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1 I STARED AT MY REFLECTION IN THE MIRROR. I WASN’T pretty, but my hair
was thick and brushed my shoulders. My skin was darker on my arms and face than it was
on the rest of my body, but at least, thanks to my Blackfoot father, I’d never be pasty pale.
There were two stitches Samuel had put in the cut on my chin, and the bruise on my
shoulder (not extensive damage considering I’d been fighting something that liked to eat
children and had knocked out a werewolf). The dark thread looked from some angles like
the legs of a shiny black spider. Aside from that slight damage, there was nothing wrong
with my body. Karate and mechanicking kept me in good shape. My soul was a lot more
battered than my body, but I couldn’t see it in the mirror. Hopefully no one else could
either. It was that invisible damage that left me afraid to leave the bathroom and face
Adam, who waited in my bedroom. Though I knew with absolute certainty that Adam
wouldn’t do anything I didn’t want him to do—and had wanted him to do for a long time.
I could ask him to leave. To give me more time. I stared at the woman in the mirror, but
all she did was stare back. I’d killed the man who’d raped me. Was I going to let him have
this last victory? Let him destroy me as he’d intended? “Mercy?” Adam didn’t have to
raise his voice. He knew I could hear him. “Careful,” I told him as I left off mirror-gazing
and began pulling on clean underwear and an old T-shirt. “I have an ancient walking stick,
and I know how to use it.” “The walking stick is lying across your bed,” he said. When I
came out of the bathroom, Adam was lying across my bed, too. He wasn’t tall, but he
didn’t need height to add to the impression he made. Wide cheekbones and a full, soft
mouth topping a stubborn jaw combined to give him movie-star beauty. When his eyes
were open, they were a dark chocolate only a shade lighter than mine. His body was
almost as pretty as his face—though I knew he didn’t think of himself that way. He kept
himself in shape because he was Alpha and his body was a tool he used to keep his pack
safe. He’d been a soldier before he was Changed, and the military training was still there in
the way he moved and the way he took charge. “When Samuel gets back from the
hospital, he’s going to spend the rest of the night at my house,” Adam said without
opening his eyes. Samuel was my roommate, a doctor, and a lone wolf. Adam’s house was
behind mine, with about ten acres between them—three were mine and the rest were
Adam’s. “We have time to talk.” “You look horrible,” I said, not quite truthfully. He did
look tired, with dark circles under his eyes, but nothing short of mutilation could make
him look terrible. “Don’t they have beds in D.C.?” He’d had to go to Washington (the
capital—we were in the state) this weekend to clean up a little mess that was sort of my
fault. Of course if he hadn’t ripped Tim’s corpse into bits on camera, and if the resultant
DVD hadn’t landed on a senator’s desk, there wouldn’t have been a problem. So it was
partially his fault, too. Mostly it was Tim’s fault, and whoever had made a copy of the
DVD and mailed it off. I’d taken care of Tim. Bran, the head-honcho werewolf above all
of the other head-honcho werewolves, was apparently taking care of the other person.
Last year, I would have expected to hear about a funeral. This year, with the werewolves
barely having admitted their existence to the world, Bran would probably be more
circumspect. Whatever that would mean. Adam opened his eyes and looked at me. In the
dimness of the room (he’d only turned on the small light on the little table by my bed), his
eyes looked black. There was a bleakness in his face that hadn’t been there before, and I
knew it was because of me. Because he hadn’t been able to keep me safe—and people like
Adam take that pretty seriously. Personally, I figured it was up to me to keep me safe.
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Sometimes it might mean calling in friends, but it was my responsibility. Still, he saw it as
a failure. “So have you made up your mind?” he asked. Would I accept him as my mate,
he meant. The question had been up in the air too long, and it was affecting his ability to
keep his pack under control. Ironically, what happened with Tim had resolved the issue
that had kept me from accepting Adam for months. I figured if I could fight back against
the fairy magic potion Tim had fed me, a little Alpha mojo wasn’t going to turn me into a
docile slave either. Maybe I should have thanked him before I hit him with the tire iron.
Adam isn’t Tim, I told myself. I thought of Adam’s rage when he’d broken down the door
to my garage, of his despair when he persuaded me to drink out of that damned fae goblet
again. In addition to robbing me of my will, the goblet also had the power to heal—and
I’d needed a lot of healing by that point. It had worked, but Adam had felt like he was
betraying me, believed I’d hate him for it. But he’d done it anyway. I figured it was
because he wasn’t lying when he said he loved me. When I’d hidden in shame—I put that
down to the fairy brew, because I knew ... I knew I had nothing to be ashamed about—
he’d pulled my coyote self out from under his bed, bitten my nose for being foolish, and
held me all night long. Then he’d surrounded me with his pack and safety whether I
needed it or not. Tim was dead. And he’d always been a loser. I’d be damned if I was
going to be the victim of a loser—or anyone else. “Mercy?” Adam stayed on his back on
my bed, taking the position of vulnerability. In answer, I pulled the T-shirt over my head
and dropped it on the floor. Adam was off the bed faster than I’d ever seen him move,
bringing the comforter with him. He had it wrapped around me before I could blink ... and
then I was pressed tightly against him, my bare breasts resting against his chest. He’d
tipped his head to the side so my face was pressed against his jaw and cheek. “I meant to
get the blanket between us,” he said tightly. His heart pounded against mine, and his arms
were shaking and rock hard. “I didn’t mean you had to sleep with me right now—a simple
‘yes’ would have done.” I knew he was aroused—even a regular person without a coyote
nose would have known it. I slid my hands up from his hips to his hard belly and up his
ribs and listened to his heart rate pick up even further and a light sweat broke out on his
jaw under my slow caress. I could feel the muscles in his cheek move as he clenched his
teeth, felt the heat that flushed his skin. I blew in his ear, and he jumped away from me as
though I’d stuck him with a cattle prod. Streaks of amber lit his eyes, and his lips were
fuller, redder. I dropped the comforter on top of my shirt. “Damn it, Mercy.” He didn’t
like to swear in front of women. I always counted it a personal triumph when I could
make him do it. “It hasn’t even been a week since you were raped. I’m not sleeping with
you until you’ve talked to someone, a counselor, a psychologist.” “I’m fine,” I said,
though in fact, once distance had released me from the safety he brought with him, I was
aware of a sick churning in my stomach. Adam turned so he was facing the window, his
back to me. “No, you’re not. Remember, you can’t lie to a wolf, love.” He let out a breath
of air too forcefully to be a sigh. He rubbed his hair briskly, trying to get rid of excess
energy. Obligingly, it stuck up in small curls that he usually kept too short to look
anything but neat and well-groomed. “Who am I talking about?” he asked, though I didn’t
think the question was directed at me. “This is Mercy. Getting you to talk about anything
personal is like pulling teeth at the best of times. Getting you to talk to a stranger ...” I
hadn’t thought myself particularly closemouthed. Actually, I’d been accused of having a
smart mouth. Samuel had told me more than once that I’d probably live longer if I learned
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to bite my tongue occasionally. So I waited, without saying a word, for Adam to decide
what he wanted to do. The room wasn’t cold, but I was shivering a little anyway—it must
be nerves. If Adam didn’t hurry up and do something, though, I was going to be throwing
up in the bathroom. I’d spent too much time worshipping the porcelain goddess since Tim
had made me overdose on fairy juice to view the thought with any equanimity. He wasn’t
watching me, but he didn’t need to be. Emotions have a scent. He swung back to look at
me with a frown. He took in my state with one comprehensive look. He swore and strode
back to me, wrapping me in his arms. He pulled me tight against him, making low,
soothing sounds in the back of his throat. He rocked me gently. I took a deep breath of
Adam-scented air and tried to think. Normally, this wouldn’t be difficult for me. But
normally I wasn’t all but naked in the arms of the hottest man I knew. I’d misunderstood
what he’d wanted. To double-check, I cleared my throat. “When you said you needed my
answer to your claim today—you weren’t actually asking for sex?” His body jerked
involuntarily as he laughed, rubbing his jaw against my face. “So, you think I’m the kind of
person who’d do something like that? After what happened just last week?” “I thought
that’s what it took,” I mumbled, feeling my cheeks heat up. “How long did you spend in
the Marrok’s pack?” He knew how long. He was just making me feel stupid. “Mating
wasn’t something everyone talked to me about,” I told him defensively. “Just Samuel ...”
Adam laughed again, one of his hands on my shoulder, the other moving in a light caress
on my butt, which should have tickled but didn’t. “I just bet he was telling you the truth,
the whole truth, and nothing but the truth right then.” I tightened my grip on him—
somehow my hands had landed on his lower back. “Probably not. So all you needed was
my agreement?” He grunted. “It won’t help with the pack, not until it’s for real. But with
Samuel out of the way, I thought you’d be able to decide if you were interested or not. If
you weren’t interested, I could regroup. If you agreed to be mine, I can wait until Hell
freezes over for you.” His words sounded reasonable, but his scent told me something
else. It told me that my reasonable tones had soothed his worries, and his mind was now
on something other than our discussion. Fair enough. Being this close to him, feeling his
heat against me, feeling his heartbeat race because he wanted me ... someone told me that
knowing someone desires you is the greatest aphrodisiac. It was certainly true for me. “Of
course,” he said, still in that curiously calm voice, “waiting is much easier in abstract than
reality. I need you to tell me to back off, all right?” “Mmm,” I said. He brought a
cleanness with him that washed the feel of Tim off my skin far better than the shower
did—but only when he touched me. “Mercy.” I lowered my hands, sliding them beneath
the waistline of his jeans and digging my nails lightly into his skin. He growled something
more, but neither of us was listening. He turned his head and tilted it. I expected serious
and got playful as he nipped at my lower lip. The roughness of his teeth sent tingles to my
fingertips, zings past my knees and down to my toes. Potent things, Adam’s teeth. I
brought my suddenly shaking hands around to worry at the button on his jeans, and Adam
jerked his head up and put a staying hand on mine. Then I heard it, too. “German car,” he
said. I sighed, slumping against him. “Swedish,” I corrected him. “Four-year-old Volvo
station wagon. Gray.” He looked at me in surprise that quickly turned to comprehension.
“You know the car.” I moaned and tried to hide in his shoulder. “Damn, damn. It was the
newspapers.” “Who is it, Mercy?” Gravel shooshed, and headlights flashed on my window
as the car turned into the driveway. “My mom,” I told him. “Her sense of timing is unreal.
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I should have realized she would read about ... about it.” I didn’t want to name what had
happened to me, what I’d done to Tim, out loud. Not while I was mostly naked with
Adam, anyway. “You didn’t call her.” I shook my head. I should have, I knew it. But it
had been one of those things I just couldn’t face. He was smiling now. “You get dressed.
I’ll go stall her until you’re ready to come out.” “There is no way I’ll ever be ready for
this,” I told him. He sobered, put his face next to mine, and rested his forehead against me.
“Mercy. It will be all right.” Then he left, shutting the door to my bedroom as my doorbell
rang the first time. It rang twice more before he opened the outside door, and he wasn’t
being slow. I grabbed clothes and desperately tried to remember if we’d done the dishes
from dinner. It was my turn. If it had been Samuel’s turn, I wouldn’t have had to worry. It
was stupid. I knew that she could care less about the dishes—but it gave me something to
do other than panic. I’d never even considered calling her. Maybe in ten years I might feel
ready. I pulled on my pants and left my feet bare while I searched frantically for a bra.
“She knows you’re here,” Adam said on the other side of the door—as if he were leaning
against it. “She’ll be out in a minute.” “I don’t know who you think you are”—my
mother’s voice was low and dangerous—“but if you don’t get out of my way right this
instant, it won’t matter.” Adam was the Alpha werewolf in charge of the local pack. He
was tough. He could be mean when he had to—and he wouldn’t stand a chance against
my mom. “Bra, bra, bra,” I chanted as I pulled one out of the dirty-clothes basket and
hooked it. I pulled the thing around so fast I wouldn’t be surprised to discover I’d given
myself a rug burn. “Shirt. Shirt.” I ransacked my drawers and found and discarded two
shirts. “Clean shirt, clean shirt.” “Mercy?” called Adam, sounding a little desperate—how
well I knew that feeling. “Mom, leave him alone!” I said. “I’ll be right out.” Frustrated, I
stared at my room. I had to have a clean shirt somewhere. I had just been wearing one—
but it had disappeared in my search for a bra. Finally, I pulled on a shirt that said 1984:
GOVERNMENT FOR DUMMIES on the back. It was clean, or at least it didn’t stink too
badly. The oil smudge on the shoulder looked permanent. I took a deep breath and opened
the door. I had to duck around Adam, who was leaning against the door frame. “Hey,
Mom,” I said breezily. “I see you’ve met my—” What? Mate? I didn’t think that was
something my mother needed to hear. “I see you’ve met Adam.” “Mercedes Athena
Thompson,” snapped my mother. “Explain to me why I had to learn about what happened
to you from a newspaper?” I’d been avoiding meeting her gaze, but once she three-named
me, I had no choice. My mother is five-foot-nothing. She’s only seventeen years older
than me, which means she’s not yet fifty and looks thirty. She can still wear the belt
buckles she won barrel racing on their original belts. She’s usually blond—I’m pretty sure
it’s her natural color—but the shade changes from year to year. This year it was
strawberry gold. Her eyes are big and blue and innocent-looking, her nose slightly tiptilted,
and her mouth full and round. With strangers, she sometimes plays a dumb blonde,
batting her eyelashes and speaking in a breathy voice that anyone who watched old movies
would recognize from Some Like It Hot or Bus Stop. My mother has never, to my
knowledge, changed her own flat tire. If the sharp anger in her voice hadn’t been a cover
for the bruised look in her eyes, I could have responded in kind. Instead, I shrugged. “I
don’t know, Mom. After it happened ... I stayed coyote for a couple of days.” I had a halfhysterical
vision of calling her, and saying, “By the way, Mom, guess what happened to me
today...” She looked me in the eyes, and I thought she saw more than I wanted her to.
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“Are you all right?” I started to say yes, but a lifetime of living with creatures who could
smell a lie had left me with a habit of honesty. “Mostly,” I said, compromising. “It helps
that he’s dead.” It was humiliating that my chest was getting tight. I’d given myself all the
self-pity time I would allow. Mom could cuddle her children like any of the best of
parents, but I should have trusted her more. She knew all about the importance of
standing on your own two feet. Her right hand was balled into a white-knuckled fist, but
when she spoke, her voice was brisk. “All right,” she said, as if we’d covered everything
she was going to ask. I knew better, but I also knew it would be later and private. She
turned her angelic blue eyes on Adam. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my
daughter’s house at eleven at night?” “I’m not sixteen,” I said in a voice even I could tell
was sulky. “I can even have a man stay all night if I want to.” Mom and Adam both
ignored me. Adam had remained in position against my bedroom door frame, his body
held a little more casually than usual. I thought he was trying to give my mother the
impression that he was at home here: someone who had authority to keep her out of my
room. He lifted an eyebrow and showed not even a touch of the panic I’d heard in his
voice earlier. “I’m Adam Hauptman, I live on the other side of her back fence.” She
scowled at him. “The Alpha? The divorced man with the teenage daughter?” He gave her
one of his sudden smiles, and I knew my mom had made yet another conquest: she’s
pretty cute when she scowls, and Adam didn’t know many people gutsy enough to scowl
at him. I had a sudden revelation. I’d been making a tactical error for the past few years if
I’d really wanted him to quit flirting with me. I should have smiled and smirked and batted
my eyelashes at him. Obviously, a woman snarling at him was something he enjoyed. He
was too busy looking at my mom’s scowl to see mine. “That’s right, ma’am.” Adam quit
leaning against the door and took a couple of steps into the room. “Good to meet you at
last, Margi. Mercy speaks of you often.” I didn’t know what my mother would have said
to that, doubtless something polite. But with a popping sound like eggs cracking on a
cement floor, something appeared between Mom and Adam, a foot or so above the carpet.
It was a human-sized something, black and crunchy. It dropped to the floor, reeking of
char, old blood, and rotten corpses. I stared at it for too long, my eyes failing to find a
pattern that agreed with what my nose told me. Even knowing that only a few things could
just appear in my living room without using the door couldn’t make me acknowledge what
it was. It was the green shirt, torn and stained, with the hindquarters of a familiar Great
Dane still visible, that forced me to admit that this black and shrunken thing was Stefan. I
dropped to my knees beside him and reached out before snatching my hand back, afraid to
damage him more. He was obviously dead, but since he was a vampire, that wasn’t as
hopeless a thing as it might have been. “Stefan?” I said. I wasn’t the only one who jumped
when he grabbed my wrist. The skin on his hand was dry and crackled disconcertingly
against my skin. Stefan has been my friend since the first day I moved here to the Tri-
Cities. He is charming, funny, and generous—if given to miscalculations on how forgiving
I might be about innocent people he killed trying to protect me. It was still all I could do
not to jerk away and rub off the feel of his brittle skin on my arm. Ick. Ick. Ick. And I had
the horrible feeling that it was hurting him to hold on to me, that at any moment his skin
would crack and fall off. His eyes opened to slits, his irises crimson instead of brown. His
mouth opened and shut twice without making any sound. Then his hand tightened on mine
until I couldn’t have pulled free if I had wanted to. He sucked in a breath of air so he
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could talk, but he couldn’t do it quite right, and I heard air hissing out of the side of his
ribs, where it had no business escaping from. “She knows.” His voice didn’t sound like his
at all. It was rough and dry. As he pulled my hand slowly toward his face, with the last of
the air from that breath, he said intently, “Run.” And with those words, the person who
was my friend disappeared under the fierce hunger in his face. Looking into his mad eyes,
I thought his advice was worth taking—too bad I wasn’t going to be able to break free to
follow it. He was slow, but he had me, and I wasn’t a werewolf or vampire with
supernatural strength to help myself out. I heard the distinctive clack of a bullet
chambering, and a quick glance showed me my mother with a wicked-looking Glock out
and pointed at Stefan. It was pink and black—trust my mom to have a Barbie gun, cute
but deadly. “It’s all right,” I told her hastily—my mother wouldn’t hesitate to fire if she
thought he was going to hurt me. Normally I wouldn’t worry about someone shooting at
Stefan, vampires not being that vulnerable to guns, but he was in bad shape. “He’s on our
side.” Hard to sound convincing when he was pulling me toward him, but I did my best.
Adam grabbed Stefan’s wrist and held it, so instead of Stefan pulling me toward him, the
vampire was slowly raising his own head off the floor. As he came closer to my arm,
Stefan opened his mouth and scraps of burnt skin fell on my tan carpet. His fangs were
white and lethal-looking, and also a lot bigger than I remembered them being. My
breathing picked up, but I didn’t jerk back and whine, “Get it off! Get it off!”—full points
to me. Instead, I leaned over Stefan and put my head into Adam’s shoulder. It put my
neck at risk, but the smell of werewolf and Adam helped mask the stench of what had
been done to Stefan. If Stefan needed blood to survive, I’d donate to him. “It’s all right,
Adam,” I said. “Let him go.” “Don’t put down the gun,” Adam told my mother. “Mercy,
if this doesn’t work, you call my house and tell Darryl to collect whoever is there and
bring them here.” And, in an act of bravery that was completely in character, Adam put his
wrist in front of Stefan’s face. The vampire didn’t appear to notice, still pulling himself up
by his grip on my arm. He wasn’t breathing, so he couldn’t scent Adam, and I didn’t think
he was focusing any too well either. I should have tried to stop Adam—I’d fed Stefan
before without any ill effects that I knew of, and I was pretty sure that Stefan cared
whether I lived or died. I wasn’t so sure how he felt about Adam. But I was remembering
Stefan telling me that there “shouldn’t” be any problems because it had only been the
once, and I’d met a few of Stefan’s band of sheep—the people who served as his
breakfast, dinner, and lunch. They were all completely devoted to him. Don’t get me
wrong, he’s a great guy for a vampire—but I somehow doubted that those people, mostly
women, could live together devoted to one man without some sort of vampire mesmerism
at work. And I’d sort of had my fill of magical compulsion for the year. Any protest I
made to Adam would be an exercise in futility anyway. He was feeling especially
protective of me at that moment—and all I would do was stir up tempers, his, mine, and
my mother’s. Adam pressed his wrist against Stefan’s mouth, and the vampire paused his
incremental closing of the distance between my arm and his fangs. He seemed confused for
a moment—then he drew air in through his nose. Stefan’s teeth sank into Adam’s wrist,
his free hand shot up to grab Adam’s arm, and his eyes closed—all so fast it looked like
the motion of a cheaply drawn cartoon. Adam sucked in his breath, but I couldn’t tell if it
was because it hurt him or because it felt good. When Stefan had fed from me, I’d been in
pretty rough shape. I didn’t remember much about it. It was strangely intimate, Stefan
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holding me as he drank from Adam’s wrist, and Adam leaning harder into me as Stefan
fed. Intimate with an audience. I turned my head to see that my mother still held her gun in
a steady two-handed grip, pointed at Stefan’s head. Her face as calm as if she saw burnt
bodies appear out of nowhere, then rise from the dead to sink fangs into whoever was
closest to them all the time, though I knew that wasn’t true. I wasn’t sure she’d ever even
seen one of the werewolves in wolf form. “Mom,” I said, “the vampire is Stefan, he’s a
friend of mine.” “I should put the gun away? Are you sure? He doesn’t look like a friend.”
I looked at Stefan, who was looking better, though I still wouldn’t have recognized him
without my nose. “Truthfully, I’m not sure how much good it would do anyway. Bullets,
if they are silver, may work on werewolves, but I don’t think any bullets do much to
vampires.” She tucked the Glock, hot, into the holster inside the waistline of the back of
her jeans. “So what do you do to vampires?” Someone knocked on the door. I hadn’t
heard anyone drive up, but I’d been a little distracted. “Don’t let them in your home in the
first place,” suggested Adam. Mom, who’d been on the way to the door, stopped. “Is this
likely to be a vampire?” “Better let me get it,” I said. I wiggled my arm, and Stefan
released me and took a better grip on Adam. “Are you all right, Adam?” “He’s too weak
to feed fast,” Adam commented. “I’m good for a while yet. If you’ll get my phone out for
me and hit the speed dial, I’ll call for some more wolves, though. I doubt one feeding will
be enough.” With Mom watching, I behaved myself while I dug his phone out of the
holder on his belt. Instead of taking the time to sort through his contacts, I just punched in
his house number and handed him the ringing phone. Whoever was outside was growing
impatient. I straightened my shirt and took a quick look at myself to make sure there
wasn’t anything that said, “Hey, I have a vampire in my house.” I was going to have a
bruise on my forearm, but it wasn’t too noticeable yet. I slipped past Mom and opened the
door about six inches. The woman standing on the porch didn’t look familiar. She was
about my height and age. Her dark hair had been highlighted with a lighter shade (or her
light brown hair had been striped with a darker color). She wore so much foundation that
I could smell it over the perfume that a purely human nose might find light and attractive.
Her grooming was immaculate, like a purebred dog ready to be shown—or a very
expensive call girl. Not a person you’d expect to find on the porch of an old mobile home
out in the boonies of Eastern Washington at night. “Mercy?” If she hadn’t spoken, I’d
never have recognized her because my nose was full of perfume and she didn’t look
anything like the girl I’d gone to college with. “Amber?” Amber had been my college
roommate Charla’s best friend. She’d been studying to be a veterinarian, but I’d heard
she’d dropped out her first year in vet school. I hadn’t heard from her since I’d graduated.
When I’d last seen Amber she’d been wearing a Mohawk and had had a ring in her nose
(which had been bigger) and a small tattooed hummingbird at the corner of her eye. She
and Charla had been best friends in high school. Though it had been Charla who had
decided they shouldn’t room together, Amber had always blamed me for it. We had been
acquaintances rather than friends. Amber laughed, doubtless at the bewildered look on my
face. There was something brittle in the sound, not that I was in any position to be picky.
My manner was stiffer than usual, too. I had a vampire feeding from a werewolf behind
me; I wondered what she was hiding. “It’s been a long time,” she said, after a short,
awkward silence. I joined her out on the porch and shut the door behind me, trying not to
look like I was keeping her out. “What brings you here?” She folded her arms over her
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chest and turned to gaze at my scraggly-looking field where a rusty VW Rabbit rested on
three tires. From where we stood, the graffiti, the missing door, and the cracked
windshield weren’t visible, but it looked junky anyway. The old wreck was a joke between
Adam and me, and I wasn’t going to apologize for it. “I read about you in the paper,” she
said. “You live in the Tri-Cities?” She shook her head. “Spokane. It made CNN, too,
didn’t you know? The fae, werewolves, death ... how could they resist?” For a moment
there was a flash of humor in her voice, though her face stayed disconcertingly blank.
Lovely. The whole world knew I’d been raped. Yeah, that might have struck me as funny,
too—if I’d been Lucrezia Borgia. There were a lot of reasons I’d never bothered to keep
in contact with Amber. She hadn’t driven over from Spokane to hunt me down after ten
years and tell me she’d read about the attack, either. “So you read about me and decided it
might be fun to tell me that the story about how I killed my rapist was all over the
country? You drove a hundred and fifty miles for that?” “Obviously not.” She turned back
to face me, and the awkward stranger had been replaced by the polished pro who was
even more a stranger to me. “Look. Do you remember when we took a day trip to
Portland to see that play? We went to the bar afterward, and you told us about the ghost
in the ladies’ room.” “I was drunk,” I told her—which was true enough. “I think I told
you I was raised by werewolves, too.” “Yes,” she said with sudden intentness. “I thought
you were just telling stories, but now we all know that werewolves are real, just like the
fae. And you’re dating one.” That would have come out in the newspaper story, I thought.
Double yippee. There was a time when I tried to stay out of the spotlight because it was
safer. It was still safer, but I hadn’t been doing so good at stealthy living the past year.
Unaffected by my inner dialogue, Amber kept talking. “So I thought if you were dating
one now, you had probably been telling the truth then. And if you told the truth about the
werewolves, then you were probably telling the truth about seeing ghosts, too.” Anyone
else would have forgotten about that, but Amber had a mind like a steel trap. She
remembered everything. It was after that trip that I quit drinking alcohol. People who
know other people’s secrets can’t afford to do things that impair their ability to control
their mouths. “My house is haunted,” she said. I saw something move out of the corner of
my eye. I took a step toward Amber and turned a little. I still couldn’t see anything out
there, but with Amber a little downwind so her perfume didn’t ruin my nose, I could smell
it: vampire. “And you want me to do something about it?” I asked. “You need to call a
priest.” Amber was Catholic. “No one believes me,” she said starkly. “My husband thinks
I’m crazy.” The porch light caught her eyes, just for a minute, and I could see that her
pupils were dilated. I wondered if it was just the darkness of the night or if she was on
something. She was making me uneasy, but I was pretty sure it was just the weirdness of
seeing Amber, queen of the unconventional, dressed up like a rich man’s mistress. There
was something soft and helpless about her now that made me think prey, while the Amber
I’d known would have taken a baseball bat to anyone who annoyed her. She wouldn’t
have been afraid of a ghost. Of course, my unease could have been caused by the vampire
lurking in the shadows or by the one in my home. “Look,” I said. Stefan and what had
been done to him were more important to me than what had happened to Amber, or
anything she might want from me. “I can’t get away right now—I have company. Why
don’t you give me your phone number, and I’ll call you as soon as things calm down.” She
fumbled her purse open and handed me a card. It was printed on expensive high-cotton
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paper, but all that was on it was her first name and a phone number. “Thank you.” She
sounded relieved, the tension flowing from her shoulders. She gave me a small smile. “I’m
sorry that you were attacked—but I’m not surprised you got your own back. You were
always rather good at that.” Without waiting for me to answer, she walked down the steps
and got into her car, a newer Miata convertible with the soft top up. She backed out of the
driveway without looking at me again and sped off into the night. I wished she hadn’t been
wearing perfume. She’d been upset about something—she’d always been a terrible liar.
But the timing was just a little too convenient: Stefan arrives, tells me to run, and Amber
arrives with a place for me to run to. I knew what Stefan had been telling me to run from,
and it wasn’t him. “She knows,” he’d said. “She” was Marsilia, the Mistress of the Tri-
Cities’ vampires. She’d sent me out hunting a vampire who’d been on a killing spree that
risked her seethe. She’d figured I was her best chance to find him because I can sense
ghosts that other people don’t see, and vampire lairs tend to attract ghosts. She hadn’t
thought I would really be able to kill him. When I did, it made her very unhappy. The
vamp I’d killed had been special, more powerful than the others because he’d been
demon-ridden. That the demon had made him crazy and he’d been killing humans left and
right hadn’t bothered her except that it might have exposed the vampires to the human
world. He’d gone out of control when he’d grown more powerful than his maker, but
Marsilia believed that she could have fixed that, taken control of him. She used me to find
him—she’d been sure he’d kill me. And she’d have been right if I hadn’t had friends. Since
she’d sent me after him, she couldn’t seek retribution without risking losing control of her
seethe. Vampires take things like that very seriously. I’d have been safe if it hadn’t been
for the second vampire. Andre had been Marsilia’s left hand where Stefan was her right.
He’d also been responsible for creating the demon-possessing vampire who’d killed more
people than I could count on both hands. And Andre and Marsilia had intended to make
more. One had been more than enough for me. So I’d killed Andre, knowing that it meant
my death. But Stefan had hidden my crime. Hidden it with the deaths of two innocent
people whose only crimes had been that they were Andre’s victims. He’d saved me, but
the cost had been too high. Their deaths had bought me two months. Marsilia knew. She’d
have never hurt Stefan so badly for anything else. She’d tortured and starved him and let
him free to come to me. I looked down at the red marks Stefan had put on my arm—if
he’d killed me, no blame would have fallen on her. There was a noise, and I looked up.
Darryl and Peter were walking past the battered hulk of the Rabbit. Darryl was tall,
athletic, and Adam’s second. He got his dark skin from his African father and his eyes
from his Chinese mother. His perfect features came from the happy combination of very
different genes, but the grace of his stride came from the accident that had turned him into
a werewolf. He liked nice clothes, and the crisp cotton shirt he wore probably cost more
than I made in a week. I didn’t know how old he was, but I was pretty sure he wasn’t
much older than he looked. There’s something about the older wolves, an air they carry of
being not quite of this age of cars, cell phones, and TVs, that Darryl didn’t have. Peter
was old enough to have been in the cavalry, but here and now he worked as a plumber. He
was good at his job, and he had a half dozen people (human) on his payroll. But he walked
to the right and behind Darryl because Darryl was very dominant and Peter was one of the
few submissives in Adam’s pack. Darryl stopped at the foot of the porch. He didn’t like
me much most of the time. I’d finally decided it was snobbery—he was a wolf and I a
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coyote. He was a Ph.D. working in a high-priced think tank, and I was a mechanic with
dirt under my fingernails. And worst of all, if I was Adam’s mate, he had to follow my
orders. Sometimes the chauvinism that permeates the rules by which the werewolves
operate works backward. No matter how submissive the mate of the Alpha is, her
commands are second only to his. When he didn’t say anything, I just opened the door and
led Adam’s two wolves into my home.
2 STEFAN WASN’T AMENABLE TO CHANGING DONORS, SO Peter and Darryl
knelt, one on either side, and began to pry his grip loose. When I approached to help,
Adam snarled at me. If he hadn’t snarled, I’d probably have let the wolves take care of it.
After all, they all have awesome werewolf superstrength. But if Adam and I were going to
have a relationship, something that was giving me butterflies already, it was going to be on
an equal footing. I couldn’t afford to back down when Adam growled. Besides, I despised
the cowardly part of me that flinched at his anger. Even if I was pretty sure it was the
smart part. Peter and Darryl were working on Stefan’s hands, so I went to his head. I
slipped my fingers into one side of his mouth, hoping that vampires had the same reaction
to pressure points as the rest of us. But I didn’t need to use any nerve pinches, because as
soon as my fingers touched his mouth, he shuddered and released Adam, his arms going
limp at the same time as he pulled his fangs out. “Won’t,” Stefan said as I pulled my
fingers out of his mouth. “Won’t.” It came out a whisper and faded eerily as he ran out of
air. His head moved until he rested against my shoulder, his eyes closed. His face almost
looked like his now, filled out and healing. The broken places on his skin, hands, and lips
looked like wounds now. It said something about how bad he’d been that oozing wounds
were an improvement. If his body hadn’t shook against me as if he were having an
epileptic fit, I’d have been happier. “Do you know what’s wrong with him?” I asked Adam
helplessly. “I do,” Peter said. He casually pulled a huge pocketknife out of its belt sheath
and made a small cut in his wrist. He moved me out from under Stefan and moved him
around until Stefan was lying down with his head on Peter’s lap, held steady by the
werewolf’s unwounded hand. Peter held his bloody wrist in front of the vampire, who
clamped his lips together and turned his head away. Adam, who had wrapped his hand
around his own wrist to staunch the bleeding, leaned forward. “Stefan. It’s all right. It’s
not Mercy. It’s not Mercy.” Red eyes slitted open, and the vampire made a sound I’d
never heard before ... and wished I could still say that. It raised every hair on the back of
my neck, high-pitched and thin like a dog whistle but harsher somehow. He struck and
Peter jerked, gritting his teeth and hissing. I didn’t notice when my mother left us, but she
must have at some point because she had Samuel’s big first-aid kit from the main
bathroom open on the couch. She knelt by Adam, but he surged to his feet. Alpha
werewolves don’t admit to any pain in public, and seldom in private. His wrist might look
like it had been savaged, but he’d never let my mother do anything about it. I stood up,
too. “Here,” I said, before he could say something to offend her or vice versa. “Let me
see.” I tugged and pulled until I could see the wounds. “He’ll be all right,” I told Mom
with satisfaction. “It’s scabbed over already. A half hour from now it’ll just be a few red
marks.” That was good. My mother raised her eyebrow, and murmured, “And to think I
was always worried that you didn’t have any friends. I suppose I should have been
counting my blessings.” I gave her a sharp look, and she smiled past the worry in her eyes.
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“Vampires, Mercy? I thought they were made-up.” She had always been good at making
me feel guilty, which was more than Bran had ever managed. “I couldn’t tell you,” I said.
“They don’t like it when humans know about them. It would have put you in danger.” She
narrowed her eyes at me. “Besides, Mom, I’ve never actually seen any in Portland.” And
had been very careful not to look when I smelled them. Vampires like Portland—lots of
rainy days. “Can all of them just pop in wherever they want to?” I shook my head, then
reconsidered. “I only know of two, and Stefan’s one of them.” Adam was watching Stefan
feed; he looked worried. I hadn’t realized he and Stefan were more than casual
acquaintances. “Is he going to be all right?” Mom asked. Adam was pale but healing just
fine. Other wolves would have taken longer, but Adam was an Alpha, and his pack gave
him more power than other wolves had. But if Stefan gnawed on Peter the way he’d
chewed up Adam, it would take Peter a while longer to heal. She looked at me, and her
dimples peeped out. “I was speaking of the vampire. You do have it bad, don’t you?” I’d
been trying not to dwell on Stefan’s condition and why it was so bad—and how it was my
fault. “I don’t know, Mom,” I leaned against her, just a little, before straightening to stand
on my own. “I don’t know that much about vampires. They’re hard to kill, but I’ve never
seen one as bad as this who survived.” Daniel, Stefan’s ... what? Friend hadn’t quite
covered it. Maybe just Stefan’s. Daniel had quit feeding because he believed he had run
crazy and killed a whole bunch of people. He’d looked bad, but not as bad as Stefan.
“You care about him, too.” She didn’t sound surprised, but she would have been if she
knew as much as I did about vampires. I knew Stefan kept a bunch of people virtual
prisoners to feed from—though none of them had seemed to mind. I’d had my rosecolored
glasses ripped off when he’d killed two helpless people, people I’d rescued, in
order to protect me. It might have been the enigmatic vampire Wulfe who’d twisted their
necks, but Stefan had been the director of that macabre little conspiracy. But it hurt to see
him like this. “Yes,” I told Mom. “You can let him go now,” Adam told Darryl. “He’s
feeding.” Darryl dropped Stefan’s arm and stepped back as if fearing contamination. There
wasn’t a lot of room left in my living room, but he bumped his back up to the counter that
separated the larger room from the kitchen and curled his lip. Adam gave him a
considering look before turning his attention to the other wolf. “Are you all right, Peter?”
Adam asked. I looked at the werewolf and saw that there was sweat gathering on his
forehead and he’d closed his eyes and turned them away from the vampire, who was
sprawled across his lap and fastened to his arm. Judging from the difference between his
reaction and Adam’s, it might have been better to find a more dominant wolf to feed to
Stefan. Peter didn’t answer, and Adam walked behind him so he could put a hand on the
skin of his neck. Almost immediately I could see the impact of that touch as Peter relaxed
against his Alpha with a sigh of relief. “I’m sorry,” Adam said. “If there’d been someone
else ... Ben should be here soon.” There had been Darryl, who was staring at his shoes.
Adam’s remark hadn’t been pointed, but Darryl looked like he’d been slapped. Peter
shook his head. “No problem. It was bad for a minute, though. I thought it was supposed
to be a myth that vampires could trap your mind.” That was one of the problems with the
vamps. Like the fae, there was so much misinformation out there it was hard to sift truth
from fact. “He’s not himself,” I found myself saying. “He wouldn’t do it on purpose.” I
wasn’t entirely sure that was truthful, but it sounded good. He’d taken me over once. It
had all worked out just fine, but I’d rather it never happened again. My mother looked at
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me. “Do you have orange juice or something else with sugar in it for the blood donors?” I
should have thought of that. I hopped over Stefan’s legs so I could go to the kitchen and
look. Once my roommate had declared me completely unadventurous in my food choices,
he’d taken over shopping. I had no idea what he’d managed to stuff into the fridge. I
found a half-full bottle of low-pulp orange juice and poured two glasses. I handed the first
to Adam and held the second in front of Peter. “Do you need help?” Peter gave me a half
smile, shook his head, and took the glass, downing it in quick time and handing me back
the glass. “More?” “Not now,” he said. “Maybe when it’s over.”
MOM AND I SAT ON THE COUCH, ADAM TOOK A CHAIR, and Darryl stayed
where he was, pointedly not looking at the vampire. There was a sharp knock on the door,
and Darryl said, “Ben.” He made no move to answer it, but it popped open anyway and
Ben stuck his head in. His blond hair looked almost white illuminated by the porch light.
He glanced at Stefan and said in his nifty British accent, “Bloody hell. He’s in bad shape.”
But his attention was all for my mother. “She’s married,” I warned him. “And if you call
her a rude name, she’ll shoot you with her pretty pink gun and I’ll spit on your grave.” He
considered me a moment and started to open his mouth. Adam said, “Ben. Meet Mercy’s
mother, Margi.” Ben paled, closed his mouth, and opened it again. But nothing came out.
I didn’t think Ben was used to meeting mothers. “I know.” I sighed. “She looks like my
younger, better-looking sister. Mom, this is Ben. Ben is a werewolf from England, and he
has a foul mouth when Adam’s not around to ride herd on him. He’s saved my life a
couple of times. Against the wall is Darryl, werewolf, genius, Ph.D., and Adam’s second.
Peter, also a werewolf, is the nice man feeding Stefan.” And after that, the awkwardness
set in. Darryl wasn’t talking. Ben, after one more bemused look at Mom, kept his head
down and his mouth shut. Peter was obviously distracted by the feeding vampire. Adam
was staring at Stefan with a worried frown. He knew what Stefan’s first words had meant,
too. But he couldn’t talk to me about it in front of my mom until I did. And I wasn’t going
to let her know that Marsilia and her vampires were after me. Not unless I had to. Mom
wanted to ask me about ... about the incident last week. About Tim and how he died. But
she wouldn’t ask me about anything until everyone else was gone. Me? I’d just as soon
not talk about any of it. I wondered how long I could keep everyone together,
awkwardness being better than the stomach-churning panic that conversation with Adam
or my mother was going to cause. “I’m done in,” Peter said. Stefan wasn’t any happier
about changing donors this time. But having an additional wolf did the trick and, with only
minor damage done to my end table, he was soon feeding off Ben. But only a few minutes
later, Stefan went limp, his mouth falling away. “Is he dead?” Peter asked and took a sip
of his second glass of orange juice. “Him?” asked Ben, extracting his wrist. “He’s been
dead for years.” Peter grunted. “You know what I mean.” Truthfully, it was difficult to
tell. He wasn’t breathing, but vampires didn’t, not unless they needed to talk or pass for
human. His heart wasn’t beating, but again, that didn’t mean much. “We’ll take him to my
house,” Adam said. “The...” He glanced at Mom. “My basement has a room without
windows, where he’ll be safer.” He meant the cage where they locked up werewolves
when they had control issues. He frowned. “Not that that will stop whoever dumped him
in the middle of your living room, Mercy.” He knew “whoever” all right. Marsilia, I
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thought, though maybe it had been Stefan himself. Or maybe some other vampire. The one
who’d explained that Marsilia and Stefan were the only ones who could teleport like that
was Andre, the one I’d had to kill. Hard to trust his information too far. “I’ll be careful,” I
told Adam. “But you have to be careful, too. There was a vampire watching the back of
the house when I was out talking to Amber.” “Who’s Amber?” Adam’s question was just
a hair faster than my mother’s “Amber? Charla’s friend Amber from college?” I nodded at
Mom. “She read about ... I’ve apparently made national news. She decided that she should
look me up to check into her haunted house.” “That sounds like Amber,” Mom said. Char
and Amber had spent a number of weekends at my parents’ house in Portland while I was
in college. “She always was self-centered, and I don’t suppose that would change. Though
why would she think that you could help her with a haunted house?” I had never told
Mom about seeing ghosts. I hadn’t really thought it was anything unusual until recently. I
mean, people see ghosts all the time, right? They just don’t talk about it much. Having a
daughter who turned into a coyote was bad enough, so anything else I could keep quiet
about, I had. This didn’t seem like the time to tell her about it either. I hadn’t told her
about last week. I hadn’t told her about vampires. I had no intention of informing her of
any other secrets I’d been keeping. So I shrugged. “Maybe because I associate with
werewolves and the fae.” “What did she expect you to do about it?” Adam asked. He’d
have listened in on the whole conversation with Amber; werewolves have very good
hearing. “Beats me,” I told him. “Do I look like an expert at laying ghosts?” Seeing them
was a long way from sending them away. I wasn’t even sure it was possible. I thought
about what Amber had said. “Maybe she just wanted me to go tell her that her house
really is haunted. Maybe she just needs someone to believe her.” Adam knelt on the floor
and picked up Stefan. “I’ll take him home now.” Though Stefan was obviously taller than
he was, Adam’s supernatural strength wasn’t apparent—he just looked like someone who
could carry a great deal of weight without effort. It should have been Darryl who picked
up Stefan, not Adam. The Alpha just didn’t do the heavy lifting when there were capable
minions about. Ben and Peter had both fed the vampire, but Darryl didn’t have that
excuse. He must have a real thing about vampires. Adam didn’t seem to notice anything
wrong with Darryl. “I’ll send someone back to watch your house, tonight.” He looked at
my mom. “Do you need a place to stay? Mercy’s”—he glanced around—“a little short on
space.” “I’m staying at the Red Lion in Pasco,” Mom said to Adam. To me she said, “We
left in a hurry and I couldn’t find anyone to watch Hotep. He’s in the car.” Hotep was her
Doberman pinscher, who liked me even less than I liked him. Adam nodded solemnly
though I didn’t remember telling him that my mom’s dog hated me. “Adam,” I said.
“Thank you. For saving Stefan.” “No thanks necessary. We didn’t save him for you.” Ben
gave me an expression that might have been a smile if his face hadn’t been so tight. “You
weren’t there in the basement with that thing.” Andre’s demon-possessed vampire, he
meant, the first vampire I’d killed. He had captured several of the wolves and Stefan and
... played with them. Demons like causing pain. “If it hadn’t been for Stefan ...” Ben
shrugged, as if letting a memory die away unspoken. “We owe him.” Adam glanced at
Darryl, who opened the door. I thought of something. “Wait.” Adam stopped. “If I talk to
Mom ... does that count?” He’d told me I had to talk to someone, and my mother
wouldn’t go away until I told her everything. It seemed like I should be able to kill two
birds with one stone. He handed Stefan to Ben and walked to me. He touched my jaw, just
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below my ear, and, as if our fascinated audience wasn’t watching, he kissed me, touching
me with nothing more than his fingertips and his mouth. At first the heat flushed through
me ... followed by a horrible choking fear. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move ... When I
came back to myself, I was sitting on the couch with my head between my knees, Adam
crooning to me. But he wasn’t touching me, and neither was anyone else. I sat up and
came face-to-face with Adam. His face was still, but I could see the wolf in his eyes and
smell the wild on his skin. “Panic attack,” I said needlessly. “I haven’t been having them as
often.” I lied and saw from the expression on his face that he knew it. This one made four
today. Yesterday, I’d done better. “Talking to your mother counts,” he said. “We’ll take
things slowly ... see how it goes. You talk to your mother or anyone else you’d like. But
it’ll all keep until kissing me doesn’t cause a panic attack, all right?” He didn’t wait for an
answer, just strode out of the house followed by his entourage. Darryl waited until both
Ben and Peter were out the door before closing it gently behind them all. “Mercy,” said
my mother thoughtfully, “you never told me your werewolf neighbor was quite that hot.”
“Mmm,” I said. I appreciated her effort, but now that the time was at hand, I just wanted
to get it over with. “And you didn’t get to see him rip Tim’s corpse to pieces.” I heard
Mom suck in a hard breath. “I wish I had. Tell me about Tim.” So I did. And she didn’t
say a word until I was finished. I hadn’t meant to tell her everything. But she didn’t say
anything, didn’t move, didn’t look at me. So I talked. Just barely, I managed to keep
Ben’s name out of it—his secrets were his to reveal—but everything else roared in jagged
bits or choked roughly out of someplace dark and vile. It took a while to get it all out.
“Tim reminded you of Samuel,” she said when I was through. I jerked my head off her lap.
“No, I’m not crazy.” She handed me a wad of tissues from the box that sat on an arm of
the couch. “That’s why you didn’t see it coming. That’s why you didn’t see what he was.
Samuel was always a bit of an outcast, and it left you with a soft spot for outcasts.”
Samuel? Cheery, sweet-tempered (for a werewolf) Samuel an outcast? “He was not.” I
grabbed a handful of tissues and wiped snot and salt water from my face. My nose runs
when I cry. She nodded. “Sure he was. He likes humans, Mercy—and most werewolves
don’t.” She shivered at some memory or other. “He listened to heavy metal and watched
Star Trek reruns.” “He was the Marrok’s second before he came here to lone wolf it for a
while. He wasn’t an outcast.” She just looked at me. “Lone wolf doesn’t mean outcast.” I
set my jaw. The door popped open, and Samuel, who’d been sitting out on the porch for a
while, came in. “Yes, it does. Hey, Margi—why’d you bring that dog with you? He’s
creepy-looking.” Hotep was black with reddish brown eyes. He looked like Anubis.
Samuel was right, he was creepy-looking. “I couldn’t find a sitter for him,” she said,
standing up to get hugged. “How have you been?” He started to say fine ... then looked at
me. “We’ve been taking our knocks, Mercy and I. But, so far, we’ve gotten back into the
ring.” “That’s all you can do,” said Mom. “I need to go. Hotep will be fit to burst by now,
and I need to get some sleep.” She looked at me. “I can stay for a few days—and Curt
wanted me to tell you that you’re welcome to come home for a while.” Curt was my
stepfather, the dentist. “Thank you, Mom,” I told her, and meant it. Horrible as it had
been, I thought spilling it all might have helped. But I had to get her out of town before
Marsilia made her next move. “That was exactly what I needed.” I took a deep breath.
“Mom, I need you to go back to Portland. I worked today. It was better, doing what I
always do. I think if I just stick to my normal routine, I’ll put it behind me.” My mother
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narrowed her eyes at me and started to say something, but Samuel had reached into his
pocket and handed her a card. “Here,” he said. “Call me. I’ll tell you how she’s doing.”
Mom raised her chin. “How is she doing?” “Fair to middling,” he told her. “Some of it’s
an act, but not all of it. She’s tough—good genes. She’ll make it fine, but I think she’s
right. She’ll make it better after folks quit running around with sympathy and pity and
staring at her. And the best way to do that is to get back to work, back to normal until
other people forget about it.” Bless Samuel. “All right,” Mom said. She gave Samuel a
stern look. “Now, I don’t know what’s going on between you and my daughter and Adam
Hauptman—” “Neither do we,” I muttered. Samuel grinned. “We have it pretty well
worked out as far as the sex goes—Adam gets it—someday—and I don’t. But the rest is
still up for negotiation.” “Samuel Cornick,” I sputtered in disbelief. “That is my mother.”
