe the first time ever, I appreciated being a part of one.
I WOKE UP BECAUSE THE TOP OF MY HEAD WAS TOO warm. The sensation was vaguely familiar so I started to go back to sleep when sharp, pokey things started digging into my scalp. And then I remembered why there shouldn’t be a cat sleeping on my head.
I sat up and stared into the cool gaze of the slightly singed calico Manx who expressed her irritation with my abrupt change of position with an irritated meow. She smelled of smoke, and there was a raw spot on the top of her back, but otherwise she seemed to be fine.
Adam didn’t move, but Ben rolled over and opened his eyes.
“Hey, cat,” I said, tearing up, as she adjusted to my new position and maneuvered herself so she was within easy petting distance of both Ben and me. “I thought you were toast.”
She pushed her head under my hand and rolled so my hand slid through her coat. Ben started to reach out, but stopped as soon as he moved his fingers. They looked better than they had before—though they still looked like something that might appear in a horror movie.
“I didn’t realize you didn’t know,” Ben said, his voice still rough. “I should have told you. Adam went to your room. I went to Sam’s and found her under the bed.”
I wiped my eyes and nose on my shoulder (both hands being occupied with cat and covered with cat hair anyway). Then I leaned forward and kissed Ben’s nose.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’d have missed her a lot.”
“Yeah.” He stretched out on his back, hands carefully laid across his belly. “We’d have missed her, too. Only cat I’ve ever seen who tolerates werewolves.” He sounded oddly vulnerable. I don’t think he was used to being the hero.
“Don’t feel too flattered,” said Adam dryly. “Medea likes vampires, too.”
“Adam?” I said.
But he was asleep again. And I could feel him in my head, just as he should be.
10
I WOKE UP, AND MY FIRST THOUGHT WAS SURPRISE that I was so sore. Then I remembered the huge fae who’d knocked me silly. In the wake of my home burning down and Adam getting hurt, the encounter with the fae in the bookstore had become incidental. There was a goose-egg-sized knot on the back of my head, nothing wanted to move very much, and my
ankles—both of them—ached.
Sam was snoring, something he actually didn’t do very often. He was stretched out across my feet, which couldn’t have been very comfortable for him, though he seemed happy enough. He must have felt my attention because he rolled onto his back and stretched—an instant of half wakefulness that ended with him going back to snoring.
Adam was still sleeping like the dead, as he had for most of the night—except when he woke up coughing blood tinged gray with smoke particles. Sometime during the night, he’d rolled away from me, and now he slept on his side. I ran a hand over his shoulder blade and he moved into my touch without waking up.
“Hey,” I told him. “I love you.”
He didn’t answer, but I didn’t need one—I knew how he felt. Only after I rolled painfully off the edge of the bed did it occur to me that Ben was missing. A glance out the window told me it was still morning, not early, but not late enough to make me feel like a slugabed either.
I limped stiffly to the bathroom. One hot shower later I could move again. And even if my clothes were on their second day—and smelled of blood and smoke and all—I felt ready to face the morning. After a little dithering, I put my shoulder holster back on.
I didn’t feel any urgent need to go armed—but I didn’t have anywhere to put the SIG out of harm’s way either. Adam probably had a gun safe around somewhere, but I didn’t know where it was. So I wore the shoulder harness under my T- shirt, which was loose enough to conceal it. I’d have a hard time drawing the gun, but that shouldn’t matter: it was loaded with lead bullets, and the house was full of werewolves. If I had to draw the gun, I was probably dead anyway.
On that cheery thought, I left the bedroom and shut the door quietly behind me. The lovely smell of sausage and butter pulled me into the kitchen.
Darryl was cooking.
Auriele grinned at my expression. “Sundays,” she said with satisfaction, “he cooks, and I wash dishes. Mostly we end up here at Pack Central, and when Darryl cooks, everyone stops by. It’s a pretty big job.”
The way werewolves eat, it certainly was. A big job that was one of those little things that pulled a pack together: Sunday breakfasts at Adam’s house.
“If you’re doing dishes while he cooks, does he do the dishes when you cook?” I asked.
“Nope,” Darryl said, serving each of us a plate of sausage, eggs, hash browns, and French toast with a snap that looked awfully professional, and returned to the stove. “Not that enlightened.”
She smiled at his back. “He vacuums, though.” And Darryl made an irritated noise.
“Have you seen Ben?” I asked, then said, involuntarily, “This is really good.” The French toast was spiked with real vanilla, cinnamon, and a host of other things, including authentic bitter-sweet maple syrup.
“Mmmm.” Auriele nodded, taking a bite of her hash browns. “He cooked his way through grad school.”
“Made good money at it, too,” Darryl agreed. “Ben’s been down, eaten breakfast, and gone. He’ll be back soon. I called Zee last night.”
I set down my fork. “What did he say?”
“Nothing, if you are going to let my good food go cold.”
I took a hasty bite, and he went back to cooking—and talking. “I played last night’s ransom call back to him, and he picked me clean of everything you told us. Then he said he’d see what he could do. He called an hour or so ago and told me to tell you he’d be over here as soon as he could. It might be a couple of hours, though, so stall the villainess if she wants you to move before he gets here.”
“How did he sound?”
“Grumpy. Coffee or orange juice?”
“Water is fine.”
His eyebrows went up.
“Uh-oh,” Auriele said, but she was smiling.