Mom grinned back at him and pulled him down so she could kiss his cheek. “That’s how I
was reading it as well. But I just wanted to check.” She sobered, and, after a glance at me,
said to Samuel, “You take care of her for me.” He nodded solemnly. “I will. And Adam
has his whole pack on it. Let me walk you to your car.” He came back in the house, and I
heard my mother’s car drive off. He looked as tired as I felt. “Adam has a couple of
wolves on stakeout at the Red Lion, just waiting for your mother to get there. She’ll be all
right.” “How was the emergency?” I asked. He lit up. “Some poor fool took his pregnant
wife across the country to visit her mother two weeks from her delivery date. I got there
just in time to play catcher.” Samuel loved babies. “Girl or boy?” “Boy. Jacob Daniel
Arlington, six pounds four ounces.” “Did you go to Adam’s and see Stefan?” I asked. He
nodded. “I stopped by his house before I came home. Much good as I did. Mostly I help
people before they die. I’m not so helpful afterward.” “So what do you think?” He
shrugged. “He’s doing whatever it is that vampires do during the day. Not sleeping, but
something close to it. I expect he’ll rest tonight and through tomorrow day. Which is what
anyone of common sense would tell you—and so Adam said. He declared me tired and
useless, then sent me back over here to keep an eye on you in case Marsilia decides to try
something else.” “‘Tired and useless,’ ” I said in mock sympathy. “And even that didn’t
get you out of a job.” He grinned. “Adam seems to think you’ve declared yourself his.
But, given his record of doing that without consulting you, I thought I’d ask you myself.”
I raised my hands in helpless surrender. “What can I say. My mother thinks he’s hot. I
have no choice but to take him. Besides, it’s a terrible thing to see a man crawling ...
begging.” He laughed. “I bet. Go to bed, Mercy. Morning comes early.” He started down
the hallway to his bedroom, then turned, walking backward. “I’m going to tell Adam that
you said he begged you.” I raised an eyebrow. “Then I’ll tell him that you accused him of
lying.” He laughed. “Good night, Mercy.” I’d taken Adam for mine, chosen with my eyes
and heart open. But Samuel’s laugh still made me smile. I loved Samuel, too. He worried
me. Sometimes he seemed just like the old Samuel, funny and lighthearted. But I was
pretty sure that a lot of the time he was just going through the motions, like an actor given
a cue—“Enter downstage left and smile happily.” He’d come here, to stay with me, to try
to get better—which was a good sign, like an alcoholic who goes to his first A.A.
meeting. But I wasn’t sure if being here was helping him or not. He was old. Older than
I’d known when I’d grown up in his father’s pack. And though werewolves don’t die of
old age the way humans do, it can kill them just as effectively. Maybe if I could have loved
Samuel differently. Maybe if Adam hadn’t been there. If I had taken Samuel as my mate as
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he’d wanted me to when he’d moved himself into my home, maybe it would have fixed
him. He frowned at me. “What’s wrong?” But you can’t marry someone to fix him, even if
you love them. And I didn’t love Samuel the way a woman should love her mate, the way
I loved Adam. Samuel didn’t love me that way either. Close, but not quite. And except in
horseshoes and hand grenades, close doesn’t count. “I love you, you know,” I told him.
His face went blank for a moment. He said, “Yes. I do know.” His pupils contracted, and
his gray eyes lightened to icy winter. Then he smiled, a sweet, warm thing. “I love you,
too.” I went to bed with the distinct feeling that, this time, close might really be just
enough to do the trick.
SAMUEL WAS RIGHT—MORNING DID COME TOO EARLY I yawned as I turned
my van onto the street where my shop was—and stopped dead in the middle of the road,
all thoughts of sleep gone. Someone had taken spray paint and had fun last night all over
my place of business. I took it all in, then drove slowly into the parking lot and parked
next to Zee’s old truck. He came out of the office and walked up to me as I got out and
shut the van’s door, a tallish, thinnish, graying man. He looked like he was in his late fifties
or early sixties, but he was a lot older than that: never judge one of the fae by their
outward appearance. “Wow,” I said. “You’ve got to admire their dedication. They must
have been here for hours.” “And no one drove by?” Zee snapped. “No one called the
polizei?” “Umm, probably not. There’s not a lot of traffic here at night.” Reading the
graffiti made me realize that there were themes and insights to be gained from the canvas
that someone had made of my garage. Green Paint, I was almost sure, was a young man
whose thought patterns paralleled Ben’s if the words he used were any indication. “Look,
he misspelled whore. I wonder if he did it on purpose? He spelled it right on the front
window. I wonder which one he did first?” “I have called your police friend Tony,” Zee
said, so angry his teeth clicked together as he spoke. “He was sleeping, but he will be here
in a half hour.” He might have been upset on my account, but mostly, I thought, it was the
state of the garage. It had been his business long before I bought it from him. Last week
I’d have been angry, too. But so much had happened since then that this ranked pretty low
on my list of worries. Red Paint had a more pressing agenda than Green Paint. Red had
painted only two words: liar and murderer, over and over. Adam had installed security
cameras so we’d know for sure, but I was betting Red Paint was Tim’s cousin Courtney.
Tim had killed his best friend before he attacked me, and there just weren’t all that many
people left who’d have gotten this worked up over his death. I could hear a car
approaching. An hour later, when traffic started to build up with people headed to work, I
wouldn’t have noticed. But it was quiet this early in the morning, so I heard my mother’s
approach. “Zee,” I said urgently. “Is there any way you could hide this”—I waved my
hands at the shop—“for a few minutes?” I didn’t know much about what he could and
couldn’t do—outside of fixing cars and playing with metal, he didn’t use magic much in
front of me. But I’d seen his real face once, so I knew his personal glamour was good. If
he could mask his face, surely he could hide a bunch of green and red paint. He frowned at
me in deep displeasure. You didn’t ask for favors from the fae—not only was it
dangerous, but they tended to take offense. Zee might love me, might owe me for freeing
him from a tight spot, but that would only take me so far. “My mother is coming,” I told
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him. “The vampires are after me, and I have to get her to leave. She won’t do it if she
knows I’m in danger.” Then, because I was desperate, I played dirty. “Not after what
happened with Tim.” His face stilled. Then he grabbed my wrist and pulled me with him so
we were both standing closer to the garage. He put his hand on the wall next to the door.
“If it works, I won’t be able to remove my hand without breaking the spell.” When Mom
turned the corner, the graffiti was gone. “You’re the best,” I told him. “Make her leave
soon,” he said with a grimace. “This is not my sort of magic.” I nodded and had started to
walk to where Mom was parking her car when I saw the door clearly. Covered by red and
green paint, it hadn’t been as noticeable. Someone with some artistic skill had painted an
X on the door. In case I didn’t get the right idea, instead of two mere lines, the shape was
formed by two bones. They were ivory with grayish shadows and just a faint blush of
pink—not painted by a couple of self-righteous and irate kids with spray paint. All it was
missing to keep it from Jolly Rogerhood was a skull. “You’d better hide that,” Zee said.
“Magic won’t.” I put my back against the door and folded my arms. “So why don’t you
think it’s running right?” I asked him as my mother walked over from her car, with Hotep
on a leash. “Because it is old,” Zee told me, taking the cue I had given him. “Because it
was not well designed in the first place. Because air-cooled engines need constant
tinkering.” “I was—Hey, Mom.” “Margaret,” Zee said coolly. “Mr. Adelbertsmiter.” My
mom didn’t like Zee. She blamed him for my decision to stay in the Tri-Cities and fix cars
instead of finding a teaching job, something much more in line with the kind of work she
thought I should be doing. Politeness done, she turned back to me. “I thought I’d stop by
before heading home.” She couldn’t get too close though, because as soon as he caught
my scent, Hotep growled and lowered his head aggressively: protecting my mom from the
bad coyote. “I’ll be fine,” I told her, curling my lip at the Doberman. I actually like dogs,
but not this one. “Give my love to Curt and the girls.” “Don’t forget to work things out so
you can come to Nan’s wedding.” Nan was my younger half sister, and she was getting
married in six weeks. Luckily, I wasn’t part of the wedding party, so all I had to do was sit
and watch. “I have it on the calendar,” I promised. “Zee’s going to take care of the shop
for me.” She glanced at him, then back at me. “Fine, then.” She started to give me a hug,
then gave Hotep a rueful look. “You need to teach him to behave like you did Ringo.”
“Ringo was a poodle, Mom. A fight between Hotep and me wouldn’t end well for either
of us. It’s all right. Not his fault.” She sighed. “All right. You take care of yourself.”
“Love you. Drive carefully,” I told her. “I always do. Love you.” Zee was sweating by the
time the car was out of sight. He took his hand off the building and the paint returned. “I
didn’t do it for you,” he grouched. “I just didn’t want her hanging around longer than
necessary.” We both stepped away from the door to look at the painting that was now
mostly covered by a big, fat-lettered red “LIAR.” The paint of the crossed bones was
thicker than the spray paint, so even though I couldn’t see most of the color, I could see
the outline of it. “The vampires dropped Stefan in my living room last night,” I told him.
“He was in pretty rough shape. Peter ... one of Adam’s wolves, thinks whoever did it was
hoping Stefan would attack me and we’d both be out of the way. Stefan wasn’t in any
shape to talk much, but what he did manage to convey was that Marsilia found out I killed
Andre.” Zee traced his fingers over the bones and shook his head. “This might be vampire
work. But, Mercy, you’ve been putting your little nose so many places it doesn’t belong; it
could almost be anyone. I’ll talk to Uncle Mike—but I expect your best bet for
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information about it is Stefan, because it doesn’t feel like fae magic. How badly is Stefan
hurt?” “If he were a werewolf, I think he’d be dead. You think this is magic?” It felt like
that to me, but I was hoping I was wrong. Zee frowned. “For an evil bloodsucker, he’s not
a bad sort.” High praise from Zee. “And yes, there is magic here, but nothing I’m familiar
with.” “Samuel thinks Stefan will be all right.” Tony turned the corner in his unmarked
car, which was discreetly police modified with extra mirrors, a few extra antennae, and a
bar of lights along the back window, hidden from the casual eye by extra-dark glass. He
slowed when he caught sight of the damage. He pulled up next to us and opened the door.
“You decorating for Christmas early, Mercy?” Tony could blend in even better than I did.
Today he looked like a Hispanic cop ... like the poster child for Hispanic cops, handsome
and clean-cut. When he was playing drug dealer, he did it better than the real thing. I’d
first met him playing a homeless man. There was nothing magic or supernatural about him,
but the man was a chameleon. I glanced at the building again. He was right. If you didn’t
pay any attention to the words, it had a sort of Christmasy look to it. The green paint
tended to be short top to bottom but long front side to side. The red paint was fat and
closed up. It looked sort of like garlands with red balls hanging down. There was even
“Ho, ho, ho,” if you skipped around a little and deleted an “e” on the last “ho.” Our green
painter had a limited vocabulary and occasionally mixed up a professional working woman
with a garden implement. “Not really Christmasy thoughts,” I told Tony. “But the colors
are right. Actually, if the white wasn’t so dingy, it would almost look festive—like that
little Mexican restaurant in Pasco—the one with the really hot salsa.” The fresh colors
made the original paint job look tired. “Your boyfriend still got surveillance video going?”
“Yes, but I don’t know how to run it.” “I do,” said Zee. “Let’s go take a look.” I glanced
at him. Vampires, remember? We don’t want the nice human cops to see the vampires. He
gave me a bland look that clearly said, If the vampires were clumsy enough to get caught
by the cameras, that was their problem. I couldn’t object out loud, but if the vampires
made themselves obvious, it would be Tony who was in danger. Well, I thought as I led
the way into the office, at least vampires looked like everyone else. As long as they didn’t
display their fangs for the camera—or throw a car around—it was unlikely they’d be
spotted for what they were. And if it was obvious ... Tony wasn’t stupid. He knew a lot
about how the fae and the werewolves worked, and I knew he suspected that there were a
lot more nasties still keeping quiet about themselves. While Zee played with the
electronics, Tony looked at me. “How are you?” He smelled of worry, with a little of the
metallic scent of protective anger. “Really tired of answering that question,” I replied
blandly. “How about you?” He flashed his pearly whites at me. “Good for you. Do you
think Bright Future did this?” If our minds kept working this much in sync, I’d pity poor
Tony. “Sort of. I think this is Tim’s cousin’s work,” I told him. “She’s a member of Bright
Future, but she didn’t do this under their banner. Everything was directed at me—not the
fae.” “You want to press charges?” I sighed. “I’ll call my insurance company. I’m afraid
they might force me to press charges in order to be reimbursed. I can’t afford to hire
someone to repaint it unless I use my insurance, and I can’t take the time off work to
repaint it myself.” I still had other things to pay for—the damage a fae who wanted to eat
me had done to Adam’s house and car, for instance. And Zee had told me he was
collecting the rest of what I owed him on the business. Fae cannot lie, and we hadn’t had
time to work that out. “How about Gabriel’s family,” Tony suggested. “There are enough
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of them, and they could work after school. It would be cheaper than hiring professionals
and ... I think they need the money.” Gabriel Sandoval was my man Friday, a high school
student who came in weekends and late afternoons to do paperwork, answer phones, and
do whatever else needed doing. I had a sudden vision of the shop being overrun with little
Sandovals hanging from ladders and ropes. I’d let them loose in the office for cleaning,
and it was almost hard to recognize the place—for a bunch of kids they were amazingly
industrious. “That’s a good idea. I’ll have Gabriel call his mom as soon as he gets here.”
“Here,” said Zee. He turned on the little security monitor and flipped a switch. The system
that Adam had installed was slick and expensive. It ran on motion sensors, so we only had
to watch it when there was something moving. Something first moved at 10:15; we
watched a half-grown rabbit bop unhurriedly across the pavement out of sight. At
midnight someone appeared at the door of the garage. It wasn’t two people with spray
paint, so I was pretty sure it was whoever painted a pair of crossed bones on my door. His
image was oddly shadowed, unrecognizable. The miscreant kept his face out of camera
range—impressive since there was a camera placed just in front of the door to catch the
face of anyone breaking in. The only thing the camera got a clear shot of was the gloves
he wore—the old-fashioned kind: white with little buttons on the wrist. There were odd
glitches in the pictures, jumps where the camera turned off because there was no
movement for it to follow. By the timers, it took him forty-five minutes to paint the bones
on my door—of which the cameras caught about ten minutes. Part of the missing time
covered how the painter got there and how he left. I didn’t think he knew the cameras
were there, and he still avoided them. Some supernatural creatures just don’t film well: by
tradition, vampires are among them. The height was right for Wulfe, who would be my
first choice in any vampire magicking. Since Wulfe was the vampire who knew for certain
that I’d killed Andre, he was also my top suspect for the informer who had told Marsilia
about my crimes. The camera caught movement again. “Stop it,” Tony said. Two figures,
still indistinct, froze on the edge of the lights of my parking lot, and the little numbers on
the lower right of the screen read 2:08 A.M. Time had jumped almost a half hour from
when the bone painter had last been there. “What was that all about?” he asked. “The
person at your door?” “I don’t know,” I told him. I almost said that his guess was as good
as mine, but it wasn’t. “Maybe someone was trying to break in, but didn’t make it.”
Impossible to tell what he’d been doing from the camera shot. “It doesn’t matter, though,
because he obviously wasn’t the one who graffitied all over.” Tony stared at me. Cops
were almost as good as werewolves at sensing lies. He turned abruptly and opened the
door to examine it. Like Zee, he traced the crossed bones with a light finger. “Who have
you been ticking off besides Bright Future? This looks almost like something the old Mob
might do—classy, but designed to frighten the hell out of whoever received it.” I sighed,
shrugged. “No one wanted me to get Zee out of the murder rap. But it’s not the kind of
thing a fae would do—too visible. And a werewolf who was ticked off that badly would
just attack. I’ve got some people who’ll look into it for me better than the police can.”
Frowning, Tony made an irritated noise. “Is this another one of your ‘It’s too dangerous
for you mere human cops?’” I rubbed my arms, but I wasn’t cold, just chilled. I was under
no illusions. Marsilia could have just killed me, but she was playing. But no matter how
playful the cat is, the mouse is just as dead in the end. And the end would be whenever she
decided. The only question was how many people—how many of my friends—she decided
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to take down with me. Maybe I was panicking prematurely. Maybe she would settle for a
punishment. Stefan was hers, there was no reason for the gut-deep feeling that he
wouldn’t be the last to suffer for my sins. I didn’t know Marsilia well enough to make that
kind of prediction. “Mercy?” “I don’t know what the crossed bones mean.” Other than
bad news. “Zee tells me it is magical but probably not fae magic.” Zee was out, anyone
who cared to would know that he was fae, which was the reason that the garage was mine
now, instead of his. There was a lot of prejudice against the fae. “He has a few contacts
who’ll take a look at it for me. I know a few other people I can ask, too.” Adam had a
witch on the pack’s payroll for cleanup. She was good, but it would cost me a lot to hire
her if Uncle Mike and Stefan didn’t know what it was. This was shaping up into a real
macaroni-and-cheese month. “However, none of them will come within a hundred miles of
a police investigation. Do you have anyone on the KPD who is an expert in magic?” Tony
held my gaze for a minute before giving up with a sigh. “Hell no, Mercy. You should have
seen the brass’s faces when they watched that video—” He stopped and gave me a guilty
look. It was a video of me killing Tim ... and all the stuff before that. He shrugged
nervously and looked away. “There are a few who know something about fae or
werewolves, but ... if they know anything more, they keep it quiet for fear of losing their
jobs.” He sighed and came back into the shop. “Go ahead,” he told Zee. “Let’s watch
Tim’s cousin paint the shop.” Once the two shadowy people moved fully onto the parking
lot, Courtney was unmistakable. Instead of watching the whole process, Zee fastforwarded
it until the pair walked off with bags of empty spray-paint cans almost two
hours later. He stopped the images when Courtney was close to the camera and impossible
to mistake, her pretty, rounded face hard and angry. Zee flipped back and forth a little
until we got a clear view of her companion’s face, too. The security system hadn’t been in
place long, but Zee loved gadgets. He must have spent some time playing with this one.
“It’s Courtney all right ... I don’t remember her last name,” I told Tony. “I don’t recognize
the man at all. If it were Bright Future, there’d have been more people.” “It’s personal,”
Tony agreed grimly. “You are going to want to give me those disks and file charges so we
can give her some time to cool off. She’s not going to stop harassing you anytime soon
unless someone heads her off at the pass. It’s safer for everyone if it’s the police and not
the werewolves or the fae.” Zee ejected the disk and handed it to Tony. Tony frowned at
it a moment. “I’m not worried about the kids, Mercy. But there’s something about those
bones and that guy that is sending my old radar into fits. If that’s not a death threat, I’ll be
a monkey’s uncle. You stick close to that werewolf boyfriend of yours for a while.” I gave
him a martyred sigh. “Why do you think Zee is still here? I suspect I’m not going to get a
moment to myself for the next year, at least.” “Yeah,” he said, a smile lighting his eyes.
“It’s tough when people care about you.” Zee made a sound that might have been a laugh.
He covered it by saying sourly, “Not that she makes it easy on them to watch over her.
You just wait. All she’s going to do for the next few weeks is complain, complain,
complain.”
3 WORD HAD GOTTEN OUT THAT I WAS BACK IN THE SHOP and my regular
customers started stopping in to express their sympathy and support. The graffiti only
made things worse. By nine I was hiding in the garage, with the big overhead doors shut,
even though that meant that the garage was hot and stuffy, and my electric bill was going
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to suffer. I left Zee to handle the customers, poor customers. Zee is not a people person.
Years ago, when I first came to work here, his nine-year-old son was in charge of the
front desk and everyone was properly grateful. I spent most of the morning trying to
figure out the troubles of a twenty-year-old Jetta. Nothing more fun than sorting through
intermittent electrical problems, as long as you have a year or two to waste. The owner
got off her job at three in the morning and twice had gone to start her car and found the
battery drained though the lights were off. There was nothing wrong with the battery. Or
the alternator. I was upside-down in the driver’s seat, with my head up the Jetta’s dash,
when a sudden thought came to me. I rolled over and looked at the shiny new CD player
in the ancient car, which had held only a cassette player when it had last visited here.
When Zee came in, I was using Power Words to describe service techs who didn’t know
how to tie their own shoes but felt free and easy meddling in one of my cars. I’d been
taking care of this Jetta for as long as I’d been working on cars, and felt a special affection
for it. Zee blinked at me a couple of times to hide his amusement. “We could give your bill
to the place that put her stereo in.” “Would they pay for it?” I asked. Zee smiled. “They
would if I took it in.” Zee took a personal interest in our customers’ cars, too. We locked
up for lunch and went to our favorite taco wagon for authentic Mexican tacos. That meant
no cheese or iceberg lettuce, but cilantro, lime, and radishes instead—a more-than-fair
trade in my view. The wagon was parked in a lot next to a Mexican bakery just across the
cable bridge over the Columbia River, putting it in Pasco, but just barely. Some wagons
are step vans, but this one was a small trailer laden with whiteboards that listed the menu
with prices. The sweet-faced woman who worked there spoke barely enough English to
take orders—which probably didn’t matter because there were very few English-only
speakers among her patrons. She said something and patted my hand when I paid—and
when I checked the bag to make sure the little plastic cups of salsa were there, I saw she’d
added a couple of extra of my favorite tacos in our bag. Which proved that everyone, even
people who couldn’t read the newspaper, knew about me. Zee drove us to the park on the
Kennewick side of the river, where there were waterfront picnic tables for us to eat at. I
sighed as we walked along the river’s edge between the parking lot and the tables. “I wish
it hadn’t made the papers. How long before everyone forgets, and I don’t get any more
pitying looks?” Zee grinned wolfishly at me. “I’ve told you before; you need to learn
Spanish. She congratulated you on killing him. And she knows a few other men who could
benefit from your efforts.” He picked a table and sat down. I sat down across from him
and set the bag between us. “She did not.” I don’t speak Spanish, but everyone who lives
in the Tri-Cities for long picks up a few words—besides she hadn’t said very much, even
in Spanish. “Maybe not the last part of it,” agreed Zee, pulling out a chicken taco and
squeezing one of the lime segments over it. “Though I saw it in her face. But she did say,
‘Bien hecho.’” I knew the first word, but he made me ask for the last, waiting until
curiosity forced the words out of my mouth. “Which means? Good—” “Good job.” His
white teeth sank into the tortilla. Stupid. It was stupid to let other people’s opinions
matter, but having someone else who didn’t view me as a victim cheered me up
immensely. After pouring green hot sauce over my goat taco, I ate with a renewed
appetite. “I think,” I told Zee, “that I’ll go to the dojo tonight after I get done with work.”
I’d already missed Saturday’s early-morning session. “It should be interesting to watch,”
Zee said, which was as close as he could come to lying. He had no desire to watch a bunch
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of people working themselves up into a noxious puddle of sweat and fatigue (his words).
He must have been elected to be my bodyguard for a little longer than just the workday.
SOMEONE HAD TALKED TO THEM ALL. I COULD SEE IT IN the casual way they
greeted me as I walked into the dojo. Muscles in Sensei Johanson’s jaw twitched when he
first saw me, but he led us through the opening exercises and stretches with his usual
sadistic thoroughness. By the time we started sparring, the muscles in my lower back,
which had been tense for the last week, were loose and moving well. After the first two
bouts, I was relaxed and settled into my usual love-hate relationship with my third
opponent, the devastatingly powerful brown belt who was the bully of the dojo. He was
careful, oh so careful that Sensei never saw him do it, but he liked to hurt people ...
women. In addition to the full-contact part of Sensei’s chosen form, Lee Holland was the
other reason I was the only woman in the advanced class. Lee wasn’t married, for which I
was glad. No woman deserved to have to live with him. I actually liked to spar with him
because I never felt guilty about leaving bruises behind. I also enjoyed the frustrated look
in his eyes as his skilled moves (his brown belt justly outranked my own purple) constantly
failed to connect as well as they should. Today there was something else in his eyes when
he looked at the stitches on my chin, a hot edge of desire that seriously creeped me out.
He was turned on that I had been raped. Either that or that I’d killed someone. I preferred
the latter but, knowing Lee, it was probably the former. “You are weak,” he told me,
whispering so no one else could hear. I’d been right about what had excited his interest. “I
killed the last person who thought that,” I said, and front kicked him hard in the chest.
Usually, I tempered my speed to something more humanly possible. But his eyes made me
quit playing human. I’m not supernaturally strong, but in the martial arts, speed counts,
too. I was moving at full tilt when I stepped around him while he was still off balance.
Tournament martial arts have two opponents facing each other, but our style encourages
us to strike from the back or the side—keeping the enemies’ weapons facing the wrong
way. I stepped hard on the back of his knee, forcing him to drop to the floor. Before he
could respond, I hopped back three feet to give him a chance to get up, this being only
sparring and not a death match. Our dojo did some grappling, but not much. Shi Sei Kai
Kan is all about putting your opponent down fast and moving on to the next guy. It was
developed for warfare, when a soldier might be facing multiple opponents. Grappling left
you vulnerable to attack from another opponent. And I had no desire to get up close and
personal with Lee. He roared with humiliation-charged rage and came for me. Block and
block, twist and dodge, I kept him from contacting me. Someone called out sharply,
“Sensei! Check out Lee’s fight.” “Enough, Lee,” Sensei called from the far side of the
dojo, where he’d been working with someone. “That’s enough.” Lee didn’t appear to hear
him. If I hadn’t been so much faster than him, I’d have been hurt already. As it was, I
made sure he couldn’t connect any of his hits. For a while, at least, until I got cocky and
overconfident. I fell for a sham move with his right hand, while he slammed me in the
diaphragm and laid me out on the floor with his left. Ignoring my lack of breath as much
as I could, I rolled and stumbled to my feet. And as I rolled, I saw that Adam was standing
in the doorway in a business suit. He had his arms folded on his chest as he waited for me
to deal with Lee. So I did. I thought it was Adam’s presence that gave me the idea. I’d
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spent some time at his dojo—in his garage—practicing a jumping, spinning roundhouse
kick. It was developed as a way to knock an opponent off his horse, a sacrificial move that
the foot soldier would not expect to survive. Mounted warriors had more value as a
weapon than foot soldiers, so the sacrifice would be worth it. In modern days, the kick is
mostly for demos, used in combat with another skilled person on the ground it is generally
too slow, too flashy, to be useful. Too slow unless you happened to be a part-time coyote
and supernaturally fast. Lee would never expect me to try it. My heel hit Lee’s jaw, and he
collapsed on the floor almost before I’d decided to use the move. I collapsed right next to
him, still fighting for breath from his hit to my diaphragm. Sensei was beside Lee, checking
him out almost before I landed. Adam put his hand on my abdomen and pulled my legs
straight to facilitate breathing. “Pretty,” he said. “Too bad you pulled it; if anyone
deserved to lose his head ...” He didn’t mean it as a joke. If he’d said it with a hair more
heat, I’d have been worried. “Is he all right?” I tried to ask—and he must have
understood. “Knocked out cold, but he’ll be fine. Not even a sore neck for his trouble.” “I
think you’re right,” Sensei said. “She pulled it, and angled her foot perfectly for a
tournament hit.” He held Lee still as the big man moaned and started to stir. Sensei looked
at me and frowned. “You were stupid, Mercy. What is the first rule of combat?” By this
time I could talk. “The best defense is fast tennis shoes,” I said. He nodded. “Right. When
you noticed he was out of control—which I’m sure was about two full minutes at least
before I did, because I was helping Gibbs with his axe kick—you should have called for
help, then gotten away from him. There was no point in letting this continue until someone
got hurt.” From the sidelines, Gibbs, the other brown belt, said, “She’s sorry, Sensei. She
just got her directions confused. She kept running the wrong way.” There was a general
laugh as tension dispersed. Sensei guided Lee though a general check to make sure
nothing was permanently damaged. “Sit out for the rest of the lesson,” he told Lee. “Then
we’ll have a little talk.” When Lee got up, he didn’t look at me or anyone else, just took
up a low-horse stance with a wall at his back. Sensei stood up, and I followed suit. He
looked at Adam. Who bowed, fist to hand and eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses he
hadn’t been wearing when I’d first glimpsed him in the doorway. Most of the werewolves
I know carry dark glasses or wear hats that can shadow their eyes. “Adam Hauptman,” he
said. “A friend of Mercy’s. Just here to observe unless you object.” Sensei was an
accountant in real life. His day job was working for an insurance firm, but here he was
king. His eyes were cool and confident as he looked at Adam. “The werewolf,” he said.
Adam was one of five or six of his pack who had chosen to come out to the public.
“Hai,” agreed Adam. “So why didn’t you help Mercy?” “It is your dojo, Sensei
Johanson.” Sensei raised an eyebrow, and Adam’s sudden smile blazed out. “Besides, I’ve
seen her fight. She’s tough, and she’s smart. If she had thought she was in trouble, she’d
have asked for help.” I glanced around as I rolled over and stood up, as good as new
except for the pretty bruises I was going to have on my belly. Zee was gone. He wouldn’t
have lingered, with Adam to take over guard duty. His nose had wrinkled at the smell of
sweaty bodies when we’d come in—he’d been lucky it was relatively cool this fall. In full
summer, the dojo smelled from a block away, at least it did to my nose. To me the scent
was strong but not unpleasant, but I knew from the comments of my fellow karate
students that most humans disliked it almost as much as Zee did. Drama over, Adam went
back to the sidelines, loosening his tie and pulling his suit jacket off as a concession to the
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heat. Sensei had us do three hundred side kicks (Lee was called from his position of
disgrace to participate) first to the left, then to the right. We all counted them off in
Japanese—though I suspected if a native speaker had dropped in, they might’ve had
difficulty understanding what we were saying. The first hundred were easy, muscles warm
and limber from earlier calisthenics; the second ... not so much. Somewhere about 220, I
lost myself in the burning ache until it was almost a shock when we stopped and switched
sides. Wandering through the ranks of students (there were twelve of us tonight) Sensei
adjusted people’s form as he saw necessary. You could tell those of us who were more
serious because our two hundredth kicks looked just like our first. Students less diligent
lost height and form as exhaustion took its toll. There were still some students in good
form on the three hundredth kick—but not me.
AFTER CLASS, PEOPLE WERE TOO BUSY TRYING NOT TO stare at the
werewolf—all the while getting in a good look—to pay any attention to me. I changed in
the bathroom and took my time, out of courtesy, so that they would all have time to
change in the anteroom in front of the dojo before I came out. Sensei was waiting for me
when I emerged. “Good job, Mercy,” he told me with an emphasis that told me he wasn’t
talking about Lee. It was odd that the words he had for me were the same ones, in a
different language, that the woman in the taco wagon had used, meant the same way. “If it
hadn’t been for this”—I tilted my head to indicate the dojo—“I would have died that night
instead of my attacker.” I gave him a formal bow, two fists down. “Thank you for your
teaching, Sensei.” He returned my bow, and we both ignored the suspicious watering of
eyes. Adam was waiting near the front door carefully examining his fingernails. He had
chosen to be amused by all the people staring at him, which was a good thing. He had a
temper. Sweat darkened his Egyptian-cotton shirt, so it clung to the round lines of his
shoulders and arms, announcing to anyone that he was a hard body. I took a deep breath
to cool my jets and introduced him around. Only Lee met his eyes for longer than a
moment, and at first I thought Adam was going to lose it. He gave Lee a scary smile. I
was afraid of what he—either he—was going to say, so I grabbed Adam’s arm and tugged
him out the door. If he’d wanted to, Adam could have shaken me off, but he went along
with it. I hadn’t brought my car because the dojo was just a short hike across cheatgrass
and down the railroad tracks from my shop. Adam’s SUV wasn’t there either. “Did you
drive a different car?” I asked in the parking lot. “No, I had Carlos drop me off after work
so I could walk back with you to your shop.” Carlos was one of his wolves, one of three
or four who worked for him at his security business, but not one I knew well. “I remember
you told me you liked to cool down on the walk back.” I’d told him that several years
earlier. He’d been waiting for me at my shop with a warning ... I looked down at the
asphalt and turned my head so he wouldn’t see my smile. It had been after I first hauled
the old parts car out of my pole barn and stuck it in the middle of the field so Adam
couldn’t help but see it out of his window. He’d been dispensing orders left and right and,
knowing werewolves as I had, I hadn’t dared to defy him outright. Instead, knowing how
organized and neat Adam was, I’d tortured him with the battered old Rabbit. He’d
stopped by the garage and found my car but not me. He’d never said, but I thought he
must have trailed me to the dojo—and instead of complaining about the junkmobile, he’d
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dressed me down about wandering around the Tri-Cities by myself at night. Exasperated,
I’d snarled right back at him. I’d told him I used the not-very-long walk back to my shop
as an after-workout cool off. It had been after his divorce, but not by much. Years ago.
He’d remembered all this time. “What are you so smug about?” he asked me. He’d
remembered what I’d told him, as if I’d been important to him even then ... but I could
have described the exact shade of the tie that he had worn that day, the tone that worry
had given his voice. I hadn’t wanted to admit I was attracted to him. Not when he’d been
married, and not when he’d been single. I’d been raised by werewolves, had left them, and
didn’t want to find myself back in that claustrophobic, violent environment. I especially
had no desire to date an Alpha werewolf. And yet here I was, walking with Adam, who
was as Alpha as could be. “Why didn’t you jump into the fight with Lee?” I asked,
changing the subject. He’d wanted to—that’s why the glasses had come on, so that
everyone wouldn’t see that his eyes had lightened to the wolf’s gold. He didn’t answer
right away. The man-made bank up to the railroad track, which was the shortest route to
my shop, was steep, and the small gravel made it a bit treacherous. I was sore, so I ran up
it. My quads, tired from three hundred kicks, protested the additional effort I was asking
of them, but running meant the climb was over faster. Adam ran easily up the slope behind
me, even in slick dress shoes. Something about the way he was following me made me feel
nervous, like I was a deer being stalked. So I stopped at the top and stretched out my tired
legs. I’d be damned if I would run from Adam. “You had him,” Adam said, watching me.
“He’s better than you in form, but he has never fought for his life. I wouldn’t want you
tied up and alone with him for very long, but he never had a chance in the dojo.” Then his
voice deepened with a slightly rougher tone. “If you hadn’t been stupid, you wouldn’t
have even gotten hit. Don’t do that again.” “Nossir,” I told him. I’d been trying not to
think about Adam all day—since the crossed bones on my door made it clear that Marsilia
wasn’t finished with me. I knew, even though Zee would check out other things, I knew
that it had been the vampires marking my business. And, like Tony had said, it felt like a
death threat. I was a dead woman, it was only a matter of time. All I could do was figure
out a way to keep other people from dying with me. Adam would die for his mate. He
wouldn’t let me just leave, either. Christy, his first wife, hadn’t been his mate or they’d still
be married. I had to figure out some way to undo what I had done last night. But it was
hard to believe in death with him here beside me, the rich autumn sunlight glinting in his
dark hair and lightening his eyes, making him squint and highlighting faint laugh lines. He
took my hand in a casual move I had no way of evading without making a big deal of it.
Especially when I didn’t want to evade him. He tilted his head as if trying to figure me
out—had he caught what I was thinking? His hand was broad-palmed and warm. The
calluses on it made it no softer than my own work-roughened skin. I turned away from
him, but kept his hand as I started down the track to my shop. It was awkward for about
four steps, then he made an adjustment to his gait, and suddenly the rhythm of our bodies
synced. I closed my eyes, trusting my balance and Adam to keep me headed in the right
direction. If I cried, he’d ask me why, and you can’t lie to a werewolf. I needed to distract
him. “You’re wearing a new cologne,” I told him, and my voice was husky. “I like it.” He
laughed, a warm rumbly sound that settled in my stomach like a warm piece of apple pie.
“Shampoo most likely—” Then he laughed again and tugged me off balance until I
bumped against him. He let go of my hand and took a light grip on my far shoulder, his
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arm warm across my back. “No. You’re right, I’d forgotten. Jesse sprayed something at
me as I left the house tonight.” “Jesse has excellent taste,” I told him. “You smell good
enough to eat.” The arm across my shoulders stiffened. I thought back over what I’d said
and felt my cheeks warm right up. Part of it was embarrassment ... but part of it wasn’t.
But it hadn’t been the Freudian slip that had caught his attention. Adam stopped. Since he
was holding me, I stopped, too. I looked at him, then followed his gaze to my shop.
Whoops. Oh well, I’d been looking for a way to distract him so he wouldn’t wonder why I
was upset. This wasn’t the ideal way to do it. “I guess Zee didn’t tell you?” “Who did it?”
There was a growl in his voice. “The vampires?” How to answer that without telling a lie,
which he would smell, or starting a war? If I had known that Marsilia knew I’d killed
Andre, I never would have told Adam I was willing to be his mate. Another wolf might
understand that a war with the vampires wasn’t going to save me, just get more people
killed. A war with the vampires here in the Tri-Cities might spread like the plague
throughout all the Marrok’s dominion. But Adam wouldn’t let it go. And Samuel would
be at his side. I would never be the great love of Samuel’s life, nor he of mine. But that
didn’t mean he didn’t love me, just as I loved him. And Samuel would bring his father, the
Marrok, into it. Don’t panic, keep it casual, I told myself. “The vamps added some
decoration to my door, but most of it was Tim’s cousin and a friend. You can watch it on
the video if you want. Gabriel’s mother and siblings are coming out Saturday to help paint
it. The police are taking care of it, Adam.” The last was because he was still stiff. “Tony
thinks it’s Christmasy. Maybe I’ll leave it for a few months.” He turned his hot gaze on
me. “She still believes in her cousin, Adam. She thinks I made it all up to get out of a
murder charge.” I let him hear the sympathy for Courtney’s plight in my voice, knowing
Adam wouldn’t approve. About wrong and right, Adam was pretty black-and-white. He’d
be irritated with my attitude, and it would distract him. Keep the focus on Courtney and
off the vampires. Adam didn’t relax, but he did start walking again.
USUALLY I SHOWER AT THE SHOP AFTER PRACTICE, BUT I didn’t want Adam
to get a good look at the crossed bones on the door. I wanted to keep him thinking about
things other than the vampires until I knew what my options were. So we jumped in my
Vanagon (my poor Rabbit was still in repairs from the damage a fae had done to it last
week). Maybe I’d move. If I traveled to another vampire’s territory, it might slow Marsilia
down, especially if it was a vampire who didn’t like her. Running away would chafe, but if
I stayed, she’d kill me—and Adam wouldn’t take it well and a lot of people would
probably die besides me. I could try to take out Marsilia. I actually gave that serious
consideration, which was a sign of just how desperate I was. Sure, I’d killed two
vampires. The first one I’d killed with a lot of help and a boatload of luck. The second one
I’d taken while he slept. I had about as much chance of taking out Marsilia as my cat
Medea did of taking on a mountain lion. Maybe less. While I thought, I chattered to Adam
all the way home. My home. Gas was expensive, and he wouldn’t mind walking the short
distance back to his. If he wanted to wait while I showered, I figured I could walk with
him. I glanced at the sky and decided I had time to take a shower without risking Adam’s
being the first one to talk to Stefan. I needed to find out what the artwork on my door
meant—and to make sure that running would work. Stefan might know, but neither
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question was something I wanted to ask in public. I’d figure out how I was going to get
him alone when the time came. “Mercy,” Adam said, breaking into my monologue about
Karmann Ghias and air-cooled versus water-cooled engines as I turned into my drive. He
sounded both amused and resigned. It was a tone I heard from him a lot. “Hmm?” “Why
did the vampires paint a pair of bones on your door?” “I don’t know,” I told him in a
deliberately relaxed voice. “I don’t even know that it was the vampires. The camera didn’t
catch who it was exactly. Zee and I just figured it was the vampires because of Stefan.
He’s going to check with Uncle Mike to be sure it wasn’t a fae, though.” “I won’t let
Marsilia hurt you,” he told me in the quiet tones he used when making a vow of honor.
The wolves do that, some of the older ones, anyhow. I wouldn’t have thought Adam was
one of them. He was a 1950s model, stuck forever looking like he was in his midtwenties.
When I say older wolves, I mean a lot older than 1950, a couple of hundred years at least.
It’s not that modern men don’t have honor, just most of them don’t think of it that way. It
gives them a flexibility that the previous generations didn’t have. Some of the old lobos
take their vows very, very seriously. What I wouldn’t have given to be stupid enough to
believe that Adam could promise that Marsilia wouldn’t kill me-and even more to believe
that he wouldn’t kill himself trying to keep his word. I wasn’t resigned to my fate or
anything like it, but if I had learned one thing being raised by werewolves, it was to keep a
clear eye on probable outcomes and how to mitigate damage. And if Marsilia wanted me
dead ... well that was just the most probable outcome. Really probable. Enough so that I
could feel another stupid panic attack hovering. My first today, if I didn’t count a little
shortness of breath once or twice. “She’s not dumb enough to attack me,” I told him,
opening my door. “Especially once she hears I’ve officially accepted you as my mate. That
puts me under your pack’s protection. She won’t be able to do much to me.” It should
have been true ... but I didn’t think it would be that easy. “Stefan’s the one in trouble.” He
got out and waited for me to round the front of the van, then he asked, “Would you go
out with me tomorrow ... to someplace nice? Dinner and a little dancing.” It hadn’t been
what I expected him to say, not when he was watching me with those cool, assessing eyes.
It took me a moment to change subjects, my impending death at Marsilia’s hands being a
little preoccupying. Adam wanted to take me on a date. He touched my face—he liked to
do that and had been doing it more and more lately. I could feel the warmth of his fingers
all the way to my toes. Suddenly, my approaching demise wasn’t so engrossing. “All right.
That would be good.” I put my hand on my stomach to settle the butterflies, unsure as to
whether it was the notion of going on another date with Adam or the knowledge that I
was going to have to break it off with him before I brought death to him and his pack.
Maybe I’d have to go on the run tonight-would it hurt him more that I’d agreed to a date?
Should I find a reason that tomorrow wouldn’t work? A sudden thought came to me. If I
hurt him enough, drove him from me in anger ... would he care when Marsilia killed me,
or would he let it go? A newly familiar breathlessness started to shiver up from my
stomach—that panic attack that had been hovering. “I need to take a shower,” I told him,
my voice very steady. “But then I’d like to talk to Stefan.” “No problem,” he said
agreeably, going up my front steps ahead of me. He opened the door and held it for me.
“I’ll wait while you shower—Samuel’s not home.” There was no reason to feel like
Adam’s prey, I told myself firmly as I walked past him into my own house. No reason to
feel Adam’s intent eyes on my back. He couldn’t read my mind to know that I was
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planning on running. But I didn’t turn back as I said, “Make yourself at home. I’ll be right
out.” And I closed my bedroom door on him and leaned against it.
I SCRUBBED MY HANDS FIRST, USING A STIFF-BRISTLED brush and Fast
Orange to get the last of the day’s grime off. It never managed to get it all, but if it
bothered Adam to run around with someone who had dirt ingrained in the skin of her
hands, he’d never said anything. When they were as good as they were going to get, I
stepped into the shower. Could I change my mind about being Adam’s mate? I’m not as
sensitive to pack magic as the werewolves are. They don’t talk much about it. Secretive
bunch, those werewolves. I’ve been finding out that there’s a lot more to it than I’d
believed. I knew it was possible for a mated pair to dissolve their union, though I’d never
met any who had. Had my agreement been just words, or had it started some process in
the pack magic? Consent, I knew, was necessary for a lot of magic to take place. I am
immune to some magic. Maybe mating would turn out to be one of those things. I also
knew pack magic worked subtly differently for the Alpha than it did for the rest of the
pack. Adam had bound himself to me by declaring me his mate before his pack—and it
had had an effect on the pack’s magic, and on Adam. I was pretty sure it didn’t work quite
that way for most wolves, that both had to agree, and that their mating was a more private
matter. I frowned. There was a ceremony. I was almost certain of it. Something happened
to make a couple into a mated pair—and then there was some sort of werewolf-only
ceremony. Maybe Adam had done it backward? Maybe mating an Alpha was no different
than mating with any other wolf. Maybe I was going to drive myself crazy. I needed real
information, and I had no idea who to ask. It couldn’t be any of Adam’s pack—it would
undermine his authority. Besides, they’d just go tell him I was asking. Samuel didn’t seem
like a good choice either, not after we’d only just agreed not to try it as a couple. Or Bran,
for the same reason. I knew he had sent Samuel to the Tri-Cities in a misguided attempt at
matchmaking. I wasn’t sure Samuel had told him it hadn’t worked. I wished, not for the
first time, that my foster father, Bryan, was still around. But he’d killed himself a good
long time ago. I turned my face in to the hot spray of my shower. Okay. So assume the
mating thing wasn’t permanent. How would I make Adam hate me? Well, I certainly
wasn’t sleeping with Samuel. Or hurting Jesse. Water hit the healing wound on my chin,
and I tipped my head down. Making him leave me had seemed logical, but Adam wasn’t
the kind of person to leave when things got rough. And even if I managed it, wouldn’t he
still care if Marsilia killed me? Maybe if I had a few months or a year to work on it, I
might manage. Could I run? With my bank balance, I might make it as far as Seattle. The
threatening panic attack faded as relief swamped me. First time being broke had ever made
me happy. I might be a dead woman, but I was going to get to keep Adam for however
long I had left.
THOUGH ADAM’S HAND WAS COURTEOUSLY UNDER MY arm as we walked
across my field to the barbed-wire fence between our properties, there was a proprietary
feeling to the charged air that always seemed to accompany him. Mine, it said. If it
weren’t for Marsilia, doubtless I’d have been grumpy about the possessiveness stuff. As it
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was, I was unhappy because I couldn’t just relax into the safety he represented ... not
without risking his getting hurt because of me. Maybe I needed to leave, money or not.
My stomach was back in knots, and if I didn’t bottle everything up, I was going to have
that stupid panic attack, and not safely behind the sound of water and the closed bathroom
door. Right here where anyone could see. Next to the poor beat-up Rabbit, with Adam’s
phone number painted on the roof. For a good time call ... He stopped. “Mercy? What are
you so angry about?” He would know. Even I could smell it: anger and fear and ... I had it
all, and I had nothing. It was too much. I closed my eyes and felt my body shake helplessly
and my throat close, refusing to let air through ... Adam caught me as I fell and pulled me
against him, in the shadow of the old car. He was so warm, and I was so cold. He put his
nose against my neck. I couldn’t see him, lack of air left me with black dots impairing my
vision. I heard the growl shake Adam’s chest, and his mouth closed on mine—and I
sucked a deep breath though my nose. I could breathe again, and the weight on my
stomach lifted, and I was left shaking, with blood ... no, snot running down my face.
Embarrassed beyond anything, I jerked free of Adam’s hold—knowing with humiliating
certainty that he let me go. I wiped my face with the bottom of my shirt. And settled in the
shelter of the Rabbit, my cheek against the cooling metal. Weak. Broken. God damn it.
God damn me. I felt the wave of it hovering, ready to descend upon me again. Despair and
helpless anger ... They were all dead. All dead, and it was my fault. But no one was dead.
Not yet. All dead. All of my children, my loves, and it was my fault. I put them at risk and
failed. They died because of my failure. I smelled Stefan. Adam’s golden eyes met mine,
the color proving the wolf ascendant. He kissed me again, pressed something against my
lips, forcing it between my teeth with a forefinger and thumb without removing his mouth
from mine. It was such a small scrap of bloody meat to burn down my throat as it had. It
meant something. “Mine,” he told me. “You aren’t Stefan’s.” The dry grass crackled
under my head, and the coarse dirt made a noise like sandpaper that echoed behind my
eyes. I licked my lips and tasted blood. Adam’s blood. The Alpha’s blood and flesh ...
pack. “From this day forward,” said Adam, his voice pulling me out of wherever I had
been. “Mine to me and mine. Pack and only lover.” There was blood on his face, too, and
on the hands he touched my face with. “Yours to you, mine to me,” I answered, though it
was a dry croaking voice that made the noise. I didn’t know why I answered, other than
the old “shave and a hair cut” involuntary response. I’d heard this ceremony so many
times, even if he’d added the “only lover” part. By the time I remembered why I shouldn’t
do it, what it meant, it was already too late. Magic burned through me, following the path
of that bit of flesh—and I cried out as it tried to make me other than I was, less or more.
Pack. I felt them all through Adam’s touch and Adam’s blood. His to protect to govern.
All of them were mine now, too—and I theirs. Panting, I licked my lips and stared at
Adam. He let me go, coming to his feet and taking two steps away from me where I lay
against the side of the old car. He’d bitten his forearm savagely. “He can’t have you,” he
told me, his gold eyes telling me the wolf was still speaking. “Not now. Not ever. I don’t
owe him that.” Belatedly, I realized what had happened. I wiped my mouth with my wrist
to give myself time to think. My wrist was pink with Adam’s blood. Stefan was awake ...
and somehow he’d invaded my mind. It had been his panic attack I’d felt. All dead... I had
a sick, sick feeling that I knew who he meant. I’d met some of the people, human people
who fed Stefan. Had learned how horribly vulnerable they were if something happened to
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the vampire who fed off them and protected them. I glanced at the setting sun. “It’s a little
early for a vampire to be up, isn’t it?” I asked. Time for everyone to calm down. Me,
included. My sense of the pack was fading, but it would never completely go away. Not
now that Adam had made me pack. It was more usual to do it in a full pack meeting, but
the pack wasn’t required. Just a bit of the Alpha’s flesh and blood and an exchange of
vows. I hadn’t thought it possible to induct someone who wasn’t a werewolf. I certainly
hadn’t thought that he could make me pack. Magic works oddly on me sometimes, and at
others I’m pretty much immune to it. But from the results I could feel, it had worked just
fine this time. Adam had turned and stood with his back to me, his shoulders hunched, his
hands fisted at his side. He didn’t answer my question, but said stiffly, “I’m sorry for that.
I panicked.” I put my forehead down on my knees. “There’s been a lot of that going
around recently.” I heard the dry grass crunch as he walked back to me. “Are you
laughing?” he sounded incredulous. I looked up at him. The last rays of the sun silhouetted
him in golden rays and obscured the expression on his face. But I could see shame in the
set of his shoulders. He’d made me pack without asking me—without asking the pack
either, though that wasn’t strictly necessary, just traditional. He was waiting for me to yell
at him as he felt he deserved. Adam was used to paying for the consequences of his
choices—and sometimes the choices were hard ones. He’d been making a lot of hard
choices for me lately. Stefan had been so far in my head that I had smelled like him. And
Adam had made me pack to save me. He was prepared to pay the price—and I was pretty
sure there would be a price extracted. But not by me. “Thank you, Adam,” I told him.
“Thank you for tearing Tim into small Tim bits. Thank you for forcing me to drink one
last cup of fairy bug-juice so I could have use of both of my arms. Thank you for being
there, for putting up with me.” By that point I wasn’t laughing anymore. “Thank you for
keeping me from being another of Stefan’s sheep—I’ll take pack over that any day. Thank
you for making the tough calls, for giving me time.” I stood up and walked to him, leaning
against him and pressing my face against his shoulder. “Thank you for loving me.” His
arms closed around me, pressing flesh painfully hard against bone. Love hurts like that
sometimes.
4 I’D HAVE LOVED TO STAY THERE FOREVER, BUT AFTER A few minutes, I felt
the cold sweat break out on my forehead and my throat started to close down. I stepped
back before I had to do something more forceful in reaction to the aversion to touch that
Tim had left me with. Only when I was no longer pressed against Adam did I notice we
were surrounded by pack. Okay, four wolves doesn’t a pack make. But I hadn’t heard
them come, and, believe me, when there are five werewolves (including Adam) about, you
feel surrounded and overmatched. Ben was there, a cheerful expression that looked just
wrong on his fine-featured face, which was more often angry or bitter than happy. Warren,
Adam’s third, looked like a cat in the cream. Aurielle, Darryl’s mate, appeared neutral, but
there was something in her stance that told me she was pretty shaken up. The fourth wolf
was Paul, whom I didn’t know very well—but I didn’t like what I did know. Paul, the
leader of the “I hate Warren because he’s gay” faction of Adam’s pack, looked like he’d
been sucker punched. I thought I’d just given him a new most-hated person in the pack.
Behind me, Adam laid his hands on my shoulders. “My children,” he said formally, “I give
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you Mercedes Athena Thompson, our newest member.” Much awkwardness ensued.
IF I HADN’T FELT HIM EARLIER, I WOULD HAVE THOUGHT Stefan was still
unconscious or dead or whatever from the sun. He lay stiffly on the bed in the cage, like a
corpse on a bier. I turned the light on so I could see him better. Feeding had healed most
of the visible damage, though there were still red marks on his cheeks. He looked fifty
pounds lighter than he’d been the last time I’d seen him—too much like a concentration
camp victim for my peace of mind. He’d been given new clothes to replace his filthy, torn,
and stained ones, the ubiquitous replacement clothing every wolf den had lying around—
sweats. The ones he wore were gray and hung off his bones. Adam was conducting what
was rapidly developing into a full pack meeting in his living room upstairs. He’d looked
relieved when I’d excused myself to see Stefan—I thought he was worried someone
would say something that might hurt my feelings. In that he underestimated the thickness
of my hide. People I cared about could hurt my feelings, but almost complete strangers? I
could care less about what they thought. Wolf packs were dictatorships, but when you’re
dealing with a bunch of Americans brought up on the Bill of Rights, you still had to step a
little carefully. New members were generally announced as prospective rather than as faits
accomplis. A little care would have been especially appropriate when he was doing
something as outrageous as bringing a nonwerewolf into the pack. I’d never heard of
anyone doing that. Nonwerewolf mates weren’t part of the pack, not really. They had
status, as the mates of wolves, but they weren’t pack. Couldn’t be made into pack with
fifty flesh-and-blood ceremonies—the magic just wouldn’t let a human in. Apparently my
coyoteness was close enough to wolf that the pack magic was willing to let me in.
Probably Adam should have discussed bringing me in with the Marrok, too. Cars were
pulling up in front of the house, more of the pack. I could feel the weight of them, their
unease and confusion. Anger. I rubbed my arms nervously. “What’s wrong?” asked Stefan
in a quiet, sane voice that would have reassured me more if he’d moved or opened his
eyes. “Besides Marsilia?” I asked him. He looked at me then, his lips curving faintly.
“That’s enough, I suppose. But Marsilia isn’t the reason this house is filling with
werewolves.” I sat on the thickly carpeted basement floor and leaned my head against the
bars of the cage. The door was shut and locked, the key that sometimes hung on the wall
across the hallway gone. Adam would have it. It didn’t matter though. I was pretty sure
Stefan could leave anytime he chose—the same way he’d appeared in my living room.
“Right.” I sighed. “Well that’s your fault, too, I expect.” He sat up and leaned forward.
“What happened?” “When you jumped inside my head,” I told him, “Adam took offense.”
I didn’t tell him exactly how everything had played out. Prudence suggested Adam
wouldn’t be pleased with me if I shared pack business with a vampire. “What he did—and
you’ll have to ask him, I think—brought the pack down on his head.” He frowned in
obvious puzzlement, then slow comprehension dawned. “I am sorry, Mercy. You weren’t
meant to ... I didn’t mean to.” He turned his head away. “I’m not used to being so alone. I
was dreaming, and there you were, the only one left with a tie of blood to me. I thought I
dreamed that, too.” “She really had them all killed?” I whispered it, remembering some of
what he’d given me while he’d been in my head. “All of your ...” Sheep wasn’t really PC,
and I didn’t want to tick him off, even if sheep is what all the vampires called the mundane
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humans they kept to feed off. “All of your people?” I knew some of them, and liked one or
two. For some reason, though, rather than the faces of the people I’d met living, it was the
young vampire Danny I remembered, his ghost rocking in the corner of Stefan’s kitchen.
Stefan hadn’t been able to protect him either. Stefan gave me a sick look. “Disciplining
me, she said. But I think it was revenge as much as anything. And I can feed off them from
a distance. She wanted me starving when I landed at your feet.” “She wanted you to kill
me.” He nodded jerkily. “That’s right. And if you hadn’t had half of Adam’s pack at your
house, I would have.” I thought of the obstinate look on his face. “I think she
underestimated you,” I told him. “Did she?” He smiled, just a little, and shook his head. I
leaned my head back against the wall. “I’m...” Still angry with you didn’t cover it. He was
a murderer of innocents, and here I was talking to him, worried about him. I didn’t know
how to complete that thought, much less the sentence, so I went on to something else. “So
Marsilia knows I killed Andre, and you and Wulfe covered it up?” He shook his head.
“She knows something—she didn’t talk much to me. It was only me she punished, so I
don’t think she knows about Wulfe. And maybe not me ...” He looked at me from under
the cover of his bangs, which had grown in the last day—I’d heard a heavy feeding could
cause that. “I got the feeling I was being punished by association. I was the seethe’s
contact with you. I was the reason she went to you for help and gave you permission to
kill Andre’s pet. I was the reason you succeeded. You are my fault.” “She’s crazy.” He
shook his head. “You don’t know her. She’s trying to do what is best for her people.” The
Tri-City seethe of vampires had mostly been in the area before the towns were established.
Marsilia had been sent here as punishment for sleeping around with someone else’s
favorite. She’d been a person of influence, so had come here with attendants—mostly, as
far as I knew, Stefan, Andre—the second vampire I’d killed—and a really creepy
character named Wulfe. Wulfe, who looked like a sixteen-year-old boy, had been a witch
or wizard as a human, and sometimes dressed like a medieval peasant. I supposed he could
be faking it, but I suspected that he was older than Marsilia, who dated from the
Renaissance, so the clothes fit. Marsilia had been sent here to die, but she hadn’t. Instead,
she’d seen to it that her people survived. As civilization began to grow, life in the seethe
became easier. The fight for survival mostly a thing of the past, Marsilia had settled into a
decades-long period of apathy—I’d call it sulking. She had only just begun to take an
interest in things going on about her, and as a result, the hierarchy of the seethe was
restless. Stefan and Andre had been loyal followers, but there were a couple of other
vamps who hadn’t been so happy to see Marsilia up and taking charge. I’d met them:
Estelle and Bernard, but I didn’t know enough about vampires to figure out how much of
a threat they were. The first time I met Marsilia, I’d kind of admired her ... at least until
she’d enthralled Samuel. That had scared me. Samuel’s the second-most-dominant wolf in
North America, and she and her vampires took him ... easily. That fear had grown with
every meeting. “Not to be argumentative, Stefan,” I said. “But she’s bug-nuts. She wanted
to create another of those ... those things that Andre made.” His face closed down. “You
don’t know what you are talking about. You have no idea what she gave up when she
came here, or what she has done for us.” “Maybe not, but I met that creature, and so did
you. Nothing good could ever come of making another one.” Demonic possession isn’t a
pretty thing. I inhaled and tried to control my temper. I didn’t succeed. “But you are right.
I don’t know what makes her tick. I don’t know you, either.” He just looked at me,
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expressionlessly. “You play human very well, driving around like Shaggy in your Mystery
Machine. But the man I thought you were could never have killed Andre’s victims like
that.” “Wulfe killed them.” He was making a point, not defending himself. It made me
angry; he should feel the need to defend himself. “You agreed to it. Two people who had
already been victimized enough, and you two snapped their necks as if they were nothing
more than chickens.” About that time he got angry, too. “I did it for you. Don’t you
understand? She would have destroyed you if she’d known. They were nothing, less than
nothing. Street people who would have died on their own anyway. And she would have
killed you!” He was on his feet when he finished. “They were nothing? How do you
know? It wasn’t like you had a conversation with them.” I stood up, too. “They would
have had to die anyway. They knew about us.” “There we disagree,” I told him. “What
about your vaunted power over human minds?” “It only works if the contact with us is
very short—a feeding, no more than that.” “They were living, breathing people who were
murdered. By you.” “How did you know that Mercy was at Andre’s?” Warren’s calm
voice broke between us like a wave of ice water as he came down the stairs. He walked
past me and used the key to open the cage door. “I’ve been wondering about that for a
while.” “What do you mean?” asked Stefan. “I mean that we knew she’d found Andre
because she told Ben, thinking he couldn’t tell anyone else because he’d not changed back
from his wolf in all the time since the demon-possessed died. Ben changed so he could tell
us, but we still couldn’t go after her because we didn’t know where Andre was. You had
no way to know what she was doing. How did you know she was off killing Andre, just in
time to cover up the crime?” Stefan made no move to come out of the cage. He folded his
arms and leaned a shoulder against the bars instead as he considered Warren’s question.
“It was Wulfe, wasn’t it?” I said. “He knew what I was doing because one of the homes I
found was his.” “Wulfe,” said Warren slowly, after Stefan didn’t answer. “Is he the kind of
man who would be outraged that Marsilia would call down a demon to infest a vampire?
Would he want it stopped at the cost of Andre’s destruction? Go to you for help doing
it?” Stefan closed his eyes. “He came to me. Told me Mercy was in trouble and needed
help. It was only later that I wondered why he’d done it.” “You’ve had these thoughts
already,” Warren said. “So what did you decide?” “Does it matter?” “It’s always a good
thing to know your enemies,” answered Warren in his lazy Texas drawl. “Who are yours?”
Stefan gave him the look of a baited bear, all frustration and ferocity. “I don’t know.” He
gritted out. Warren smiled coolly, his eyes sharp. “Oh, I think you do. You aren’t stupid;
you aren’t a child. You know how these things work.” “Wulfe used me to get to you,” I
said. “Then he told Marsilia what you’d done.” Stefan just looked at me. “With you and
Andre out of the way, there is Wulfe, Bernard, and Estelle.” I rubbed my hands together
and wondered if knowing what had happened would do Stefan any good. It wouldn’t
change things, and knowing that he’d fallen into Wulfe’s trap wasn’t going to help Stefan
now. Still, as Warren had said, it is a good thing to know your enemies. “And Bernard and
Estelle, Marsilia already doesn’t trust them, right?” Stefan nodded. “They work against
her where they can, and she knows it. They are of another’s making, given as gifts by a
vampire not easily refused. She must take care of them, as she would any such gifts—but
that doesn’t mean she has to trust them. Wulfe ... Wulfe is a mystery even to himself, I
think. You believe Wulfe engineered this as a rise to power?” He looked away and didn’t
speak for a minute, obviously thinking about what I’d said. Finally, he wrapped his hands
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around the bars of the open cage. “Wulfe already has power ... if he wanted more, it was
his for the asking. But it looks like he had a part in my downfall for whatever reason
suited him.” “If Marsilia knows that you helped when Mercy killed Andre, why isn’t
Mercy dead?” Warren asked. “She was supposed to be,” Stefan said savagely. “Why do
you think Marsilia starved me until I was no more than a ravening beast, then dropped me
into Mercy’s living room? You didn’t think I did it myself, did you?” I nodded. “So she
thought she’d get it all without cost to her or the seethe? If you’d killed me, she could
have claimed you’d escaped while she was punishing you. Too bad you showed up in my
house and killed me. But she underestimated you.” “She did not underestimate me,” said
Stefan. “She knows me.” He gave me a look that let me know that my earlier dig about
not knowing him had stung. “She just did not plan on you having the Alpha werewolf in
your home to spoil her plans.” I’d been there—and I didn’t think he would have done it.
Stefan sneered at me when he saw my face. “Don’t waste your time on romantic notions
about me. I am vampire, and I would have killed you.” “He’s cute when he’s mad,”
observed Warren dryly. Stefan turned his back on us both. “She’s all by herself, and she
doesn’t even know it,” he said in soft anguish. He wasn’t talking about me. He’d been hurt
a lot recently, and I thought he deserved a rest. So I turned to Warren, and asked, “Why
aren’t you upstairs at the meeting?” Warren shrugged, his eyes veiled. “The boss will do
better without me to rock the boat.” “Paul hates me more than he hates you,” I told him
smugly. He threw his head back and laughed—which is what I’d intended. “Wanna bet? I
kicked his ass from here to Seattle and back. He’s not happy with me.” “You’re a wolf.
I’m a coyote—there’s no comparison.” “Hey,” said Warren in mock offense. “You’re no
threat to his masculinity.” “I’m polluting the pack,” I told him. “You’re just an
aberration.” “That’s because you called him a ... Stefan?” I looked around, but the
vampire was gone. I hadn’t gotten a chance to ask him about the crossed bones on my
door. “Shee-it,” exclaimed Warren. “Shee-it.”
“DID YOU CALL BRAN?” I ASKED ADAM THE NEXT EVENING , tugging down
the short skirt of my favorite green-blue dress until it was as good a barrier between
Adam’s SUV’s leather seats and my naked skin as it was going to be. He hadn’t told me
where we were going on our date, but Jesse had called me as soon as he left and described
what he was wearing—so I knew I’d need the big guns. Though we share a back fence,
the distance by car is significantly longer, and I’d had time to skim into the correct dress
before he pulled up at my door. Adam does suits. He wears suits to work, to pack
meetings, to political meetings. Since his hours are about the same as mine, that means six
days a week. Still there was a difference between his usual work suits and the one he was
wearing tonight. The first were made to announce that this was the man in charge. This
one said, “And he’s sexy, too.” And he was. “There’s no need to call Bran,” he told me
irritably as he swung the big vehicle onto the highway. “Half the pack probably called
Bran as soon as they got home. He’ll call me when he’s ready.” He was probably right. I
hadn’t asked, but his grim face when Warren and I emerged from the basement last
night—after everyone had left except for Samuel—had told its own story. Samuel had
kissed me on the lips to irritate Adam and ruffled my hair, “There you are, Little Wolf.
Still naturally talented at causing trouble, I see.” That was unfair. It had been Stefan and
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Adam who’d caused this. I informed Samuel of that, but only after he’d escorted me back
home. Adam called me once, earlier in the afternoon, to make sure I remembered he was
taking me out. I’d promptly called Jesse with orders to let me know what her father was
wearing. I owed her five bucks, but it was worth it to see Adam smiling when I hopped
into his SUV. But my mouth had soon taken care of that. His Explorer still had a heck of a
dent on the fender from where one of the wolves had hit it—after being thrown by an
angry fae. My fault. So I’d asked him if he had an estimate yet, and he’d growled at me.
Then I’d asked about Bran. So far our date was working out just spiffy. I went back to
playing with my skirt. “Mercy,” Adam said, his voice even more growly than it had been.
“What?” If I snapped at him, it was his own fault for getting grumpy at me first. “If you
don’t stop playing with that dress, I’m going to rip it right off you, and we won’t be
heading for dinner.” I looked at him. He was watching the road, and both hands were on
the wheel ... but once I paid attention, I could see what I’d done to him. Me. With
remnants of grease under my fingernails and stitches in my chin. Maybe I hadn’t screwed
up the date as badly as all of that. I smoothed the skirt back down, successfully resisting
the urge to pull it up farther only because I wasn’t sure I could handle what might happen.
I thought Adam was joking, but ... I turned my head toward my side window and tried to
keep the grin off my face. He drove us to a restaurant that had just opened in the boomtown
that was forming in West Pasco. Just a couple of years ago it had been barren desert,
but now there were restaurants, a theater, a Lowe’s and ... a hugeyenormous (Jesse’s
word) giant-sized Wal-Mart. “I hope you like Thai.” He parked us out in the middle of
west nowhere in the parking lot. Paranoia has odd manifestations. It gave me panic attacks
and made him park where he could manage a quick getaway. Shared paranoia—could a
happily-ever-after be far off for us? I hopped out of the front seat and said in suitably
resolute tones, “I’m sure they have hamburgers.” I shut the door on his appalled face. The
locks clicked, and there he was, one arm on either side of me ... grinning. “You like Thai,”
he said. “Admit it.” I folded my arms and ignored the gibbering idiot who kept shrieking
“he’s got me trapped, trapped” in the back of my head. It helped that Adam up close is
even better than half a car away. And Adam with a grin ... well. He has a dimple, just one.
That’s all he needs. “Jesse told you, didn’t she?” I said grumpily. “Next time I see her, I’m
going to expose her for the secret-sharing kid she is. See if I don’t.” He laughed ... and
dropped his arms and backed away, proving he’d seen my erstwhile panic. I grabbed his
arm to prove I wasn’t scared and towed him around the Explorer toward the restaurant.
The food was excellent. As I pointed out to Adam, they did have hamburgers. Neither of
us ordered them, though doubtless they would have been good, too. I could have been
eating seaweed and dust, though, and I still would have enjoyed it. We talked about
cars—and how I thought his Explorer was a pile of junk and he thought I was stuck in the
seventies in my preference for cars. I pointed out that my Rabbit was a respectable eighties
model, as was my Vanagon—and the chances of his SUV being around in thirty years was
nil. Especially if his wolves kept getting thrown at it. We talked about movies and books.
He liked biographies, of all things. The only biography I’d ever liked was Carry On, Mr.
Bowditch, which I’d read in seventh grade. He didn’t read fiction. We got in an argument
about Yeats. Not about his poetry, but about his obsession with the occult. Adam thought
it was ridiculous ... I thought it was funny that a werewolf would think it so and baited
him until he caught me at it. “Mercy,” he said—and his phone rang. I drank a sip of water
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and prepared to listen in to his conversation. But, as it turned out, it was very short.
“Hauptman,” he answered shortly. “You’d better get over here, wolf,” said an unfamiliar
voice and hung up. He looked down at the number and frowned. I got up and walked
around the table so I could look over his shoulder. “It’s someone from Uncle Mike’s,” I
told him, having memorized the number. Adam threw some money on the table and we
trotted out the door. Grim-faced, he threaded the Explorer through the traffic at
something more than the speed limit. We had just gotten on the interstate when something
happened.... I felt a flash of rage and horror, and someone died. One of the pack. I put my
hand on Adam’s leg, digging in with my nails at the roiling sorrow and rage that spun
through the pack. He put his foot down and slid through the evening traffic like an eel.
Neither of us said a word during the five minutes it took us to reach Uncle Mike’s. The
parking lot was full of big SUVs and trucks, the kind most of the fae drive. Adam didn’t
bother parking, just drove right up until he was near the door and stopped. He didn’t wait
for me—but he didn’t have to. I was right behind him when he brushed by the bouncer
who guarded the door. The bouncer didn’t even protest. Uncle Mike’s smelled like beer,
hot wings, and popcorn, which would have made it smell like every other bar in the Tri-
Cities except that it also smelled like fae. I don’t know that they organize themselves that
way, but fae usually smell to me like the four elements that the old philosophers proposed:
earth, air, fire, and water, with a healthy dose of magic. None of those smells bothered me
... only the blood. Uncle Mike’s commanding voice was backing people up and tightening
the crowd until Adam and I were blocked in. That’s when Adam lost it and began tossing
people around. Not really a safe thing to do at Uncle Mike’s. Most of the fae I’ve met are
no match for a werewolf ... but there are ogres and other things that look just like
everyone else until they get ticked off. Even so, it wasn’t until Adam began to change,
ripping his charcoal suit, that I realized something more was happening than him losing his
temper. “Adam!” It was no use, my voice was lost in the noise of the crowd. I put a hand
on his back so I didn’t lose him, and I felt it. Magic. I jerked my hand back. It didn’t feel
like fae magic. I looked around for someone who was concentrating just a little too much
on Adam but couldn’t spot anyone over the crowd. I did, however, see a little canvas bag
hanging from the rafters just behind us. About the same place Adam started using physical
force to move through the crowd. The ceilings in Uncle Mike’s are about fourteen feet in
the air. I wasn’t going to reach that bag without a ladder—and I wasn’t going to be able
to find a ladder anytime soon. A slender, almost effeminate man walked under the bag as I
watched. He jerked to a halt, then threw back his head and roared. A sound so huge that it
drowned out all of the noise in the building, shaking the rafters. His glamour, the illusion
that made him look human, shattered, and I swear I could almost see a pile of sparkling
dust spread out from him. He was huge, an unearthly mass of gray and blue, still vaguely
human-shaped, but his face looked like it had melted, leaving only vague bumps where his
nose should have been. His mouth was pretty easy to spot—it would be hard to miss all
those big teeth. Silvery eyes, too small for that huge face, glared out from under sparkly
blue eyebrows. He shook himself, and the sparkly dust scattered again, melting as it
touched warmer surfaces. He was shedding snow. In the silence that followed, a small
cranky voice said, “Freakin’ snow elf.” I couldn’t see the speaker, but it sounded like it
was coming from somewhere right next to the newly emerged monster. He roared again
and reached down, hauling a woman up by the hair. She was more angry than scared and
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pulled a weapon out of somewhere and cut her own hair, dropping down and out of my
sight again. The thing—I’d never heard of a snow elf—shook the hair he held and threw it
behind him. I glanced back at Adam, but in the short moments since I’d last looked, he’d
disappeared, leaving behind only a trail of bloody bodies, most of them still standing and
ticked off. I looked at the snow elf and the bag above his head. No one was watching me,
not with a rampaging werewolf and an abominable snowman in the room. I stripped off
the dress and bra, stepped out of my shoes and underwear as fast as I could. I’m not a
werewolf; my coyote shape comes between one breath and the next, and brings
exhilaration and not pain. The snow elf was still standing underneath the bag when I
jumped up, landed on someone’s shoulders, and looked for him. The crowd was so tight it
was like being at a Metallica concert, and I had a road of heads and shoulders right to the
snow elf—who was ten feet tall at the very least and stuck up a whole person’s worth
over the rest of the people. He saw me coming and grabbed for me, but I’m fast and he
missed. Actually, he probably missed because he didn’t know I was going to jump on his
shoulder and launch myself at the little bag, rather than because of any speed or dexterity
on my part. That damned mountain of a fae was fast, too. The magic buzzed angrily at me
as I snatched the bag in my jaws. I dangled for a moment before the string that held it
broke. I fell and waited for the giant hands of the snow elf to crush me, but it was Uncle
Mike himself who snatched me out of the air and tossed me toward the door. As soon as I
grabbed the bag, I knew I was right about it being some sort of vicious spell aimed at the
wolves. I didn’t know how Uncle Mike knew it, too, but he snarled, “Take that thing out
of here,” before he melted back into the crowd. Like a Dr. Seuss poem, I scrambled under,
around, and through before I got out the door. I’d have felt better if I hadn’t known that
someone I knew—because I knew most of Adam’s pack at least by face—was dead. I’d
have felt better if I had known Adam was all right. I’d have settled for just not having the
towering mountain of enraged ... snow elf following me at full speed. I’d never met
anyone who called himself an elf, so I supposed my view was skewed by Peter Jackson’s
version of Tolkien’s fair folk. The thing following me like a freight train didn’t fit my
understanding of the word at all. Later, if I survived, I might derive some amusement from
the face of the bouncer, who suddenly realized what was coming at him—just before he
broke and ran. I passed him as we both jumped the short step to the pavement outside the
door. He ran with me a couple of steps before he figured out who the snow elf was
chasing and took a sharp right. The doorway slowed the monster down. He hit it with his
shoulder, taking the whole entryway wall with him as he left the building. He threw the
chunk of wall at me, but I hopped through the half-open doorway a second time, just
before it hit the ground. I crossed the street at full speed and narrowly missed being hit by
a semi on its way to the industrial district just past Uncle Mike’s. Safe on the far side, I
glanced behind me, then stopped. The man the snow elf had been was on his knees at the
edge of the parking lot, shaking his head as if he was slightly dazed. He looked up at me.
The silvery eyes were the same. “Are you all right?” he asked. “Sorry, so sorry. I haven’t
felt like that since ... since my last battle. I didn’t hurt you, did I?” His gaze caught on the
chunks of wall and door that were left from when his missile had missed me. The effects of
the little bag were evidently limited by distance. I dropped the bag on the ground and
shook myself and gave him an “all’s well” yip. I wasn’t sure he got the message, but he
didn’t try to cross the road after me. I’d have changed back, but my clothes—my favorite
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dress, a pair of expensive (even at half-off) Italian sandals, and my underwear—were still
in the bar somewhere. I’m not modest, but the snow elf and I didn’t know each other well
enough for me to want be naked in front of him. He was dazedly trying to pick up the
mess he’d made when people started leaving. One of Uncle Mike’s people, easily
distinguished from the patrons by the distinctive green doublet, stood on the edge of the
parking lot and waved his hands at me in a pushing motion. I thought it was the bouncer
who’d been at the door, but I’d have to have seen his face frozen in terror again to be
certain of it. I picked up the bag and backed away from the road a dozen yards, until my
butt hit the side of an old warehouse fifty yards from the road. Uncle Mike’s parking lot
gradually emptied, with Uncle Mike’s minions directing traffic and helping the snow elf
with his cleanup efforts. Adam’s car sat in lonely splendor. So did Mary Jo’s Jeep. The
one I’d given a free tune-up to when she’d taken her shift at guard-the-wimpy-coyote
duty. I like Mary Jo. She’s a firefighter, five-foot-three-and-a-half of solid muscle and
solider nerve. One of the pack was dead. In the sudden quiet of the night, I could feel the
wave of mourning spreading through the pack as the others acknowledged the absence of
one of their own. They knew who it was, but I wasn’t familiar enough with the pack
magic to be certain. I only had Mary Jo’s car. There were just six cars left in the patron’s
parking lot when Uncle Mike strode out of the hole that used to be a door. He clapped a
hand on the snow elf’s shoulder and patted him before hopping over a cement parking
curb and crossing the street toward me. He had my dress in his hands. I changed and
grabbed the dress and pulled it on. No bra, no underwear, but at least I wasn’t naked. I
kicked the bag toward Uncle Mike. “What happened?” He bent and picked up the bag. His
face tightened, and he made a low, huffing sound ... rather more like a lion or big cat of
some kind than anything I’d ever heard out of him before. “Cobweb,” he said, “come
throw this nasty bit of magic in the river for me, would you?” Something small and bright,
about the size of a lightning bug (there are none in the Tri-Cities) hovered over the bag for
a moment, then it, and the bag, disappeared. “It affected you, too?” I asked. I don’t know
what kind of a fae Uncle Mike is. Something powerful enough to control a tavern full of
drunken fae seven nights a week. “No,” he said. “Just that it was put in my territory, and I
did not sense it.” He dusted off his hands, and his face regained its usual cheerful mien, but
I’d seen beneath that facade a few times so his mask of affable tavern keeper didn’t
reassure me the way it once would have. You have to remember never to believe what you
see with the fae. “Smart coyote,” he told me. “I didn’t even check to see if there was a
cause for their snarling, just assumed they were being nasty-tempered, the way
werewolves are—and left it too late before I waded in.” “What happened?” I asked again,
but when he didn’t answer immediately, I gave him an impatient flick of my hand and ran
bare-footed back across the street, through the parking lot, and into the bar. Inside, with
the missing section of wall behind me, it didn’t look so bad: a big, empty tavern after a
couple of football teams had gotten drunk and partied all night. Teams with really big
players, I thought, looking at the beam that the snow elf had taken out with his head—
elephants, maybe. Adam, fully in human form again, sat with his back against the stage
riser on the far side of the room, his arms folded over his chest. Somone had found him a
pair of cutoffs to wear. Not like he was angry ... just closed-up. Next to him were two of
his other wolves, Paul and one of Paul’s cronies. Paul looked sick, and the other man,
whose name escaped me, was curled around a very still form. I couldn’t see who it was,
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but I knew. Mary Jo’s car in the parking lot told me. There was blood all over all of them.
Adam’s hands were covered, as was Paul’s shirt. The other man was drenched in it. The
wolves weren’t the only ones bleeding. There seemed to be a triage of sorts going on at
the opposite end of the building. I recognized the woman who had cut her hair to free
herself, but she seemed to be one of the aid-givers rather than a victim. Adam looked up
and saw me, his face very bleak. There was glass on the floor, and my feet were bare—but
it would have taken more than that to keep me from them. Paul’s friend was sobbing. “I
didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry.” He was rocking the body he held, Mary
Jo’s body, as he apologized over and over again. I couldn’t get close to Adam without
wading between Paul and his friend. I stopped while still out of reach. It didn’t seem like a
really good idea to give Paul an easy target just yet. Uncle Mike had followed me in, but
he’d gone to the other huddle of beings in that too-empty room first, and when he came
over to us, he had the shorn woman in tow. Like me, he stopped before he intruded on
their space. “My apologies, Alpha,” he said. “My guests are entitled to an evening of
safety, and someone broke hospitality to bespell your wolves. Will you let us repair the
damage if we can?” He waved at Mary Jo. Adam’s face changed from grim to intent in
about half a breath. He stood up and took Mary Jo from the wolf who held her. “Paul,” he
said, when the man wouldn’t let go. Paul stirred and took his friend’s hands, pulling them
away. The man ... Stan, I thought, though it might have been Sean, jerked once, then
collapsed against Paul. In the meantime, the woman was protesting in a rapid flow of
Russian. I couldn’t understand the words, but I heard her refusal clearly in her face and
body language. “Who are they going to tell?” Uncle Mike snapped. “They’re werewolves.
If they go to the press and reveal that there’s a fae who can heal mortal wounds, we can
go to the press and tell the interested humans just how much of the horrors of the
werewolf have been carefully hidden from them.” She turned to look at the wolves, a snarl
on her face—and then she just stopped when she saw me. Her pupils dilated until the
whole of her eyes were black. “You,” she said. Then she laughed, a cackling sound that
made the skin on the back of my neck crawl. “Of course it would be you.” For some
reason the sight of me seemed to stop her protests. She walked to Mary Jo, who hung
limply from Adam’s curled arms. Like the snow elf had before her, the fae shed her
glamour, but hers dripped from her head and down to her feet, where it puddled for a
moment, as if it were made of liquid instead of magic. She was tall, taller than Adam, taller
than Uncle Mike, but her arms were reed-thin, and the fingers that touched Mary Jo were
odd. It took me a moment to see that each one had an extra joint and a small pad on the
underside, like a gecko’s. Her face ... was ugly. As the glamour faded, her eyes shrank and
her nose grew and hung over her narrow-lipped mouth like the gnarled limb of an old oak.
From her body, as the glamour cleared away, a soft violet light gathered and flowed
upward from her feet to her shoulders, then down her arms to her hands. Her padded
fingers turned Mary Jo’s head and touched her under the chin where someone (probably
Paul’s repentant friend) had ripped out her throat. The light never touched me ... but I felt
it anyway. Like the first light of the morning, or the spray of the salt sea on my face, it
delighted my skin. I heard Adam draw in a sharp breath, but he didn’t look away from
Mary Jo. After a few minutes, Mary Jo’s tank top started glowing white in the pale purple
light of the fae’s magic. The blood that had made it look dark in the dimmed lights of the
bar was gone. The fae jerked her hands away. “It is done,” she told Adam. “I have healed
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her body, but you must give her pulse and breath. Only if she has not yet gone on will she
return—I am no god to be giving life and death.” “CPR,” translated Uncle Mike
laconically. Adam dropped to his knees, set Mary Jo on the ground, and tilted her head
back and began. “What about brain damage?” I asked. The fae turned to me. “I healed her
body. If they inspire her heart and lungs soon, there will be no damage to her.” Paul’s
friend was sitting at Adam’s side, but Paul got up and opened his mouth. “Don’t,” I said
urgently. His eyes flashed at being given an order by me. I should have just let Paul do it,
but I was part of the pack now, willy-nilly—and that meant keeping the pack safe. “You
can’t thank fae,” I told him. “Unless you want to live the rest of your very long life in
servitude to them.” “Spoilsport,” said the fae woman. “Mary Jo is precious to our pack,” I
told her, bowing my head. “Her loss would have left a wound for many months to come.
Your healing is a rare and marvelous gift.” Mary Jo gasped, and Paul forgot he was angry
with me. He wasn’t anything special to her or she to him. She was sweet on a very nice
wolf named Henry, and Paul was married to a human I’d never met. But Mary Jo was
pack. I would have turned to her, too, but the fae held my eyes. Her thin-lipped mouth
curved into a cold smile. “This is the one, isn’t it?” “Yes,” agreed Uncle Mike cautiously.
He was a friend, usually. His caution told me two things. This fae might hurt me, and
Uncle Mike, even in the center of his power, his tavern, didn’t think he could stop her. She
looked me up and down with the air of an experienced cook at Saturday Market,
examining tomatoes for blemishes. “I thought there would not be another coyote so rash
as to climb the snow elf. You owe me nothing for this, Green Man.” I’d heard Uncle Mike
called Green Man before. I still wasn’t sure exactly what it meant. And when the fae
reached those long fingers out and touched me, I wasn’t worried about much other than
my own furry hide. “I did it because of you, coyote. Do you know how much chaos you
have caused? The Morrigan says that is your gift. Rash, quick, and lucky, just like Coyote
himself. But that old Trickster dies in his adventures—but you won’t be able to put
yourself back together with the dawn.” I didn’t say anything. I’d thought her to be just
another of the Tri-Cities fae, denizens (mostly) of Fairyland, the fae reservation just
outside of Walla Walla, built either to keep us safe from the fae, or the fae safe from the
rest of us. Her healing Mary Jo had given me a clue—healing with magic is no common or
weak gift among the fae. Uncle Mike’s caution told me she was scary powerful. “We’ll
have more words at a later date, Green Man.” She looked back at me. “Who are you, little
coyote, to cause the Great Ones such consternation? You broke our laws, yet your
defiance of our ruling has been greatly to our benefit. Siebold Adlebertsmiter is innocent
and all the trouble was caused by humans. You must be punished—and rewarded.” She
laughed as if I was pretty amusing. “Consider yourself rewarded.” The light that had
continued to swirl around her feet uneasily stirred and darkened until it was a dark stone
circle about three feet around and six inches thick. It solidified under her feet, lifting her
half a foot in the air like Aladdin’s carpet. The sides curved upward and formed a dish—
the memory of an old story supplied the rest. Not a dish but a mortar. A giant mortar. And
she was gone. Not the way that Stefan could go, but just so swiftly my eyes couldn’t
follow her. I’d seen a fae fly through solid matter before, so it wasn’t a surprise that she
did so. Which was good, because I’d just had one terrible surprise, I didn’t need any more.
The first rule about the fae is that you don’t want to attract their attention—but they don’t
tell you what to do once you have. “I thought Baba Yaga was a witch,” I told Uncle Mike
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hollowly. Who else would be flying around in a giant mortar? “Witches aren’t immortal,”
he told me. “Of course she’s not a witch.” Baba Yaga is featured in the stories of a dozen
countries scattered around Eastern Europe. She’s not the hero in most of them. She eats
children. I glanced over at Adam, but he was still focused on Mary Jo. She was shaking
like someone on the verge of hypothermia, but seemed to be alive still. “What about that
bag,” I asked. “What if someone picks it up from the river?” “A few minutes of running
water will remove any magic from a spell set in fabric,” Uncle Mike told me. “It was a trap
for the wolves,” I told him. I knew that because it had tasted like vampire. “No one else
except for the mobile mountain was affected ... Why him and none of the rest? And what
in the world is a snow elf? I’ve never heard of one.” As far as I’d ever known, “elf” was
one of those generic terms coined by mundanes as a way to refer to the fae. “The
government,” said Uncle Mike, after a moment to consider what he wanted to tell me
(getting the fae to share information is harder than getting a drop of water from a stone),
“requires us to register and tell them what kind of fae we are. So we chose something that
appeals to us. For some it is an old title or name, for others ... we make it up, just like the
humans have made up names for us for centuries. My favorite is the infamous ‘Jack-Be-
Nimble.’ I don’t know what that is, but we have at least a dozen in our reservation.” I
couldn’t help but grin. Our government didn’t know they had a tiger by the tail—and the
tiger wasn’t going to tell them anytime soon. “So he made up the snow elf bit?” “Are you
going to argue with him? As to why the bag aimed at the wolf worked—” “I have another
true form,” said a soft, Norse-accented voice behind me. There weren’t very many people
who could sneak up on me—my coyote senses keep me pretty aware of my
environment—but I sure hadn’t heard him. It was the snow elf, or whatever he was, of
course. He was a couple of inches shorter than me—which he could have fixed as easily as
Zee could have gotten rid of his bald spot. I supposed someone whose true form—at least
one of them—was ten feet tall didn’t mind being short. He looked at me and bowed, one
of those abrupt and stiff movements of head and neck that brings to mind martial artists.
“I’m glad you are fast,” he said. I shook the hand he held out to me, which was cool and
dry. “I’m glad I’m fast, too,” I told him with honest sincerity. He looked at Uncle Mike.
“Do you know who set it? And if it was aimed at the werewolves or at me?” Adam was
listening to the conversation. I wasn’t sure how I knew, because it looked like he was
totally involved with his battered wolves. But there was something in the tension of his
shoulders. Uncle Mike shook his head. “I was too concerned with getting it away from
you. Berserker wolves are bad enough, but a berserker snow elf loose in downtown Pasco
is something I don’t want to see.” I knew. The bag had smelled of vampire. The snow elf
knelt beside Mary Jo and touched her shoulder. Adam pulled her gently away, setting her
in Paul’s lap, and put himself between her and the snow elf. “Mine,” he said. The elf raised
his hands and smiled mildly, but there was a bite to his words. “No harm, Alpha. I meant
no trouble. My days of roaming the mountains with a wolf pack at my beck and call are
long over.” Adam nodded, keeping his eyes on the enemy. “That may be. But she is one of
mine. And I am not one of yours.” “Enough,” said Uncle Mike. “One fight a night is good
enough. Go home, Ymir.” The kneeling elf looked at Uncle Mike, and the skin grew tight
around his eyes for a moment before he smiled brightly. I noticed that his teeth were very
white, if a little crooked. He stood up, using just the muscles of his thighs, like a martial
artist. “It has been a long night.” He made a slow turn that encompassed not just Uncle
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Mike, the wolves, and me, but everyone else in the room—who I just realized were all
watching us ... or maybe they were watching the snow elf. “Of course it is time to go. I’ll
see you all.” No one said anything until he was out of the building. “Well,” said Uncle
Mike, sounding more Irish than usual. “Such a night.”
MARY JO WAS MOVING BUT STILL DAZED WHEN WE GOT her outside. So
Adam instructed Paul and his friend (whose name, as it happened, was Alec and not Sean
or Stan at all) to take her to Adam’s house. Paul packed Mary Jo in the back of her car
with Alec and started to get in. He looked at my feet. “You shouldn’t be out here
barefoot,” he told the ground. Then he shut the car door, turned the key as he turned on
the lights, and left. “He meant thank you,” said Adam. “I’ll say it, too. I can think of a lot
of things I’d rather do than try to defend Paul from Baba Yaga.” “I should have let her
have him,” I told Adam. “It would have made your life easier.” He grinned, then stretched
his neck. “This could have been a very, very bad night.” I was looking over his shoulder at
his SUV. “Would you settle for just a little bad? Your insurance doesn’t have an exception
for snow elves, right?” It had looked all right at first, then I thought it just had a flat tire.
But now I could see the right rear tire was bent up at a forty-five-degree angle. Adam
pulled out his cell phone. “That doesn’t even register on my scale of bad tonight,” he told
me. He put his free arm around my shoulder, pulling me against him as his daughter
answered the phone. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. “Hey, Jesse,” he said. “It’s been a wild
night, and we need you to come pick us up at Uncle Mike’s.”
5 “SOME DATE,” ADAM MURMURED. IT DIDN’T MATTER HOW quiet he was;
we both knew that most of the pack was inside his house listening to us as we stood on his
back porch. “No one could ever accuse you of being boring,” I said lightly. He laughed
with sober eyes. He’d scrubbed up in the bathroom at Uncle Mike’s and changed as soon
as we’d made it back to his house. But I could still smell the blood on him. “You need to
see to Mary Jo,” I told him. “I need to go to bed.” She would survive, I thought. But
she’d survive better with me at home and not disrupting the pack, who was forcing her to
fight to live. He hugged me for not saying all of that out loud. He lifted me to my toes—
clad in a pair of Jesse’s flip-flops—and set me back down. “You go scrub your feet clean
first so none of those cuts get infected. I’ll send Ben over to watch your house until
Samuel is satisfied with Mary Jo’s condition and goes home.” Adam watched from the
porch as I walked home. I wasn’t halfway there when Ben caught up with me. I invited
him in, but he shook his head. “I’ll stay outside,” he said. “The night air keeps my head
clear.” I scrubbed my feet and dried them before I went to bed. I was asleep before my
head hit the pillow. But I woke up while the dark still held sway, knowing that there was
someone in my room. Though I listened closely, I couldn’t hear anyone—so I was pretty
sure it was Stefan. I wasn’t worried. The vampires, except Stefan, wouldn’t have been
able to cross the threshold of my home. Most anyone else would have woken Samuel. The
air told me nothing, which was odd—even Stefan had a scent. Restlessly, I rolled onto my
side and right up against the walking stick, which had taken to sleeping with me every
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night. Mostly it gave me the creeps when it did that—walking sticks shouldn’t be able to
move about on their own. But tonight the warm wood under my hand felt reassuring. I
closed my hand around it. “There’s no need for violence, Mercy.” I must have jumped
because I was on my feet, stick in hand, before it registered just whose voice I was
hearing. “Bran?” And suddenly I could smell him, mint and musk that told me werewolf
combined with the certain sweet saltiness that was his own scent. “Don’t you have
something more important to do?” I asked him, flipping on the light. “Like ruling the
world or something?” He didn’t move from his spot on the floor, leaning against a wall,
except to put his forearm over his eyes as light flooded the room. “I came here last
weekend,” he said. “But you were asleep, and I didn’t let them wake you up.” I’d
forgotten. In the hubbub of Baba Yaga, Mary Jo, the snow elf, and the vampires, I’d
forgotten why he would have come to visit me personally. Suddenly I was suspicious of
the arm he’d thrown over his eyes. That Alphas are protective of their packs is an
understatement—and Bran was the Marrok, the most Alpha wolf around. I might belong
to Adam’s pack just now, but Bran had raised me. “I already talked it all over with Mom,”
I said defensively. And Bran grinned hugely, his arm coming down to reveal hazel eyes,
which looked almost green in the artificial light. “I bet you did. Are my Samuel and your
Adam hovering over you and giving you a bad time?” His voice was full of (false)
sympathy. Bran is better than anyone I know, including the fae, at hiding what he is. He
looked like a teenager—there was a rip in his jeans, just over the knee, and some ironic
person had used a marker to draw an anarchy symbol just over his thigh. His hair was
ruffled. He was perfectly capable of sitting around with an innocent smile on his face—and
then ripping someone’s head off. “You’re frowning at me,” he said. “Is it such a puzzle
that I’m here?” I dropped to the middle of the floor. It is uncomfortable for me to be in the
same room for very long with Bran if my head is higher than his. Part of it is habit, and
part of it is the magic that makes Bran the leader of all the wolves. “Did someone call you
about Adam bringing me into the pack?” I asked. This time Bran laughed, his shoulders
shaking, and I saw how tired he was. “I’m glad I amuse you,” I told him grumpily. Behind
me the door opened, and Samuel said cheerily, “Is this a private party, or can anyone
join?” How cool was that? In one sentence, one word actually (party), Samuel told his
father that we weren’t going to talk about Tim or why I’d killed him, and that I was going
to be okay. Samuel was good at things like that. “Come in,” I said. “How’s Mary Jo?”
Samuel sighed. “Da, let me tell you now. If I am dead, and a fae offers to heal me—I’d
prefer you tell her no.” He looked at me. “I think she’ll be fine, eventually. But she’s not
very happy right now. She’s dazed and shocky to an extent I’ve never seen before in a
wolf. At least she’s not crying anymore. Adam finally forced her change, and that helped a
lot. She’s sleeping with Paul, Alec, Honey, and few others on the monstrosity of a couch
Adam keeps in the TV room in the basement.” He gave his father a keen-eyed look, then
sat on the floor beside me—and that was a message, too. He wasn’t between Bran and
me, not precisely. But he could have sat beside Bran. “So what brings you here?” Bran
smiled at him, having seen the message Samuel wanted him to. “You don’t have to protect
her from me,” he said softly. “We’ve all seen she does a pretty good job of protecting
herself.” With the wolves, there is always a lot more going on in a conversation than just
the words. For instance, Bran had just told us that he’d seen the video, from the security
camera, of me killing Tim ... and of everything else, too. And that he’d approved of my
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actions. It shouldn’t have pleased me so much; I was no child. But Bran’s opinion still
meant a lot. “And yes,” he told me after a moment, “someone called me about Adam
bringing you into the pack. Lots of someones. Let me tell you the answers to the questions
I’ve been asked, and you can pass them on to Adam. No. I had no idea it was possible to
bring someone who was not a werewolf into the pack. Especially you, upon whom magic
can be unpredictable. No. Once done, only Adam or you can break those ties. If you want
me to show you how, I will.” He paused. I shook my head ... and then tempered it. “Not
yet.” Bran gave me an amused look under his eyebrows. “Fine. Just ask. And no, I’m not
mad. Adam is Alpha of his pack. I do not see how anyone has been harmed by this.” Then
he grinned, one of the rare smiles he had when he wasn’t acting, just genuinely amused.
“Except maybe Adam. At least he doesn’t have a Porsche you can wrap around a tree.”
“That was a long time ago,” I said hotly. “I paid for that. And after you practically dared
me to steal it, I don’t see why you were so angry about it.” “Telling you not to take it out
wasn’t daring you, Mercy,” Bran said patiently ... but there was something in his voice.
Was he lying? “Yes, it was,” said Samuel. “And she’s right—you knew it.” “So you didn’t
have any reason to be so mad I wrecked the car,” I said, triumphantly. Samuel laughed out
loud. “You still haven’t figured it out, have you, Mercy? He never was mad about the car.
He was the first one at the scene of the accident. He thought you’d killed yourself. We all
did. That was a pretty spectacular wreck.” I started to say something and found I couldn’t.
The first thing I’d seen after hitting the tree was the Marrok’s snarling face. I’d never seen
him that angry—and I’d done a lot, from time to time, to inspire his rage. Samuel patted
me on the back. “It’s not often I see you absolutely speechless.” “So you had Charles
teach me how to fix cars and how to drive them.” Charles was Bran’s oldest son. He hated
to drive, and until that summer I’d thought he couldn’t drive. I should have known
better—Charles can do anything. And everything he did, he did very well. That’s only one
of the reasons that Charles intimidates me and everyone else. “Kept you busy and out of
trouble for a whole summer,” said Bran smugly. He was teasing ... but serious as well.
One of the oddest things about being grown-up was looking back at something you
thought you knew and finding out the truth of it was completely different from what you
had always believed. It gave me courage to do what I did next. “I need some advice,” I
told him. “Sure,” he said easily. I took a deep breath and started with my killing Marsilia’s
best hope of returning to Italy, jumped to Stefan’s appearance in my living room and the
unexpected visit from my old college nemesis, and ended it all with the nearly fatal
adventure at Uncle Mike’s and the little bag that smelled like vampires and magic. I told
him about Mary Jo and my fear that if I told Adam about the bag, it would cause a war.