Darryl was not. “Are you implying that my coffee is not the best in four counties? Or my fresh-squeezed orange juice is less than perfect?”
Jesse breezed in and squealed. “Oh my goodness, Darryl is cooking. I’d almost forgotten it was Sunday. Orange juice, please.” She glanced at me and laughed. “Mercy doesn’t do orange juice or coffee,” she said, grabbing a glass out of the cupboard and filling it out of the pitcher Darryl had set out. “So sad. More orange juice for me.”
She was being cute and upbeat, but there were dark circles under her eyes. She took the plate Darryl handed her and sat down next to Auriele.
“So,” she said. Her pink hair helped her cheerful act—hard to look sad with pink hair—even if her eyes were a little pink, too.
“How are we going to save Gabriel?”
“Have you ever noticed that everyone who knows Mercy eventually needs saving?” asked Mary Jo as she walked into the kitchen.
I was going to have to do something about Mary Jo. I took another bite of French toast and put the fork down on the plate. Sooner was probably better than later.
I stood up. “Excuse me,” I said to Darryl. To Jesse I said, “I’m borrowing your bedroom—any complaints?”
She stared at me a moment. “No?” she said, her voice rising as if her answer were a question. Which maybe it was.
“Your stereo is pretty effective at keeping voices from being overheard by all the werewolves in this house. And from the noise coming from downstairs, there are a lot of werewolves here.”
“It’s Darryl’s cooking,” said Auriele, sounding a little apologetic.
“I can see why,” I said. “I’d appreciate it if you would guard my plate until I come back.” I looked at Mary Jo. “You. Come with me.”
And without looking behind me, I led the way up the stairs to Jesse’s room. I walked into Jesse’s room and turned on her stereo until it was almost painfully loud. The CD wasn’t something I’d have chosen to listen to, but it was loud, and that was all I was interested in.
“Shut the door,” I told Mary Jo. I was almost surprised she’d just followed me up as I’d asked.
Face blank, she did as I’d requested.
“Okay. Now, if you come over here by the window, it’s almost impossible for anyone to overhear us.”
All the precautions weren’t really necessary. With this many people in Adam’s house, no one, no matter how good their hearing was, could really listen from one room to the next—there were simply too many conversations going on. But the stereo made our privacy virtually certain.
“What do you want?” she asked, not moving from the center of the room.
I leaned against the wall next to the window and crossed my arms over my stomach. It felt wrong to be in this position. I’ve been a solitary person my whole life. Even when I lived in Aspen Creek with the Marrok’s pack, even then I’d really been alone, a coyote among wolves. But Adam needed his pack behind him—and because of me, they weren’t. If I was going to be the problem, I owed it to him to be part of the solution. So I was going to see if all those times I watched the Marrok twist people in little knots would allow me to use his techniques to achieve the same results.
I smiled at her. “I want you to tell me what your problem with me is. Right here, right now, where there is no one else to interfere.”
“You are the problem, Mercedes,” she snapped. “A scavenger coyote among wolves. You don’t belong here.”
“Oh, come on. You can do better than that,” I goaded her. “You sound like you’re Jesse’s age—and Jesse doesn’t sound like that.”
Her eyes veiled as she considered what I said.
“All right,” she said after a minute. “Point to you. First problem—you let Adam rot for two years after he claimed you as his mate. And during that two years our pack fell apart because Adam could barely keep himself calm—and was nearly useless at helping anyone else keep their wolf in check.”
“Agreed,” I said. “But I have to point out in my defense that Adam never asked me if I wanted to be his mate during that time—or before he declared it in front of the pack. He never asked me either before or after. I wasn’t a pack member—and his decla
ration was to keep the rest of the wolves away—so I didn’t even find out about this until well after it happened. Even then, no one told me the consequences until just a few months ago, and as soon as I figured out what was happening to the pack and to Adam because of that claim, I made a decision.”
“How kind of you,” she snapped, her eyes brightening with temper. “To become Adam’s mate for the pack’s sake.”
“Point to me,” I told her calmly. “The choice I made had nothing to do with the problems in the pack—all Adam needed was an answer, and ‘no’ would have worked just as well to set the pack back in order. I agreed because . . . because he’s Adam.” Mine, whispered a voice in my head, but I was pretty sure that it was my own voice.
“Second problem,” she said between gritted teeth. “It was your invitation to the stray that led to Adam being almost killed and Jesse kidnapped.”
“Nope.” I shook my head. “You can’t lay that one on me. That was werewolf business from beginning to end. I got involved because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. No more, no less. Point to me.”
“I disagree,” she said. She was standing in the classic “at ease” position, I noticed, like a soldier. I wondered if it was something Adam taught them while he had them in training because, to my knowledge, Mary Jo had never been in the military.
“Fine,” I said, shrugging. “It’s a free country. You can feel as you wish.”
“You can’t deny who nearly got our third killed when the demon came to town, you and your connection to the vampires,” she said.
Her voice was cool, her heartbeat steady. Warren wasn’t important to her; Ben had been right. She hadn’t even called him by name because she felt the rank was more valuable than the man.
“Once it was known that there was a demon in town, it was inevitable that the wolves would have to go after it,” I told her. “And you could care less about Warren, so don’t pretend you were concerned about him.”
Patricia Briggs Mercy Thompson: Hopcross Jilly Page 134