“I’ll stop by and see if I can help Mary Jo,” Bran said after I’d finished. “I know a few
tricks.” Samuel looked relieved. “Good.” “So,” I told Bran, “it is my fault. I chose to go
after Andre. But Marsilia’s not attacking me.” “You expected a vampire to be
straightforward?” asked Bran. I supposed I had. “Amber gives me a reason to get out of
town for a little while. Without me around, Marsilia might leave everyone else alone.” And
it would give me a chance to think through my response. A day or two to figure out
something that wouldn’t lead to more killing. “And give Adam and me a chance to mount
a proper response,” Samuel growled. I started to object ... but they had the right to go on
the offensive. The right to know that they were targets. As long as Mary Jo survived,
Adam wouldn’t bring a war to Marsilia’s doorstep. And if Mary Jo didn’t survive ...
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Perhaps Marsilia was crazy. I’d seen that kind of madness in the Marrok’s pack, where the
oldest wolves often came to die. “If you leave, Marsilia might take that as a victory,” said
Bran. “I don’t know her well enough to know if that will help you or hurt you in the end. I
do think that getting out of here for a few days might not be a bad idea.” He didn’t say
Marsilia would quit targeting my friends, I noticed. I was pretty sure Uncle Mike would
figure out that the vampires had used his place to target the wolves—and if I thought that,
Marsilia surely would. She must be truly furious if she was willing to anger Uncle Mike
and enrage Adam in order to get to me. I was betting that if I left, she’d wait, because she
wanted me to witness the pain I’d made her rain down upon my friends. But I wasn’t sure.
Still, it wouldn’t hurt. “The problem is ... there’s something a little off about Amber’s
offer. Or maybe just after Tim ...” I swallowed. “I’m afraid to go.” Bran looked at me with
keen yellow eyes, weighing something in his mind. “Fear is a good thing,” he said at last.
“It teaches you not to make the same mistake twice. You counter it with knowledge.
What are you afraid of?” “I don’t know.” Which wasn’t the right answer. “Gut check,”
Bran said. “What does your gut tell you?” “I think that maybe it’s the vampires again.
Stefan lands in my lap to give me a good scare—and look, here’s a way out. Out of the
frying pan and into the fire.” Samuel was already shaking his head. “Marsilia isn’t going to
send you to Spokane to get you out of our protection before she takes care of you. Not
that it isn’t a good idea, but she’d send you to Seattle maybe, she has some allies there.
But in Spokane, there’s only one vampire, and he doesn’t allow visitors. There are no
packs, no fae, nothing but a few powerless creatures who manage to stay out of his sight.”
I felt my eyes widen. Spokane is a city of nearly half a million people. “That’s a lot of
territory for a single vampire.” “Not for that single vampire,” said Samuel at the same time
Bran said, “Not for Blackwood.” “So,” I said slowly. “What will this vampire do if I stay
in Spokane for a few days?” “How would he know?” Bran asked. “You smell like coyote.
But a coyote smells a lot like a dog to someone who doesn’t hunt in the forests—which I
assure you, James Blackwood doesn’t do—and most dog owners smell like their pets. I
wouldn’t want you to move to Spokane, but a couple of days or weeks won’t put you in
danger.” “So do you think it’s a good idea if I go?” Bran raised his hip and pulled his cell
phone out of his back pocket. “Don’t you break them like that?” I asked. “I killed a couple
of phones by sitting on them.” He just smiled and said into the phone, “Charles, I need you
to find out about an Amber ... ?” He looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “Sorry to wake
you, Charles. Chamberlain was her maiden name,” I told Samuel’s brother apologetically.
“I don’t know her married name.” Charles would hear me as clearly as I heard him. Private
phone calls around werewolves needed headsets, not a cell phone speaker. “Amber
Chamberlain,” Charles repeated. “That should limit it to a hundred people or so.” “She
lives in Spokane,” I said. “I went to college with her.” “That helps,” he told us. “I’ll get
back to you.” “Arm yourself with knowledge,” said Bran when he hung up. “But I don’t
see why you shouldn’t go.” “Take some insurance with you.” “It’s Stefan,” I shouted.
Before I had the last word out of my mouth, Bran had Stefan up against the opposite wall
from where he’d been sitting. “Da.” Samuel was on his feet as well, a hand on his father’s
shoulder. He didn’t try to pry Bran’s hands off Stefan’s neck—that would have been
stupid. “Da. It’s all right. This is Stefan. Mercy’s friend.” After a very long couple of
seconds, Bran stepped back and dropped his hands from Stefan’s throat. The vampire
hadn’t fought back, which was good. Vampires are tough, maybe tougher than wolves
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because vampires are already dead. Stefan had been one of Marsilia’s lieutenants,
powerful in his own right. He’d been a mercenary in life ... which had been in Renaissance
Italy. But Bran is Bran. “That was stupid,” said Samuel to Stefan. “What part of ‘never
sneak up on a werewolf’ don’t you understand?” The Stefan I knew would have bowed
gracefully, expressed his apologies with a hint of humor. This Stefan gave a stiff jerk of his
neck. “I’m no use here. It’s a good idea to get Mercy out of the line of fire—she’s the
weakest target. Send me to keep her safe in Spokane.” He sounded almost eager ... and I
wondered what he’d been doing since he’d left Adam’s. What was there for him to do?
Maybe I wasn’t the only one who was trying to find some action to take that wouldn’t get
me and everyone I cared about killed. Still, I couldn’t let him get away with calling me ...
“Weak?” I said. Samuel turned on Stefan with a growl. “Stupid vampire. My father had
her nearly talked into going, and you ruined it.” I laughed. I couldn’t help it. I hoped going
to Spokane would keep my friends safe, and they hoped me going to Spokane would keep
me safe. Maybe we were both right. Bran’s phone rang, and we all listened to Charles tell
us that Amber was married to Corban Wharton, a moderately successful corporate lawyer
about ten years her senior. They had an eight-year-old son with some sort of disability,
hinted at in various newspaper articles but not expressly stated. He rattled off an address
or two, cell phone numbers and real phone numbers ... and social security numbers and
most recent tax reports, personal and business. For an old wolf, Charles knows how to
make computers sit up and beg. “Thank you,” said Bran. “I can go back to sleep now?”
asked Charles. He didn’t wait for an answer, just hung up his end of the connection. I
looked at Samuel. “It will make your life easier if I leave.” He nodded. “We can protect
ourselves ... but you are too vulnerable. And if you aren’t here, if Marsilia doesn’t know
where you are, we can get her to the table for negotiations.” Bran looked at Stefan. “A
vampire might draw too much attention in Spokane.” Stefan shrugged. “I’m not without
resources. I was in this room for a quarter of an hour, and none of you noticed me. If I
feed well, no one will know what I am.” “You always smell like vampire to me,” I told
him. Vampire and popcorn. The good buttery kind. No, I don’t know why. I’ve never seen
him eat the stuff—I don’t know that vampires can. He raised his hands. “No one without
Mercy’s nose, then. If I’m in the room with the Monster, then perhaps he’ll notice.
Otherwise, he’ll never know I was there. I’ve done it before.” “The Monster?” Samuel
asked. “James Blackwood.” Vampires give titles to some of the more powerful ones.
Stefan was the Soldier because he’d been a mercenary. Wulfe was the Wizard ... and I
knew he could do some magic. I resolved to stay away from any vampire that other
vampires called the Monster. “There is this, too,” Stefan said. “I can jump from one
location to another—and I can take Mercy with me.” “How far?” asked Bran with sudden
intentness. Stefan shrugged ... and never quite straightened up, as if it was too much
trouble. “Anywhere. But taking another person with me has a cost. I’ll be useless for a day
afterward.” He looked at me. “I have the address.” He’d have overheard Charles give it to
the rest of us. “I can get there tonight and find a safe place nearby to spend the day.” Bran
raised an eyebrow at me. “I’ll call Amber in the morning,” I said. It felt like running away,
but Bran seemed to think it was the right thing to do. Stefan swept me a perfect bow and
disappeared before he stood up. “He used to hide his ability to do that,” I told them. It
worried me that he wasn’t hiding it anymore. As if it didn’t matter what people knew
about him. Samuel smiled at me. “You decided to go to Spokane because he needs to do
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something, didn’t you? You were all set to stay until he started looking pathetic.” I gave
him a look, and he raised his hands in surrender. “I didn’t say he didn’t have a reason to
look pathetic. You just need to remember that sad sack or not, he’s still a vampire—and
more than a match for you if he decides not to be friendly. You’ve cost him a lot, Mercy.
He might not be your friend.” I hadn’t thought about it that way. So I did, for maybe a
tenth of a second. “If he was mad at me, he’d have killed me when he dropped in here
starving. For that matter he could have come here anytime tonight and killed me. You
need me gone—so quit trying to make trouble.” Samuel frowned at me. “I’m not trying to
make trouble. But you have to remember he is a vampire, and vampires are not nice guys,
no matter how chivalrous and gallant Stefan appears. I like him, too. But you are trying to
forget what he is.” I thought about the two dead people whose only crime was that they
had seen me when I staked Andre. “I know what he is,” I said stubbornly. “Vampire,” said
Bran. “Evil, yes.” He grinned, and it made him look like he should be going to high
school. “But I think his Mistress made a mistake when she chose to throw him away.”
“She broke him,” I said. And looking into Samuel’s eyes, I whispered, “You stay safe, you
and Adam. I’ll keep Stefan busy looking for ghosts.” If I was really looking for ghosts, of
course, it would be stupid to bring Stefan. Ghosts don’t like vampires, and they won’t
come out when there are vampires around. Samuel knew that, and he grinned at me with
serious eyes. “We’ll be fine.” “Call me if you need me,” said Bran—to both of us, I
thought. “If I’m going to stop in to have a look at Mary Jo, I need to go now.” He kissed
me on my forehead, then did the same to Samuel (who had to bend down). I didn’t know
if he really knew who Mary Jo was, or just seemed to. But I’d never seen him meet a wolf
he didn’t know by name. Speaking of which ... “Hey, Bran?” Halfway to the door, he
turned back. “What about that girl we sent to you? The one who was Changed so young
and hadn’t learned control. Is she all right?” He smiled and looked a lot less tired. “Kara?
She did fine last moon. Give her a few more months, and she’ll be fully in control.”
Waving casually over his shoulder, he walked out into the dark. “Get some rest,” I called
after him. He shut the front door behind him without answering. We listened while Bran
drove off—in a doubtlessly rented Mustang. Once he was gone, Samuel said, “You have a
few hours. Why don’t you get some more sleep? I think I’ll hop the fence to Adam’s and
see what Da does for Mary Jo.” “Why didn’t he just call?” I asked. Samuel reached out
and ruffled my hair. “He was checking up on you.” “Well,” I said. “At least he didn’t ask
me if I was okay. I think I’d have had to do something to him if he had.” “Hey, Mercy,”
said Samuel with false solicitude, “are you okay?” I punched him, connecting only because
he hadn’t expected it. “I am now,” I told him, as he dropped to the ground and rolled—as
if I’d really had some force behind my fist, which I hadn’t.
SPOKANE IS ABOUT 150 MILES NORTHEAST OF THE TRICITIES , and you know
you’re getting close when you start seeing trees. My cell phone rang, and I answered
without pulling over. I usually obey the law, but I was late. “Mercy?” It was Adam, and he
wasn’t happy with me. I guessed Samuel had told him about the vampires being
responsible for the debacle at Uncle Mike’s. I’d told him he could do it once I was safely
out of town. “Uh-huh.” I pulled around an RV as we chugged up a small hill. It’d pass me
on the downhill side, but I had to take my passing pleasures where I could—Vanagons are
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not speed demons. One of these days I was going to put a Subaru flat six in it and see
what that would do. “Before you yell at me for not telling you about the vampires, you
should know that I am risking a ticket by talking to you while I drive. Do you really want
me to get a ticket for letting you yell at me?” He gave a reluctant laugh, so I supposed he
wasn’t too upset. “You’re still on the road? I thought you left this morning.” “Fixed a shift
linkage in a Ford Focus at that rest stop near Connell,” I told him. “Nice lady and her dog
were stuck after having a clutch job done by her brother-in-law. He hadn’t tightened down
a few bolts, and one of them fell off. Took me an hour or so before we found someone
who had a bolt and nut the right size.” And I had the oil stains across my shoulders and
the grit in my hair to prove it. In my Rabbit I kept a towel to put on the ground. I also
kept a selection of useful car bits. It was going to be a while before my Rabbit was up and
running. “How is Mary Jo?” “She’s sleeping for real now.” “Bran helped?” “Bran helped.”
I could hear the smile in his voice. “You be careful ghost hunting—and don’t let Stefan
bite you.” There was just a little edge to the last. “Jealous?” I asked. Yep. The RV passed
me on the downhill. “Maybe a little,” he said. “Don’t be. We’ll be fine. Ghosts aren’t as
dangerous as crazy vampire ladies.” I couldn’t help the anxiety that crept into my voice.
“I’ll be careful—and Mercy?” “Uhm?” “Consider yourself yelled at,” he purred, then hung
up. I grinned at the phone and closed it.
AMBER’S DIRECTIONS TO HER HOUSE HAD BEEN CLEAR and easy to follow.
The relief in her voice when I’d called that morning made me want to believe she really
had a ghost problem and wasn’t part of some secret vampire conspiracy to get me
somewhere I’d be easier to kill. Despite Bran’s assurances that it was unlikely Marsilia
would ship me off to Spokane, I was still feeling ... not paranoid, really. Cautious. I was
feeling cautious. Zee had agreed to work the shop while I was gone. I probably could have
gotten him to work cheaper than usual because he was still feeling guilty about stuff that
wasn’t his fault. Cheaper would mean I could eat peanut butter instead of ramen noodles
for the rest of the month, but I didn’t think any of it was his fault. He had talked to Uncle
Mike about the crossed bones on my door. Definitely vampire work, he told me. The
bones meant that I had broken faith with the vampires and was no longer under their
protection—and anyone offering me aid of any kind was likely to find themselves on the
wrong side of the vampires as well. The broad interpretation of that was horrifying. It
meant that people like Tony and Sensei Johanson were at risk, too. It meant that it was
probably a good thing that I get out of town for a few days and figure out how to limit the
number of victims Marsilia could claim. Amber lived in a Victorian mansion complete with
a pair of towers. The brick porch had been freshly tuck-pointed, the gingerbread work
around the roof edge and the windows bore a new coat of paint. Even the roses looked
ready for magazine display. Frowning at the leaded glass glistening in the sun, I wondered
when I’d last cleaned the windows in my house. Had I ever cleaned the windows? Samuel
might have. I was still thinking about it when the door opened. A startled boy gawked at
me, and I realized I hadn’t rung the doorbell. “Hey,” I said. “Is your mom home?” He
recovered quickly and gave me a shy look out of a pair of misty green eyes under long,
thick eyelashes, and turned to ring the bell I hadn’t. “I’m Mercy,” I told him, while we
waited for Amber to emerge from the depths of the house. “Your mom and I went to
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school together.” His wary look deepened, and he didn’t say anything. So I guessed she
hadn’t told him anything. “Mercy, I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.” Amber
sounded harassed and not at all grateful, and that was before she saw what I looked like—
covered in old oil and parking-lot dirt. Her son and I turned to look at her. She still looked
like a show dog, but her eyes were stressed. “Chad, this is my friend who is going to help
us with the ghost.” As she spoke, her hands flew in a graceful dance, and I remembered
Charles had said her son had some sort of disability: he was deaf. She turned her attention
to me, but her hands still moved, letting her son know what she was saying. “This is my
son, Chad.” She took a deep breath. “Mercy, I’m sorry. My husband has a client coming
over for dinner tonight. He didn’t tell me until just a few minutes ago. It’s a formal dinner
...” She looked at me, and her voice trailed off. “What?” I said letting sharpness creep into
my voice at the insult. “Don’t I look like I’m up to a formal dinner? Sorry, the stitches in
my chin don’t come out for at least a week.” Suddenly she laughed. “You haven’t changed
a bit. If you didn’t bring anything suitable, you can borrow something of mine. The guy
who’s coming is actually pretty well house-trained for a cutthroat businessman. I think
you’ll like him. I’ve got to do some inventorying and run to the grocery store.” She tilted
her head so her son could see her mouth. “Chad, would you take Mercy to the guest
room?” He gave me another wary look, but nodded. As he went back inside the house and
started up the stairs, Amber told me, “I’d better warn you, my husband is pretty unhappy
about the ghost. He thinks Chad and I are making it up. If you could manage not to
mention it at dinner in front of his client, I’d appreciate it.”
THERE WAS A BATHROOM ACROSS FROM THE ROOM I WAS staying in. I took
my suitcase and went in to scrub up. Before I stripped off my grimy shirt, I closed my eyes
and took a deep breath. Sometimes ghosts only appear to one sense or another.
Sometimes I can only hear them—sometimes I can smell them. But the bathroom smelled
like soap and shampoo, water, and those stupid blue tablets some people who didn’t have
pets put in their toilets. I didn’t see anything or hear anything either. But that didn’t keep
the hair on the back of my neck from rising as I pulled off my shirt and stuffed it into the
plastic compartment in my suitcase. I scoured my hands until they were mostly clean and
brushed the dirt out of my hair and rebraided it. And all the while I could feel someone
watching me. Maybe it was only the power of suggestion. But I cleaned up as fast as I
could anyway. No ghostly writing appeared on the walls, no one appeared in the mirror or
moved stuff around. I opened the bathroom door and found Amber waiting impatiently
right in front of the door. She didn’t notice that she’d startled me. “I have to take Chad to
softball practice, then do some shopping for dinner tonight. Do you want to come?” “Why
not?” I said with a casual shrug. Staying in that house alone didn’t appeal to me—some
ghost hunter I was. Nothing had happened, and I was already jumpy. I took shotgun. Chad
frowned at me, but sat in back. I didn’t think I impressed him much. No one said anything
until we dropped Chad off. He didn’t look happy about going. Amber proved that she was
tougher than me because she ignored the puppy-dog eyes and abandoned Chad to his
coach’s indifferent care. “So you decided not to become a history teacher,” Amber said as
she pulled away from the curb. Her voice was tight with nerves. The stress was coming
from her end, I thought—but then she’d never been relaxing company. “Decided isn’t
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quite the word,” I told her. “I took a job as a mechanic to support myself until a teaching
position opened ... and one day I realized that even if someone offered me a job, I’d rather
turn a wrench.” And then, because she’d given me the opening, “I thought you were going
to be a vet.” “Yes, well, life happened.” She paused. “Chad happened.” That was too
much honesty for her though, and she subsided into silence. In the grocery store, I
wandered away while she was testing tomatoes—they all looked good to me. I bought a
candy bar, just to see how much she’d changed. Not that much. By the time she’d finished
lecturing me on the evils of refined sugar, we were almost back to the house. She was
feeling a lot more comfortable—and she finally told me more about her ghost. “Corban
doesn’t believe we’re haunted,” she told me as she threaded her way through the city. She
glanced at my face and away. “I haven’t actually seen or heard anything either. I just told
him I had, so he’d leave Chad alone.” She took a deep breath and looked at me again. “He
thinks Chad might do better at a boarding school—a private place for troubled kids that a
friend of his recommended.” “He didn’t look troubled to me,” I said. “Aren’t ‘troubled’
kids usually doing drugs or beating on the neighbor’s kids?” Chad had looked like he’d
rather have stayed home and read than go to play ball. Amber gave a nervous half laugh.
“Corban doesn’t get along very well with Chad. He doesn’t understand him. It’s the old
Disney cliché of a quarterback dad and bookworm son.” “Does Corban know he’s not
Chad’s father?” She hit the brakes so hard that if I hadn’t been belted in, I might have
become better acquainted with her windshield. She sat there in the middle of the road for a
moment, oblivious to the honking horns around us. I was glad we were in a stout
Mercedes rather than the Miata she’d driven to my house. “You forget,” I said blandly. “I
knew Harrison, too. We used to joke about his eyelashes, and I’ve never see eyes like his
since. Not until today.” Harrison had been her one true love for about three months until
she dropped him for a premed student. Amber started forward again and drove for a little
until traffic settled down. “I’d forgotten you knew him.” She sighed. “Funny. Yes, Corban
knows he’s not Chad’s father, but Chad doesn’t. It didn’t used to matter, but I’m not so
sure. Corban’s been ... different lately.” She shook her head. “Still, he’s the one who
suggested I ask you to come over. He saw the article in the paper, and said, ‘Isn’t that the
girl you said used to see ghosts? Why don’t you have her come over and have a looksee?”’
I figured I’d been pushy enough, so I asked a question that was less intrusive.
“What does the ghost do?” “Moves things,” she told me. “It rearranges Chad’s room once
or twice a week. Chad says he’s seen the furniture moving around.” She hesitated. “It
breaks things, too. A couple of vases my husband’s father brought over from China. The
glass over my husband’s diploma. Sometimes it takes things.” She glanced at me again.
“Car keys. Shoes. Some important papers of Cor’s turned up in Chad’s room, under his
bed. Corban was pretty mad.” “At Chad?” She nodded. I hadn’t even met him, and I
didn’t like her husband. Even if Chad was doing everything himself—and I had no
evidence to the contrary—throwing him into reform school didn’t sound like the way to
make things better. We picked up a morose Chad, who didn’t seem inclined to converse,
and she quit talking about the ghost.
AMBER WAS WORKING IN THE KITCHEN. I’D TRIED TO HELP but she finally
sent me to my room to stay out of her way. She didn’t like the way I peeled apples. I’d
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brought a book from home—a very old book—with real fairy tales in it. It was borrowed
and I’d have to return it soon, so I was reading as fast as I could. I was taking notes on
kelpies (thought extinct) when someone knocked at my door twice and then opened it.
Chad stood with a notebook and a pencil in hand. “Hey,” I said. He turned the notebook
around and I read, “How much is my dad paying you?” “Nothing,” I said. His eyes
narrowed, and he ripped away that page and showed me the next one. Evidently he’d
thought about this for a while. “Why are you here? What do you want?” I set my book
aside and stared back at him. He was tough, but he wasn’t Adam or Samuel: he blinked
first. “I have a vampire who wants to kill me,” I told him. Which I shouldn’t have, of
course, but I wanted to see what would happen. Curiosity, Bran has told me more than
once, might be as fatal for coyotes as it is for cats. Chad crumpled the paper and mouthed
a word. Evidently he hadn’t expected that response. I raised my eyebrow. “Sorry. You’ll
have to do better. I don’t lip-read.” He scribbled furiously. “Lyer” said his paper. I took
his pencil, and wrote, “liar.” Then I gave him back his notebook, and said, “You want to
bet?” He clutched his notebook to his chest and stalked off. I liked him. He reminded me
of me. Fifteen minutes later his mother barged in. “Red or purple?” she asked me, still
sounding frantic. “Come with me.” Bewildered, I followed her down the hall and into the
master bedroom suite, where she’d laid out two dresses. “I only have five minutes before I
have to put the rolls in,” she said. “Red or purple?” The purple had considerably more
fabric. “Purple,” I said. “Do you have shoes I can borrow, too? Or do you want me to go
barefoot?” She gave me a wild-eyed look. “Shoes I have, but not nylons.” “Amber,” I told
her. “I will put on high heels for you. And I will wear a dress. But you aren’t paying me
enough to wear nylons. My legs are shaved and tan, that’ll have to do.” “We can pay you.
How much do you want?” I looked but couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. “No charge,”
I told her. “That way I can leave when things get scary.” She didn’t laugh. I was pretty
sure Amber used to have a sense of humor. Maybe. “Look,” I told her. “Take a deep
breath. Find the shoes for me, and go put your rolls in the oven.” She did take a deep
breath, and it seemed to help. When I went back to my room, Chad was there again with
his notebook. He was staring at the walking stick on my bed. I hadn’t brought it with me,
but it had come anyway. I wished I could ask it what it wanted from me. I picked it up and
waited until he was looking at me so he could read my lips. “This is what I use to beat
problem children with.” He clutched his notebook tighter, so I guessed his lipreading skills
were up to par. I put the stick back on the bed. “What did you want?” He turned his
notebook around and showed me a newspaper article that had been cut out and was taped
to a page of his notebook. “Alpha Werewolf’s Girlfriend Kills Attacker” it said. There was
a picture of me looking battered and dazed. I didn’t remember anyone taking pictures, but
there were large chunks of that night I was pretty shaky on. “Yes,” I said, like my stomach
didn’t suddenly hurt. “Old news.” He turned the page, and I saw he had another
observation for me. “There R no vampyrs.” I guessed spelling wasn’t his strong suit. Even
at ten, I’d been able to spell “are.” “Okay, thanks,” I said. “Good to know. I guess I’ll go
home tomorrow.” He dropped his hands to his sides, the notebook swaying back and forth
with irritation like a cat’s tail. He knew sarcasm when he heard it, even if he was lipreading
it. “Don’t worry, kid,” I told him more gently. “I’m not a part of the plot to send
you off to kid-prison. If I don’t see anything, it doesn’t mean that there’s nothing to see.
And I’ll tell your father so, too.” He blinked his eyes furiously, hugged his notebook again.
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He lifted his chin—a smaller, less-stubborn version of his mother’s. And he left.
AMBER TROTTED UP THE STAIRS DOUBLE TIME AND waved to me as she went
past. I heard her knock, then open a door. “You need to clean up, too,” she told her son.
“You don’t have to eat with us—there’s a plate in the microwave—but I don’t want you
scuttling around trying to be unseen, either. You know how that irritates your father. So
comb your hair, wash your hands and face.” I stripped off my clothes and pulled on the
purple dress. It fit just fine—a little tight in the shoulders and snugger in the hips than I
preferred, but when I looked at it in the full-length mirror, it looked just fine. Amber,
Char, and I had always been able to trade clothes with each other. The heels were higher
than was comfortable, but as long as we were staying in the house, they should be all
right. Char’s feet had been smaller than Amber’s and mine. I brushed out my hair again,
then French-braided it. A touch of lipstick and eyeliner, and I was good to go. I wished it
was Adam I was about to eat with instead of Amber, her jerk of a husband, and some
important client. It was enough to make me wish I had a plate in the microwave, too.
6 NEITHER OF THE TWO MEN WHO ENTERED THE HOUSE was handsome. The
shorter man was slightly balding, with plump hands that had three thick gold rings on
them. His suit was off-the-rack, but the rack had been expensive. His eyes were pale, pale
blue, almost as pale as Samuel’s wolf eyes. The resemblance made me want to like him.
He stood by almost shyly as the other man hugged Amber. “Hey, sweetie,” Amber’s
husband said and, to my surprise, there was honest warmth in his voice. “Thank you for
fixing dinner for us on such short notice.” Corban Wharton was striking rather than goodlooking.
His nose was too long for his broad face. His eyes were dark and wide-set—and
smiling. There was something solid and reassuring about him. He was the kind of person
that you’d want beside you in a courtroom. When he looked at me, he frowned briefly, as
if trying to place who I was. “You must be Mercedes Thompson,” he said, holding out his
hand. He had a good handshake, a politician’s handshake—firm and dry. “Call me Mercy,”
I said. “Everyone does.” He nodded. “Mercy, this is my friend and client Jim Blackwood.
Jim—Mercy Thompson, my wife’s friend who is visiting us this week.” Jim was talking to
Amber and took just an instant to turn his attention back to Corban and me. Jim
Blackwood. James Blackwood. How many James Black-woods were there in Spokane, I
wondered in dumb panic. Five or six? But I knew—even though the strong cologne he
wore kept me from scenting vampire—I knew I wasn’t going to be lucky. He’d think I
smelled like I had dogs, Bran had assured me. And even if he didn’t, even if he knew what
I was—I was just visiting. He couldn’t take offense at that, right? I knew better. Vampires
could take offense at anything they liked. “Mr. Blackwood,” I greeted him, when he
looked away from Amber. Keep it simple. I didn’t know if vampires could sense lies like
the wolves could, but I wasn’t going to say, “It’s very good to meet you,” or something
similar when I was wishing myself a hundred miles away. I did my best to keep a social
smile on my face while stupid thoughts began to pile up. How was he going to eat with
us? Vampires didn’t. Not that I’d ever seen. What were the chances of a vampire’s
showing up and it not being some plot of Marsilia’s? Blackwood hadn’t sounded like a
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vampire who would do anyone’s bidding. “Call me Jim,” he told me, just a hint of a British
accent shading his voice. “I’m sorry to intrude on your visit, but we had some urgent
business this afternoon, and Corban insisted on bringing me home.” His round face was
merry, and his handshake was even more practiced than Corban’s had been. If it weren’t
for that little talk I’d had with Bran, I’d never have known what he was. “Shall we go eat
now?” Amber suggested, calm and in control now that the preparations were finished.
“It’s ready and not going to get better if it sits around. I’m afraid I kept it simple.” Simple
was pepper steak over rice with salads and fresh rolls followed by homemade apple pie.
Somehow, the food disappeared from the vampire’s plate. I never saw him eat or touch his
plate—though I kept half an eye on it with morbid fascination. Maybe a little hope. If I’d
seen even a single bite go in his mouth, then I’d have believed him to be just what he
seemed. I stayed quiet while the men talked business—mostly contract language and
401(k)s—and I was very happy to stay unnoticed. Amber slipped in a sentence here and
there, just enough to keep the conversation going. I heard Chad sneak by the dining room
and into the kitchen. After a while he left again. “Very good meal as always,” the vampire
told Amber. “Beautiful, charming—and a fine cook. As I keep telling Corban, I am going
to steal you one of these days.” I felt a chill go down my spine—he wasn’t lying—but
Corban and Amber just laughed as if it were an old joke. Just then, he looked at me.
“You’ve been awfully quiet tonight. Corban tells me you went to school with Amber and
you’re from Kennewick. What is it you do there?” “I fix things,” I mumbled to my plate.
“Things?” He sounded intrigued, just the opposite of what I’d hoped. “Cars. Meet
Mercedes the VW mechanic,” said Amber with a touch of the sharpness that had been her
trademark in the old days. “But I bet I can still get her going on the royal families of
Europe or the name of Hitler’s German shepherd.” She smiled at James Blackwood, the
Monster who kept his territory free of vampires or anything else that might challenge him.
A coyote wouldn’t be much of a challenge. Amber chatted on ... almost nervously. Maybe
she thought I’d jump up and tell her husband’s valuable client that they’d brought me over
to catch a ghost in the act. She wouldn’t be worried about it if she knew what he was.
“You’d have thought with her background—she’s half-Blackfoot ... or is that Blackfeet?
... Anyway, she never studied Native American history, just the European stuff.” “I don’t
like wallowing in tragedy,” I told her, trying desperately to sound uninteresting. “And
that’s what Native American history is mostly. But now I just fix cars.” “Blondi,” said
Corban, “was the name of the dog.” “Someone told me she was named after the comic
strip Blondie,” I added. That supposition had led to many arguments among the Nazi
trivia buffs I knew. I was hoping the conversation would devolve to Hitler. He was dead
and could do no more harm—unlike the dead man in the room. “You are Native
American?” asked the vampire. Had he tried to catch my eyes? I was very good at keeping
my gaze from meeting other people’s unless it was on purpose—a useful skill around the
wolves. I looked at his jaw, and said, “Half. My father. I never knew him, though.” He
shook his head. “I’m very sorry.” “Old news,” I said. Deciding that if Hitler wasn’t going
to distract him from me, maybe business would. It always worked with my stepfather. “I
take it Corban is keeping your company safely out of the courts?” “He’s very good at his
job,” said the vampire with a pleased and possessive smile. “With him beside me,
Blackwood Industries will stay afloat for a few more months, eh?” Corban gave a hearty,
and heartfelt, laugh. “Oh, I think a few months at the least.” “To making money,” said
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Amber, holding up her glass. “Lots of it.” I pretended to sip the wine with the rest of them
and was pretty sure that my idea of making money was several orders of magnitude less
than theirs.
HE LEFT AT LAST IT HADN’T BEEN AS HORRIBLE AS I’D feared. The Monster
was charming and, I hoped, unaware that I was anything except a not-very-interesting VW
mechanic. Except for that one moment, I’d mostly avoided notice. Almost euphoric at my
near escape, I didn’t worry about ghosts at all while I changed. Then I went back
downstairs to help Amber with the cleanup. She must have been worried or something,
too, because she was nearly as giddy as I was. We had an impromptu water fight in the
kitchen that ended in a draw when her husband stuck his head in the doorway to see what
the noise was all about, and nearly got a sponge in the face for his trouble. Discretion
suggested that having escaped detection once, I should head home in the morning. But
Amber was a little drunk, so I decided that conversation could wait until later. Dishes
clean, clothes wet and soapy, I left Amber necking with her husband in the kitchen. I
opened the bedroom door to find Chad in the middle of my bed, his arms crossed over his
chest. I could smell his fear from the doorway. I closed the door behind me and took a
good look around the room. “Ghost?” I mouthed. He glanced around the room, too, then
shook his head. “Not here? In your room?” He gave me a cautious nod. “How about we
go in your room, then.” Terror breathing out of every pore, he slipped off the bed and
followed me to his room: brave kid. He opened his bedroom door cautiously—and then
pushed it open, being very careful to keep his feet in the hallway. “I assume you don’t
usually keep that bookcase facedown on the floor,” I told him. He gave me a dirty look,
but he lost some of his fear. I shrugged. “Hey, my boyfriend has a daughter”—boyfriend
was such an inadequate word—“and I had a pair of little sisters. None of them keeps a
clean room. I had to ask.” Except for the bookcase, it was hard to tell what part of the
mess was a normal boy’s habitat and how much the ghost had caused. But the bookcase,
one of those half-sized things people put in kids’ rooms, was easy to fix. I squeezed past
Chad and into the room. The bookcase was even lighter than I’d thought. When I started
reshelving his books, he knelt beside me and helped. He read a little of everything—and
not entirely limited to things I’d think a kid would read: Jurassic Park, Interview with the
Vampire, and H. P. Lovecraft sat next to Harry Potter and Naruto manga numbers one
through fifteen. We worked for about twenty minutes to put everything to rights, and by
the time we finished, he wasn’t scared anymore. I could smell it, though. It was watching
us. I dusted my hands off and looked around. “You usually keep your room this neat,
kid?” He nodded solemnly. I shook my head. “You need help. Just like your mom. My
little sister kept fossilized lunches under her bed for the dust bunnies she raised there.” I
picked up a game from the neat stack. “Want to play some Battleship?” I wasn’t leaving
him alone with that thing in there. Chad armed himself with a notebook, and we went to
war. Historically, war has often been used as a distraction for problems at home. Both of
us lay on our bellies on the floor facing each other and fired our missiles. Adam called, and
I told him he’d have to wait—battle must take precedence over romance. He laughed,
wished me good night and good luck, just like that old war correspondent. Chad’s twopoint
boat was devilishly well hidden, and he destroyed my navy while I hunted it
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fruitlessly. “Argh!” I cried with feeling. “You sank my battleship!” Chad’s face lit with
laughter, and someone knocked at the door. I supposed I hadn’t needed to make so much
noise since Chad couldn’t hear me anyway. “Come in,” I said. Reading my lips, Chad
looked suddenly horrified, and I reached over and patted his shoulder. The door popped
open, and I rolled halfway over and looked back over my feet as if to see who it was.
Most people would have needed to look, so I did, but I’d heard him coming—and Amber
had never stalked angrily in her life. Stomp, yes. Stalk, no. Trust me—any predator knows
the difference. “Isn’t it after bedtime?” Corban said. He was wearing a pair of sweats and
an old Seattle Seahawks shirt. His hair was rumpled as if he’d been to bed. I supposed I’d
woken him up. “Nope,” I told him. “We’re playing games and waiting for the ghost to
show up. Want to join us?” “There isn’t a ghost,” he said to his son, out loud and in sign.
I’d started to like Corban over dinner, he had seemed like a decent guy. But he was being
a bully now. I rolled up until I was facing him. “Isn’t there?” He frowned at me. “There
are no such things as ghosts. I am very happy you’ve come here to visit, but I don’t
approve of encouraging nonsense. If you tell them there isn’t one here, they’ll believe you.
Chad has enough to deal with without everyone thinking he’s crazy.” He’d continued to
sign, even though he was talking to me. I didn’t know if he left out the bit where I was
supposed to tell Chad and Amber there weren’t any ghosts. “He’s a damn fine naval
commander,” I told Corban. “And I think he’s too smart to make up ghosts.” He signed
my reply, too. Then he said, “He just wants attention.” “He gets attention,” I said. “He
wants to stop being scared because someone he can’t see or hear is making a mess in his
room. I thought you were the one who suggested I come check it out. Why did you do
that if you don’t believe in ghosts?” There was a loud bang as the car on the top of Chad’s
chest of drawers made a suicide run off its perch, zoomed three feet across the room to hit
the bookcase, and fell onto the floor. I’d been watching it roll back and forth, just a little
bit, out of the corner of my eye for the last fifteen minutes, so I didn’t jump. Chad
couldn’t hear it, so he didn’t jump. But Corban did. I got up and picked the car up. “Can
you do that again?” I asked, setting the car back on the top of the bookcase. I knelt beside
Chad and looked at him so he could see my mouth. “It just made that car fall off. We’re all
going to watch and see if it can do it again.” Silenced by the car’s fall, Corban sat down
next to Chad and put a hand on his shoulder—and we all watched the car turn slowly in
place then fall off the back of the bookcase. Then the bookcase fell facedown on the floor,
right on top of Chad’s plastic ocean fleet. I caught a glimpse of someone standing there,
hands up, then nothing—and the sweet-salt smell of blood that I’d been smelling since I
first entered the room faded away. I stayed where I was while Corban checked the
bookcase and the car for devices or strings or something. Finally, he looked back at Chad.
“Are you all right sleeping in here?” “It’s gone,” I told them both, and Corban obliged me
by signing it. Chad nodded, and his hands flew. At the end of it, Corban grinned. “I guess
that’s true.” He looked at me. “He told me the ghost hasn’t killed him yet.” Corban hefted
the bookcase upright again, and I looked down at the mess of books and game pieces. I
waited until Chad glanced my way. Then I pointed at his two-hole destroyer, plainly
visible, surrounded by white, useless missile pegs. “So that’s where you hid it, you little
sneak.” He grinned. Not a full-fledged grin, but enough that I knew he’d be fine. Tough
kid. I left them to their manly nighttime rituals and went back to my room, all thoughts of
going home tomorrow shelved. I wasn’t going to abandon Chad to the ghost. I still had no
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idea how to get rid of it, but maybe I could help him live with it instead. He was already
halfway there. Corban knocked at my door a few minutes later, then cracked it open. “I
don’t need to come in,” he said. He stared at me grimly. “Tell me you didn’t engineer that
somehow. I checked for wires and magnets.” I raised my eyebrow at him. “I didn’t
engineer anything. Congratulations. Your house is haunted.” He frowned. “I’m pretty
good at sniffing out lies.” “Good for you,” I told him sincerely. “Now I’m tired, and I
need to go to sleep.” He backed away from my doorway and started down the hall. But he
hadn’t gotten two steps before he turned back. “If it is a ghost, is Chad safe?” I shrugged.
Truthfully, the smell of blood bothered me. Ghosts, in my experience, tend to smell like
themselves. Mrs. Hanna, who used to visit my shop sometimes—both when she was alive
and after she died—smelled like her laundry soap, her favorite perfume, and the cats who
shared her home with her. I didn’t think the blood was a good sign. Still, I gave him the
truth as I knew it. “I’ve never been hurt by a ghost, and I only know of a few stories
where someone was hurt, mostly only bruises. The Bell Witch supposedly killed a man
named John Bell in Tennessee a couple of centuries ago—but it was probably something
other than a ghost. And old John died of poison that the Witch was supposed to have put
in his medicine, something more mundane hands could have done as well.” He stared at
me, and I returned it. “You date a werewolf,” he said. “That’s right.” “And you say there
are ghosts.” “And fae,” I told him. “I work with one. After werewolves and fae, ghosts
aren’t such a leap now, are they?” I shut my door and went to bed. After a few long
minutes, he retreated to his bedroom. I usually have a hard time sleeping in strange places,
but it was very late (or really early), and I hadn’t gotten a full night’s sleep the night
before either. I slept like a baby. When I woke up the next morning there were two
puncture marks, complete with a nifty purple bruise, on my neck. They were a lovely
addition to the stitches in my chin. And my lamb necklace was gone. I stared at the bite in
the bathroom mirror and heard Samuel tell me that I shouldn’t count upon Stefan still
being my friend ... and Stefan making it clear that he needed to feed in order to avoid
detection. I knew there were consequences to being bitten, but I wasn’t sure what they
were. Of course I’d met another vampire last night. For a moment I hoped it was him.
That Stefan hadn’t bitten me while I slept. Then I really thought about being bitten by
James Blackwood, who scared the things that scared me. And I hoped it was Stefan.
Stefan would have needed an invitation into the house, though. Had I asked him in, and
he’d somehow erased the memory? I hoped so. It seemed the lesser of two evils. The
bathroom door popped open—I’d just come in to brush my teeth, so it wasn’t locked.
Chad stared at my neck, then looked at me, eyes wide. And I hoped it was Stefan, because
I was going to stay here until I helped ... somehow. “No,” I told Chad casually, “I wasn’t
lying about the vampires.” I thought I wouldn’t mention I’d received it last night if he
didn’t think of that himself. He didn’t need to be worrying about vampires as well as
ghosts. “I shouldn’t have told you about it,” I said. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell your
folks. The vampires like it better if no one knows they’re around. And they take measures
to ensure that is true.” He looked at me for a moment. Then he zipped an imaginary zipper
across his lips, locked an invisible lock, and threw the key behind his back: some things are
universal. “Thank you.” I put the cap on my toothbrush and packed up my bathroom kit.
“Any more trouble last night?” He shook his head and wiped a wrist across his forehead to
wipe off imaginary sweat. “Good. Do you get much activity from your ghost during the
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day?” He shrugged, waited a moment, then nodded. “So I’ll talk to your mom and maybe
go for a jog.” No running in coyote form in the city, especially when my efforts to stay out
of James Blackwood’s way had already failed so spectacularly. But if I didn’t run most
days, I started to get cranky. “And then we can stake out your room for a while. Is there
anywhere else the ghost visits?” He nodded and mimed eating and cooking. “Just the
kitchen, or the dining room, too?” He held up two fingers. “Fine.” I checked my watch.
“Meet you here at eight sharp.” I went back to my room, but I didn’t catch Stefan’s scent
or anything out of the ordinary. Nor was there any sign of my necklace. Without it, I had
no protection against vampires. Not that it had done me much good last night.
RUNNING IN THE CITY IS NOT MY FAVORITE THING. STILL, the sun was
shining, making it unlikely that I’d run into a vampire for a while. I ran for about a half
hour, then made a beeline for Amber’s house. Her car was gone from the driveway. She
had things to do, she’d told me—a hair appointment, errands to run, and some shopping.
I’d told her Chad and I would amuse ourselves on our own. Still, I’d expected her to wait
for me to return. I wasn’t sure I’d have left my ten-year-old son alone in a haunted house.
However, he seemed unfazed when he met me at the bathroom door just as my watch read
8:00 A.M. We explored the whole of the old house, starting with the bottom and working
our way up. Not that it was necessary or important to explore, but I like old houses and I
didn’t have any better plan than waiting for the ghost to manifest. Come to think of it, I
didn’t have any better plan after it manifested. Banishing ghosts was not something I’d
ever tried, and everything I’d read about it over the years (not much) seemed to indicate
that doing it wrong was worse than not doing it at all. The cellar had been redone at some
point, but behind a smallish old-fashioned door, there was a room with a dirt floor filled
with old wooden milk crates and junk stored down there by some long-ago person.
Whatever its original purpose, it was now the perfect habitat for black widows. “Wow.” I
pointed at the far corner of the ceiling with my borrowed flashlight. “Look at the size of
that spider. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen one that big.” Chad tapped me and I looked
at his circle of light, centered on a broken ladder-back chair. “Yep,” I agreed. “That one’s
bigger. I think we’ll just back out of here and look elsewhere—at least until we have a
nice can of spider spray.” I shut the door a little more firmly than I might have. I don’t
mind spiders, and a black widow is one of the beauties of its kind ... but they bite if you
get in their way. Just like vampires. I rubbed my neck to make sure the collar of my shirt
and my hair were still covering my own bite. This afternoon I’d go shopping. I needed to
pick up a scarf or high-necked shirt for better concealment before Amber or Corban saw
it. Maybe I could find another lamb necklace. The rest of the basement was surprisingly
clean of junk, dust, and spiders. Maybe Amber hadn’t been as intimidated by the widows
as I’d been. “We’re not trying to find out who the ghost is,” I told him. “Though we could
do that if you wanted to, I suppose. I’m just looking around to see what I can see. If this
turns out to be a trick someone is playing, I don’t want to be taken in.” He slashed his
hands down in a way that needed no translation, his eyes bright with anger. “No. I don’t
think you’re doing it.” I told him firmly. “If that was faked last night, it was beyond any
amateur fiddling. Maybe someone has a bone to pick with your dad and is using you to do
it.” I hesitated. “But I don’t think it was faked.” Why would someone plant the smell of
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fresh blood too faint for a human nose, for instance. Still, I felt obligated to be as certain
as I could that no one was playing tricks. He thought about that for a while, then gave me
a solemn nod and pointed out things of interest. A small, empty room behind a very thick
door that might have been a cold room. The old coal chute with a box of old blankets
placed near the end. I stuck my head in the metal tunnel and sniffed, but only to confirm
my suspicions : Chad had been sliding down the coal chute for fun. His eyes peered
worriedly out from under his too-long hair. It didn’t look dangerous to me—it looked fun.
More fun if no one else knew, I’d had a few places like that when I was his age. So I
didn’t say anything. I showed him the old bare copper electrical wires, no longer in use but
still present, and the quarry marks on the granite stone blocks used to wall in the
basement. We checked out the basement ceiling below the kitchen and dining room. Since
I didn’t know exactly what had been happening in the kitchen and dining room, I didn’t
know what to look for. But it stood to reason that it would have been put in shortly before
the haunting started—which was just a few months ago. Everything in that part of the
basement looked as though it was older than I was. The next two floors weren’t nearly as
interesting as the basement—no black widows. Someone had thoroughly modernized them
and left not so much as a trace of an old servants’ stairway or dumb-waiter. The
woodwork was nice, but pine rather than hardwood—the craftsmanship good but not
extraordinary. The house had been built by someone of the upper middle class, I judged,
and not by one of the truly wealthy. My trailer had been built for the truly poor, so I was a
good judge of such things. The ghost hadn’t been to Chad’s room since last night—
everything was neatly in place. As Corban had said, there were no signs of wires or strings
or anything that could have made the car shoot across the room. I supposed it could have
been done with magic—I didn’t know a lot about magic. But I hadn’t felt any, and I
usually can tell if someone’s using magic near me. I looked at Chad. “Unless we find
something really odd in the floor above your room, I’m pretty convinced this is the real
deal.” In my room, my brush was on the floor, but I couldn’t swear I hadn’t left it there.
Under Chad’s gimlet eye, I made my bed and stuffed the clothes I’d scattered all over the
floor into my suitcase. “The real problem is,” I told him as I tidied my mess and he sat on
the bed, “that I don’t know how to get the ghost to leave you alone. I can see it better
than you, I think—you didn’t see anything yesterday except the things moving around?”
He shook his head. “I did. Nothing clear, but I could see it. But I don’t know how to
make it go away. It’s not a repeater—a ghost that just repeats certain actions over and
over. There’s intelligence behind what it does—” I had to say it twice for him to get it all.
When he did, Chad’s face twisted in a snarl, and he hissed. I nodded. “It’s angry. Maybe if
we can figure out what it’s angry about, we can—” Something made a huge crashing
noise. My reaction must have given it away because Chad stood up and touched my
shoulder. “Something downstairs,” I told him. We found it in the kitchen. The fridge hung
open and the wall opposite it was dented and smeared with a wet and sticky substance that
was probably orange juice. A container of it lay open on the floor along with half a dozen
bottles of various condiments. The faucet was on full force. The sink was stoppered and
rapidly filling with hot water. While Chad turned the water off, I looked around the room.
When Chad touched my arm, I shook my head. “I don’t see it.” Heaving a sigh, I started
cleanup. I seemed to be doing that a lot here. I scrubbed the wall, and Chad mopped the
floor. There was nothing I could do about the dents in the wall—and looking at them, I
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thought maybe some of them were old. Once everything was as good as it would get, I
fixed sandwiches and chips for lunch. Thus fortified, we continued our explorations by
going up to the attic. There were actually two attics. The one above Chad’s room was
accessible by a narrow stairway hidden in a hall closet (maybe the last remnant of a
servants’ stair). I half expected dust and storage boxes, but the attic held only a modern
office with a professional-looking computer set up on a cherry desk. There were skylights
for an open, airy feeling to offset the walls of cherry barrister’s book-cases weighed down
by leather-bound legal tomes. The only whimsical feature was a lacy pillow on the narrow
window seat in front of the only window. “You said there was another one?” I asked,
standing on the stairs because entering the room seemed intrusive. Chad led the way to the
other side of the second floor and into his parent’s bedroom. I wondered why the office
had been personalized and charming while the bedroom suite, professionally decorated
until it would have been as equally comfortable in a department store as it was in the old
house, was impersonal and cold. Inside the walk-in closet, there was a large rectangular
door in the ceiling. We had to get a chair and pull it under the door before I could reach
the latched hand pull, but the door turned out to be a folding staircase. Once we pulled the
chair away, the stairs dropped all the way to the floor. Flashlights in hand, we intrepid
explorers climbed into the attic more suited to a house like this than the previous one had
been. Structurally, it was the mirror image of the office minus the skylights and gorgeous
view. Light battled through the coating of white paint that covered the only window,
flickering on the motes of dust we had disturbed with our presence. Four old steamer
trunks were lined up against the wall next to a pedal sewing machine with SINGER
scrawled in elaborate gold lettering over the scratched wooden side of the cabinet. There
were more empty milk crates here, but in the attic, at least, someone had found a way to
keep the spiders out. I didn’t see any creepy-crawlies at all. Or even very much dust. Trust
Amber to dust her attic. The trunks were locked. But the look of disappointment on
Chad’s face had me digging out my pocketknife. A little wiggling, a little jiggling with the
otherwise-useless toothpick, and the slimmest of the blades had the first trunk open before
you could sing three verses of “Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer.” I know because I hum when
I pick locks—it’s a bad habit. Since I have no desire to become a professional thief,
though, I haven’t bothered to try to break myself of it. Yellowed linens with tatting around
the edges and embroidered spring baskets, or flowers, or some other appropriately
feminine imagery filled the first trunk, but the second was more interesting. House plans
(which we took out), deeds, old diplomas for people whose names were unfamiliar to
Chad, and a handful of newspaper articles dating back to the 1920s about people with the
same last name as the people in the diplomas and deeds. Mostly death, birth, and marriage
notices. None of the death notices were about people who had died violently or too
young, I noticed. While Chad was poring over the house plans he’d spread over the closed
lid of the first trunk, I stopped to read about the life of Ermalinda Gaye Holfenster
McGinnis Curtis Albright, intrigued by the excessive last name. She’d died at age seventyfour
in 1939. Her father had been a captain on the wrong side of the Civil War, had taken
his family west, finding his fortune in timber and railroads. Ermalinda had eight children,
four of whom had survived her and had a huge number of children themselves. Twice a
widow, she’d married a third man fifteen years before her death. He’d been—reading
between the lines—far younger than she. “You go, girl,” I told her admiringly—and the
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stairway closed up and slammed shut so hard that the resultant vibration from the floor
had Chad looking up from his plans. He wouldn’t have heard the snick of the lock,
though. I dove for the door—too late, of course. When I put my nose to it, I didn’t smell
anyone. I couldn’t think of any reason anyone would lock us in the attic, anyway. It
wasn’t as if we were going to perish up here ... unless someone set the whole house on
fire or something. I pushed that helpful thought out of my head and decided it was
probably our ghost. I’d read about ghosts who set houses on fire. Wasn’t Hans Holzer’s
Borley Rectory supposedly burned down by its ghosts? But then I was pretty sure that
Hans Holzer had been proved a fraud at some point ... “Well,” I told Chad, “that tells us
that our ghost is vindictive and intelligent, anyway.” He looked pretty shook-up, clutching
the plans in a way that would make any historian cringe at the way the fragile paper was
wrinkling. “We might as well keep exploring, don’t you think?” When he still looked
scared, I told him, “Your mother will be home sooner or later. When she comes upstairs,
we can have her let us out.” Then I had an idea. I slipped my phone out of my front
pocket, but when I called the number I’d saved for Amber, I could hear the phone in her
bedroom ring. “Does your mom have a cell phone?” She did. He punched the number in,
and I listened to her cell phone tell me she wasn’t available. So I told her where we were
and what had happened. “When she gets the message, she’ll come let us out,” I told Chad
when I was finished. “If she doesn’t, we’ll call your dad. Want to see what’s in the last
trunk?” He wasn’t happy about it, but he leaned on my shoulder while I finagled the last
lock. We both stared at the treasure revealed when the last trunk opened. “Wow,” I said.
“I wonder if your parents know this is up here.” I paused. “I wonder if this is worth
anything?” The last trunk was completely full of old records, mostly the thick black vinyl
kind labeled 78 rpm. There was a method to the storage, I discovered. One pile was all
children’s entertainment—The Story of Hiawatha, various children’s songs. And a
treasure, Snow White complete with a storybook in the album cover that looked as though
it had been made about the same time as the movie. Chad turned up his nose at Snow
White, so I put it back in the correct pile. My cell phone rang and I checked the number.
“Not your mom,” I told Chad. I flipped open the phone. “Hey, Adam. Did you ever listen
to the Mello-Kings?” There was a little pause, and Adam sang in a passable bass, “Chip,
chip, chip went the little bird ... and something, something, something went my heart. I
assume there’s a reason you asked?” “Chad and I are going though a box of old records,”
I told him. “Chad?” His voice was carefully neutral. “Amber’s ten-year-old son. I have in
my own two hands a 1957 record by the Mello-Kings. I think it might be the newest one
in here—nope. Chad just found a Beatles album ... uhm, cover. It looks like the record is
missing. So the Mello-Kings are probably the newest thing here.” “I see. No luck hunting
ghosts?” “Some.” I looked ruefully at the closed door that was keeping us prisoner. “What
about you? How’re negotiations with the Mistress?” “Warren and Darryl are to meet with
a pair of her vampires tonight.” “Which ones?” “Bernard and Wulfe.” “Tell them to be
careful,” I told him. “Wulfe is something more than just a vampire.” I’d only met Bernard
once, and he hadn’t impressed me—or maybe I was just remembering Stefan’s reaction to
him. “Go teach your granny to suck eggs,” said Adam calmly. “Don’t worry. Have you
seen Stefan?” I touched my fingers to my neck. How to answer that. “I don’t know, he
might have bitten me last night,” somehow didn’t seem the right thing to say. “He has
been making himself scarce so far. Maybe tonight he’ll stop in to talk.” I heard the door
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open downstairs. “I need to go now, Amber’s back.” “All right. I’ll call you tonight.” And
he hung up. Someone ran up the stairs and into the bedroom. “Your mother’s home,” I
told Chad, and began replacing the records. They were heavy. I couldn’t imagine what the
whole trunk might weigh. Maybe they packed the trunk when it was already in the attic—
or had eight strapping werewolves to carry it. “It’s locked,” I told Amber, as she rattled
the door. “I think there’s some kind of a catch on your side.” She was breathing hard as
she pulled the stairs down. Her attention was all for Chad, and she didn’t bother with
speech as her hands danced. “We’re fine,” I interrupted her. “You have some neat records
here. Have you had them valued?” She turned to stare at me, as if she’d forgotten I was
there. Her pupils were ... odd. Too large, I decided, even for the dim attic. “The records? I
think Corban found them when we bought this house. Yes, he checked them out. They’re
nothing special. Just old.” “Did you have a good time shopping?” She looked at me
blankly. “Shopping?” “Amber, are you all right?” She blinked, then smiled. It was so full
of sweetness and light that it gave me cold chills. Amber was many things, but she wasn’t
sweet. There was something wrong with her. “Yes. I bought a sweater and a couple of
early Christmas presents.” She waved it away. “How did you get stuck here?” I shrugged,
replacing the last records and pulling the trunk shut. “Unless you have someone breaking
into your house to play nasty practical jokes, I’d say it was the ghost.” I stood up and
started past her to the opened door. And I smelled vampire. Could Stefan be staying here?
I paused to look around while Chad thundered down the attic stairs leaving his mother and
me alone with the smell of vampire and fresh blood. “What’s wrong?” Amber said, taking
a step forward. She smelled of sweat, sex, and a vampire who was not Stefan. “Was
shopping all you were doing?” I asked. “What? I had my hair done, paid a few bills—
that’s it. Are you all right?” She wasn’t lying. She didn’t know she’d been a snack for a
vampire. Today. I looked at the daylight streaming through the windows and knew I
desperately needed to talk to Stefan.
7 I WAITED UNTIL DARK, THEN QUIETLY SNUCK OUT THE back door and into
the yard. “Stefan?” I called, keeping it quiet so no one in the house would hear me. It
wasn’t as stupid as all that to call for him. He’d come here to keep an eye on me. It made
sense that he’d be nearby, somewhere. Watching. I waited for a half an hour, though, and
no Stefan. Finally, I went inside and found Amber watching TV. “I’m going to bed,” I told
her. Her neck, I noticed, was bared to the world without blemish—but there are other
places a vampire can feed. My own neck sported a scarf, one of several I’d picked up that
afternoon on a Goodwill shopping spree that Chad and I had taken. The only thing I’d
found resembling a lamb had been a barrette with a cartoon sheep on it. Not something to
invoke the protection of the Son of God. “You look tired,” she said with a yawn. “I know
I’m exhausted.” She muted the TV and faced me. “Corban told me about last night. Even
if you can’t do anything else, it means a lot to me that you’ve convinced him that Chad
isn’t just making things up and acting out.” I rubbed the vampire bite, safely hidden under
bright red silk. Amber had a lot bigger problem than a ghost, but I had no idea how to help
her with that one either. “Good,” I said. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Once I was in my
room, I couldn’t force myself to go to sleep. I wondered if Corban knew what his client
was and knew that the vampire was feeding from his wife, or if he was a dupe like Amber.
I wondered at the oddity of Corban, who didn’t believe in ghosts, suggesting Amber ask
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me to come and help them with theirs. But if the vampire had decided to bring me here ...
I had no idea why. Unless it was some secret conspiracy, a way for Marsilia to get rid of
me, punish me for my sins without worrying about the wolves. But I didn’t see Marsilia
being anxious to owe a favor to any vampire—and a vampire who was so territorial that
he allowed no other vampires at all was a poor candidate for cooperative problem solving.
Speaking of Blackwood ... he’d called Amber to him in the day. I’d never heard of a
vampire who was alive during the day, though admittedly my experience with vampires
was limited. I wondered where Stefan was. “Stefan?” I said, keeping my voice down.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” Maybe he couldn’t get in because he hadn’t
been invited. “Stefan? Come in.” But he still didn’t answer. My phone rang, and I couldn’t
help the silly butterflies in my stomach when I answered. “Hey, Adam,” I said. “I thought
you’d want to know that Warren and Darryl made it out of the vampire den alive.” I
sucked in my breath. “You didn’t actually agree to their meeting on Marsilia’s grounds?”
He laughed. “No, it just sounded better than saying they made it out of Denny’s alive. It
might not be romantic, but it’s open all night and set in the middle of a brightly lit parking
lot with no dark places for skulking parties to ambush from.” “Did they accomplish
anything?” “Not exactly.” He didn’t sound worried. “Negotiations take time. This round
was all posturing and threats. But Warren says he thinks Marsilia might be after something
more than just your pretty little hide—a couple of hints Wulfe let drop. Marsilia knows I
won’t budge on you, but she might be willing to negotiate on something else. How are
you doing?” “The walking stick followed me here,” I told him, because I knew it would
make him laugh again. He did. And the rough caress of his mirth made my bones melt.
“Just don’t buy any sheep while you’re out, and you’ll be safe.” The stick that followed
me home and, in this case, to Spokane had originally had the power of making every sheep
belonging to its caretaker bear twins. Like most fairy gifts, sooner or later it back-fired on
its human owner. I didn’t know if it still worked that way, and I didn’t know why it was
following me around either, but I was getting sort of used to it. “Any luck with your
ghost?” Now that we were safely out of the attic, I could tell him about it without him
speeding all the way over to rescue me. If Blackwood had ignored me—mostly, anyway—
he certainly wouldn’t ignore the Alpha of the Columbia Basin Pack. When I was finished,
he asked, “Why’d it trap you in the attic?” I shrugged and wriggled on the bed to get more
comfortable. “I don’t know. Probably the opportunity just presented itself. There are fae
who cause mischief like this—hobs and brownies and the like. But this was a ghost. I saw
it myself. What I haven’t seen is any sign of Stefan. I’m a little worried about him.” “He’s
there to make sure Marsilia doesn’t send anyone after you,” said Adam. “Right,” I said.
“So far, so good.” I touched the sore spot on my neck. Could that be another explanation?
Could it have been one of Marsilia’s vampires? But the sick feeling in my stomach told me
that it wasn’t. Not with Blackwood free to come and go in Amber’s home. Not with
Amber called, seduced, and fed from—in daylight. “You don’t get to be as old as Stefan is
without being able to take care of yourself.” “You’re right,” I said, “but he’s been cut
adrift, and I’d be happier if he weren’t making himself so scarce.” “He’d not be much help
in a ghost hunt—don’t ghosts avoid vampires?” “Ghosts and cats, Bran says,” I told him.
“But my cat likes Stefan.” “Your cat likes anyone she can convince to pet her.” Something
about the way he said it—a caress in his voice—made me suspicious. I listened carefully
and heard it, a faint purr. “She likes you, anyway,” I said. “How’d she talk you into letting
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her into your house again?” “She yowled at the back door.” He sounded sheepish. I’d
never seen or heard of a cat that would associate with werewolves or coyotes until Medea
announced her presence at the door of my shop. Dogs will—and so will most livestock—
but not cats. Medea loves anyone who will pet her ... or has the potential to pet her. Not
unlike some people I know. “She’s playing you and Samuel off each other,” I informed
him. “And you, my dear sir, have just succumbed to her wiles.” “My mother warned me
about succumbing,” he said meekly. “You’ll have to save me from myself. When I have
you to pet, I won’t need her.” Faintly, through his phone, I heard the doorbell ring. “It’s
pretty late for visitors,” I said. Adam started to laugh. “What?” “It’s Samuel. He just
asked Jesse if we’ve seen your cat.” I sighed. “Men are so easy. You’d better go confess
your sins.” When I disconnected, I stared into the dark wishing I were home. If I were
sleeping with Adam next to me, no stupid vampire would be chewing on my neck. Finally,
I got up, turned on the light, and brought out the fairy book to read. After a few pages, I
quit worrying about vampires, pulled the comforter closer around my shoulders-Amber
must like her AC down at werewolf levels—and lost myself in the story of the Roaring
Bull of Bagbury and other fae who haunt bridges. I woke up shivering sometime later,
clutching the fairy staff, which I’d last seen leaning against the wall next to the door. The
wood under my fingers was hot—a contrast to the rest of the room. The cold was so
intense my nose was numb and my breath fogged. A moment after I woke up, a highpitched,
atonal wail rang through the walls of the house, abruptly cutting off. I dumped my
covers on the floor. The rare old book met the same fate—but I was too worried about
Chad to stop and rescue it. I ran out of my bedroom and took the requisite four steps to
the boy’s room. The door wouldn’t open. The knob turned, so it wasn’t locked. I put my
shoulder against the door, but it didn’t budge. I tried to use the walking stick, which was
still warmer than it should have been, as a crowbar, to force the door open, but it didn’t
work. There was nowhere to get a good place to pry. “Let me,” whispered Stefan just
behind me. “Where have you been?” I said, relief making me sharp. With the vampire here,
the ghost would go. “Hunting,” he said, putting his shoulder to the door. “You looked like
you had everything under control.” “Yeah,” I said. “Well, appearances can be deceiving.”
“I see that.” I heard the wood begin to break as it gave reluctantly for the first few inches.
Then it jerked away from the vampire and flung itself against the wall with a spiteful bang,
leaving Stefan to stumble into the bedroom. If my room had been cold, Chad’s was frigid.
Frost layered everything in the room like unearthly lace. Chad lay still as the dead in the
center of his bed—he wasn’t breathing, but his eyes were open and scared. Both Stefan
and I ran for the bed. The ghost wasn’t gone though, and Stefan didn’t scare it away. We
couldn’t get Chad out of the bed. The comforter was frozen to him and to the bed, and it
wouldn’t release him. I dropped the walking stick on the floor and grabbed the comforter
with both hands and pulled. It quivered under my hold like a living thing, damp from the
frost that melted from contact with my skin. Stefan reached both hands just under Chad’s
chin and ripped the comforter in half. Quick as a striking snake he had Chad up and off the
bed. I collected the staff and followed them out of the room and into the hall, wishing I’d
updated my CPR skills since high school. But, safely out of the room, Chad started
sucking in air like a vacuum. “You need a priest,” Stefan told me. I ignored him in favor of
Chad. “You okay?” The boy gathered himself together. His body might be thin, but his
spirit was pure tungsten. He nodded, and Stefan set him down on his feet, steadying him a
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little when Chad swayed. “I’ve never seen anything like that,” I admitted. I could see
inside Chad’s room to the water that ran down the rapidly clearing window. I looked at
Stefan. “I thought ghosts avoided you.” He was staring into the room, too. “So did I. I ...”
He looked at me and stopped speaking. He tilted my chin up and looked at my neck, at
both sides of my neck. And I realized that I’d been bitten a second time. “Who’s been
chewing on you, cara mia?” Chad looked at Stefan, then hissed and used his fingers to
make a pair of vampire fangs. “Yes, I know,” Stefan told him—signing it, too. “Vampire.”
Who knew? Stefan could sign; somehow it didn’t seem like a vampire kind of thing to do.
Chad had a few more things to say. When he was finished, Stefan shook his head. “That
vampire isn’t here; she wouldn’t leave the Tri-Cities. This is a different one.” He looked at
me, angling his face so Chad couldn’t see what he said. “How do you do it?” he asked
conversationally. “How do you go to a city of half a million and attract the only vampire
here? What did you do, run into him while jogging at night?” I ignored the panic in my
stomach caused by being bitten twice by some jerk I’d only met once. Calling him a jerk
made him less scary. Or it should have. But James Blackwood had bitten me twice while I
slept through it ... or worse, he’d made me forget it. “Just lucky, I guess,” I said. I didn’t
want to talk about it with Chad right here. He’d be a lot safer if he didn’t know James
Blackwood was a vampire. Chad made a few more hand motions. “Sorry,” said Stefan.
“I’m Stefan, Mercy’s friend.” Chad frowned. “He’s one of the good guys,” I told him. He
gave me a “fine, but what’s he doing in my house in the middle of the night” look. I
pretended not to know what it meant. And I didn’t speak ASL, so he was out there, too.
Not fair, I supposed, but I didn’t want to lie to him—and I really didn’t want to tell him
the whole truth. “They need to get away from here,” said Stefan. “And I’m taking you
back to the Tri-Cities.” He looked like he was going to say something else, but glanced at
Chad and shook his head. Probably something more about Blackwood. “Let me put some
clothes on,” I said. “I think better when I’m not running around in a T-shirt and
underwear.” I dressed in the bathroom—getting a good look at the second bite while I did
so. Then I covered them both up with my new used silk-embroidered red scarf. Go back
home? What would that accomplish? For that matter what had I accomplished here? I’d
come to help Amber and get out of Marsilia’s sight for a little bit. That had succeeded—or
at least not hampered Adam’s negotiating. I didn’t know that I’d helped Amber at all ...
not yet. I stared at my pale, sleep-starved face and wondered how I was going to do that.
Blackwood had them in his care. I shivered. Though there was nothing I could pinpoint,
no cold spot, no smell, no sound—I could feel something watching me. “Leave the boy
alone,” I told my unseen watcher. And every hair on my head tingled with sensation. I
waited for it to attack or show itself. But nothing else happened, just that momentary
connection, which faded more slowly than it had come. Stefan knocked. “Everything all
right?” “Fine,” I said. Something had happened, but I had no idea what. I was tired and
scared and angry. So I brushed my teeth and opened the bathroom door. Stefan and Chad
were leaning on opposite sides of the hallway, discussing something that had their hands
moving a mile a minute. “Stefan.” He threw up his hands and appealed to me. “How can
he think Dragon Ball Z is better than Scooby-Doo? This generation has no appreciation
for the classics.” I stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. Keeping my mouth turned away
from Chad, I said, “You’re a nice man.” Stefan patted my head. I checked Chad’s
bedroom, but it looked as if nothing had happened, and not even a trace of dampness from
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the frost remained. Only the two pieces of comforter on either side of Chad’s bed gave
any hint of trouble. “There are a couple of vampires that can do stuff like this,” Stefan
said, waving his hand at Chad’s room. “Move things without touching them, kill people
without being in the room. But I’ve never heard of a ghost with this much power. They
tend to be pathetic things trying to pretend they are alive.” I didn’t smell vampire, only
blood—fading as the frost had faded. I had seen the ghost—not clearly, but it had been
there. Still, I turned so Chad couldn’t read my lips. “Do you think Blackwood is playing
ghost?” Stefan shook his head. “No, it’s not the Monster. Wrong heritage. There was an
Indian vampire in New York—” He looked at me and grinned. He pressed a finger to his
forehead. “Indian with a dot, not a feather. Anyway, he and his get all could have done
something like what we saw tonight ... except for the cold. But only the vampires he made
directly could do it—and he only made Indian women into vampires. They were all killed a
century or more ago, and I think Blackwood predated him anyway.” Chad had been
watching Stefan’s mouth with every evidence of fascination. He made a few gestures, and
Stefan signed back, saying, “They’re dead. No. Someone else killed them. Yes, I’m sure it
was someone else.” He glanced at me. “Want to explain to the kid that I’m more a Spike
than a Buffy? A villain, not a superhero?” I batted my eyelashes at him. “You’re my hero.”
He jerked several steps back from me as if I’d hit him. It made me wonder what Marsilia
had said to him while she’d tortured him. “Stefan?” He turned back to us with a hiss and
an expression that made Chad back into me. “I’m a vampire, Mercy.” I wasn’t going to let
him get away with the morose, self-hating vampire act. He deserved better than that.
“Yeah, we got that. It’s the fangs that give it away—translate that for Chad, please.” I
waited while he did so, his hands jerky with anger or something related to it. Chad relaxed
against me. Stefan continued signing, and said, almost defiantly, “I’m no one’s hero,
Mercy.” I turned my face until I was looking directly at Chad. “Do you think that means I
won’t get to see him in spandex?” Chad mouthed the last word with a puzzled look.
Stefan sighed. He touched Chad’s shoulder, and when the boy looked up, he finger-spelled
spandex slowly. Chad made a yuck face. “Hey,” I told them, “watching good-looking men
run around in tight-fitting costumes is high on my list of things I’d like to do before I die.”
Stefan gave in and laughed. “It won’t be me,” he told me. “So what do we do next, Haunt
Huntress?” “That’s a pretty lame superhero name,” I told him. “Scooby-Doo is already
taken,” he said with dignity. “Anything else sounds lame in comparison.” “Seriously,” I
said, “I think we’d better go find his parents.” Who hopefully were sleeping peacefully
despite Chad’s cry and doors banging into walls, not to mention all the talking we’d been
doing. Now that I thought of it, it was a bad sign they weren’t out here fussing. “We? You
want me to come, too?” Stefan raised an eyebrow. I wasn’t going to tell Chad to lie to his
parents. And if something had happened to Amber and her husband, I wanted Stefan with
me. Their room was on the opposite side of the house from Chad’s and mine, their door
was thick—and they didn’t have nifty hearing like Stefan and I did. Maybe they were
sleeping. I clutched my walking stick. “Yeah. Come with us, Stefan. But, Chad?” I made
sure he could see my face. “You don’t want to tell your folks Stefan is a vampire, okay?
For the same reasons I told you before. Vampires don’t like people knowing about them.”
Chad stiffened and glanced at Stefan and away. “Hey. No, not Stefan,” I said. “He doesn’t
mind. But others will.” And his father probably wouldn’t believe him about that either—
and maybe he’d tell Blackwood about it. Blackwood, I was pretty sure, wouldn’t be happy
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if Chad knew about vampires. So we trekked to Amber’s room and opened the door. It
was dark inside, and I could see two still figures in the bed. For a moment I froze, then
realized I could hear them breathing. On the bedside table next to Corban was an empty
glass that had held brandy—I could smell it now that I was through panicking. And on
Amber’s side was a prescription bottle. Chad slid past me and scrambled over their
footboard and into bed beside them. With his parents here, he was no longer required to
be brave. Cold feet did what all the noise had failed to do, and Corban sat up. “Chad ...”
He saw us. “Mercy? Who’s that with you, and what are you doing in my bedroom?”
“Corban?” Amber rolled over. She sounded a little dopey but woke up just fine when she
noticed Chad and then us. “Mercy? What happened?” I told them, leaving out Stefan’s
vampire status. I didn’t, actually, mention him at all except as part of “we.” They didn’t
care. Once they heard Chad hadn’t been breathing, they weren’t worried about Stefan at
all. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” I admitted to them both. “I’m out of my league. I
think you need to get Chad out of here and into a hotel tonight.” Corban had listened to
everything with a poker face. He got out of bed and grabbed a robe in almost the same
motion. I heard him walk down the hall, but he didn’t go into Chad’s room. Just stood
outside it for a moment and returned. I knew what he saw—nothing but a ripped-up
comforter—and was glad he’d been there for the little toy-car demonstration. He stood in
the doorway of his bedroom and looked at us. “First, we pack for a couple of days.
Second, we find a hotel. Third, I talk to my cousin’s brother-in-law, who is a Jesuit
priest.” “I’m headed home,” I told him before he could tell me to go away and never come
back. I needed to help them do something about Blackwood, who was snacking on
Amber, but I didn’t know what. And from the sounds of it, no one had ever been able to
do something about this vampire. “There’s nothing I can do for you, and I have a business
to run.” “Thank you for coming,” Amber said. She got out of bed and hugged me. And I
knew what she was most grateful for was convincing her husband that Chad hadn’t been
lying. I thought that was the least of her worries. Over her shoulder, Corban stared at me
as if he suspected I’d somehow caused everything. I wondered about that, too. Something
had made their ghost much worse, and I was the obvious place to look for a reason. I left
them to their preparations, packed my own bags, and hugged Amber again before I left.
She still smelled like vampire—but then so did Stefan and I. STEFAN WAITED UNTIL
WE WERE MOSTLY OUT OF SPOKANE, driving past the airport, before he said
anything. “Do you need me to drive?” “Nope,” I answered. I might be tired, but I didn’t
like anyone else to drive my Vanagon. As soon as Zee and I put the Rabbit back together,
the van was going back in the garage. Besides ... “I don’t think I’ll be sleeping again
anytime in the next millennium. How did he bite me twice without my knowing it?” “Some
vampires can do that,” Stefan said in the same sort of soothing voice a doctor uses to tell
you that you have a terminal illness. “It’s not among my gifts—or any of our seethe except
perhaps Wulfe.” “He bit me twice. That’s worse than just once, right?” Silence followed
my question. Something wiggled in my front pocket. I twitched, then realized what had
happened. I pulled my vibrating cell phone out without looking at the number. “Yes?”
Maybe I sounded abrupt, but I was scared and Stefan hadn’t answered me. There was a
little silence, and Adam said, “What’s wrong? Your fear woke me up.” I blinked really
fast, wishing I was home already. Home with Adam instead of driving in the dark with a
vampire. “I’m sorry it bothered you.” “A benefit of the pack bond,” Adam told me. Then,
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because he knew me, he said, “I’m Alpha, so I get things first. No one else in the pack felt
it. What scared you?” “The ghost,” I told him, then let out my breath in a gusty sigh. “And
the vampire.” He coaxed the whole story out of me. Then he sighed. “Only you could go
to Spokane and get bitten by the one vampire in the whole city.” He didn’t fool me. For all
the amusement in his voice, I could hear the anger, too. But if he was pretending, I could
pretend. “That’s pretty much what Stefan said. I don’t think it’s fair. How was I to know
that Amber’s husband’s best client was the vampire?” Adam gave me a rueful laugh. “The
real question is why didn’t we suspect that’s what would happen. But you are safe now?”
“Yes.” “Then it’ll wait until you get here.” He hung up without saying good-bye. “So,” I
said, “tell me what Blackwood can do to me now that he’s fed off me twice.” “I don’t
know,” Stefan told me. Then he sighed. “If I have exchanged blood with someone twice, I
can always find him, no matter where he goes. I could call him to me—and if he is near, I
could force him to come to me. But that is with a true blood exchange—yours to me,
mine to you. Eventually ... it is possible to force a master-slave relationship upon those
you exchange blood with. A precaution, I suppose, because a newly turned vampire can
get nasty. A simple feeding is less risky. But your reactions are not always the usual.
There could be no ill effects to you at all.” I thought of Amber, who had been feeding the
vampire for who knows how long, and her husband, who could be in the same condition,
and felt sick. “Out of the frying pan and into the fire,” I said. “Damn it.” Okay. Think
positive. If I hadn’t gone to Spokane at all, the vampire would still have had Amber and
her husband, only no one would have known. “If I was unconscious, could he have forced
a blood exchange?” He sighed and slumped in his seat. “You don’t remember him biting.
That doesn’t mean you were unconscious.” I wasn’t expecting it. I hadn’t had one since
leaving the Tri-Cities. But I managed to pull over, hop out of the van, and make it to the
barrow pit at the side of the road before throwing up. It wasn’t sickness ... it was sheer,
stark terror. The panic attack to end all panic attacks. My heart hurt, my head hurt, and I
couldn’t stop crying. And then it stopped. Warmth ran through me and around me: pack.
Adam. So much for not bothering Adam’s wolves, who were already unhappy about me,
with my troubles. Stefan wiped my face off with a Kleenex and dropped it to the ground
before picking me up and carrying me back to the car. He didn’t put me in the driver’s
seat. “I can drive,” I told him, but there was no force in my voice. Pack magic had broken
the panic attack, but I could still feel them all waiting and ready. Ready to rescue me
again. He ignored my feeble protest and put the old van in gear. “Is there any reason why
he’d have simply fed from me and not done a blood exchange?” I asked, more out of a
morbid desire to know everything rather than any real hope. “With a blood exchange, you
can call upon him as well,” Stefan said reluctantly. “How many? Just one exchange?” He
shrugged. “It varies from person to person. With your idiosyncratic reaction to vampire
magic, it could take a hundred or only one.” “When you say I could call him. Does that
mean he’d have to come to me?” “A vampire’s relationship to those he feeds upon is not
an equal one, Mercy,” he snapped. “No. He could hear you. That is all. If you have blood
exchanges with all of your food”—he bit out the word—“the voices in your head can
drive you mad. So we only do it with our own flocks. There are some benefits. The sheep
becomes stronger, immune to pain for a brief time—as you know from your own
experiences. A vampire gains a servant and eventually a slave who will willingly feed him
and take care of his needs during the day.” “I’m sorry,” I told him. “I didn’t mean to make
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you angry. I just have to know what I’m up against.” He reached over and patted my
knee. “I understand. I’m sorry.” The next words came slower. “It is shaming to me, to be
what I am. The man I was would never have accepted life at the expense of so many. But I
am not he, not any longer.” He passed a semi (we were going uphill). “If he was just
feeding from you because you were convenient, then he probably didn’t do an exchange ...
except ...” “Except what?” “I don’t think that he could have blocked your memory so well
if it wasn’t a real exchange. A human, yes. But you are strong-willed.” He shrugged.
“Most Master vampires feed off their get—other vampires. Blackwood will tolerate no
other vampires in his territory, and I don’t know that he has any get himself. Maybe he
makes up the difference by exchanging blood whenever he feeds.” I mulled over what he’d
told me, then dozed a little. I woke with a start as we took the exit onto Highway 395 at
Ritzville. Only a little over seventy miles until we got home. “He won’t be able to coerce
you if you find another vampire to tie yourself to,” Stefan said. I looked at him, but he was
staring intently at the road—as if we were threading through the mountains of Montana
instead of gliding down an empty stretch of mostly flat and straight pavement. “Are you
offering?” He nodded. “I am perilously short of food. The exchange will feed me better,
and I won’t have to hunt again for a few nights.” I thought for a minute. Not that I was
going to do it, but there was more to his offer—with vampires, I was learning, there
usually was. With Stefan that didn’t necessarily mean that he was hiding some benefit to
him. “And you’ll gain yourself an enemy,” I guessed. “James Blackwood holds Spokane,
all by himself, against all the supernatural peoples, not just vampires. That means he’s
obsessively possessive—and tough. He won’t be happy with you for keeping me from
him.” He shrugged. “He probably can’t call you all the way from Spokane when you are in
the Tri-Cities. He probably wouldn’t even try, if he exchanges blood every time he feeds.
But if you are tied to me, that would be certain.” He spoke slowly. “We already have had
one blood exchange. And I can make sure it won’t be horrible.” If Blackwood called me
to him, if he took me as one of his sheep, Adam would bring the pack in to rescue me.
Mary Jo had almost paid the ultimate price for my problems already. As long as I stayed in
the Tri-Cities, he might not even realize that the reason he couldn’t call me was Stefan.
“Adam is my mate,” I told him. I didn’t know if I should tell him that Adam had made me
one of the pack. “Can Blackwood get Adam through me?” Stefan shook his head. “I can’t
either. It’s been tried. Our old Master ... Marsilia’s maker, liked wolves and experimented.
The ties of the blood operate on a different level from the werewolf pack. He took an
Alpha’s mate, she was a werewolf also, to his menagerie hoping to control the Alpha and
his whole pack through her, and it failed.” “Marsilia likes werewolf to dine upon,” I said.
I’d seen it for myself. “From what I’ve seen, I’d say that feeding upon them seems to be
addictive,” he glanced at me. “I’ve never done it myself. Not until the other night. I don’t
intend to do it again.” I was either about to make the stupidest decision of my life or the
smartest. “Is it permanent?” I asked. “This bond between the two of us?” He gave me a
sharp look. Started to say something, but stopped before the words left his mouth. Finally,
he said, “I’ve told you things tonight that other vampires don’t know. Forbidden things. If
I were Marsilia’s get truly, or if she had not broken my ties with the seethe, I could not
have told you that much.” He tapped the palm of his hands on the steering wheel and a
giant RV towing a Honda Accord passed us. “These things drive like anemic school
buses,” he said. “Odd that it should be so much fun.” I waited. If the answer had been yes,
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the bond is permanent, he wouldn’t be so indecisive. If it wasn’t permanent, once
Blackwood was eliminated, it could be removed. A temporary bond with Stefan wasn’t as
scary as, say, the more permanent bond between Adam and me. “Marsilia can break the
bonds between Master and sheep,” he said. “She can either take them herself, or simply
dissolve them.” “That’s not very helpful,” I told him. “I have the distinct impression that
she’d just as soon kill us both as see us.” “There is that,” he said softly. “Yes. But I think,
from a few things he’s let drop, that Wulfe can do it, too.” His voice grew very cold and
un-Stefan-like. “And Wulfe owes me in such a way that even if Marsilia has declared me
enemy to the seethe, he could not turn down my request.” He relaxed and shook his head.
“But as soon as the bond between us was ended, you’d be vulnerable to Blackwood
again.” I didn’t find Wulfe much of a step up from Marsilia. But then, I didn’t have a
choice, did I? I’d abandoned Amber until I could regroup, but I couldn’t leave Amber to
die at Blackwood’s whim. I wondered if Zee still felt guilty enough, because I got hurt
trying to help him, to allow me use of his fae-spelled knife and the amulet I’d used to hunt
vampires. Maybe even another magically virtuous stake. I’d never seriously considered
killing Marsilia as a way to save myself. First, I’d been to the seethe. Second, she had too
many minions who would kill me back. So why did I think I could kill Blackwood? I
knew, I knew, that the James Blackwood I’d met was not the real face of the vampire. But
I had met him, and he wasn’t too scary. He didn’t have minions. And he was using Amber
without her knowledge or permission, turning her into his slave: a woman who left her
child alone in a house with a ghost and an almost stranger. I couldn’t help Amber with her
ghost ... maybe I’d even made it worse. But I could help her with the vampire. “All right,”
I said. “I’d rather have to”—I nearly choked on the next word—“obey you than listen to
him.” He watched me for a heartbeat. “All right,” he agreed.
HE PULLED OVER AT A REST AREA. THERE WAS A ROW OF semis parked for
the night, but the lot for cars was empty. He unbuckled and walked between the front
seats to the back. I followed him slowly. He sat on the bench seat in the back and patted
the seat beside him. When I hesitated, he said, “You don’t have to do this. I’m not going
to force you.” If I didn’t have Stefan to interfere, Blackwood probably could make me do
whatever he wanted. I’d have no way to help Amber. Of course, if Marsilia killed me first,
I wouldn’t have to worry about any of it. “Am I putting Adam and his pack in more
danger?” I asked. Stefan did me the courtesy of considering it, though I could smell his
eagerness: he smelled like a wolf hot on the trail of something tasty. If I ran, I wondered,
would he be compelled to chase me the way a werewolf would have? I stared at him and
reminded myself that I’d known him a long time. He’d never made any move he thought
would harm me. This was Stefan, not some nameless hunter. “I don’t see how,” he told
me. “Adam won’t like it, I’m sure. Witness his reaction when I called you by accident. But
he’s a practical man. He knows all about desperate choices.” I sat down beside him, all too
conscious of the cool temperature of his body, cooler, I thought than usual. I was glad to
know that this would help him, too. I was really, really tired of causing all my friends
nothing but grief. He brushed my hair away from my neck, and I caught his hand. “What
about the wrist?” The last time he’d bitten my wrist. He shook his head. “It’s more
painful. Too many nerves near the surface.” He looked at me. “Do you trust me?” “I
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wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t.” “Okay. I’m going to restrain you a little because if you
jerk while I’m still at your neck, you might make me cut through the wrong thing and you
could bleed to death.” He didn’t pressure me, just sat on the plush bench seat as if he
could stay there the rest of my life. “How?” I said. “I’ll have you fold your arms over your
stomach, and I’ll hold them there.” I did a panic check, but Tim had never restrained me
that way. I tried not to think about how he’d held me down and was only moderately
successful. “Go up to the front of the van,” Stefan said. “The keys are in the ignition.
You’ll have to drive yourself home because I can’t stay here. I have to hunt now. I’ll—” I
wrapped my arms around myself and leaned against him. “Okay, do it.” His arm came
slowly around my shoulders and over my right arm. When I stayed put, he put his hand
over my arms in such a way that I couldn’t free myself. “All right?” He asked calmly, as if
need hadn’t turned his eyes jewel-bright, like Christmas lights in the dark van. “All right,”
I said. His teeth must have been razor-sharp because I didn’t feel them slice through skin,
only the cool dampness of his mouth. Only when he began to draw blood did it start to
hurt. Who feeds at my table? The roar in my head made me panic as Stefan’s bite had not.
But I held very still, like a mouse when it first notices the cat. If you don’t move, it might
not attack. The steady draw of Stefan’s mouth faltered for an instant. Then he resumed
feeding, patting my knee with his free hand. It shouldn’t have comforted me, but it did.
He’d heard the scary monster, too, and he wasn’t running. After a while, the ache
deepened into pain—and the now-wordless roar of anger echoing in my head grew
muffled. I started to feel cold, as if it wasn’t just blood he was taking, but all the warmth
in my body. Then his mouth moved, and he laved the wounds with his tongue. “If you
looked into a mirror,” he whispered, “you would not see my marks. He wanted you to see
what he’d done.” I shivered helplessly, and he lifted me to his lap. He was warm, hot to
my cold skin. He lifted me a little and pulled a folding knife out of his pocket. He used the
knife and sliced down his wrist like you’re supposed to if you want to do suicide right. “I
thought the wrist was too painful,” I managed through my sluggish thoughts and vibrating
jaw. “For you,” he said. “Drink, Mercy. And shut up.” A faint smile crossed his face, then
he leaned his head back so I couldn’t see his expression anymore. Maybe it should have
bothered me more. Maybe if this had been a normal night, it would have. But useless
squeamishness was beyond me. I’ve hunted as a coyote for most of my life, and she never
stopped to cook her food. The taste of blood was nothing new or horrible to me, not when
it was Stefan’s blood—and he wasn’t dying or in pain or anything. I put my lips against his
wrist and closed my mouth over the cut. Stefan made a noise—it didn’t sound like pain.
He put his free hand on my head lightly and then lifted it off as if he didn’t want to coerce
me even that much. This was my choice freely made. His blood didn’t taste like rabbit or
mouse. It was more bitter—and somehow sweeter at the same time. Mostly it was hot,
sizzling hot, and I was cold. I drank as the cut under my tongue slowly closed. And I
remembered this taste. Like eating at McDonald’s twice in a day and ordering the same
meal. I had a momentary flash of memory, just Blackwood’s voice in my ears. I didn’t
remember what he’d said or what he’d done, but brief memory of the sound had me curled
up on the bench seat, my forehead on Stefan’s thigh while I cried. Stefan pulled his wrist
away and used his other hand to pet my head lightly. “Mercy,” he said gently. “He won’t
do that again. Not now. You are mine. He can’t fog your mind or force you to do
anything.” With my voice muffled by the fabric of his jeans, I said, “Does this mean you
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can read my mind?” He laughed a little. “Only while you drink. That isn’t my gift. Your
secrets are safe.” His laugh washed away Blackwood’s voice. I lifted up my head. “I’m
glad I don’t remember more of what he did,” I told Stefan. But I thought that my desire to
see Blackwood’s body burn like Andre’s might have a more personal reason than just
what he was doing to Amber. “How are you feeling?” he asked. I took a breath and
evaluated myself. “Awesome. Like I could run from here to the Tri-Cities faster than the
van could take us.” He laughed. “I don’t think that’s true ... unless we get a flat tire.” He
stood up and he looked better than I’d seen him since ... since before he’d landed on the
floor of my living room looking like something that had been buried a hundred years. I got
up and had to sit down again. “Balance,” he said. “It’s a little like being drunk. That’ll fade
fast, but I’d better drive us home.” I should have felt terrible. Some small voice was
yammering that I should have checked with my Alpha before doing anything this ...
permanent. But I felt fine, better than fine—and it wasn’t just the vampire’s blood. I felt
truly in control of my life for the first time since Tim’s assault. Which was pretty funny
under the circumstances. But I’d made the decision to put myself in Stefan’s power.
“Stefan?” I watched the reflectors on the side of the road pass by. “Hmm.” “Did anyone
talk to you about the thing someone painted on the door of my shop?” I’d kept forgetting
to ask him about it—though subsequent events had made it more obvious that it had been
some sort of threat from Marsilia. “No one said anything to me,” he said. “But I saw it
myself.” Headlights reflected red in his eyes. Like the flash of a camera, only scarier. It
made me smile. “Marsilia had it done?” “Almost certainly.” I could have left it there. But
we had time to kill, and I had Bran’s voice in my head saying, Information is important,
Mercy. Get all the facts you can. “What exactly does it mean?” “It’s the mark of a
traitor,” he said. “It means that one of our own has betrayed us, and she and all who
belong to her are fair marks. A declaration of war.” It was no more than I had expected.
“There’s some sort of magic in it,” I told him. “What does it do?” “Keeps you from
painting over it for long,” he said. “And if it stays there long, you’ll start attracting nasties
who have no affiliation to the vampire.” “Terrific.” “You could always replace the door.”
“Yeah,” I told him glumly. Maybe the insurance company would replace it when I
explained that the bones couldn’t be painted over, but I didn’t get my hopes up. We drove
for a while in silence, and I worried through the past few days, trying to see if there was
something I’d missed or something I should have done differently. “Hey, Stefan? How
come I couldn’t smell Blackwood after he bit me? Tonight I was a little distracted, but
yesterday, with the first bite, I checked.” “He would have known what you are after he
tasted you.” Stefan stretched, and the van swayed a little with his movement. “I don’t
know whether he was trying to fool you into thinking him human, or if he always cleans
up after himself in that way. There were things in the Old Country that hunted us by
scent—not just werewolves—or by things that were left behind, hair, saliva, or blood.
Many of the older vampires always remove any trace of themselves from their lairs and
from their hunting grounds.” I’d almost forgotten they could do that. The change in the
sound of the car’s engine as he slowed for city traffic woke me up. “Do you want to go to
your home or Adam’s?” he asked. Good question. Even though I was pretty sure Adam
would understand what I’d done, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to discussing matters
with him. And I was too tired to work my way through exactly what I wanted to leave
out—and how I was going to kill Blackwood. I really wanted to talk to Zee before I
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talked to Adam, and I wanted to get a good long sleep before I did either. “Mine.” I’d
gone back to dozing when the van slowed abruptly. I looked up and saw why: there was
someone standing in the middle of the road, looking down as if she’d lost something. She
wasn’t paying any attention at all to us. “Do you know her?” We were on my road, just a
few properties from our house, so Stefan’s question was reasonable. “No.” He stopped
about a dozen yards away, and she finally looked up. The purr of the van’s engine
subsided, and Stefan glanced behind him, then opened the door and got out. Trouble. I
stripped off my clothes, popped open my door, and shifted as I hopped out. A coyote may
not be big, but it has fangs and surprisingly effective claws. I slipped under the van’s side
and out under the front bumper, where Stefan was leaning, his arms crossed casually
across his chest. The girl was no longer alone. Three vampires stood beside her. The first
two I’d seen before, though I didn’t know their names. The third was Estelle. In Marsilia’s
seethe there had once been five vampires who had reached some sort of power plateau so
that they did not depend upon the Mistress of the seethe for survival: Stefan; Andre,
whom I’d killed; Wulfe, the übercreepy wizard in a boy’s body; Bernard, who reminded
me of a merchant out of a Dickens novel; and Estelle, the Mary Poppins of the undead. I’d
never seen her when she wasn’t dressed like an Edwardian governess, and tonight was no
exception. As if he’d been waiting for me to appear at his side, Stefan glanced down at
me, then said, “Estelle, how nice to see you.” “I’d heard she hadn’t destroyed you,”
Estelle said in her prim English voice. “She tortured you, starved you, banished you—then
sent you to kill your little coyote bitch.” Stefan spread his hands out as if to showcase his
own living ... undead flesh. “It is as you heard it.” There was a musical cadence to his
voice, and he sounded more Italian than usual. “Yet here you are, you and the bitch both.”
I growled at her, and I heard Stefan’s smile in his reply. “I don’t think she likes being
called a bitch.” “Marsilia is mad. She’s been mad since she awoke twelve years ago, and
she hasn’t gotten better with time.” Estelle’s voice softened, and she stepped forward. “If
she weren’t mad, she would never have tortured you—her favorite.” She obviously waited
for Stefan’s reply, which didn’t come. “I have a proposition for you,” she told him. “Join
with me, and we will put Marsilia out of her misery—you know that she’d have urged you
to do just that if she were aware of what she’s become. She will see us all destroyed in her
obsession with returning to Italy. This is our home—our seethe bows to no other. Italy
holds nothing for us.” “No,” Stefan said. “I will not move against the Mistress.” “She is
your Mistress no more,” Estelle hissed. She strode forward until I was pressed against
Stefan’s leg. “She tortured you—I saw what she did. You, who love her—she starved you
and flayed the skin from you. How can you support her now?” Stefan didn’t reply. And I
knew, with absolute certainty, that I was right to trust him to protect me and not turn me
into his mindless slave. Stefan didn’t turn on those he loved. No matter what. Estelle
threw up her hands. “Idiot. Fool. She will go down, either by my hand or by Bernard’s.
And you know that the seethe will do better in my hands than in that fool Bernard’s. I
have contacts. I can make us grow and thrive until not even the courts of Italy will rival
what we build.” Stefan quit leaning against the van. He spat on the ground with deliberate
slowness. She tensed, furious at the insult, and he smiled grimly. “Do it,” he said—and,
with a flick of his wrist and the magic of a Highlander episode, he held a sword in one
hand. It was efficient-looking rather than beautiful: deadly. “Soldier, you’ll regret this,”
Estelle said. “I regret many things,” he replied, his voice sharpening with a cold, roiling
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anger. “Letting you walk off tonight might be another one. Maybe I shouldn’t do it.”
“Soldier,” she said. “Remember who it was who betrayed you. You know how to reach
me—don’t wait until it is too late.” The vampires left with preternatural speed, their
human bait running after them. Stefan waited, sword in hand, while a car purred to life and
one of the seethe’s black Mercedes lit up. It roared past us and disappeared into the night.
He looked around, then asked me, “Do you smell anything, Mercy?” I tested the air, but,
except for Stefan, the vampires were gone ... or upwind. I shook my head and trotted back
to the van. Stefan, gentleman that he had once been, stayed outside until I was dressed.
“That was interesting,” I said, as he got in and put the van in gear. “She’s a fool.”
“Marsilia?” Stefan shook his head. “Estelle. She’s no match for Marsilia. Bernard ... he’s
tougher and stronger even if he’s younger. Together, they might manage something, but
it’ll be without me.” “It didn’t sound like they were working together,” I said. “They’ll
work together until they’ve achieved their goals, then fight it out. But they are fools if
they think they’ll even get that far. They’ve forgotten, or have never known, what Marsilia
can be.”
HE PULLED UP IN THE DRIVEWAY AND WE BOTH GOT OUT of the van. “If you
need me, if you hear Blackwood call you again—just think of my name as you wish me at
your side, and I’ll come.” He looked grim. I hoped it was the encounter with Estelle and
not worry for me. “Thank you.” He brushed a thumb over my cheek. “Wait for a while
before you thank me. You might change your mind.” I patted his arm. “Decision’s made.”
He gave me a shallow bow and disappeared. “That is just so cool,” I told the empty air,
and, suddenly so tired I could hardly keep my eyes open, I went inside and tucked myself
into bed.
8 ADAM WAS SITTING ON THE FOOT OF MY BED WHEN I woke up the next ...
afternoon. He was leaning against the wall reading a well-worn copy of The Book of Five
Rings. It was resting on Medea’s back, and she was purring, wiggling her stub tail—which
she uses more like a dog than a cat. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” I asked. He
turned a page, and said in an absent voice, “My boss is flexible.” “Doesn’t dock your pay
for shirking,” I mused. “How can I get a boss like yours?” He grinned. “Mercy, even when
Zee was your boss, he wasn’t. I have no idea how you would ever find anyone you’d listen
to ... unless you wanted to.” He marked his place and set the book beside him. “I’m sorry
your foray into exorcism didn’t go well.” I considered it. “It depends upon your outlook, I
suppose. I learned a few things ... like did you know that Stefan knew sign language? Why
do you suppose a vampire would need to learn to sign? That ghosts aren’t always
harmless. I always thought the only way a ghost could kill was if it scared someone to
death.” He waited, curling his fingers over the lump my toes made in the covers. His other
hand was rubbing Medea’s head, just behind her ears. Adam knows how to listen better
than most people. So I told him what I hadn’t told him before. “I think it might have been
my fault.” “What do you mean?” “Until I came, it wasn’t doing much ... just standard
poltergeist stuff. Moving things around. Frightening, all right, but not dangerous. Then I
show up, and things change. Chad almost gets killed. Ghosts just don’t do that—even
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Stefan said so. I think I did something to make it worse.” He tightened his hold on my
toes. “Has that ever happened to you before?” I shook my head. “Then maybe you’re
claiming too much credit. Maybe it would have happened anyway, and if you hadn’t been
there with Stefan, the boy would have died.” I wasn’t sure he was right, but confessing my
fear made me feel better, anyway. “How is Mary Jo?” I asked. He sighed. “She’s still a
little ... off, but Samuel’s sure now that she’ll be fine in a few more days.” He relaxed and
smiled at me a little. “She’s ready to go out and take on the whole seethe all by herself.
She also told Ben that if he’d keep his mouth shut, she’d love to get naked with him.
We’ve decided we’ll know that she’s back to herself when she quits flirting with him.” I
couldn’t help but laugh. Mary Jo was as liberated as a woman could get—being a
werewolf had not altered that a bit. Ben was a misogynist of the highest (or lowest,
depending upon your viewpoint) order with the added bonus of a foul mouth. The two of
them were like flame and dynamite. “No more troubles with the vampires?” I asked.
“None.” “But negotiations didn’t accomplish much,” I said. He nodded comfortably.
“Don’t worry so, Mercy. We can take care of ourselves.” Maybe it was the way he said it
... “So what did you do?” “We have a couple of guests staying with us now. Neither of
them seems to have Stefan’s ability to disappear at will.” “And you’ll keep them until ...”
“Until we have an apology for the events at Uncle Mike’s and reparations paid to Mary Jo.
And an agreement not to try something like that again.” “Do you think you’ll get it?”
“Bran called her to deliver our request. I’m certain we’ll get it.” Some tightness eased in
my chest. The one thing that Marsilia did care about was the seethe. If Bran got involved
in a battle, Marsilia’s seethe was dead. The vampires in the Tri-Cities simply didn’t have
the numbers that the Marrok could bring into play—and Marsilia knew it. “So she’ll have
to concentrate on me,” I said. He smiled. “The agreement is that she will not attack the
pack unless one of us newly and directly attacks her.” “She doesn’t know I’m pack,” I
said. “After we get that apology and promise from her in writing, I’ll take great pleasure in
informing her of that.” I sat up and rolled forward until I was up on all fours and my face
was an inch from his. I kissed him lightly. He kept his hands on the cat. “I like the way you
operate, mister,” I said. “Can I interest you in the pancakes I’m going to make after I
shower?” He tilted his head and gave me a deeper kiss, though he left his hands where
they’d been. When he moved away, neither of us was breathing steadily. “Now you can
tell me why you smell like Stefan,” he said—almost gently. I raised my arm and sniffed. I
did smell like Stefan, more than riding home in a van would have accounted for. “Weird.”
“Why do you smell like the vampire, Mercy?” “Because we exchanged blood,” I told
him—and then explained what Stefan had told me about vampire bites on the way from
Spokane. I couldn’t remember which part was supposed to be secret and which parts
weren’t—but it didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to keep anything from Adam, not when he’d
made me part of his pack. Stefan was certain that neither he nor Blackwood would have
been able to affect the wolves through me. But I didn’t know enough about pack magic to
be certain—and I didn’t think he did either. The only thing I did know was that Adam
would agree with what I had done, though I knew he wouldn’t be ecstatic about it. By the
time I’d finished, he’d dumped Medea on the floor (for which he’d have to atone if he
wanted to touch her again today) in favor of pacing the room. He kept going a few
rounds. He stopped when he was across the room and gave me an unhappy look. “Stefan
is better than Blackwood.” “That’s what I thought.” “Why didn’t you tell me about
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Blackwood after the first bite?” he asked. He sounded ... hurt. I didn’t know. He gave a
short, unamused laugh. “I’m trying. I really am. But you have to bend a little, too, Mercy.
Why didn’t you tell me what was going on until you were on your way back here? When it
was too late to do anything about it.” “I should have.” He looked at me with dark,
wounded eyes. So I tried to do better. “I’m not used to leaning on people, Adam.” I
started slowly, but the words came faster as I continued. “And ... I’ve cost you so much
lately. I thought—a vampire bite. Ick. Scary ... But it didn’t seem too harmful. Like a
giant mosquito or ... the ghost. Frightening but not harmful. I’ve been bitten before, you
remember, and nothing bad happened. If I’d told you—you’d have made me come home.
And there was Chad—you’d like him-this ten-year-old kid with more courage than most
grown-ups, who was being terrorized by a ghost. I thought I could help. And I could stay
out of Marsilia’s hair so she would listen to you. It wasn’t until Stefan was so worried—
and that was right before we came home, after the second bite—that I realized that there
was something more dangerous about them.” I shrugged helplessly, blinking back tears
that I would not let fall. “I’m sorry. It was stupid. I’m stupid. I can’t move without
making everything worse.” I turned my face away. “No,” he said. The bed sagged as he
sat down next to me. “It’s all right.” He bumped my shoulder deliberately with his. “You
aren’t stupid. You’re right. I’d have made you come home if I’d had to collect you myself
with ropes and a gag. And your boy Chad would have died.” I leaned a little against his
shoulder, and he leaned a little back. “You never used to get into trouble like this”—
amusement threaded through his voice—“except for a few memorable occasions. Maybe
it’s like that fae woman, the one at Uncle Mike’s, said.” He didn’t say Baba Yaga’s name.
I didn’t blame him. “Maybe you’ve absorbed a little of Coyote, and chaos follows you.”
He touched my neck lightly. “That vampire is going to be sorry for this.” “Stefan?” He
laughed, and this time he meant it. “Him, too, probably. But I won’t have to do anything
about that. No. I was speaking of Blackwood.” Adam stuck around until I’d showered,
and he ate the pancakes I made afterward. Samuel came in while we were eating. He
looked tired and smelled like antiseptic and blood. Without a word, he poured the last of
the batter in the pan. When Samuel looked like that, it meant he’d had a bad day.
Someone had died or been crippled, and he hadn’t been able to fix it. He took his cooked
pancakes and sat down at the table beside Adam. After dousing his meal in maple syrup,
he stopped moving. Just looked at the pool of liquid sugar as if it held the secrets of the
universe. He shook his head. “I guess my eyes were bigger than my appetite.” He dumped
the food in the garbage disposal and ran it like he’d enjoy stuffing a person down it. “So
what is it this time?” I asked. “‘Johnny fell down and broke his arm’ or ‘my wife ran into a
door’?” “Baby Ally got bitten by their pit bull,” he growled, flipping the switch so the
disposal quieted. In an artifically high-pitched voice, he said, “‘But Iggy’s so good. Sure
he’s bitten me a couple of times. But he’s always adored Ally. He watches her while I
shower.’ ” He walked off a little steam, then said, in his own voice, “You know, it’s not
the pit bulls. It’s the people who own them. The kind of people who want a pit bull are the
very last people who should have a dog. Or a child. Who leaves a two-year-old alone with
a dog that’s already killed a puppy? So now the dog dies, the girl gets reconstructive
surgery and will probably still have scars—and her idiot mother, who caused it all, goes
unpunished.” “Her mom will probably feel bad for the rest of her life,” I ventured. “It’s not
jail time, but she’ll be punished.” Samuel gave me a look under his brows. “She’s too busy
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making sure everyone knows it wasn’t her fault. By the time she’s through, people will be
sympathizing with her.” “Same thing happened with German shepherds a couple of
decades ago,” said Adam. “Then Dobermans and Rottweilers. And the ones who suffer
are the kids and the dogs. You aren’t going to change human nature, Samuel. Someone
who’s seen as much of it as you have should know when to quit fighting.” Samuel turned
to say something, got a good look at my neck, and froze. “I know,” I said. “Only I could
go to Spokane and get the only vampire in the whole city to bite me on the first day I was
there.” He didn’t laugh. “Two bites means he owns you, Mercy.” I shook my head. “No.
Two blood exchanges means he owns me. So I had Stefan bite me again, and now Stefan
owns me instead of the Boogeyman of Spokane.” He leaned a hip against the counter,
folded his arms over his chest, and looked at Adam. “You approved this?” He sounded
incredulous. “Since when did Mercy ask my approval ... or anyone’s approval before she
did something? But I’d have told her to go ahead if she asked me. Stefan is a step above
Blackwood.” Samuel frowned at him. “She’s now second in your pack. That gives Stefan
your pack as well as Mercy.” “No,” I told him. “Stefan says not. Says it’s been tried
before and didn’t work.” “A vampire’s sheep does as it is told.” Samuel’s voice grew deep
and rough with worry, so I didn’t take offense at being called a sheep. Though I would
have under other circumstances, even if it were true. “When he tells you to call the
wolves, you’ll have no choice. And if the vampire, whose slave you are, tells a different
story—I know which one I’d doubt. ‘Old vampires lie better than they tell the truth.’ ”
The last was a werewolf aphorism. And it was true that a lying vampire could be difficult
to detect. They had no pulse, and they didn’t sweat. But lies still have a feel to them. I
shrugged, trying to look as if Samuel wasn’t worrying me. “You can ask Stefan how it
works tonight if you want.” “If she calls the pack, she has to use my power to do it,”
Adam said. “She can’t do that if I don’t let her.” I tried not to show the relief I felt.
“Good. Don’t let me call the pack for a while, all right?” “A while?” said Samuel. “Did
Stefan tell you he could let you go after a little while? Maybe when Blackwood loses
interest? A vampire never loses its sheep except to death.” He was scared for me. I could
see that. It didn’t stop me from snapping at him anyway. “Look. I was out of options.” I
didn’t tell them that Wulfe could sever the bond between Stefan and me. It had been told
to me in confidence, and I really did try not to blurt out everything anyone told me in
secret. Except, maybe, to Adam. He closed his eyes and looked sick. “Yes. I know.” “A
vampire can’t take an Alpha wolf as a sheep,” said Adam. “Maybe we can work from that
to free Mercy when it seems useful. What we don’t want to do is go off half-cocked and
get rid of Stefan so the”—he gave me an ironic lift of his eyebrow—“Boogeyman of
Spokane takes over again. I’m with Mercy. If you have to listen to a vampire, Stefan’s not
the worst choice.” “Why can’t a vampire take over an Alpha?” I asked. It was Samuel
who answered me. “I’d almost forgotten that. It’s the way the pack works, Mercy. If a
vampire isn’t strong enough to take every wolf in the pack, all at once, he can’t take the
Alpha. It doesn’t mean it can’t happen—there are a couple of vampires in the Old Country
... no, most of them are gone, I think. Anyway there are none here who could do it.”
“What about Blackwood?” I asked. Samuel shrugged unhappily. “I’ve never met
Blackwood, and I’m not sure Da has either. I’ll ask.” “Do that,” said Adam. “In the
meantime, that makes Stefan an even better choice. He’s not going to be taking over. I
think I’m mostly bothered by the close ties between Blackwood and your friend Amber.”
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I’d lost my appetite. After scraping my plate clean, I put it in the dishwasher. Me, too.
Killing Blackwood was the only solution to it I could see. I started to put my glass in the
dishwasher but changed my mind and refilled it with cranberry juice. Its bite suited my
mood. “Mercy?” Adam had obviously asked me something I hadn’t heard. I looked at him,
and he asked me again. “Blackwood has a relationship with both Amber and her
husband?” “That’s right,” I told him. “Her husband is his lawyer, and Blackwood is
feeding on Amber and...” It seemed like something that I should hide. But I’d smelled the
sex on her. “Anyway I don’t think that she knows anything. She thought she’d been out
shopping.” Her husband? I didn’t want him to be part of it. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t
know his client is preying on Amber. But I don’t know how much else he knows.” “When
did the hauntings start?” Samuel looked grim. “How long have they been having trouble
with a ghost?” I had to think about it. “Not long. A few months.” “About the time that
demon-ridden vampire showed up,” said Adam. “So?” I said. That one had never made
the papers. Adam turned to Samuel, his movement such that anyone watching would
know that he was a predator. “What do you know about Blackwood?” Adam’s voice and
posture were just a little too agressive for an Alpha standing in Samuel’s kitchen. Another
day, another time, Samuel would have let it go. But he’d had a bad day ... and I thought
that the vampires hadn’t helped. He snarled and snapped a hand out to shove Adam back.
Adam caught it and knocked it away as he came to his feet. Bad, I thought, carefully not
moving. This was very bad. Power, rank with musk and pack, vibrated through the house,
making the air thick. Both of them were on edge. They were dominants—tyrants if I’d
have allowed it. But their strongest, most urgent need was to protect. And I’d been
recently harmed while under their protection. Once with Tim and a second time with
Blackwood—and to a lesser extent with Stefan. It left them both dangerously aggressive.
Being a werewolf wasn’t like being a human with a hot temper—it was a balance: a human
soul against a predator’s instinctive drives. Push it too hard, and it was the animal in
control—and the wolf didn’t care who it hurt. Samuel was the more dominant, but he
wasn’t an Alpha. If it came to a fight, neither of them would fare well. In a few breaths,
the pause before battle would stretch too long, and someone would die. I grabbed my full
glass of juice and tossed it on them, putting out a forest fire with a thimbleful of cranberry
juice. They were standing almost nose to nose, so I got them both. The rage in their eyes
as they turned to me would have caused a lesser person to run. I knew better. I ate a bite
of pancake from Adam’s plate that attached itself like glue to the back of my throat. I
reached across the table and took Samuel’s coffee cup and rinsed the sticky knot down my
throat. You can’t pretend not to be scared by werewolves. They know. But you can meet
their eyes, if you’re tough enough. And if they let you. Adam’s eyes closed, and he took a
couple of steps until his back rested against the wall. Samuel nodded at me—but I saw
more than he’d have wanted me to. He was better than he’d been, but he wasn’t the happy
wolf I’d grown up knowing. Maybe he hadn’t been as easygoing as I’d once thought—but
he’d been better than this. “Sorry,” he told Adam. “Bad day at the office.” Adam nodded,
but didn’t open his eyes. “I shouldn’t have pushed.” Samuel took a towel out of a drawer
and wet it down in the sink. He cleaned cranberry juice off his face and rubbed his hair
with it—which made it stick straight up in the air. If you couldn’t see his eyes, you might
have thought he was just a kid. He grabbed a second towel and soaked it, too. Then said,
“Heads up,” and threw it at Adam. Who caught it in one hand without looking. It might
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have been more impressive if one wet end hadn’t slapped him in the face. “Thanks,” he
said ... dryly, while water slid down his face after the cranberry juice. I ate another piece of
pancake. By the time Adam cleaned up, his eyes were clear and dark and I’d finished all of
his pancakes and used Samuel’s towel to mop up the mess on the floor. I thought Samuel
would have done it—but not in front of Adam. Besides, I’d made the mess. “So,” he said
to Samuel without looking directly at him. “Do you know anything about Blackwood
other than that he’s a nasty piece of work and to stay out of Spokane?” “No,” Samuel
said. “I don’t think my father does either.” He waved a hand. “Oh, I’ll ask. He’ll have
data—how much he’s worth, what his business interests are. Where he stays and the
names of all the people he’s been bribing to keep everyone from suspecting what he is.
But he doesn’t know Blackwood. I’d say it is safe to say that he’s big and bad—
otherwise, he wouldn’t have held Spokane for the past sixty years.” “He is active during
the day,” I said. “When he took Amber, it was daytime.” Both of them stared at me, and,
mindful of their recent dominance issues, I dropped my eyes. “What do you think?” asked
Adam, his voice still a little hoarser than normal. He had a hotter temper than Samuel at
the best of times. “Does he know what Mercy is?” “He had his minion call her into his
territory, and he staked his claim on her—I’d say that would make it a big affirmative.”
Samuel growled. “Now wait a minute,” I said. “What would a vampire want with me?”
Samuel raised his eyebrows. “Marsilia wants to kill you. Stefan wants to”—he put on a
Romanian accent for the next three words—“suck your blood. And Blackwood apparently
wanted you for the same reason.” “You think he set this whole thing up just to get me to
Spokane?” I asked incredulously. “First of all, there was a ghost. I saw it myself. Not silly
vampire tricks or any other kind of tricks. This was a ghost. Ghosts don’t like vampires.”
Although this one had stuck around for longer than I’d expected. “Second, why me?” “I
don’t know about the ghost,” Samuel said. “But the second question has a multitude of
possible answers.” “The first one that occurs to me”—Adam was still keeping his eyes
down—“is Marsilia. Suppose she knew immediately what had happened to Andre. She
knows she can’t go after you, so she trades favors with Blackwood. He turns Amber into
his go-to girl, and when the opportunity presents itself, he sends her to get you—just as
Marsilia dumps Stefan in the middle of your living room. And once you didn’t die—
Amber comes and summons you to Spokane. A few wolves get hurt—” “Mary Jo almost
died,” I said. “And it could have been worse.” I thought of the snow elf, and said, “A lot
worse.” “Would Marsilia have cared? Worried about your friends here—and informed that
the crossed bones on the door of your shop means that all of your friends are at risk—you
take the rope Blackwood has thrown you. And you follow his bait all the way to
Spokane.” Samuel shook his head. “It doesn’t quite track,” he said. “Vampires don’t
cooperate the way the wolves do. Blackwood doesn’t have the reputation of doing anyone
favors.” “Hey, my pretty,” said Adam in a deadpan imitation of a Disney witch, “would
you like a taste of something sweet? All you have to do is lure Mercy to Spokane.” “No,”
I said. “It works on the surface, but not when you really look. I can ask, but I’d bet the
relationship between Amber’s husband and Blackwood goes back years, not months. So
he knew them first. If Marsilia just called him and gave him my name, it would be unlikely
that he’d know that Amber knew me—we haven’t spoken since I got out of college.” I’d
had my paranoid moments because of the timing of Amber’s request. But there was simply
no way Marsilia had sent Amber, and the likelihood of further Byzantine plots went down
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from there. I drew a breath. “I expect that Blackwood thought I was human, at least until
he bit me the first time. Bran says I smell like a coyote—doglike unless you know
coyotes—but not magic. Stefan told me Blackwood would know I wasn’t human after he
tasted me.” Both of the werewolves were watching me now. “Bad luck does just happen,”
I told them. “Blackwood doesn’t seem to be the kind of person to do favors for another
vampire.” Samuel’s voice sounded almost cheery. He didn’t. Vampires were evil,
territorial, and ... I thought of something. “What if he’s making a play to add the Tri-Cities
to his territory,” I asked. “Say he read about the attack on me—and saw that I was
Adam’s girlfriend. Maybe he has connections and got to see the video of Adam tearing
into Tim’s body, so he knows our relationship isn’t casual. Maybe Corban sees him read
the article and mentions that his wife knew me, and the vampire sees an opportunity to
make the Tri-Cities werewolves cooperate with him in preparation to move in on Marsilia.
Maybe he doesn’t know he can’t use me to take over the pack. Maybe he would have used
me as a hostage. The ghost is happenstance. Just a convenient reason to convince Amber
to invite me over.” “Marsilia’s just lost her two right-hand men,” said Samuel. “Andre and
Stefan. She’s vulnerable now.” “She has three other powerful vampires,” I told him. “But
Bernard and Estelle don’t seem pleased with Marsilia lately.” I told them about the
confrontation the night before. “There’s Wulfe, I guess, but he’s ...” I shrugged. “I
wouldn’t want to have to depend upon Wulfe for loyalty—he’s not the type.” “Vampires
are predators,” Adam said. “Same as us. If Blackwood smells weakness, I suppose it
makes sense that he’d try for more territory.” “I like it,” Samuel said. “Blackwood isn’t a
team player. This fits. It doesn’t mean it’s right, but it fits.” Adam stretched the tension
out of his neck, and I heard vertebrae pop. He gave me a little smile. “Tonight I call
Marsilia and tell her what we just talked about. It’s not set in stone, but it’s plausible. I bet
we’ll find Marsilia more cooperative.” He looked at Samuel. “If you’re home, I’d better
go to work. I’ll have Jesse come here when school’s out, too—if you don’t mind.
Aurielle’s booked, Honey has work to do, and Mary Jo is ... not up to snuff.” After Adam
left, Samuel went to bed. If anything started happening, he’d be up fast enough—but it
told me that Samuel, at least, didn’t think there’d be an attack in the daytime. Neither of
them even so much as mentioned the cranberry juice I’d thrown on them.
A FEW HOURS LATER, A CAR DROVE UP AND JESSE GOT out. She waved at the
receding car, then bounced into the house in a wave of optimism, black-and-blue-striped
hair, and— I put a hand over my nose. “What is that perfume you’re wearing?” She
laughed. “Sorry, I’ll go wash up. Natalie had a new bottle and insisted on spraying
everyone with it.” I waved her to my bedroom with the hand that wasn’t plugging my
nose. “Go use mine. Samuel’s trying to sleep next to the main bath.” And when she just
stood there. “Hurry, for Pete’s sake. That stuff is rank.” She sniffed her arm. “Not to my
nose. It smells like roses.” “There are no roses,” I told her, “that smell like formaldehyde.”
She grinned at me, then bounced off to my bathroom to scrub up. “So,” she said when she
returned, “since we’re both under house arrest until the vamps settle down, and since I
was an ace student today and got my homework done at school—how about you and I
make some brownies?” We made brownies, and she helped me change the oil in my van. It
was getting dark by the time we set up my air compressor to blow out the water in my
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very small underground sprinkler system for the winter when Samuel appeared at the door
bleary-eyed and growly, a brownie in one hand. He made some grumbles about twittering
girls who made too much noise. I looked up at the darkening sky and thought the lateness
of the hour had more to do with his rising than the roar of my air compressor. He made
Jesse laugh with his snarls. He made a pretense of being offended and turned to me. “Are
you finished?” He could see I was rolling up cords and hose, so I rolled my eyes at him.
“Disrespect,” he told Jesse, shaking his head sadly. “That’s all I get. Maybe if I take you
out and feed you, she’ll start treating me with the respect I deserve.” But he grabbed the
compressor before I could start rolling it to the pole barn. “Where are you taking us?”
Jesse said. “Mexican,” he said positively. She groaned and suggested a Russian café that
had just opened nearby. The two of them argued restaurants all the way to the pole barn
and back and into the car. In the end, we went out for pizza, a place on Columbia with a
playground, noise, and great food. Adam was waiting, watching the little TV in my
kitchen, when we got back. He looked tired. “Boss run you ragged?” I asked
sympathetically, handing him a brownie. He looked at it. “Did you make this, or did
Jesse?” Her indignant “Dad” got her an unrepentant grin. “Just kidding,” he said as he ate.
“I’ve been staying up nights,” he told me. “Between the vampires and the Washington
bigwigs, I’m going to have to start taking naps like a two-year-old.” “Trouble?” asked
Samuel carefully. He meant, trouble over me—or rather over that nifty video I’d never
seen of Adam in a half-wolf form, ripping up Tim the Rapist’s dead body. Adam shook his
head. “Not really. Mostly just the same old, same old.” “Have you called Marsilia?” I
asked. “What?” Jesse had been getting a glass of milk for her dad, and she set it down a
little too hard. “Mercy,” growled Adam. “Part of the reason you’re here is that your dad
has a pair of vampires in his holding cell,” I informed her. “We’re in negotiation with
Marsilia so she’ll quit trying to kill everyone.” “I only get told half of what goes on,” said
Jesse. Adam covered his eyes in a mock-exasperated fashion, and Samuel laughed. “Hey,
old man. This is the tip of the iceberg. Mercy’s going to be leading you around with a ring
in your nose.” But there was something in his eyes that wasn’t amusement. I didn’t think
anyone else noticed or heard the odd note of unhappiness in his voice. Samuel didn’t want
me, not really. He didn’t want to be an Alpha ... but he wanted what Adam had, Jesse as
much as me, I thought—a family: kids, a wife, a white picket fence or whatever the
equivalent had been when he was a kid. He wanted a home, and his last home had died
with his last human mate long before I was born. He glanced at me just then, and I didn’t
know what was in my face, but it stopped him. Just stopped all the expression, and for a
moment he looked amazingly like his half brother, Charles—one of the scariest people I’ve
ever met. Charles can just look at raging werewolves and have them whimpering in the
corner. But it was only for an instant. He patted me on my head and said something funny
to Jesse. “So,” I said. “Did you call Marsilia, Adam?” He watched Samuel, but said, “Yes,
ma’am. I got Estelle. She’s supposed to give Marsilia my message and have her call me
back.” “She’s playing one-upmanship games,” observed Samuel. “Let her,” Adam said.
“Doesn’t mean I need to do the same.” “Because you have the edge,” I said with
satisfaction. “You have a bigger threat.” “What?” asked Jesse. “The Big Bad Boogeyman
vampire of Spokane,” I said, sitting on the table. “He’s coming to get her.” It wasn’t a
sure thing, but it didn’t have to be as long as we could convince Marsilia of it. If I had
been Marsilia, I would’ve been worried about Blackwood.
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ADAM AND JESSE WENT HOME. SAMUEL WENT TO BED, and so did I. When my
cell phone rang, I was in the middle of a dream about garbage cans and frogs—don’t ask,
and I won’t tell. “Mercy,” Adam purred. I looked down at my feet, where Medea slept.
She blinked her big green-gold eyes at me and purred again. “Adam.” “I called to tell you
that I finally got in touch with Marsilia herself.” I sat up, suddenly not sleepy at all.
“And?” “I told her about Blackwood. She listened all the way through, thanked me for my
concern, and hung up.” “She’s hardly going to panic over the phone and swear to be
forever friends,” I said, and he laughed. “No, I don’t think so. But I thought I’d do my bit
for goodwill and let her two baby vamps go.” “Besides, now that Jesse knows they’re
there, you’re not going to be able to keep her away.” “Thanks for that.” “Anytime.
Hostage-holding is for the bad guys.” He laughed again, this time faintly bitterly. “You
obviously haven’t seen the good guys in action.” “No,” I told him. “Maybe you were just
mistaken on who the good guys were.” There was a long pause, and he said in a soft,
midnight voice, “Maybe you’re right.” “You’re the good guy,” I explained to him. “So
you have to cope with all the good-guy rules. Fortunately, you have an exceptionally
talented and incredibly gifted sidekick ...” “Who turns into a coyote,” he said, a smile in
his voice. “So you don’t have to worry about the bad guys very much.” And we settled
into some serious, heart-accelerating flirting. Over the phone, passion brought on no panic
attack. I hung up eventually. We both had to get up in the morning, but the call left me
restless and not sleepy in the slightest. After a few minutes I got up and took a good look
at the stitches in my face. They were tiny and neat, individually tied and set so when my
face altered, they wouldn’t pull. Trust a werewolf to give me stitches so I could shift with
them. I stripped out of my clothes and opened my bedroom door. And as a coyote, I
popped out of the newly installed dog door and dashed out into the night. I covered
several miles before heading out to the river and my favorite running ground. It wasn’t
until I stopped to get a drink from the river that I smelled vampire—and not my vampire. I
stood in the shallows of the river and lapped at the water as if I hadn’t sensed a thing. But
it didn’t matter because this vampire had no desire to remain unseen. If I hadn’t smelled
him, the distinctive sound of a shotgun shell jacked into place was quite an announcement
of intentions. He must have followed me from home. Or maybe his sense of smell was
werewolf good. At any rate, he knew who I was. Bernard stood on the bank, the gun held
with obvious familiarity with the barrel pointed at yours truly. Vampire with shotgun—it
seemed a little like Jaws with a chain saw, too much of a good thing. I’d have preferred a
chain saw in this case. I hate shotguns. I have scars on my butt from a close-range hit, but
that wasn’t the only time I’d been shot—just the worst. Montana ranchers don’t like
coyotes. Even coyotes who are just passing through and would never attack a lamb or
chase a chicken. No matter how much fun chasing chickens is ... I wagged my tail at the
vampire. “Marsilia was so certain he’d kill you,” Bernard told me. He always sounded to
me like one of the Kennedys, his a’s broad and flat. “But I see that he fooled her. She’s
not as smart as she thinks—and that will be her downfall. I need you to call your Master
so I can talk to him.” It took me a moment to remember who the Master he was referring
to was. And then I didn’t know how to do it. I had so many new ties, and I didn’t know
how to use any of them. What if I tried to call Stefan and ended up with Adam here? I
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took too long. Bernard pulled the trigger. I think he meant to miss me—unless he was a
really bad shot. But several of those stupid pellets hit, and I yipped sharply. He had the
next shell in the gun before I finished complaining. “Call him,” Bernard said. Fine. It
couldn’t be that difficult, or Stefan would have told me more about how to do that. I
hoped. Stefan? I thought as hard as I could. Stefan! If I’d thought he’d be in any danger,
I’d never have tried it, but I was pretty sure that Bernard, like Estelle, was going to try to
recruit Stefan for his side in the civil war Marsilia had brewing in her seethe. He wouldn’t
try anything right away, and after the way Stefan had dealt with Estelle, I wasn’t worried
about Bernard as long as the element of surprise wasn’t a factor. Bernard was wearing
jeans, running shoes, and a semicasual button-front shirt—and he still looked like a
nineteenth-century businessman. Even though his shoes had a glow-in-the-dark swoosh on
them, he wasn’t someone who would blend in with the crowd. “I’m sorry you’re so
stubborn,” he said. But before he could get the gun up for a final, painful-if-not-fatal shot,
Stefan appeared from ... somewhere and jerked the gun out of his hands. He swung it by
the barrel into a rock, then handed the not-so-useful remains back to Bernard. I waded out
of the water and shook off over both of them—but neither reacted. “What do you want?”
asked Stefan coolly. I padded over to him and sat at his feet. He looked down at me and
before Bernard could answer his first question, he said, “I smell blood. Did he hurt you?” I
opened my mouth and gave him a laughing look. I knew from experience that the couple
of birdshot in my backside weren’t deep, probably not even deep enough that they would
need to be dug out—fur has many advantages. I wasn’t all that happy about it, but Stefan
didn’t have a wolf’s understanding about body language. So I told him I was fine in a way
he couldn’t mistake—and my rump hurt when I wagged my tail. He gave me a look that
might, under other circumstances, have been doubtful. “Fine,” he said, then looked over at
Bernard, who was twirling the broken shotgun. “Oh,” said Bernard. “Is it my turn? You’re
through coddling your pretty new slave? Marsilia was certain that you were so fond of
your last flock that you wouldn’t have the stomach to replace them soon.” Stefan was
very still. So angry he had even stopped breathing. Bernard braced the shotgun on the
ground and gripped it one-handed, butt up—leaning on it as if it were one of those short
canes that Fred Astaire used to dance with. “You should have heard them screaming your
name,” he said. “Oh, I forgot, you did.” He braced himself for an attack that never came.
Instead, Stefan folded his arms and relaxed. He even started breathing again, for which I
was grateful. Have you ever sat around while someone held their breath? For a while it
doesn’t bother you, but eventually you start holding your breath with them, willing them
to breathe. It’s one of those automatic reflexes. Fortunately, the only vampire I associate
with much likes to talk—so he breathes. I sat at his side, trying to look harmless and
cheerful—but looking around for more vampires. There was one in the trees; she’d let
herself be silhouetted briefly against the sky. There was no way to communicate what I’d
seen to Stefan as there would have been with Adam. He’d have read the tilt of my head
and the paw on his foot. Bernard’s verbal attack hadn’t had quite the effect he’d expected
... or at least been ready for. But that didn’t seem to faze him. He smiled, showing his
fangs. “She had only you left,” he told Stefan. “Wulfe’s been ours for months, and so was
Andre. But he was afraid of you, so he wouldn’t let us do anything.” There was a world of
frustration in the last two words, and he jerked up the gun, threw it casually over his
shoulder, and began pacing. For the first time, he looked to me like what he was.
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Somehow, before, he’d always looked like an extra from a Dickens movie—someone full
of pomp and circumstance and nothing more. Now, in motion, he looked like a predator,
the Edwardian facade nothing but a thin skin to hide what was beneath. Estelle had always
unnerved me, but I discovered I hadn’t been afraid of Bernard until just then. Stefan
stayed silent while Bernard ranted. “He was worse than Marsilia, in the end. He brought
that thing ... that uncontrollable abomination among us.” He paused and stared at me. I
dropped my eyes immediately, but I could feel his attention burning into my skin. “It is
good your sheep killed it, though Marsilia couldn’t see it. It would have brought upon us
our doom—and she did us the second favor by killing Andre.” He stopped speaking for a
moment, but his eyes were still on me, digging through fur to see me. It was
uncomfortable and scary. “We would let her live—and if Marsilia has her way, she is
dead—just like your last flock.” Bernard waited for that to sink in. “Marsilia has minions
who work in the day ... Hell. With the crossed bones on your coyote’s business
proclaiming her a traitor to all of us, how long do you think she’ll survive? Goblins,
harriers, the carrion feeders—there are a lot of Marsilia’s allies who hunt in the day.” “She
is the Alpha’s mate. The wolves will keep her safe when I cannot.” Bernard laughed.
“There are some of them who would kill her faster than Marsilia ever would. A coyote?
Please.” His voice softened. “You know she will die. If Marsilia wanted to kill her for
slaying Andre, how do you think she’ll feel now that you’ve taken the coyote for your
own? She doesn’t want you, but our Mistress has ever been jealous. And you protected
this one for years when you should have told us all that there was a walker living among
us. You took chances for her—what would have happened if another vampire had noticed
what she was? Marsilia knows you care for her, more than you ever did the sheep you fed
off. Eventually, Mercedes will die, and it will be your fault.” Stefan flinched at that. I
didn’t need to look at his face to see it, because I felt him jerk against me. “You need
Marsilia to die, or Mercy will,” Bernard said. “Whom do you love, Soldier? The one who
saved you or the one who abandoned you? Whom do you serve?” He waited, and so did I.
“She was a fool to let you go alive,” Bernard murmured. “There were two others she
trusted with the place she sleeps. Andre is dead. But you know, don’t you? And you rise a
full hour before she does. You can keep this from being a bloody battle with many
casualties. Who will die? Lily, our gifted musician, almost certainly. Estelle hates her, you
know—she is talented and beautiful when Estelle is neither. And Marsilia loves her dearly.
Lily will die.” Then he smiled. “I’d kill her myself, but I know that you care for her, too.
You could protect her from Estelle, Stefan.” And he went on naming names. Lesser
vampires, I thought, but people Stefan cared for. When he finished, he looked at Stefan’s
stubborn face and shook his head in exasperation. “Stefan, for God’s sake. What are you
doing? You belong nowhere. She doesn’t want you. She couldn’t be more plain if she had
killed you outright. Estelle is foolish. She thinks she can rule when Marsilia is gone. But I
know better. Neither of us is strong enough to hold the seethe unless we could work
together—but we will not. There are no ties between us, no love, and that is the only way
two nearly equal vampires can work together for long. But you could. I would serve you
as faithfully as you have served all these years. We need you if we are to survive.” He had
begun pacing again. “Marsilia will see us all dead. You know that. She is crazy—only a
crazy woman could put her trust in Wulfe. She’ll have the humans hunting us again, not
just this seethe but all of our kind. And we will not survive. Please, Stefan.” Stefan went
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down on one knee and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. He bowed his head and
whispered to me. “I am sorry.” Then he stood up. “I am an old soldier,” he told Bernard.
“I serve only one, even though she has forsaken me.” He stretched out his hand, and this
time I felt him pull something from me as his sword appeared in his hand. “Would you try
me here?” he asked. Bernard made a frustrated noise, then threw up his hands in a
theatrical gesture. “No. No. Please, Stefan. Just stay out of it when the fight begins.” And
he turned and ran. It wasn’t like the way Stefan could disappear, but it would have pushed
me to keep with him—and I’m fast. It was fast enough that he probably didn’t hear Stefan
say, “No.” He stood beside me and watched Bernard until the vampire was out of sight.
And he waited a little more. I watched the female slip out of the trees and found another
one as he left his cover. That one Stefan raised a hand to and got a salute in return. “It will
be a bloodbath,” he told me. “And he is right. I could stop it. But I won’t.” I wondered
suddenly why Marsilia had let him live. If he knew where she slept, and no one else did, if
he rose before her and could take himself wherever he chose, then he was a threat to her.
She surely knew that if Bernard did. Stefan sat on a likely boulder and linked his hands
over a knee. “I meant to come to you when darkness fell,” he told me. “There are things I
need to tell you about this link between us—” He gave me a shadow of his usual smile.
“Nothing dire.” He looked out at the water. “But I thought I’d clean up my front porch a
little first. The newspapers have been piling up because no one is living there now.” I had
the sinking feeling I knew where this was going. “I was thinking I’d have to call and have
the newspaper stopped—and then I read the newspaper. About the man you killed. So I
went to Zee and got the full story.” He looked at me. “I’m sorry,” he said. I stood up
deliberately and shook as if my fur was wet. He smiled again, just a quirk of his lips. “I’m
glad you killed him. Wish I’d been there to watch.” I thought of where he’d been, tortured
by Marsilia, and wished I could watch him kill her as well. I sighed and walked over to
him, then put my chin on his knee. We both watched the water flow under the sliver of
moon. There were houses nearby, but where we sat it was only us and the river.
9 I LEFT STEFAN FINALLY I NEEDED TO GET UP EARLY TO get back to work,
and it might be nice to have some sleep. When I glanced back over my shoulder for a last,
concerned look, he was gone. I hoped he hadn’t gone back to his house—that didn’t seem
like the smartest place for him to hang out—but he would do as he pleased. He was like
me in that way. The lights were on at home, and I redoubled my pace as soon as I saw
them. I dove through the dog door and found Warren pacing in the living room. Medea sat
on the back of the couch and watched him with an annoyed look on her face. “Mercy,”
Warren said with relief. “Get changed; get dressed. We’re attending a peace powwow
with the vampires, and you were specifically requested.” I ran into my room and shifted
back to human. What with one thing and another, I had a roomful of dirty clothes and
nothing more. “We’re talking peace-treaty time?” I asked throwing dirty pants over my
shoulder. “We hope so,” Warren said, following me into the room. “Who shot you?”
“Vampire, no biggie,” I said. “He wasn’t aiming to kill. I don’t even think any of the shot
stuck.” “Nope, but you won’t be happy about sitting down tonight.” “I’m never happy
sitting down when there are vampires around—Stefan usually excepted. What did Marsilia
say?” “She didn’t call us, and we couldn’t get a lot of sense out of the vampire who did.
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She read a note, then giggled a lot.” “Lily?” I looked at Warren. “That’s what Samuel
said.” He pulled a shirt off his shoulder, where I must have thrown it, and dropped it on
the floor. “She called him, too?” He shrugged. “Yes. Marsilia wanted him there, too. No, I
don’t know what it’s about, and neither does Adam. However, it’s unlikely that she’s
going to annihilate us once we get there. Adam sent me here to bring you when you got
back. I think he wanted you dressed, though.” “Smart aleck,” I told him, hopping into my
jeans. I found a decent bra and put that on. I finally found a clean shirt folded in the shirt
drawer. I wondered who’d but it there. It’s not that I’m not neat. In my garage, every tool
is exactly where it belongs at the end of the day. Sometimes there’s a little friction when
Zee has been in there because he and I have a different idea of where some of the tools
should be. Someday, when time presents itself, I’ll clean my room. Having a roommate
forces me to keep the rest of the house reasonably clean. But no one cares about my
room, and that puts it pretty far down on my list of to-dos. It’s below, for instance,
keeping solvent, saving Amber from Blackwood, and attending the meeting with Marsilia.
I’ll almost certainly get to it before I get around to planting a garden, though. I pulled on
the clean shirt. It was dark blue and emblazoned with BOSCH GENUINE GERMAN
AUTO PARTS. Not the shirt I’d have picked out to pay a formal call on the Vampire
Queen, but I supposed she’d have to take it or leave it. At least it didn’t have any oil
stains. Warren picked up a handful of jeans and unburied my shoes. “Now all you need is
socks, and we can go.” His cell phone rang, and he tossed the shoes at me and answered.
“Yes, boss. She’s here and almost dressed.” Adam’s voice was a little muffled, and he was
talking very quietly—but I still heard him. He sounded a little wistful. “Almost, eh?”
Warren grinned. “Yep. Sorry, boss.” “Mercy, get a wiggle on,” Adam said in a louder
voice. “Marsilia’s holding things up until you’re here—since you were a material part of
the recent unrest.” He hung up. “I’m wiggling. I’m wiggling,” I muttered, pulling on socks
and shoes. I wished I’d had a chance to replace my necklace. “Your socks don’t match.” I
marched out the door. “Thank you. Since when did you become a fashionista?” “Since you
decided to wear a green sock and a white sock,” he said, following me. “We can take my
truck.” “I have another pair just like it, too,” I said. “Somewhere.” Except I thought I’d
thrown out the mate to the green sock last week.
THE WROUGHT-IRON GATES AROUND THE SEETHE WERE open, but the
driveway was clogged with cars, so we parked off the gravel driveway. The Spanish-style
adobe compound was lit with orangish lantern-style lights that flickered almost like the
real thing. I didn’t know the vampire at the door, and, very unvampirelike, he simply
opened the door, and said, “Down the hall to the stairway at the end and downstairs to the
bottom.” I hadn’t remembered there being a stairway at the end of the hall when I’d been
here before. Probably because the huge, full-length-and-then-some painting of a Spanish
villa had been in front of it instead of leaning against a side wall. Although we’d entered
on the ground floor, the stairway we were on took us down two full flights. I can see in
the dark almost as well as a cat, and the stairwell was dark for me—a human would be
almost helpless. As we descended, the smell of vampire clogged my nose. There was a
small anteroom with a single vampire—another one I didn’t recognize. I didn’t actually
know more than a handful of Marsilia’s vampires by sight. This one had silvery gray hair
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and a very young-looking face, and was dressed in a traditional black funeral suit. He’d
been seated behind a very small table, but as we came down the last three steps, he stood
up. He ignored Warren entirely, and said, “You are Mercedes Thompson.” He wasn’t
quite asking a question, but his statement was far from certain. He also had an accent of
some sort, but I couldn’t place it. “Yes,” said Warren shortly. The vampire opened the
door and swept us a short bow. The room we entered was huge for a house—more a
small gymnasium than a room. There were stands of seats—bleachers really, on either side
of the long side of the room. Bleachers filled with silent watchers. I hadn’t realized that
there were so many vampires in the whole of the Tri-Cities, then I saw that a lot of the
people were human—the sheep, I thought, like me. And in the very center of the room
was the huge oak chair festooned with carvings and accented with dull brass. I couldn’t
see them, but I knew the brass thorns on the arms of the chair were sharp and dark with
old blood ... some of it was mine. That chair was one of the treasures of the seethe,
vampire magic and old magic combined. The vampires used it to determine the truth of
whatever poor being had the brass thorns stuck in its hands. It’s gruesomely appropriate
that a lot of vampire magic has to do with blood. The presence of the chair raised my
suspicions that this wasn’t to be a negotiation for peace between the vampires and the
werewolves. The last time I’d seen that chair, it had been at a trial. It made me nervous,
and I wished I knew exactly what the words were that had been used to invite us here. It
was easy to pick out the werewolves—they were standing in front of two rows of empty
seats: Adam, Samuel, Darryl and his mate, Aurielle, Mary Jo, Paul, and Alec. I wondered
which ones Marsilia had specified and which were Adam’s choice. Darryl was the first to
notice us because the door was almost as silent as the crowd of vampires. His eyes swept
over me from head to toe and for a moment he looked appalled. Then he glanced around
the crowd—all the vampires and their menageries were dressed up in their finest, be that
ball gown or double-breasted suit. I thought I saw at least one Union army jacket. He
looked at my T-shirt, then relaxed and gave me a subtle smile. It seemed he decided it was
okay I hadn’t dressed up to meet the enemy. Adam had been talking rather intently with
Samuel (about the upcoming football game, I later found out—we don’t discuss important
matters in front of the bad guys) but looked at his second, then looked up as we walked
over to him. “Mercy,” he said, his voice ringing in the room as if it were empty. “Thank
goodness. Maybe now we can get some business done.” “Maybe,” Marsilia said. She was
right behind us. I knew she hadn’t been there a moment ago because Warren jumped when
I did. Warren was more wary than I was—no one snuck up on him. Ever. The side effect
of being hunted by his own kind for most of his century-and-a-half-long life. He turned,
shoving me behind him, and snarled at her—something he wouldn’t have normally done.
All the vampires in the room rose to their feet, and their anticipation of blood was
palpable. Marsilia laughed, a beautiful, ringing laugh that stopped a second before I
expected it to, making it more unsettling than her sudden appearance. Her sudden,
businesslike appearance. The only other times I’d seen her, she’d worn clothing designed
to attract attention to her beauty. This time she wore a business suit. The only concession
to femininity was the narrow skirt instead of pants and the rich wine color of the wool.
“Sit,” she said—as if she were talking to a poodle—and the roomful of vampires sat. She
never looked away from me. “How kind of you to make an appearance,” she said, her
abyss-dark eyes cold with power. Only Warren’s warmth allowed me to answer her with
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anything approaching calm. “How kind of you to issue your invitations in advance, so I
could be on time,” I said. Perhaps not wisely—but, hey, she already hated me. I could
smell it. She stared at me a moment. “It makes a joke,” she said. “It is rude,” I returned,
taking a step to the side. If I got her mad enough to attack me, I didn’t want Warren to
take the hit. It was only when I stepped around him that I realized I was meeting her gaze.
Stupid. Even Samuel wasn’t proof against the power of her eyes. But I couldn’t look
down, not with Adam’s power rising to choke me. I wasn’t just a coyote here, I was the
Alpha of the Columbia Basin Pack’s mate—because he said so, and because I said so. If I
looked down, I was acknowledging her superiority, and I wouldn’t do that. So I met her
eyes, and she chose to allow me to do so. She lowered her eyelids, not so far as to lose
our informal staring contest, but to veil her expression. “I think,” she said in a voice so
soft that only Warren and I heard her, “I think that had we met at a different place and
time, I could have liked you.” She smiled, her fangs showing. “Or killed you.” “Enough
games,” she said, louder. “Call him for me.” I froze. That’s why she wanted me. She
wanted Stefan back. For a moment all I could see was the blackened dead thing that she’d
dropped in my living room. I remembered how long it had taken me to realize who it was.
She’d done that to him—and now she wanted him back. Not if I could help it. Adam
hadn’t moved from where he’d been standing, telling the room he trusted me to take care
of myself. I wasn’t sure he really thought so—I knew I didn’t—but he needed me to stand
on my own two feet. “Call whom?” he asked. She smiled at him without looking away
from me. “Didn’t you know? Your mate belongs to Stefan.” He laughed, an oddly happy
sound in this dirge-shadowed room. It was a good excuse to turn my back on Marsilia and
quit playing the stare game. Turning my back meant that I didn’t lose—only that the
contest was over. I tried not to let the sick fear I felt show on my face. I tried to be what
Adam—and Stefan—needed me to be. “Like a coyote, Mercy is adaptable,” Adam told
Marsilia. “She belongs to whom she decides. She belongs everywhere she wants to, for
just as long as she wants to.” He made it sound like a good thing. Then he said, “I thought
this was about preventing war.” “It is,” said Marsilia. “Call Stefan.” I lifted my chin and
glanced at her over my shoulder. “Stefan is my friend,” I told her. “I won’t bring him to
his execution.” “Admirable,” she told me briskly. “But your concern is misplaced. I can
promise that he won’t be hurt physically by me or by mine tonight.” I slanted a glance at
Warren, and he nodded. Vampires might be hard to read, but he was better at sensing lies
than I was, and his nose agreed with mine: she was being truthful. “Or hold him here,” I
said. The smell of her hatred had died away, and I couldn’t tell anything about how she
felt. “Or hold him here,” she agreed. “Witness!” “Witnessed,” said the vampires. All of
them. All at exactly the same time. Like puppets, only creepier. She waited. Finally, she
said, “I mean him no harm.” I thought of earlier tonight, when he’d turned down Bernard
even though I was pretty sure he agreed with Bernard’s assessment of her continued rule
of the seethe. In the end, he loved her more than he loved his seethe, his menagerie of
sheep, or his own life. “You harm him by your continued existence,” I told her, as quietly
as I could. And she flinched. I thought about that flinch ... and about the way she’d let him
live even though he, of all her vampires, had reason to see her dead—and had the means
to do so. Maybe Stefan wasn’t the only one who loved. It hadn’t kept her from torturing
him, though. I closed my eyes, trusting Warren, trusting Adam to keep me safe. I only
wished I could keep Stefan safe. But I knew what he would want me to do. Stefan, I
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called, just as I had earlier—because I knew he would want me to. Surely he knew where
I was calling from and would come ready to protect himself. Nothing happened. No
Stefan. I looked toward Marsilia and shrugged. “I called,” I told her. “But he doesn’t have
to come when I call.” It didn’t seem to bother her. She just nodded—a surprisingly
businesslike gesture from a woman who would have looked more at home in a
Renaissance gown of silk and jewels than she did in her modern suit. “Then I call this
meeting to order,” she said, strolling to the old thronelike chair in the center of the room.
“First, I would call Bernard to the chair.” He came, reluctant and stiff. I recognized the
pattern of his movement—he looked like a wolf called against his will. I knew he wasn’t
of her making, but she had power over him just the same. He was still wearing the clothes
I’d last seen him in. The harsh overhead fluorescent lights glinted off the small balding
spot on the top of his head. He sat unwillingly. “Here, caro, let me help.” Marsilia took
each hand and impaled it on the upthrust brass thorns. He fought. I could see it in the
grimness of his face and the tenseness of his muscles. I couldn’t see that it cost Marsilia
anything at all to keep him under her control. “You’ve been naughty, no?” she asked.
“Disloyal.” “I have not been disloyal to the seethe,” he gritted out. “Truth,” said a boy’s
voice. The Wizard himself. I hadn’t seen him—though I’d looked. His light gold hair had
been trimmed close to his skull. He had a vague smile on his face as he strolled down from
the top of the bleachers across from us. He used the bleacher seats as stairs. He looked
like a young high school student. He’d died before his features had had a chance to grow
into maturity. He looked soft and young. Marsilia smiled when she saw him. He hopped
over the last three seats and landed lightly on the hardwood floor. She was shorter than he
was, but the kiss he gave her made my stomach hurt. I knew he was hundreds of years old,
but it didn’t matter—because he looked like a kid. He stepped back and reached out a
finger and ran it over Bernard’s hand and down to the chair arm. When he picked it up it
dripped blood. He licked it off slowly, letting a few drops roll down the palm of his hand,
over his wrist, until it stained the light green sleeves of his dress shirt. I wondered who he
was performing for. Surely the vampires wouldn’t be bothered by his licking blood—and I
was sort of right but mostly wrong. Bothered might not be the word, but there was a
generalized motion from the stands as vampires leaned forward and some of them even
licked their lips. Ugh. “You have betrayed me, haven’t you, Bernard?” Marsilia was still
looking at Wulfe, and he held out his hand. She took it and traced the drying blood, letting
her mouth linger over his wrist while Bernard quivered, trying not to answer the question.
“I have not betrayed the seethe,” Bernard said again. And though she grilled him for ten
minutes or more, that was all he would say. Stefan appeared beside me. His eyes were on
the sleeve of his white dress shirt as he casually fixed a cuff link, then he pulled the sleeve
of his subtly pin-striped gray suit over it with a just-right tug. He looked at me, and
Marsilia looked at him. She waved her hand at Bernard. “Get up—Wuife, put him
somewhere obvious, would you?” Shaking and stumbling, Bernard rose, his hands
dripping on the pale floor all the way to the stands, where Wulfe cleared out space on the
bottom tier of seats for them both. He began cleaning Bernard’s hands, like a cat licking
ice cream. Stefan didn’t say anything, just ran his eyes over me in a quick survey. Then he
looked at Adam, who nodded regally back, though he smiled a little, and I realized that he
and Stefan were wearing the same thing, except that Adam wore a dark blue shirt. Mary
Jo saw the resemblance and grinned. She turned to say something to Paul, I thought, when
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a surprised look came over her face, and she just dropped. Alec caught her before she hit
the floor as if this wasn’t the first time she’d done something like that. Leftovers from the
close brush with death, I hoped, not something the vampires were doing. Stefan left me
for Mary Jo. He touched her throat, ignoring Alec’s silent snarl. “Relax,” Stefan told the
wolf. “She will take no harm from me.” “She’s been doing that a lot,” Adam told him.
That he didn’t step between his vulnerable pack member and the vampire was an unsubtle
message. “She’s waking up,” Stefan said just before her eyes fluttered open. And only
after Mary Jo was clearly awaken did Stefan look at Marsilia. “Come to the chair,
Soldier,” she told him. He stared at her for so long that I wondered if he would do it. He
might love her, but he didn’t like her very much at the moment—and, I hoped, didn’t trust
her either. But he patted Mary Jo’s knee and walked out to where Marsilia waited for him.
“Wait,” she told him before he sat down. She looked at the stands across from us, where
the vampires and their food sat. “Do you want me to question Estelle, first? Would that
make you happier?” I couldn’t tell who she was speaking to. “Fine,” she said. “Bring
Estelle here.” A door I hadn’t noticed opened on the far side of the room and Lily, the
gifted pianist and quite insane vampire who never left the seethe and Marsilia’s protection,
came in carrying Estelle like a new groom carried his bride over the threshold. Lily was
even dressed in a frothy white mass of lace that could have been a wedding dress to
Estelle’s dark suit. Though I’d never seen a bride with blood all over her face and down
her gown. If I were a vampire, I think I’d only wear black or dark brown—to hide the
stains. Estelle hung limp in Lily’s arms, and her neck looked like a pack of hyenas had
been chewing on her. “Lily,” Marsilia chided. “Haven’t I told you about playing with your
food?” Lily’s sapphire eyes glittered with a hungry iridescence visible even in the overly
brightly lit room. “Sorry,” she said. She skipped a couple of steps. “Sorry, ’Stel.” She
smiled whitely at Stefan, then she plopped Estelle’s limp form on the chair, like a doll. She
moved Estelle’s head so it wasn’t flopped to the side, then straightened her skirt. “Is that
good?” “Fine. Now be a good girl and go sit next to Wulfe, please.” Lilly had been in her
thirties, I thought, when she was killed, but her mind had stopped developing far earlier.
She smiled brightly and skipped over to Wulfe and bounced down to the seat beside him.
He patted her knee, and she put her head on his shoulder. As with Bernard, Marsilia stuck
Estelle’s hands on the thorns. The limp vampire came to shrieking, screaming life as soon
as her second hand was pierced. Marsilia allowed it for a minute, then said, “Stop,” in a
voice that fired like a .22. It popped but didn’t thunder. Estelle froze midscream. “Did you
betray me?” Marsilia asked. Estelle jerked. Shook her head frantically. “No. No. No.
Never.” Marsilia looked at Wulfe. He shook his head. “If you control her enough to keep
her on the chair, Mistress, she can’t answer with truth.” “And if I don’t, all she does is
scream.” She looked into the bleachers. “As I told you. You can try it yourself if you
choose? No?” She pulled Estelle’s hands off the chair. “Go sit by Wulfe, Estelle.” A
Hispanic man came to his feet on one of the seats behind me. He had a tear tattooed just
below one eye and he, like Wulfe, hopped down to the floor via the seats, though without
Wulfe’s grace. It was more as if he fell slowly down the bleachers, landing on hands and
knees on the unforgiving floor. “Estelle, Estelle,” he moaned, brushing by me. He was
human, one of her sheep, I thought. Marsilia raised an eyebrow, and a vampire followed
Estelle’s human at three or four times his speed. He caught up to him before the man had
made it halfway across the floor. The vampire had the appearance of a very elderly man.
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He looked as though he’d died of old age before being made a vampire, though there was
nothing old or shaky in the hold he kept on the struggling man. “What would you have me
do, Mistress?” the old man said. “I would have had you not allow him to interrupt us
here,” Marsilia said. I glanced at Warren, who frowned. She was lying then. I’d thought
so. This was part of the script. After a thoughtful moment Marsilia said, “Kill him.” There
was a snap, and the man dropped to the ground—and every vampire in the place who had
been breathing stopped. Estelle fell to the ground, four or five feet from Wulfe. I glanced
away and unexpectedly caught Marsilia staring at me. She wanted me dead; I could see it
in the hungry look she had. But she had more pressing business just now Marsilia gestured
at the chair in invitation to Stefan. “Please, accept my apologies for the delay.” Stefan
stared at her. If there was an emotion on his face, I couldn’t read it. He’d taken a step
forward, and she stopped him once again. “No. Wait. I have a better idea.” She looked at
me. “Mercedes Thompson. Come let us partake of your truth. Witness for us the things
you have seen and heard.” I folded my arms, not in outright refusal—but I didn’t go
waltzing over either. This was Marsilia’s show, but I wouldn’t let her have the upper hand
completely. Warren’s hand closed over my shoulder—a show of support, I thought. Or
maybe he was trying to warn me. “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
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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
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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. “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
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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.
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
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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 and 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
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red. Mary Jo, who had been heading toward Adam’s vehicle until she saw me, abruptly
changed directions and got into Warren’s old truck. Alec, trailing her around like a lost
puppy, followed. “And I thought Bran could be Byzantine,” I said finally, trying to relax in
the safety of the leather upholstery as Adam drove through the gates. “I didn’t catch it
all,” said Darryl. He must have been tired because his voice was even deeper than usual,
buzzing my ears so I had to listen closely to catch all of his words. “For some reason she
had to convince Stefan that he was out of the seethe. Then, when her traitors approached
him, he had to refuse their offers before he could witness that they’d made them?” “That’s
what it sounded like to me,” said Adam. “And only with his witness and their maker’s
consent could she deal with her traitors.” “Makes sense,” offered Paul almost shyly. “The
way the seethe works, if he belonged to her—his witness is hers. If those two were
imposed on her, she couldn’t have them killed at her word. She’d need outside
verification.” I wondered if I’d been set up. I thought of Wulfe’s oh-so-convenient aid
when I’d killed Andre. He’d known I was looking for Andre—I’d stumbled upon his
resting place before I found Andre’s. I’d thought he kept it from the Mistress for his own
reasons ... but maybe he hadn’t. Maybe Marsilia had planned it. My head hurt. “Maybe we
were suspecting the wrong vampire of trying to take over Marsilia’s seethe,” Adam said. I
thought about the vampire who had been Bernard’s maker and had stood to watch this ...
trial. I didn’t want to be sympathetic; I wanted to hate Marsilia cleanly for what she had
done to Stefan. But I’d become passing familiar with evil and all its shades, and that
vampire, Bernard’s maker, set off every alarm that I had. Not that all vampires weren’t
evil ... I wished suddenly that I could say except for Stefan. But I couldn’t. I’d met his
menagerie, the ones Marsilia had killed—and I knew that for most of them, except for the
very few who became vampire, Stefan would be their death. Still, the other vampire had
hit pretty high on my coyote’s “get me out of here” scale. There had been something in his
face ... “Makes me glad I’m a werewolf,” said Darryl. “All I have to worry about is when
Warren will lose his self-control and challenge me.” “Warren’s self-control is very good,”
said Adam. “I wouldn’t wait dinner on his losing it.” “Better Warren as second than a
coyote in the pack,” said Aurielle tightly. The atmosphere in the car changed. Adam’s
voice was soft, “Do you think so?” “‘Rielle,” Darryl warned. “I think so.” Her voice
brooked no argument. She was a high school teacher, Darryl’s mate, which made her ...
not precisely third in the pack—that was Warren. But second and a half, just below
Darryl. If she had been a man, I didn’t think she would have ranked much lower. “Unlike
vampires, wolves tend to be straightforward critters,” I murmured, trying not to feel hurt.
Rejection, for a coyote raised by wolves, was nothing new. I’d spent most of my
adulthood running from it. I wouldn’t have thought that exhaustion and hurt was a recipe
for epiphany, but there it was. I’d left my mother and Portland before she could tell me to
go. I’d lived alone, stood on my own two feet, because I didn’t want to learn to lean on
anyone else. I’d seen my resistance to Adam as a fight for survival, for the right to control
my own actions instead of a life spent following orders ... because I wanted to obey. The
duty that Stefan clung to with awful stubbornness was the life I’d rejected. What I hadn’t
seen was that I had been unwilling to put myself in a place where I could be rejected again.
My mother had given me to Bran when I was a baby. A gift he returned when I became ...
inconvenient. At sixteen, I’d moved back in with my mother, who was married to a man
I’d never met and had two daughters who hadn’t known of my existence until Bran had
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called my mother to tell her he was sending me home. They had been all that was loving
and gracious—but I was a hard person to lie to. “Mercy?” “Just a minute,” I told Adam,
“I’m in the middle of a revelation.” No wonder I hadn’t just rolled over at Adam’s feet
like any sensible person would when courted by a sexy, lovable, reliable man who loved
me. If Adam ever rejected me ... I felt a low growl rise in my throat. “You heard her,” said
Darryl, amused. “We’ll have to wait for her revelation. We have a prophet for our Alpha’s
mate.” I waved at him irritably. Then looked up at Adam, whose eyes were, quite
properly, on the road. “Do you love me?” I asked him, pulse pounding in my ears. He
gave me a curious look. He was wolf, he knew intensity when he heard it. “Yes.
Absolutely.” “You’d better,” I told him, “or you’ll regret it.” I looked over my shoulder at
Aurielle, holding the full force of my will close to me. Adam was mine. Mine. And I would
take up all the burdens he could give me, even as he did the same with mine. It would be
an equal sharing. That meant he protected me from the vampires ... and I protected him
from what problems I could. I stared at Aurielle, met the predator in her eyes with the one
in mine. And after only a few minutes, she dropped her eyes. “Suck it up and deal with it,”
I told her, and I put my head on Adam’s shoulder and fell asleep.
IT WAS, SADLY NOT VERY LONG BEFORE ADAM STOPPED the car. I stayed
where I was, half-awake, while Darryl, Aurielle, and Paul got out of the car. We stayed
where we were until I heard Darryl’s Subaru fire up, and Adam started for home.
“Mercy?” “Mmm.” “I’d like to take you home with me.” I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and
sighed. “Once I go horizontal, I’m going to be out like a light,” I told him. “It’s been
days”—I tried to remember, but I was too tired—“several at least since I had a good
night’s sleep.” The sun, I noticed, was brightening in the sky. “That’s all right,” he said.
“I’d just ...” “Yeah, me too.” But I shivered a little. It was all very well and good to get
hot and heavy over the phone, but this was real. I stayed awake all the way to his house.
AN ALPHA’S HOME IS SELDOM EMPTY—AND WITH THE recent troubles, Adam
was keeping a guard there, too. When we came in, we were greeted by Ben, who gave us
an offhand salute and trotted back downstairs, where there were a number of guest
bedrooms. Adam escorted me up the stairs with a hand on the small of my back. I was
sick-to-my-stomach nervous and found myself taking in deep breaths to remind myself that
this was Adam ... and all we were going to do was sleep. Repairs were in progress on the
hall bathroom. The door was back up, and mostly the hall wall next to it just needed
taping, texturing, and painting. But the white carpet at the top of the stairs was still
stained with brown spots of old blood—mine. I’d forgotten about that. Should I offer to
have his carpet cleaned? Could blood be cleaned out of a white carpet? And what kind of
stupid person puts white carpet in a house frequented by werewolves? Bolstered by
indignation, I took a step into his bedroom and froze. He glanced at my face and pulled a
T-shirt out of a drawer and threw it at me. “Why don’t you use the bathroom first,” he
said. “There’s a spare toothbrush in the top right-hand drawer.” The bathroom felt safer. I
folded my dirty clothes and left them in a small pile on the floor before pulling on his Tshirt.
He wasn’t much taller than me, but his shoulders were broad, and the sleeves hung
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down past my elbows. I washed my face around the stitches in my chin, brushed my teeth,
then just stood there for a few minutes, gathering courage. When I opened the door,
Adam brushed by and closed the bathroom behind him—pushing me gently into his room
to face the bed with its turned-down comforter. There should be only so much terror you
can feel in a night. I should have met my limit and then some. And the fear of something
that wasn’t going to happen—Adam would never hurt me—shouldn’t have been enough
to register. Still, it took every bit of courage I had to crawl into his bed. Once I was there,
though, in one of those odd little psychological twists everyone has, the scent of him in the
sheets made me feel better. My stomach settled down. I yawned a few times and fell
asleep to the sound of Adam’s electric razor. I awoke surrounded by Adam, his scent, his
warmth, his breath. I waited for the panic attack that didn’t come. Then I relaxed, soaking
it up. By the light sneaking in around the heavy blinds, it was late afternoon. I could hear
people moving around the house. His sprinklers were on, valiant defenders of his lawn in
the never-ending battle against the sun. Outside, it was probably in the seventies, but his
house—like mine since Samuel moved in—had a chill edge to the air that made the
warmth surrounding me that much better. Werewolves don’t like the heat. Adam was
awake, too. “So,” I said ... half-embarrassed, half-aroused, and, just to round things out,
half-scared, too. “Are you up for a trial run?” “A trial run?” he asked, his voice all rumbly
with sleep. The sound of it helped a lot with the halves I was feeling—virtually eliminating
embarrassed, reducing scared, and pushing aroused up a few notches. “Well, yes.” I
couldn’t see his face, but I didn’t need to. I could feel his willingness to participate in my
trial pressed against my backside. “Thing is, I’ve had different things happen with these
stupid panic attacks. If I stop breathing, you could just ignore it. Eventually I start
breathing again, or I pass out. But if I throw up ...” I let him draw his own conclusions.
“Quite a mood breaker,” he observed, his face on the back of my neck as he wrapped an
arm more fully around me on top of the covers. I tapped his arm with my finger, and
warned, only half in jest, “Don’t laugh at me.” “I wouldn’t dream of it. I’ve heard stories
about what happens to people who laugh at you. I like my coffee without salt, please. Tell
you what,” he said, his voice dropping even lower. “Why don’t we just play for a bit—and
see how far it gets? I promise not to be”—amusement fought with other things in his
voice—“dismayed if you throw up.” And then he slid down in the bed. When I flinched, he
stopped and asked me about it. I found I couldn’t say anything. There are things you don’t
tell someone you’re still trying to impress. There are other things you don’t want to
remember either. Panic tightened my throat. “Shh,” he said. “Shh.” And he kissed me
there, where he’d caused me to shy. It was a gentle, caring touch—almost passionless, and
moved on to somewhere less ... tainted. But he was a good hunter. Adam isn’t patient by
nature, but his training was very thorough. He worked his way back to the first bad spot
and tried again. I still flinched ... but I told him a little. And like the wolf he was, he laved
the wound in my soul, bandaging it with his care—and moved on to the next. He explored
thoroughly, found each mental wound—and a few I didn’t know I had—and replaced
them with other ... better things. And when passion began to grow too wild, too fast ...
“So,” he murmured, “are you ticklish here?” Yep. Who’d have known it? I looked at my
inner elbow as if I’d never seen it before. He laughed, bounced over a little, and made a
raspberry noise with his mouth on my belly. My knees jerked up in reflex, and I bopped
him on the head with my elbow. “Are you all right?” I pulled away from him and sat up—
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all desire to laugh gone. Trust me to clobber Adam while we’re making out. Stupid,
clumsy idiot, me. He took one look at my face, put both arms over his head, and rolled on
his back, moaning in agony. “Hey,” I said. And when he didn’t stop, I poked him in the
side—I knew some of his ticklish spots, too. “Stop that. I didn’t hit you that hard.” He’d
been taking lessons from Samuel. He opened one eye. “How would you know?” “You
have a hard head,” I informed him. “If I didn’t damage my elbow, I didn’t hurt your head.”
“Come here,” he said opening his arms wide, eyes glittering with laughter ... and heat. I
crawled over on top of him. We both closed our eyes for a bit while I made myself
comfortable. He ran his hands over my back. “I love this,” he told me, a little breathless
and yellow-eyed. “Love what?” I turned my head and put my ear on his chest so I could
hear the pounding of his heart. “Touching you ...” He deliberately ran a hand over my bare
butt. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this?” He dug in with his fingers. Tension
from the night before had left me tight, and it felt good. I went limp, and if I could have
purred, I would have. “Someone looking at us might think we’re asleep,” I told him. “You
think so? Only if they don’t notice my pulse rate ... or yours.” He hit just the right spot,
and I moaned. “Just like Medea,” he murmured. “All I have to do is put my hands on you.
You can be spitting mad ... and then you lean against me and go all soft and still.” He put
his mouth against my ear. “That’s how I know you want me as much as I want you.” His
arms were tight around me, and I knew that I wasn’t the only one with wounds. “I don’t
purr as well as Medea,” I told him. “Are you sure about that?” And he proceeded to show
me what he meant. If I didn’t ever reach Medea’s volume, I came close. By the time he
got down to business, there was no room in the inferno he’d made of me for fear or
memory. There was only Adam.
THE NEXT TIME I WOKE UP I WAS SMILING I WAS ALONE in the bed, but that
didn’t matter because I could hear Adam downstairs—he was talking to Jesse. Either they
were making lunch—I checked the window shades—dinner, or someone was getting
chopped into small bits. Soon I’d start worrying. But for now ... the vampires weren’t
going to kill everyone I knew. They weren’t even going to kill me. The sun was up. And
matters between Adam and me were right and tight. Mostly. We had a lot of things to talk
about. For instance, did he want me to move in? For a night, it was wonderful. But his
house wasn’t exactly private; any of his pack could be here on any given day. I liked my
home, scruffy as it was. I liked having my own territory. And ... what about Samuel? I
frowned. He was still ... not whole, and for some reason bunking at my house was helping.
With me he could have a pack, but not be Alpha and responsible for everyone. I wasn’t
sure it would work out so well for him if I moved in with Adam—and I knew it wouldn’t
work out if he moved over here, too. See, worrying already. I took a deep breath and let it
go. Tomorrow I would worry about Samuel, about Stefan, and about Amber, whose ghost
was the least of her problems. I was just going to enjoy today. For the whole day I was
going to be happy and carefree. I slid out of bed and realized I was stark naked. Which
was only to be expected. But there was no sign of underwear on the floor or in the
bedding. I was head and shoulders under the bed when Adam said, from the doorway, “I
spy with my little eye something that begins with the letter A.” “I’ll spy your little eye and
squish it,” I threatened, but, since the bed hid me, there was a grin on my face. I’m not
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body shy—not growing up among werewolves. I can fake it so people don’t get the
wrong idea ... but with Adam it would be the right one. I wiggled the something in
question, and he patted it. “I’ve been smelling whatever you’ve been cooking”—
something with lemon and chicken—“it’s making me hungry. But I can’t find my
underwear.” “You could go without,” he suggested, sitting on the bed just to the right of
me. “Hah,” I said. “Not on your life, buster. Jesse and who knows who else are down
there. I’m not running around without underwear.” “Who would know?” he asked. “I
would know,” I told him, pulling my head out from under the bed only to see that he had
my bright blue panties dangling from a finger. “They were under the pillow,” he said with
an innocent smile. I snatched them and put them on. Then I hopped up and went to the
bathroom, where the rest of my clothes were. I dressed, took a step toward the bathroom,
and had a flashback. I’d been here, unworthy, soiled ... stained. I couldn’t face them,
couldn’t look into their faces because they all knew... “Shh, shh,” Adam crooned in my
ear. “That’s over. It’s over and done with.” He held me, sitting on the bathroom floor with
me on his lap, while I shook and the flashback faded. When I could breathe normally
again, I sat up with an attempt at dignity. “Sorry,” I said. I’d thought that last night would
have taken care of the flashbacks, the panic attacks—I was cured, right? I reached up and
grabbed a hand towel and wiped my wet face—and found that it just kept getting wet. I’d
been so sure everything would be back to normal now. “It takes longer than a week to get
over something like that,” Adam told me, as if he could read my mind. “But I can help, if
you’ll let me.” I looked at him, and he ran a thumb under my eyes. “You’ll have to open
up, though, and let the pack in.” He smiled, a sad smile. “You’ve been blocking pretty
ferociously since sometime on the trip back from Spokane. If I were to guess, I expect it
was when you let Stefan bite you.” I had no idea what he was talking about, and I guessed
it showed. “Not on purpose?” he said. Somehow, I’d slid off his lap and was leaning
against the opposite wall. “Not that I know.” “You had a panic attack on the way home,”
he told me. I nodded and remembered the warmth of the pack that had pulled me out of it.
Remarkable, awesome—and buried under the rest of the events of the past two nights. His
lids lowered. “That’s better ... a bit better.” He looked up from the floor and focused on
me, yellow highlights dancing in his irises. He reached out and touched me just under my
ear. It was a light touch, just barely skin to skin. It should have been casual. He laughed a
little, sounding just a bit giddy. “Just like Medea, Mercy,” he said, dropping his hand and
drawing a breath that sounded just a little ragged. “Let me try this again.” He held out his
hand. When I put mine in it, he closed his eyes and ... I felt a trickle of life, warmth, and
health dribbling from his hand to mine. It felt like a hug on a summer’s day, laughter, and
sweet honey. I spread out into it through him, sliding into something I just knew were
warm depths that would surround me with— But the pack didn’t want me. And the
minute the thought crossed my mind, the trickle dried up—and Adam jerked his hand back
with a hiss of pain that brought me up to my knees. I reached out to touch him, then
pulled my hand back so I didn’t hurt him again. “Adam?” “Stubborn,” he said with an
appraising look. “I got bits and pieces from you, though. We don’t love you, so you won’t
take anything from us?” The question in his voice was self-addressed, as if he weren’t
quite sure of his analysis. I sat back down on my heels, caught by the accuracy of his
reading. “Instincts drive the wolf ... coyote, too, I imagine,” he told me after a moment.
He looked relaxed, one knee up and the other stretched out just to the side of me. “Truth
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is without flourishes or manners and runs with a logic all its own. You can’t let the pack
give without giving in return, and if we don’t want your gift ...” I didn’t say anything. I
didn’t understand how the pack worked, but the last part was right. After a bit, he said,
“It’s inconvenient sometimes to be a part of the pack. When the pack magic is in full
swing—like now with the moon close to her zenith—there’s no hiding everything from
each other all the time like we do as humans. Some things, yes, but we can’t chose which
ones stay safely secret. Paul knows I’m still angry with him over his attack on Warren, and
it makes him cringe—which just makes me angrier because it’s not remorse for trying to
attack Warren when he was hurt but fear of my anger.” I stared at him. “It’s not all bad,”
he told me. “It’s knowing who they are, what’s important to them, what makes them
different. What strengths they each contribute to the pack.” He hesitated. “I’m not sure
how much you’ll get. If I want to, at full moon in wolf form, I can read everyone almost
always—that’s part of being Alpha. It allows me to use the individuals to build a pack.
Most of the pack get bits and pieces, mostly things that concern them or big things.” He
gave me a little smile. “I didn’t know that bringing you into the pack would work at all,
you know. I couldn’t have done it with a human mate, but you are always an unknown.”
He looked at me intently. “You knew Mary Jo had been hurt.” I shook my head. “No. I
knew someone had been hurt—but I didn’t know it was Mary Jo until I saw her.” “Okay,”
he said, encouraged by my answer. “It shouldn’t be bad for you then. Unless you need
them, or they need you, the pack will just be ... a shield at your back, warmth in the storm.
Our mate bond—when it settles down—will probably add a little oddity to it.” “What do
you mean ‘when it settles down’?” I asked him. He shrugged. “Hard to explain.” He gave
me an amused look. “When I was learning how to be a wolf, I asked my teacher what
mating felt like. He told me it was different for different couples—and being Alpha adds a
twist to it as well.” “So you don’t know?” Because that wasn’t an answer—and Adam
didn’t evade questions. He answered or told you he wasn’t going to. “I do now,” he said.
“Our bond”—he made a gesture with his hand indicating something in the small space in
the bathroom that lay between us—“feels to me like a bridge, like the suspension bridge
over the Columbia. It has foundations and the cables and all that it needs to be a bridge,
but it doesn’t span the river yet.” He looked at my face and grinned. “I know it sounds
stupid, but you asked. Anyway, if all you felt when Mary Jo was dying was that someone
was hurt, that you caught the few who don’t welcome you as part of our pack is my fault.
You felt them through me. On your own, you won’t even be aware of it unless certain
conditions are met. Things like proximity, how open you are to the pack, and if the moon
is full.” He grinned. “Or how grumpy you are with them.” “So if I don’t feel it, it shouldn’t
matter if they don’t want me?” He gave me a neutral look. “Of course it matters—but it
won’t be shoved down your throat every minute of the day. Mostly, I expect you’ll know
the ones who don’t want a coyote in the pack. As Warren knows the wolves who hate
what he is more than what he does.” Briefly, sorrow lit his eyes for Warren’s trials, but he
kept speaking. “Just as Darryl knows the wolves who resent being given orders by a black
man made uppity by a good education.” He smiled, just a little. “You aren’t alone, most
people are prejudiced about something. But you know, after a while the edges wear down.
You know who hated Darryl the most when he joined us, way back when we were still in
New Mexico?” I raised my eyebrows in inquiry. “Aurielle. She thought he was an
arrogant, self-important snob.” “Which he is,” I observed. “But he’s also smart, quick, and
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given to small kindnesses when no one is watching.” “So,” he nodded. “We are none of us
perfect, and as pack, we learn to take these imperfections and make them only a small part
of who we are. Let us bring you truly into our shelter, Mercedes. And the wolves who
resent you will deal with it as you will deal with the ones you don’t like, for whatever
reason. I think, with the healing you have already done on your own, the pack can help
stop your panic attacks.” “Ben’s rude,” I said, considering it. “See, you already know
most of us,” Adam said. “And Ben adores you. He doesn’t quite know how to deal with it
yet. He’s not used to liking anyone ... and liking a woman ...” “Ish,” I said, deadpan.
“Let’s try again,” he suggested, and put out his hand. This time when I touched him, all I
felt was skin and calluses, no warmth, no magic. He tilted his head and evaluated me
sternly. “It’s hard to argue with instinct, even with reason and logic, isn’t it? May I
knock?” “What?” “May I see if I can touch you first? Maybe that’ll allow you to open to
the pack.” It sounded harmless enough. Warily, I nodded ... and I felt him, felt his spirit or
something, touch me. It wasn’t like when I’d called Stefan. That had been as intimate as
talking was—not very much. Adam’s touch reminded me more of the presence I felt
sometimes in church—but this was unmistakably Adam and not God. And because it was
Adam, I let him in, accepting him into my secret heart. Something settled into place with a
rightness that rang in my soul. Then the floodgates opened.
THE NEXT TIME I WAS CONSCIOUS OF ANYTHING REAL, I was back in Adam’s
lap but on his bedroom floor instead of in the bathroom. A number of the pack surrounded
us and stood with their hands linked. My head hurt like the one and only time I’d gotten
truly drunk, only much worse. “We’re going to have to work on your filtering skills,
Mercy,” said Adam, his voice sounding a little rough. As if that was a signal, the pack
broke apart and became individuals again—though I hadn’t been aware they were
anything else until it was gone. Something stopped, and my head didn’t hurt so much.
Uncomfortable at being on the floor when everyone else was on their feet, I rolled forward
and tried to use my hands to get leverage so I could stand. “Not so fast,” Samuel
murmured. He hadn’t been one of the circle, I’d have noticed him, but he pushed his way
through to the front of the line. He gave me a hand and pulled until I was on my feet. “I’m
sorry,” I told Adam, knowing something bad had happened, but I couldn’t quite focus on
what it had been. “Nothing to be sorry for, Mercy,” Samuel assured me with a little edge
to his voice. “Adam is old enough to know better than to draw his mate into the pack at
the same time as he seals your mate bond. Sort of like someone teaching a baby to swim in
the ocean. During a tsunami.” Adam hadn’t gotten up when I did, and when I looked at
him, his face was grayish underneath his tan. He had his eyes closed, and he was sitting as
if moving would be very painful. “Not your fault, Mercy. I asked you to open up to me.”
“What happened?” I asked him. Adam opened his eyes, and they were as yellow as I’d
ever seen them. “Full-throttle overload,” he said. “Someone probably should call Darryl
and Warren and make sure they’re all right. They stepped in without notice and helped
tuck you back into your own skin.” “I don’t remember,” I said warily. “Good,” said
Samuel. “Fortunately for us all, the mind has a way of protecting itself.” “You went from
fully closed to fully open,” Adam said. “And when you opened yourself up to me, the mate
bond settled in, too. Before I realized what happened you ...” He waved his hands. “Sort
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of spread out through the pack bonds.” “Like Napoleon trying to take over Russia,” said
Samuel “There just wasn’t enough of you to go around.” I remembered a bit then. I’d
been swimming, drowning in memories and thoughts that weren’t mine. They’d flowed
over me, around me, and through me like a river of ice—stripping me raw as the shards
passed by. It had been cold and dark; I couldn’t breathe. I’d heard Adam calling my name
... “Aurielle answered,” reported Ben from the hallway. “She says Darryl is fine. Warren’s
not picking up, so I called his boy toy’s cell. Boy will check up and call me back.” “I bet
you didn’t call him a boy toy to his face,” I said. “You can effing believe I did,” answered
Ben with injured dignity. “You should have heard what he called me.” Kyle, Warren’s
human boyfriend, who in his day job was a barracuda divorce lawyer, had a tongue that
could be as razor-sharp as his mind. I’d bet money on the outcome of any verbal skirmish
between Kyle and Ben, and it wouldn’t be on Ben. “Is Dad all right?” asked Jesse. The
wolves moved aside almost sheepishly to let her through—and I realized they must have
kept her away while the matter was still in doubt. Judging by Adam’s eyes, he held on to
control by a gnat’s hair—so keeping his vulnerable human daughter away had been a good
idea. But I knew Jesse—I wouldn’t have wanted to have been the one keeping her back.
Adam got hastily to his feet and almost didn’t lean on Mary Jo—who’d put her hand out
when he swayed. “I’m just fine,” he told his daughter, and gave her a quick hug. “Jesse’s
the one who called Samuel,” Mary Jo told him. “We didn’t even think of it. He told us
what to do.” “Jesse’s the bomb,” I said with conviction. She gave me a shaky grin. “The
trick,” Samuel said to me, “is to join with the pack and with Adam—without losing
yourself in them. It’s instinctive for the werewolves, but I expect you’re going to have to
work on it.”
IN THE END, I WENT HOME FOR DINNER, SLIPPING OUT ALMOST unnoticed in
the gathering that followed our close call. I needed some time alone. Adam saw me leave,
but made no move to stop me—he knew I’d be back. There was a bowl of tuna fish,
pickles, and mayo in the fridge, so I made a sandwich and fed what was left to the cat. As
she ate with delicate haste, I called Kyle’s cell phone. “Uhmm?” The sound was so
relaxed, I pulled the phone away from my ears to make sure it was Kyle’s phone I’d
gotten. But there it was on the little screen-KYLE’s CELL. “Kyle? I was calling to see
how Warren was.” “Sorry, Mercy,” Kyle laughed, and I heard water splash. “We’re in the
hot tub. He’s fine. How are you? Ben said you were all right.” “Fine. Warren?” “Was
passed out in the hallway, where he’d evidently been headed to the kitchen with an empty
glass.” “Wasn’t empty when I was carrying it,” Warren’s warm Southern-touched voice
sounded amused. “Ah,” said Kyle, “I didn’t notice much besides Warren. But he woke up
in a few minutes—” “Cold water in your face does that,” observed Warren, amused. “But
he was stiff and sore—thus the hot tub.” “Tell him I’m sorry,” I told Kyle. “Nothin’ to be
sorry for,” said Warren. “Pack magic can be tricky sometimes. That’s what Adam, Darryl,
and I are for, sweetheart. I don’t feel you in the pack anymore. Problems?” “Probably
not,” I told him. “Samuel says I just burned out the circuit for a while. It should come
back on line soon.” “Apparently it wasn’t necessary that I pass anything on,” said Kyle
dryly. A car pulled into the driveway—a Mercedes, I thought. But I didn’t recognize the
individual car. “Give Warren a hug from me, instead,” I said. “And enjoy the hot tub.” I
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hung up before Kyle could say something outrageous in response and went to the door to
see who was there. Corban, Amber’s husband was just coming up the steps. He looked
disconcerted when I opened the door before he knocked. He also looked upset, his tie
askew, his cheeks unshaven. “Corban?” I said. I couldn’t imagine why he was here when a
phone was so much easier. “What’s wrong?” He recovered from his momentary hesitation
and all but hopped up the last step. He put out a hand, and I noticed he was wearing
leather driving gloves—and holding something odd-looking. That’s all I had time to notice
before he hit me with the Taser. Tasers are becoming commonplace among police
departments, though I’d never actually seen one in the flesh before. Somewhere on
YouTube there is a cameraphone video showing what happened to a student who broke
some rule or other in a university library. He was Tasered, then Tasered again because he
wouldn’t get up when they told him to. It hurt. It hurt like ... I didn’t know what. I
dropped to the ground and lay there frozen while Corban frisked me. He went through my
pockets, dropping my cell phone to the porch. He grabbed my shoulders and knees and
tried to jerk lift me. I’m a lot heavier than I look—muscle will do that—and he was no
werewolf, just a desperate man whispering, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I’d make sure he was
sorry, I thought through the haze of pain. “I don’t get mad I get even” was more of a
credo than a cliché to me. The people I’d seen Tasered were only knocked out of
commission for a few seconds. Even the kid in the library had been able to make noise. I
was absolutely helpless, and I didn’t know why. I tried touching the pack or Adam for
help. I found where the connection should have been, but the Taser had nothing on the
pain when I tried to force contact. My head hurt so badly it felt like my ears should be
bleeding. It was still daylight, so calling Stefan wasn’t going to be much help. The second
time, he got me up and took me to his car. His trunk popped with a beep, and he dumped
me in it. My head bounced off the floor a couple of times. When I got out of this, Amber
was going to be a widow. Scrabbling fingers pulled my hands together behind my back,
and I recognized the signature sound of a zip tie. He used another on my ankles. Prying
my mouth open, he stuffed it with a sock that tasted of fabric softener and smelled faintly
of Amber, then he wrapped what felt like an Ace bandage around that. “It’s Chad,” he told
me, eyes wild. “He has Chad.” I caught a glimpse of the fresh bite mark in his neck just
before he shut the trunk.
11 IT MUST HAVE BEEN AT LEAST FIFTEEN MINUTES BEFORE the effects wore
off, and I began to function again. The first conclusion I came to was that whatever he’d
hit me with had been no normal Taser. No way in Hell. Ill and shaking, I huddled in the
vibrating trunk and tried to come up with a plan. I couldn’t shift yet, but before we
reached Spokane I’d be able to. And the zip ties weren’t tight enough to hold the coyote.
The car was newer, and I could see the tab that would release the trunk. So I wasn’t
trapped. The realization did a lot to stop my panic. No matter what, I wouldn’t have to
face Blackwood. I relaxed into the floor of the trunk and tried to figure out why the
vampire wanted me badly enough to ruin his lawyer to get me. It might be that he didn’t
value Corban—but I’d gotten the feeling that their association was of long standing. Was
he trying to take over the Tri-Cities as well as Spokane? Take me down and hold me
hostage to force the wolves to act against Marsilia? It had seemed like a possibility ... had
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it been just yesterday? But with the warfare between wolf and vampire at an end in the
Tri-Cities, kidnapping me to influence Adam seemed like a stupid move to make just now.
And a vampire who was stupid didn’t successfully hold a city against all comers. There
was a chance, just barely, that he hadn’t heard what happened. It was that chance that
meant I couldn’t dismiss the theory outright. And Marsilia was down three of her most
powerful vampires. If he wanted to move against her, now was the time to strike at her.
Kidnapping me wasn’t a strike—it was, at best, an end run. Especially now that Marsilia
had declared a truce with the wolves. Kidnapping me, I judged, would do nothing except
send Adam to Marsilia with an offer of alliance. See? It was stupid to take me—if his
purpose was to take over Marsilia’s territory. Since Blackwood couldn’t be that dumb,
and I found myself indisputably lying in Corban’s trunk, I was inclined to think we had
been wrong about Blackwood’s intentions. So what did he want with me? It could be as
simple as pride. He’d claimed me as food—maybe as he claimed anyone who came to
Amber’s house. Then Stefan came along and took me from him. The theory had the
benefit of conforming to the KISS principle—Keep It Simple, Stupid. It meant that
Blackwood didn’t have anything to do with Chad’s ghost. It supposed that it was sheer
dumb bad luck that I had gone blithely into his hunting ground when I went to Amber’s to
look for a ghost. Vampires are arrogant and territorial. It was not only possible but
probable that having fed from me, he would believe I belonged to him. If he was
possessive enough—and his holding the city for himself presupposed that Blackwood was
very possessive—it was entirely reasonable that he would send a minion to fetch me. It
was a neat, simple solution, and it didn’t depend upon my being anything special. Ego,
Bran liked to say, got in the way of truth more often than anything else. Trouble was, it
still didn’t quite fit. Being alone in the trunk with nothing better to do gave me time to
analyze the whole thing. From the beginning, Amber’s first approach had bothered me.
Upon reflection, it struck me as even more wrong. The Amber with whom I’d had a water
fight, who gave dinner parties for her husband’s clients, would be neither so thoughtless or
gauche as to approach me to help her with a ghost because she’d read about my rape—the
rape of a near stranger, really, after all these years—in the newspaper. I hadn’t seen her in
a long time. But, in retrospect, there had been an awkwardness in her manner that was
unlike either the woman she’d been or the one she’d grown to be. It might have been
explained by the odd situation, but I thought it more probable that she’d been sent. Which
left the question, why did Blackwood want me? What could he have known about me
before he required me to travel to Amber’s? The newspapers announced that I was dating
a werewolf. Amber knew I saw ghosts. I sucked in a deep breath—she also knew I’d been
raised with a foster family in Montana until I was sixteen. It wasn’t something I’d kept
hidden—just the part about my foster family being werewolves, except that time when I
was drunk. But among the werewolves, the knowledge of the walker, the coyote
shapeshifter, who’d been raised by Bran, was well-known. So say that he didn’t know
anything about me until the newspaper articles. Say Amber looked at the newspaper, and
said, “Goodness—I know her. I wonder if she might not be useful helping us deal with our
ghost. She said she could see ghosts.” Blackwood said to himself, “Hmm. A girl whose
boyfriend is the Alpha of the Tri-Cities. A girl with an affinity for ghosts.” And being
much older than me, he might have known more about walkers than I did. So he put two
and two together and got, “Hey, I wonder if she might not be that walker who was raised
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by Bran a few years ago.” So he asked Amber if I was from Montana. And she told him I
was raised by a foster family there. Maybe he wanted something from a walker. Here I had
an uncomfortable moment remembering Stefan telling me about the Master of Milan, who
was addicted to the blood of werewolves. But Stefan had taken blood from me and hadn’t
seemed to be much affected by it. Anyway, suppose Blackwood wanted a walker and so
he sent Amber to find me and persuade me to come to Spokane. I didn’t like it as well as
the KISS theory. But that was mostly because it meant that he wouldn’t quit hunting me
just because I’d escaped from this car. It meant that he’d just keep coming until he got
what he wanted—or he was killed. It fit what I knew. Walkers are rare. If there are other
walkers around, I’ve never met one. So if he figured out what I was, and he wanted one, it
would be logical for him to come after me. The question it left me was, What did he want
with a walker? The tingling in my arms and legs had faded and left only a dogged ache
behind. It was time to escape ... and then I really thought about what Corban had said:
“He has Chad.” Corban had kidnapped me because Blackwood had Chad. I wondered
what Blackwood would do if Corban came back, and I’d escaped him. Maybe he’d just
send him out again. But I remembered Marsilia’s indifference when she’d ordered Estelle’s
man killed ... when she’d killed all of Stefan’s people. She was hurt that he was still angry
with her after he’d figured out what she had done. Maybe she had no understanding of
Stefan’s attachment to his people ... because humans were food. Maybe Blackwood would
simply kill Chad. I couldn’t take that chance. Abruptly, the sharp edge of terror made itself
at home in my innards because I really was trapped. I couldn’t escape, not when it could
mean that Chad would die. Dry-mouthed, I tried to sort out my tools. There was the fairy
staff, of course. It wasn’t there at the moment, but eventually it would come to me. It was
accounted by the fae to be a powerful artifact—if only vampires were afraid of sheep. I
couldn’t find the pack or Adam. Samuel had said that the connections would reset. He
hadn’t given me a timeline—and I hadn’t been anxious to repeat the experience, so I
hadn’t asked. Adam said that distance made the connection thinner. I remembered that
Samuel had once run all the way to Texas to escape his father ... and it had worked. But
Spokane was a lot closer to the Tri-Cities than Texas was to Montana. So maybe if I
stalled Blackwood long enough, I could call the whole pack in to save me—again. After
dark, and it would soon be after dark, there was Stefan. I could call to him, and he’d come
to me, just as he had when Marsilia had asked me to do it—but I’d have to do it before
Blackwood forced me to exchange blood with him again. I assumed that what had worked
to break Blackwood’s hold would work in the reverse. And, as with calling in the pack, I
would only be calling him in to die. If he didn’t judge himself to be a match for
Blackwood—and he hadn’t—I could only accept his opinion. He knew more about
Blackwood than I did. If I left, I left a boy I liked to die at the hands of a monster. If I
stayed ... I would be putting myself in the hands of a monster. The Monster. Maybe he
didn’t intend to kill me. I could make myself believe that easily. Less easy to dismiss was
the already demonstrated desire of his to make me his puppet. I could always leave. I
shifted and told myself that it was because I didn’t want to face Blackwood while I was
tied up and helpless. As coyote I wiggled out of the bonds and gag, then I shifted back,
got dressed, and fingered the release tab on the trunk’s lock. So I rode in the trunk of
Corban’s car all the way to Spokane. When the car slowed and left the smooth growl of
the interstate for the stop and go of city traffic, I straightened my clothes. My fingers
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touched a stick ... the silver-and-wood staff was tucked under my cheek. I stroked it
because it made me feel better. “You’d better hide yourself, my pretty,” I murmured in a
fake pirate accent. “Or you’ll be put in his treasure room and never let see the light of
day.” Something under my ear chimed, we took a hard corner, and I lost track of where
the staff was. I hoped it had listened to me and left. It wouldn’t be much help against a
vampire, and I didn’t want it to come to harm while it was in my care. “Now you’re
talking to inanimate objects,” I said out loud. “And believing they are listening to you. Get
a grip, Mercy.” The car slowed to a crawl, then stopped. I heard the clang of chain and
metal on pavement, then the car moved slowly forward. It sounded like Blackwood’s
gates were a little more upscale than Marsilia’s. Did vampires worry about things like
that? I rolled up, crossed my legs, and bent over until my chin rested on my heels. When
Corban opened the trunk, I simply sat up. It must have looked as though I’d been doing it
all along. I hoped that it would draw his attention away from the contents of the trunk, so
he wouldn’t notice the staff. If it was still in there at all. “Blackwood has Chad?” I asked
him. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. “Look,” I said, climbing out of the trunk
with less grace than I’d planned. Damned Taser or stun gun or whatever it had been. “We
don’t have much time. I need to know what the situation is. You said he had Chad.
Exactly what did he tell you to do? Did he tell you why he wanted me?” “He has Chad,”
Corban said. He closed his eyes, and his face flushed red—like a weight lifter after a great
effort. His voice came slowly. “I get you when you are alone. No one around. Not your
roommate. Not your boyfriend. He would tell me when. I bring you back. My son lives.”
“What does he want me for?” I asked, while still absorbing that Blackwood had known
when I was alone. I couldn’t believe someone could have been following me—even if I
hadn’t detected them, there was still Adam and Samuel. He shook his head. “Don’t
know.” He reached out and grabbed my wrist. “I have to take you now.” “Fine,” I said,
and my heart rate doubled. Even now, I thought with a quick glance at the gate and the
ten-foot stone walls. Even now I could break away and run. But there was Chad.
“Mercy,” he said, forcing his voice. “One more thing. He wanted me to tell you about
Chad. So you would come.” Just because you knew it was a trap didn’t mean you could
stay out if the bait was good enough. With a ragged sigh, I decided that one deaf boy with
the courage to face down a ghost should inspire me to a tenth of his courage. My course
laid out, I took a good look at the geography of Blackwood’s trap for me. It was dark, but
I can see in the dark. Blackwood’s house was smaller than Adam‘s, smaller even than
Amber’s, though it was meticulously crafted out of warm-colored stone. The grounds
encompassed maybe five or six acres of what had once been a garden of roses. But it had
been a few years since any gardener had touched these. He would have another house, I
thought. One suitably grand with a professional garden and lawn service that kept it
beautiful. There he would receive his business guests. This place, with its neglected and
overgrown gardens, was his home. What did it tell me about him? Other than that he liked
quality over size and preferred privacy to beauty or order. The walls surrounding the
grounds were older than the house, made of quarried stone and hand laid without mortar.
The gate was wrought iron and ornate. His house wasn’t really small—it just looked
undersized for the presentation it was given. Doubtless the house it had replaced had been
huge and better suited to the property, if not to the vampire. Corban paused in front of the
door. “Run if you can,” he said. “It isn’t right ... not your problem.” “Blackwood has
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made it my problem,” I told him. I walked in front of him and pushed open the door.
“Hey, honey, I’m home,” I announced in my best fifties-movie-starlet voice. Kyle, I felt,
would have approved of the voice, but not the wardrobe. My shirt was going on a day and
a half, the jeans ... I didn’t remember how long I’d been wearing the jeans. Not much
longer than the shirt. The entryway was empty. But not for long. “Mercedes Thompson,
my dear,” said the vampire. “Welcome to my home at long last.” He glanced at Corban.
“You have served. Go rest, my dear guest.” Corban hesitated. “Chad?” The vampire had
been looking at me like I was something that delighted him ... maybe he needed some
breakfast. Corban’s interruption caused a flash of irritation to sweep briefly across his
face. “Have you not completed the mission I gave you? What harm could the boy come to
if that is true? Now go rest.” I let all thoughts of Corban drift from me. His fate, his son’s
fate ... Amber’s fate were beyond my control right now. I could afford only to concentrate
on the here and now. It was a trick Bran had taught to us all on our first hunt. Not to
worry about what had been or what would be, just the now. Not what a human might feel
knowing she’d killed a rabbit that had never done her any harm. That she’d killed it with
teeth and claws, and eaten it raw with relish ... including parts her human side would
rather have not known were inside a soft and fuzzy bunny. So I forgot about the bunny,
about what the results of tonight might be, and focused on the here and now. I forced
back the panic that wanted to stop my breath and thought, Here and now. The vampire
had given up his business suit. Like most of the vampires I’d met, he was more
comfortable in clothing of other eras. Werewolves learn to go with the times so they don’t
fall into the temptation of living in the past. I can place women’s fashions of the past
hundred years within about ten years, and before that to the nearest century. Men’s
clothing not so much, especially when they are not formal clothes. The button fly on his
cotton pants told me it was before zippers were used much. His shirt was dark brown with
a tunic neck that would allow it to be pulled over his head, so there were no buttons on it.
Know your prey, Bran had told us. Observe. “James Blackwood,” I said. “You know,
when Corban introduced us, I couldn’t believe my ears.” He smiled, pleased. “I scared
you.” But then he frowned. “You are not frightened now.” Rabbit, I thought hard. And
made the mistake of meeting his eyes the way I had that little bunny’s so long ago—as I
had Aurielle’s last night. But neither Aurielle nor the bunny had been a vampire.
I WOKE UP TUCKED INTO A TWIN-SIZED BED, AND, NO MATTER how hard I
tried, I couldn’t see beyond that moment when he’d met my eyes. The room was mostly
dark, with no sign of a window to be seen. The only light came from a night-light plugged
into a wall socket next to a door. I threw back the covers and saw that he’d stripped me to
my panties. Shuddering, I dropped to my knees ... remembering ... remembering other
things. “Tim is dead,” I said, and the sound came out in a growl worthy of Adam. And
once I’d heard it and knew it for a fact, I realized I didn’t smell of sex the way that Amber
had. I did, however, smell of blood. I reached up to my neck and found the first set of bite
marks, the second, and a new third just a centimeter to the left of the second. Stefan’s had
healed. I shook a little in relief that it wasn’t worse, then a little more in anger that didn’t
quite hide how frightened I was. But relief and anger wouldn’t leave me helpless in the
middle of a panic attack. The door was locked, and he had left me with nothing to pick it
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with. The light switch worked, but it didn’t show me anything I hadn’t seen. A plastic bin
that held only my jeans and T-shirt. There was a quarter and the letter for Stefan in my
pants pockets, but he’d taken the pair of screws I’d collected while trying to fix the
woman’s clutch at the rest stop on the way to Amber’s house. The bed was a stack of
foam mattress pads that would yield nothing I could make into weapon or tool. “His prey
never escapes,” whispered a voice in my ear. I froze where I knelt beside the bed. There
was no one else in the room with me. “I should know,” it ... he said. “I’ve watched them
try.” I turned slowly around but saw nothing ... but the smell of blood was growing
stronger. “Was it you at the boy’s house?” I asked. “Poor boy,” said the voice sadly, but it
was more solid now. “Poor boy with the yellow car. I wish I had a yellow car ...” Ghosts
are odd things. The trick would be getting all the information I could without driving it
away by asking something that conflicted with its understanding of the world. This one
seemed pretty cognizant for a ghost. “Do you follow Blackwood’s orders?” I asked. I saw
him. Just for an instant. A young man above sixteen but not yet twenty wearing a red
flannel shirt and button-up canvas pants. “I’m not the only one who must do as he tells,”
the voice said, though the apparition just stared at me without moving its lips. And he was
gone before I could ask him where Chad and Corban were ... or if Amber was here. I
should have asked Corban. All that my nose told me was that the air-filtration system he
had on his HVAC system was excellent, and the filter had been dosed lightly with
cinnamon oil. I wondered if that had been done on my account, or if he just liked
cinnamon. The things in the room—plastic bin and bed, pillow and bedding, were brandnew.
So were the paint and the carpet. I pulled on my shirt and pants, regretting the
underwire bra he’d taken. I could maybe have managed something with the underwire.
I’ve jimmied my share of car door locks and a few house locks along the way as well. The
shoes I didn’t mind so much. Someone knocked tentatively at the door. I hadn’t heard
anyone walking. Maybe it was the ghost. The scrape of a lock and the door opened.
Amber opened the door, and said, “Silly, Mercy. Why did you lock yourself in?” Her voice
was as light as her smile, but something wild lurked behind her eyes. Something very close
to a wolf. Vampire? I wondered. I’d met one of Stefan’s menagerie who was well on his
way to vampirehood. Or maybe it was just the part of Amber who knew what was going
on. “I didn’t,” I told her. “Blackwood did.” She smelled funny, but the cinnamon kept me
from pinpointing it. “Silly,” she said again. “Why would he do that?” Her hair looked as if
she hadn’t combed it since the last time I’d seen her, and her striped shirt was buttoned
one button off. “I don’t know,” I told her. But she had changed subjects already. “I have
dinner ready. You’re supposed to join us for dinner.” “Us?” She laughed, but there was no
smile in her eyes, just a trapped beast growing wild with frustration. “Why Corban, Chad,
and Jim, of course.” She turned to lead the way, and I noticed she was limping badly. “Are
you hurt?” I asked her. “No, why do you ask?” “Never mind,” I said gently, because I’d
noticed something else. “Don’t worry about it.” She wasn’t breathing. Here and now, I
counseled myself. No fear, no rage. Just observation: know your enemy. Rot. That’s what
I’d been smelling: that first hint that a steak’s been in the fridge too long. She was dead
and walking, but she wasn’t a ghost. The word that occurred to me was zombie.
Vampires, Stefan had once told me, have different talents. He and Marsilia could vanish
and reappear somewhere else. There were vampires who could move things without
touching them. This one had power over the dead. Ghosts who obeyed him. No one
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escapes, he’d told me. Not even in death. I followed Amber up a long flight of stairs to the
main floor of the house. We arrived in a broad swath of space that was both dining room,
kitchen, and living room. It was daylight ... morning from the position of the sun—maybe
ten o’clock or so. But it was dinner that was set at the table. A roast—pork, my nose
belatedly told me—sat splendidly adorned with roasted carrots and potatoes. A pitcher of
ice water, a bottle of wine, and a loaf of sliced homemade bread. The table was big
enough to seat eight, but there were only five chairs. Corban and Chad were sitting next to
each other, with their backs to us on the only side set with two places. The remaining
three chairs were obviously of the same set, but one, the one opposite Corban and Chad,
had a padded backrest and arms. I sat down next to Chad. “But, Mercy, that’s my place,”
Amber said. I looked at the boy’s tear-stained face and Corban’s blank one ... He, at least,
was still breathing. “Hey, you know I like kids,” I told her. “You get him all the time.”
Blackwood still hadn’t arrived. “Does Jim speak ASL?” I asked Amber. Her face went
blank. “I can’t answer any questions about Jim. You’ll have to ask him.” She blinked a
couple of times, then she smiled at someone just behind me. “No, I don’t,” said
Blackwood. “You don’t speak ASL?” I looked over my shoulder—not incidentally letting
Chad see my lips. “Me either. It was one of those things I always meant to learn.”
“Indeed.” I’d amused him, it seems. He sat down in the armchair and gestured to Amber
to take the other. “She’s dead,” I told him. “You broke her.” He went very still. “She
serves me still.” “Does she? Looks more like a puppet. I bet she’s more work and trouble
dead than she was alive.” Poor Amber. But I couldn’t let him see my grief. Focus on this
room and survival. “So why do you keep her around when she’s broken?” Without
allowing him time to answer, I bowed my head and said a quiet prayer over the food ...
and asked for help and wisdom while I was at it. I didn’t get an answer, but I had the
feeling someone might be listening—and I hoped it wasn’t just the ghost.
THE VAMPIRE WAS STARING AT ME WHEN I FINISHED. “Bad manners, I know,”
I said, taking a slice of bread and buttering it. It smelled good, so I put it down on the
plate in front of Chad with a thumbs-up sign. “But Chad can’t pray out loud for the rest of
us. Amber is dead, and Corban ...” I tilted my head to look at Chad’s father, who hadn’t
moved since I’d come into the room except for the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
“Corban’s not in any shape to pray, and you’re a vampire. God’s not going to listen to
anything you have to say.” I took a second slice of bread and buttered it. Unexpectedly,
the vampire threw back his head and laughed, his fangs sharp and ... pointy. I tried not to
think of them in my neck. It wasn’t nearly as creepy as Amber laughing right along with
him. A cold hand touched the back of my neck and was gone—but not before someone
whispered, “Careful,” in my ear. I hated it when ghosts snuck up on me. Chad grabbed my
knee, his eyes widening. Had he seen the ghost? I shook my head at him while Blackwood
wiped his dry eyes with his napkin. “You have always been something of a scamp, haven’t
you?” Blackwood said. “Tell me, did Tag ever discover who it was that stole all of his
shoelaces?” His words slipped inside me like a knife, and I did my best not to react. Tag
was a wolf in Bran’s pack. He’d never left Montana, and only he and I knew about the
shoelace incident. He’d found me hiding from Bran’s wrath—I don’t remember what I’d
done—and when I wouldn’t come on my own he’d taken off his bootlaces and made a
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collar and leash out of them for coyote me. Then he’d dragged me through Bran’s house
to the study. He knew who’d stolen his shoelaces all right. And until I left for Portland, I’d
given him shoelaces every holiday—and he’d laugh. No way any of Bran’s wolves were
spying for the vampires. I hid my thoughts with a couple of mouthfuls of bread. When I
could swallow, I said, “Great bread, Amber. Did you make it yourself?” Nothing I could
say about the shoelaces struck me as useful. So I changed the subject to food. Amber
could always be counted upon to talk about nutrition. Death wouldn’t change that. “Yes,”
she told me. “All whole grains. Jim has taken me for his cook and housekeeper. If only I
hadn’t ruined it for him.” Yeah, poor Jim. Amber had forced him to kill her—so he
wouldn’t get a new cook. “Hush,” Blackwood said. I turned my head so I sort of faced
Blackwood. “Yeah,” I said. “That won’t work anymore. Even a human nose is going to
smell rotting flesh in a few days. Not what you want in a cook. Not that you need a cook.”
I took another bite of bread. “So how long have you been watching me?” I asked. “I’d
despaired of ever finding another walker,” he told me. “Imagine my joy when I heard that
the Marrok had taken one under his wing.” “Yeah, well,” I said, “it wouldn’t have worked
very well for you if I’d stayed.” Ghosts, I thought. He’d used ghosts to watch me. “I’m
not worried about werewolves,” said Blackwood. “Did Corban or Amber tell you what my
business is?” “Nope. Your name never crossed their lips once you were gone.” It was the
truth, but I saw his mouth tighten. He didn’t like that. Didn’t like his pets not paying
attention to him. It was the first sign of weakness I’d seen. I wasn’t sure if it would be
useful or not. But I’d take what I could get. Know your enemy. “I deal with ... specialty
ammunition,” he said, looking at me through narrowed eyes. “Most of it top secret
government stuff. I have, for instance, been very successful with a variety of ammunition
designed for killing werewolves. I have, among other things, a silver version of the old
Black Talon. Silver is a lousy metal for bullets; it doesn’t expand well. Instead of
mushrooming, this one opens up like a flower.” He spread his hand so it looked like a
starfish. “And then there are those very interesting tranquilizer darts of Gerry Wallace’s
design. Now that was a surprise. I’d never have thought of DMSO as a delivery system
for the silver—or a tranquilizer gun as a delivery system. But then, his father was a vet.
This is why tools may be useful.” “You knew Gerry Wallace?” I asked, because I couldn’t
help it. I took another bite as if my stomach weren’t clenched, so he wouldn’t think that
the answer mattered too much. “He came to me first,” Blackwood said. “But it didn’t suit
me to do as he asked ... the Marrok is a bit larger target than I wanted to take on.” He
smiled apologetically. “I am essentially a lazy creature, so my maker used to say. I sent
Gerry on his way with an idea about building a superweapon against werewolves in some
convoluted scheme sure to fail and no memory of coming to me at all. Imagine my
surprise when the boy actually came up with something interesting.” He smiled gently at
me. “You need to watch Bran closer,” I told him. I grabbed a pitcher of water and poured
it. “He’s more subtle, and it makes that omniscient thing work better for him. If you tell
everyone everything you know, they don’t wonder about things you don’t tell them.
Bran...” I shrugged. “You just know he knows what you’re thinking.” “Amber,” said the
vampire. “Make sure your husband and the boy who is not his son eat their dinner, would
you?” “Of course.” Chad’s cold hand on my knee squeezed very tight. “You say that like
it’s a revelation,” I told Blackwood. “You need to work on your verbal ammunition, too.
Corban has always known that Chad’s not his biological son. That doesn’t matter to him
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at all. Chad’s still his son.” The stem of the water glass the vampire was holding broke. He
set the pieces very carefully on his empty plate. “You aren’t afraid enough of me,” he said
very carefully. “Perhaps it is time to instruct you further.” “Fine,” I said. “Thank you for
the meal, Amber. Take care of yourselves, Corban and Chad.” I stood up and lifted an
inquiring eyebrow. He thought it was stupidity that I wasn’t afraid of him. But if you
shiver in fear in a pack of werewolves, that’s really stupid. If you’re scared enough, even
a wolf with good control starts having problems. If his control isn’t strong—well, let’s just
say that I learned to be very good at burying my fear. Pushing Blackwood wasn’t stupid
either. If he’d killed me the first time—well, at least it would have been a quick death. But
the longer he let it go on, the more I knew he needed me. I couldn’t imagine for what—
but he needed me for something. My bad luck he was taking it on as a challenge. I
wondered what he thought would scare me more than Amber before I caught a good tight
hold on my thoughts. There was no future, just the vampire and me standing by the table.
“Come,” he said, and led the way back down the stairway. “How is it that you can walk in
the daylight?” I asked him. “I’ve never heard of a vampire who could run around during
the day.” “You are what you eat,” he said obscurely. “My maker used to say that. Mann
ist was mann ißt. She wouldn’t let me feed off drunkards or people who consumed
tobacco.” He laughed, and I wouldn’t let myself think of it as sinister. “Amber reminds me
a bit of her ... so concerned with nutrition. Neither of them was wrong. But my maker
didn’t understand the full implications of what she said.” He laughed again. “Until I
consumed her.” The door to the room I’d awoken in was open. He stopped and turned off
the light as we passed. “Mustn’t waste electricity.” And then he opened another door to a
much bigger room. A room of cages. It smelled like sewage, disease, and death. Most of
the cages were empty. But there was a man curled naked in the floor of one of the cages.
“You see, Mercedes,” he said, “you aren’t the first rare creature to be my guest. This is an
oakman. I’ve had him for ... How long have you belonged to me, Donnell Greenleaf?” The
fae stirred and raised his face off the cement floor. Once he must have been a formidable
figure. Oakmen, I remembered from the old book I’d borrowed, were not tall, no more
than four feet, but they were stout “as a good oaken table.” This one was little more than
skin and bones. In a voice as dry as high summer in the Tri-Cities, he said, “Four-score
years and a dozen and one. Two seasons more and eighteen days.” “Oakmen,” said
Blackwood smugly, “like the oaks they are named after, eat only the sunlight.” You are
what you eat indeed. “I’ve never tried to see if I could live on light,” he said. “But he
keeps me from burning, don’t you, Donnell Greenleaf?” “It is my honor to bear that
burden,” said the fae in a hopeless voice, his face to the floor. “So you kidnapped me so
you could turn into a coyote?” I asked incredulously. The vampire just smiled and
escorted me to a largish cage, with a bed. There was also a bucket from which the odor of
sewage was emanating. It smelled like Corban, Chad, and Amber. “I can keep you alive
for a long time,” the vampire said. He grabbed me by the back of my neck and shoved my
face against the cage while he stood behind me. “Maybe even all of your natural life.
What? No smart comment?” He didn’t see the faint figure that stood before me with her
finger over her pursed mouth. She looked as if she’d been somewhere between sixty and a
hundred years old when she’d died—like Santa’s wife, she was all rounded and sweet.
Quiet, that finger said. Or maybe, just—Don’t let on you can see me. Blackwood didn’t
see her, even though he had been using the other ghost as an errand boy. I wondered what
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it meant. She smelled like blood, too. He put me in the cage next to the one that he had
been keeping Chad and Corban in. Presumably he didn’t need to confine Amber anymore.
“This could have been so much more pleasant for you,” he said. The woman and her
hushing finger were gone, so I gave my tongue free rein. “Tell that to Amber.” He smiled,
showing fangs. “She enjoyed it. I’ll give you one last chance. Be cooperative, and I’ll let
you stay in the other room.” Maybe I could get out through the roof of the other room.
But somehow I didn’t think so. The cage in the Marrok’s house looks just like all the rest
of the bedrooms. The bars are set behind the drywall. I leaned against the far side of my
cage, the one that backed up to the cement outer wall. “Tell me why you can’t just order
me around? Make me cooperate?” Like Corban. He shrugged. “You figure it out.” He
locked the door with a key and used the same key to open the oakman’s door. The fae
whimpered as he was dragged out of the cage. “I can’t feed from you every day, Mercy,”
Blackwood said. “Not if I want to keep you around. The last walker I had died fifty years
ago—but I kept him for sixty-three years. I take care of what is mine.” Yeah, I bet Amber
would agree with that one. Blackwood knelt on the floor where the oakman lay curled in a
fetal position. The fae was staring at me with large black eyes. He didn’t fight when
Blackwood—with a look meant for me—grabbed his leg and bit down on the artery in the
fae’s groin to feed. “The oak said,” the fae said in English-accented Welsh, “Mercy would
free me in the Harvest season.” I stared at him, and he smiled before the vampire did
something painful to him and he closed his eyes to endure. If he’d understood Welsh, I
was sure he’d have done something more extreme. How the oakman knew I’d understand
him, I didn’t know. There are two ways to free a prisoner—escape is the first. I had the
feeling that the oakman was looking for the second. When he finished, the oakman was
barely conscious, and Blackwood looked a dozen years younger. Vampires weren’t
supposed to do that—but I didn’t know any vampires who fed from fae either. He picked
up the oakman with no visible effort and tossed him over his shoulder. “Let’s get you a
little sun, shall we?” Blackwood sounded cheery. The door to the room closed behind him,
and a woman’s trembly voice said, “It’s because you’re too much for him right now, dear.
He did try to make you his servant ... but your ties to the wolves and to that other
vampire—and how did you manage that, clever girl?—have blocked him. It won’t be
forever. Eventually, he’ll exchange enough blood for you to be his—but not for a few
months yet.” Mrs. Claus ghost stood in the cage with her back to me, looking at the door
that had closed behind Blackwood. “What does he want from me?” I asked her. She
turned and smiled at me. “Why, me, dear.” She had fangs. “You’re a vampire,” I said. “I
was,” she agreed. “It isn’t the usual thing, I admit. Though that young man you met earlier
is one as well. We’re tied to James. Both his. John was the only vampire James ever
made—and I blush to admit that James is my fault.” “Your fault?” “He was always so
kind, so attentive. A nice young man, I thought. Then one night one of my other children
showed me the murdhuacha James had captured—one of the merrow folk, dear.” That
faint accent was Cockney or Irish, I thought, but so faint I couldn’t be sure. “Well,” she
said, sounding exasperated. “We just don’t do that, dear. First off—the fae aren’t a people
to toy with. Secondly, whatever we exchange blood with could become vampire. When
they’re magical folk, the results can be unpleasant.” She shook her head. “Well, when I
confronted him...” She looked down at herself ruefully. “He killed me. I haunted him,
followed him from home all the way to here—which wasn’t the smartest idea I’ve ever
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had. When he took that other man, the one who was like you—well, then he saw me. And
found he still had use for this old woman.” I had no idea why she was telling me so
much—unless she was lonely. I almost felt sorry for her. Then she licked her lips, and said,
“I could help you.” Vampires are evil. It was almost as if the Marrok himself were
whispering in my ear. I raised an eyebrow. “If you feed me, I’ll tell you what to do.” She
smiled, her fangs carefully concealed. “Just a drop or two, love. I’m only a ghost—it
wouldn’t take much.”
12 “I COULD JUST TAKE IT FROM YOU WHILE YOU SLEEP dear,” the ghost said.
“I was only trying to make it a gift. If you give it as a gift, I can help you.” She looked like
the sort of woman you’d hire to watch your children, I thought. Sweet and loving, a little
complacent. “You won’t,” I growled. And I felt a little pop of something. Something I’d
done. Her eyes widened and she backtracked. “Of course not, dearie. Of course not—if
you don’t want me to.” She’d tried to cover it up. But I’d done something. I’d felt it once
before, in the bathroom at Amber’s house when I’d told the ghost to leave Chad alone.
Magic. It wasn’t the magic the fae used, or the witches, but it was magic. I could smell it.
“Tell me,” I said, trying to put some push behind it, imitating the authority that Adam
wore closer than any of his well-tailored shirts. “How did Blackwood manage the haunting
at Amber’s house. Was it you?” Her lips tightened in frustration, and her eyes lit up like
the vampire she had been. But she answered me. “No. It was the boy, James’s little
experiment.” Outside of the cages and out of reach was a table stacked with cardboard
boxes. A pile of five-gallon buckets—six or eight of them—was on one corner. They fell
over with a crash and rolled to the drain in the center of the room. “That’s what you
were,” she called in a vicious tone that sounded wrong coming out of that grandmotherly
face. “He made you vampire and played with you until he was bored. Then he killed you
and kept playing until your body rotted away.” Like Blackwood had done to Amber, I
thought, except he hadn’t managed to make her into a vampire before he’d turned her into
a zombie. Here and now, I told myself. Don’t waste energy on what you can’t change just
now. The buckets quit rolling and the whole room was silent—except for my own
breathing. She shook herself briskly. “Never fall in love,” she told me. “It makes you
weak.” I couldn’t tell if she was talking about herself or the dead boy or even Blackwood.
But I had other things I was more interested in. If I could just get her to answer my
questions. “Tell me,” I said, “exactly why Blackwood wants me.” “You are rude, dear.
Didn’t that old wolf teach you any manners?” “Tell me,” I said, “how Blackwood thinks
to use me.” She hissed, showing her fangs. I met her gaze, dominating her as if she were a
wolf. “Tell me.” She looked away, drew herself up, and smoothed her skirts as if she were
nervous instead of angry, but I knew better. “He is what he eats,” she said finally, when I
didn’t back down. “He told you so. I’d never heard of it before—how should I have
known what he was doing? I thought he was feeding from it because of the taste. But he
supped its power down as he drank its blood. Just as he will yours. So that he can use me
as he wants to.” And she was gone. I stared after her. Blackwood was feeding from me,
and he’d gain ... what? I drew in a breath. No. The ability to do just what I had been
doing—controlling a ghost. If she’d stuck around, I’d have asked her a dozen more
questions. But she wasn’t the only ghost around here. “Hey,” I said softly. “She’s gone
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now. You can come out.” He smelled a little differently than she did, though mostly they
both smelled like stale blood. It was a subtle difference, but I could discern it when I tried.
His scent had lingered as I’d questioned the old woman, which was how I’d known he
hadn’t left. He had been the one in Amber’s house. The one who’d almost killed Chad. He
faded in gradually, sitting on the open cement floor with his back toward me. He was
more solid this time, and I could see that his shirt had been hand-sewn, though it wasn’t
particularly well-done. He wasn’t from this century or the twentieth—probably sometime
in the eighteen hundreds. He pulled a bucket free of the pile and rolled it across the floor,
away from us both, until it hit the oakman’s empty cage. He gave me a quick, sullen look
over his shoulder. Then, staring at the remaining buckets, he said, “Are you going to make
me tell you things?” “It was rude,” I admitted, without really answering. If he knew
something that would help me get Chad, Corban, and me out of there in one piece, I’d do
anything I needed to. “I don’t mind being rude to someone who wants to hurt me, though.
Do you know why she wants blood?” “With blood, freely given, she can kill people with a
touch,” he said. “It doesn’t work if she steals it—though she might do that just for spite.”
He waved a hand, and a box tipped on its side, spilling packing peanuts on the tabletop.
Five or six of them whirled up like a miniature tornado. He lost interest, and they fell to
the ground. “With her touch?” I asked. “Mortal, witch, fae, or vampire: she can kill any of
them. They called her Grandmother Death when she was alive.” He looked at me again. I
couldn’t read the expression on his face. “When she was a vampire, I mean. Even the
other vampires were scared of her. That’s how he figured out what he could do.”
“Blackwood?” The ghost scooted around to face me, his hand going through the bucket
he’d just been playing with. “He told me. Once, just after it had been his turn to drink from
her—she was Mistress of his seethe—he killed a vampire with his touch.” Lesser vampires
fed from the Master or Mistress who ruled the seethe, and were fed from in return. As
they grew more powerful, they quit needing to feed from the one who ruled the seethe.
“He said he was angry and touched this woman, and she just crumbled into dust. Just like
his Mistress could do. But a couple of days later, he couldn’t do it. It wasn’t his turn to
feed from her for a couple more weeks, so he hired a fae-blooded prostitute—I forget
what kind she was—and drained her dry. The fae’s powers lasted longer for him. He
experimented and figured out that the longer he let them live while he fed, the longer he
could use what he’d gained from them.” “Can he still do that?” I asked intently. “Kill with
a touch?” No wonder no one challenged him for territory. He shook his head. “No. And
she’s dead, so he can’t borrow her talents anymore. She can still kill if he feeds her blood.
But he can’t use her now like he used to before that old Indian man died. It’s not that she
minds the killing, but she doesn’t like to do what he wants. Especially exactly what he
wants and no more. He uses her for business, and business”—he licked his lips as if trying
to remember the exact words Blackwood had used—“business is best conducted with
precision.” He smiled, his eyes wide and innocent. They were blue. “She prefers
bloodbaths, and she’s not above setting up the killing ground to point to James as the
killer. She did that once, before he’d realized he wasn’t still controlling her. He was very
unhappy.” “Blackwood had a walker,” I said, putting it together. “And he fed from him so
he could control her—the lady who was just here.” “Her name is Catherine. I’m John.”
The boy looked at a bucket, and it moved. “He was nice, Carson Twelve Spoons. He
talked to me sometimes and told me stories. He told me that I shouldn’t have given myself
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to James, that I shouldn’t be James’s toy. That I should let myself go to the Great Spirit.
That he would have been able to help me once.” He smiled at me, and this time I caught a
hint of malice. “He was a bad Indian. When he was a boy, not much older than me, he
killed a man to take his horse and wallet. It made him not able to do the things he should
have been able to do. He couldn’t tell me what to do.” The malice freed me from the
distracting pity I’d been feeling. And I saw what I’d missed the first time I’d looked him in
the eye. And I knew the reason that this ghost was different from any I’d seen before.
Ghosts are remnants of people who have died, what’s left after the soul goes on. They are
mostly collections of memories given form. If they can interact, respond to outside stimuli,
they tend to be fragments of the people they had been: obsessive fragments—like the
ghosts of dogs who guard their masters’ old graves or the ghost I’d once seen who was
looking for her puppy. Immediately after they die, though, sometimes they are different.
I’ve seen it a couple of times at funerals, or in the house of someone who’s just passed
away. Sometimes the newly dead keep watch over the living, as if to make sure that all is
well with them. Those are more than remnants of the people they’d been—I can see the
difference. I’ve always thought those are their souls. That was what I’d seen in Amber’s
dead eyes. My stomach clenched. When you die, it should be a release. It wasn’t fair,
wasn’t right, that Blackwood had somehow discovered a way to hold them past death.
“Did Blackwood tell you to kill Chad?” I asked. His fists clenched. “He has everything.
Everything. Books and toys.” His voice rose as he spoke. “He has a yellow car. Look at
me. Look at me!” He was on his feet. He stared at me with wild eyes, but when he spoke
again, he whispered. “He has everything, and I’m dead. Dead. Dead.” He disappeared
abruptly, but the buckets scattered. One of them flew up and hit the bars of my cage and
broke into chunks of tough orange plastic. A shard hit me and cut my arm. I wasn’t sure if
that was supposed to be a yes or a no. Alone, I sat down on the bed and leaned against the
cold cement wall. John the Ghost knew more about walkers than I did. I wondered if he’d
told the truth: there was a moral code I had to follow to keep my abilities—which now
seemed to include some sort of ability to control ghosts. Though, with my indifferent
success at it, I suspected it was something that you had to practice to get right. I tried to
figure out how that talent might help me get all of us prisoners out of there safely. I was
still fretting when I heard people coming down the stairs: visitors. I stood up to welcome
them. The visitors were fellow prisoners. And a zombie. Amber was chattering away
about Chad’s next softball game as she led Corban, still obviously under thrall to the
vampire, and Chad, who was following because there was nothing else for him to do. He
had a bruise on the side of his face that he hadn’t had when I left him in the dining room.
“Now you get a good night’s sleep,” she told them. “Jim’s going to bed, too, as soon as
he gets that fae locked back up where he belongs. We don’t want you to be tired when it’s
time to get up and be doing.” She held the door open as if it were something other than a
cage—did she think it was a hotel room? Watching the zombie was like watching one of
those tapes where they take bits that someone actually said and piece them together to
make it sound like they were talking about something else entirely. Sound bites of things
Amber would have said came out of the dead woman’s mouth with little or no relation to
what she was doing. Corban stumbled in and stopped in the middle of the cage. Chad ran
past his mother’s animated corpse and stopped, wide-eyed and shaking next to the bed. He
was only ten, no matter how much courage he had. If he survived this, he’d be in therapy
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for years. Assuming he could find a therapist who’d believe him. Your mother was a what?
Have some Thorazine ... Or whatever the newest drug of choice was for the mentally ill.
“Oops,” said Amber, manically cheerful. “I almost forgot.” She looked around and shook
her head sadly. “Did you do this, Mercy? Char always said that you both suited each other
because you were slobs at heart.” As she was talking, she gathered up the buckets—
though she didn’t bother cleaning up the broken one—and stacked most of them where
they had been. She took one and put it inside Chad and Corban’s cage before removing
the used one in the corner. “I’ll just take this up and clean it, shall I?” She locked the door.
“Amber,” I said, putting force in my voice. “Give me the key.” She was dead, right? Did
she have to listen to me, too? She hesitated. I saw her do it. Then she gave me a bright
smile. “Naughty, Mercy. Naughty. You’ll be punished for that when I tell Jim.” She took
the bucket and whistled when she shut the door. I could hear her whistling all the way up
the stairs. I needed more practice, or maybe there was some trick to it. I bowed my head
and waited for Blackwood to bring the oakman back with my arms crossed over my
middle and my head turned away from Chad. I ignored it when he rattled the cage to catch
my attention. When Blackwood came in, I didn’t want him to find me holding Chad’s hand
or talking to him or anything. I didn’t think there was a rat’s chance in a cattery that
Blackwood would let Chad live after everything he’d seen. But I didn’t intend to give the
vampire any more reason to hurt him. And if I lowered my guard, I’d have a hard time
keeping the fear at bay. After a time, the oakman stumbled in the door in front of
Blackwood. He didn’t look much better than he had when Blackwood had finished with
him. The fae looked a little above four feet tall, though he’d be taller if he were standing
straight. His arms and legs were oddly proportioned in subtle ways: legs short and arms
overlong. His neck was too short for his broad-foreheaded, strong-jawed head. He walked
right into his cell without struggling, as if he had fought too many times and suffered
defeat. Blackwood locked him in. Then, looking at me, the vampire tossed his key in the
air and snatched it back before it hit the ground. “I won’t be sending Amber down with
keys anymore.” I didn’t say anything, and he laughed. “Pout all you want, Mercy. It won’t
change anything.” Pout? I looked away. I’d show him pout. He started for the door. I
swallowed my rage and managed to not let it choke me. “So how did you do it?” Vague
questions are harder to ignore than specific ones. They inspire curiosity and make your
victim respond even if he wouldn’t have talked to you at all otherwise. “Do what?” he
asked. “Catherine and John,” I said. “They aren’t like normal ghosts.” He smiled, pleased
I’d noticed. “I’d like to claim some sort of supernatural powers,” he told me, then laughed
because he found himself so funny. He wiped imaginary tears of mirth from his eyes. “But
really it is their choice. Catherine is determined to somehow avenge herself upon me. She
blames me for ending her reign of terror. John ... John loves me. He’ll never leave me.”
“Did you tell him to kill Chad?” I asked coolly, as if the answer were mere curiosity. “Ah,
now, that is the question.” He shrugged. “That’s why I need you. No. He ruined my game.
If he’d done as I’d told him, you’d have brought yourself here and given yourself to me to
spare your friends. He made them run. It took me half the day to find them. They didn’t
want to come with me—and ... Well, you saw my poor Amber.” I didn’t want to know.
Didn’t want to ask the next question. But I needed to know what he’d done to Amber.
“What did you eat that let you make zombies?” “Oh, she’s not a zombie,” he told me.
“I’ve seen zombies three centuries old that look almost as fresh as a day-old corpse.
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They’re passed down in their families like the treasures they are. I’m afraid I’ll have to get
rid of Amber’s body in a week or so unless I put her in the freezer. But witches need
knowledge as well as power—and they’re more trouble to keep than they are worth. No.
This is something I learned from Carson—I trust Catherine or John told you about
Carson. Interesting that one murder left him unable to do anything with his powers, when
I—who you’ll have to trust when I tell you that I’ve done much, much worse than a mere
larcenous homicide—had no trouble using what I took from him. Perhaps his trouble was
psychosomatic, do you think?” “You told me how you keep Catherine and John,” I said.
“How are you keeping Amber?” He smiled at Chad, who was standing as far from his
father as he could get. He looked fragile and scared. “She stayed to protect her son.” He
looked back at me. “Any more questions?” “Not right now.” “Fine—oh, and I’ve seen to
it that John won’t be coming back to visit you anytime soon. And Catherine, I think, is
best kept away, too.” He closed the door gently behind him. The stairs creaked under his
feet as he left. When he was gone, I said, “Oakman, do you know when the sun goes
down?” The fae, once more sprawled on the cement floor of his cage, turned his head to
me. “Yes.” “Will you tell me?” There was a long pause. “I will tell you.” Corban stumbled
forward a step and swayed a little, blinking rapidly. Blackwood had released him. He took
a deep, shaky breath, then turned urgently to Chad and began signing. “I don’t know how
much Chad caught of what’s going on ... too much. Too much. But ignorance might get
him killed.” It took me a second to realize he was talking to me—his whole body was
focused on his son. When he was finished, Chad—who still was keeping a lot of space
between them—began to sign back. While watching his son’s hands, Corban asked me,
“How much do you know about vampires? Do we have any chance of getting out of
here?” “Mercy will grant me freedom this Harvest season,” said the oakman hoarsely. In
English this time. “I will if I can,” I told him. “But I don’t know that it’ll happen.” “The
oak told me,” he said, as if that should make it as real as if it had already happened. “It is
not a terribly old tree, but it was very angry with the vampire, so it stretched itself. I hope
it has not... doneitselfpermanentharm.” His words tumbled over each other and lost
consonants. He turned his head away from me and sighed wearily. “Are oaks so
trustworthy?” I asked. “Used to be,” he told me. “Once.” When he didn’t say anything
more, I told Corban the most important part of what I knew about the monster who held
us. “You can kill a vampire with a wooden stake through the heart, or by cutting off his
head, drowning him in holy water—which is impractical unless you have a swimming pool
and a priest who will bless it—direct sunlight, or fire. I’m told it’s better if you combine a
couple of methods.” “What about garlic?” I shook my head. “Nope. Though a vampire I
know told me that given a victim who smells like garlic and one that doesn’t, most of them
will pick the one who doesn’t. Not that we have access to garlic or wooden stakes.” “I
know about the sunlight—who doesn’t? But it doesn’t seem to affect Blackwood.” I
nodded toward the oakman. “Apparently he is able to steal some of the abilities of those
he drinks from.” No way was I going to talk about blood exchanges with Chad watching.
“The oakmen like this gentleman here feed from sunlight—so Blackwood gained an
immunity to the sun.” “And blood,” said the oakman. “In the old days we were given
blood sacrifices to keep the trees happy.” He sighed. “Feeding me blood is how he keeps
me alive when this cold-iron cell would kill me.” Ninety-three years he’d been a prisoner
of Blackwood’s. The thought chilled any optimism that had survived the ride here from
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the Tri-Cities. The oakman wasn’t mated to a werewolf, though—or bound to a vampire.
“Have you ever killed one?” the oakman asked. I nodded. “One with help and another one
who was hampered because it was daytime and he was sleeping.” I didn’t think that was
the answer he’d been expecting. “I see. Do you think you can kill this one?” I turned
around pointedly, looking at the bars. “I don’t seem to be doing so well at that. No stake,
no swimming pool of holy water, no fire—” And now that I’d said that, I noticed that
there was very little that was even flammable here. Chad’s bedding, our clothes ... and that
was it. “You can put me down as something else that won’t be of any use,” Corban said,
bitterly. “I couldn’t even stop myself from kidnapping you.” “That Taser was one of
Blackwood’s developments?” “Not a Taser—Taser’s a brand name. Blackwood sells his
stun gun to ... certain government agencies who want to question prisoners without
showing any harm. It’s a lot hotter than anything Taser makes. Not legal for the civilian
market but—” He sounded proud of it—proud and slick, as if presenting the product at a
sales meeting. He stopped himself, and said simply, “I’m sorry.” “Not your fault,” I told
him. I looked at Chad, who still seemed thoroughly spooked. “Hey, why don’t you
translate for me a minute.” “Okay.” Corban looked at his son, too. “Let me tell him what
I’m doing.” He wiggled his hands, then said, “Go.” “Blackwood’s a vampire,” I told
Chad. “What that means is that your father can’t do anything but follow Blackwood’s
orders—it’s part of what a vampire does. I’m a little protected for the same reason I can
see ghosts and talk to them. That’s the only reason he hasn’t done the same thing to me ...
yet. You’ll know when your father’s being controlled, though. Blackwood doesn’t like
your dad signing to you—he can’t read sign. So if your dad’s not signing to you, that’s
one thing to look for. And your dad fights his control, and you can see that in his
shoulders—” I broke off because Chad began gesturing wildly, his fingers exaggerating all
the movements. His equivalent of yelling, I supposed. Corban didn’t translate what Chad
said, but he signed very slowly so he wouldn’t be misunderstood and spoke his words out
loud when he answered. “Of course I’m your father. I held you in my arms the day you
were born and sat vigil in the hospital when you almost died the next day. You are mine.
I’ve earned the right to be your dad. Blackwood wants you alone and afraid. He’s a bully
and feeds on misery as much as blood. Don’t let him win.” Chad’s bottom jaw went first,
but before I saw tears, his face was hidden against Corban. It wasn’t the best time for
Amber to come in. “It’s hot upstairs,” she announced. “I’m to sleep down here with you.”
“Do you have the key?” I asked. Not that I expected Blackwood to have forgotten.
Mostly I just wanted to keep her attention and let Chad, who hadn’t noticed her, have his
moment with his dad. She laughed. “No, silly. Jim was not very happy with you—I’m not
going to help you escape. I’ll just sleep out here. It’ll be quite comfortable. Just like
camping out.” “Come here,” I said. I didn’t know that it would work. I didn’t know
anything. But she came. I didn’t know if she was compelled, or just following my request.
“What do you need?” She stopped within an easy arm’s reach. I put my arm through the
bars and held out my hand. She looked at it a moment, but took it. “Amber,” I said
solemnly, looking into her eyes. “Chad will be safe. I promise.” She nodded earnestly. “I’ll
take care of him.” “No.” I swallowed and then put authority in my voice. “You’re dead,
Amber.” Her expression didn’t change. I narrowed my eyes at her in my best Adam
imitation. “Believe me.” First her face lit up with that horrible fake smile, and she started
to say something. She looked down at my hand, then over to Corban and Chad—who
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hadn’t noticed her yet. “You’re dead,” I told her, again. She collapsed where she stood. It
wasn’t graceful or gentle. Her head bounced off the floor with a hollow sound. “Can he
take her again?” asked Corban urgently. I knelt and closed her eyes. “No,” I told him with
more conviction than I felt. Who knew what Blackwood could do? But her husband
needed to believe it was over for her. At any rate, it wouldn’t be Amber who walked
around in her body. Amber was gone. “Thank you,” he told me, with tears in his eyes. He
wiped his face and tapped Chad on the shoulder. “Hey, kid,” he said, and he stepped away
so Chad could see Amber’s body. They talked for a long time then. Corban played it tough
and gave his son the gift of the belief in the superman qualities of fathers for at least one
more day. We slept, all of us, as far from Amber’s body as we could get. They pushed the
bed up close to my cell and the two of them slept on that and I slept on the floor next to
them. Chad reached though the bars and kept a hand on my shoulder. The cell floor could
have been a bed of nails, and I would still have slept.
“MERCY?” The voice was unfamiliar—but so was the cement under my cheek. I stirred
and regretted it immediately. Everything hurt. “Mercy, it is dark, and Blackwood will be
here soon.” I sat up and looked across the room at the oakman. “Good evening.” I didn’t
use his name. Some of the fae can be funny about names, and the way Blackwood had
overused it made me think that the oakman was one of those. I couldn’t thank him, and I
searched for a way to acknowledge his honoring my request, but I didn’t find one. “I’m
going to try something,” I said finally. I closed my eyes and called to Stefan. When I felt
I’d done as good a job at that as I could, I opened my eyes and rubbed my aching neck.
“What are you trying to do?” Corban asked. “I can’t tell you,” I said. “I’m very sorry. But
Blackwood can’t know-and I’m not sure it worked.” But I thought so. I never had been
able to feel Stefan like I did Adam. If Blackwood hadn’t managed to take me over ... yet
... that should mean Stefan could still hear me. I hoped. I tried touching Adam, too. But I
couldn’t feel anything from him or the pack. It was probably just as well. Blackwood had
said he was ready for werewolves, and I believed him. Blackwood didn’t come down. We
all tried not to notice Amber, and I was grateful for the coolness of the basement. The
ghosts didn’t show up either. We talked about vampires until I’d told them everything I
knew in general—only leaving out the names. Stefan also did not come. After hours of
tedium and a few minutes of embarrassment when someone had to use the buckets left for
us, I finally tried to sleep again. I dreamed of sheep. Lots of sheep.
SOMEWHERE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NEXT DAY I REGRETTED that I had not
eaten the food Amber had prepared. But I was more thirsty than anything. The fairy staff
showed up once, and I told it to go away and be safe, speaking softly so no one would
notice. When I glanced back at the corner it had been in, it was gone again. Chad taught
me and the oakman how to swear in ASL and worked with us until we were pretty good
at finger spelling. It left my hands aching, but kept him occupied. We knew that
Blackwood was paying attention to us again when Corban stopped in the middle of a
sentence. After a few minutes he turned his head, and Blackwood opened the door. The
vampire looked at me without favor. “And where do you suppose I’m going to find
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another cook for you?” He took the body away and returned a few hours later with apples
and oranges and bottled water—tossing them carelessly through the bars. His hands
smelled of Amber, rot, and earth. I supposed he’d buried her somewhere. He took Corban
away. When Chad’s father returned, he was stumblingly weak and had another bite mark
on his neck. “My friend is better at that than you are,” I said in a snotty voice because
Blackwood had paused, with the cage door open, to look at Chad. “He doesn’t leave huge
bruises behind.” The vampire slammed the door, locked it, and stowed the key in his pants
pocket. “Whenever you open your mouth,” he said, “I marvel that the Marrok didn’t
wring your neck years ago.” He smiled a little. “Fine. Since you are the cause of my
hunger, you may feed it.” The cause of his hunger ... when I sent Amber away from her
dead body, it must have hurt him. Good. Now all I had to do was get him to make a lot
more zombies or whatever he wanted to call them. Then I could destroy them, too. I
might weaken him enough that we could take him. Of course, the nearest available people
to become zombies were us. He opened my cage door, and I had to think really hard about
the present not to panic. I fought him. I didn’t think he’d expected it. Years of karate had
honed my reflexes, and I was faster than a human would have been. But I was weak—an
apple a day might keep the doctor away, but it’s not, by itself, the best diet for optimum
performance. After a time that was too short for my ego to be happy, he had me pinned.
He left me aware this time when he bit my neck. It hurt the whole time, either a further
punishment or Stefan’s bites were giving him trouble—I didn’t know enough to tell. When
he tried to feed me in return, I fought as hard as I could and finally he grabbed my jaw and
forced his gaze on me. I woke up on the far side of the cage, and Blackwood was gone.
Chad was making noise, trying to get my attention. I rose to hands and knees. When it
was quite clear that I wasn’t going to get up farther than that, I sat up instead of standing.
Chad stopped making those sad, desperate sounds. I made the sign he’d taught me for the
“f-word” and finger-spelled, very slowly with clumsy fingers. “That’s it. No more Ms.
Nice Girl. Next time I scalp him.” It made him smile a very little. Corban was sitting in the
middle of their cage looking at a mark in the cement. “Well, oakman,” I said, tiredly. “Is it
daylight or darkness?” Before he answered me, Stefan was there in my cage. I blinked
stupidly at him. I’d given up on him, but I hadn’t realized it until he was there. I reached
out and touched his arm lightly to make sure he was real. He patted my hand and gave a
quick look up as if he could see through the ceiling to the floor above. “He knows I’m
here. Mercy—” “You have to take Chad,” I told him urgently “Chad?” Stefan followed
my gaze and stiffened. He started to shake his head. “Blackwood killed his mother—but
left her a zombie to do his chores until I killed her for real.” I told him. “Chad has to be
taken to safety.” He stared at the boy, who was staring back. “If I take him, I can’t come
back for a couple of nights. I’ll be unconscious, and no one knows where you are but
me—and Marsilia.” He bit her name out as if he still weren’t happy with her. “And she
wouldn’t lift a finger to help you.” “I can survive a couple of nights,” I told him with
conviction. Stefan clenched his hands. “If I do it,” he told me fiercely, “if I do this and you
survive—you will forgive me for the others.” “Yes,” I said. “Get Chad out of here.” He
was gone, then reappeared standing next to Chad. He started to use ASL to say
something—but we both heard Blackwood race down the stairs. “To Adam or Samuel,” I
said urgently. “Yes,” Stefan told me. “Stay alive.” He waited until I nodded, then he
disappeared with Chad.
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BLACKWOOD WAS MUCH MORE UNHAPPY ABOUT STEFAN’S presence in his
house than he was with Chad’s escape. He ranted and raved, and if he hit me again, I was
worried I might not be able to keep my promise to Stefan. Apparently he came to the
same conclusion. He stood looking down at me. “There are ways to keep other vampires
out of my home. But they are taxing, and I expect that your friend Corban won’t survive
my thirst.” He bent forward. “Ah, now you are frightened. Good.” He inhaled like a wine
taster with a particularly fine vintage. He left. I curled up on the floor and hugged my
misery to me—along with the fairy staff. The oakman stirred. “Mercy, what is it that you
have?” I raised one hand and waved it feebly in the air so he could see it. It didn’t hurt as
much as I thought it should. There was a little pause, and the Oakman said, reverently,
“How did that come to be here?” “It’s not my fault,” I told him. It took me a moment to
sit up ... and I realized that Blackwood had been much more in control of himself than he
appeared because nothing was broken. There wasn’t much of me that wasn’t bruised—but
not broken was good. “What do you mean?” the oakman asked. “I tried to give it back,” I
explained, “but it keeps showing up. I told it that this wasn’t a good place for it, but it
leaves for a while, then comes back.” “By your leave,” he said formally, “may I see it?”
“Sure,” I said, and tried to throw it to him. I should have been able to do it. The distance
between our cages was less than ten feet, but the ... bruises made it more difficult than
normal. It landed on the floor halfway between us. But as I stared at it in dismay, it rolled
back toward me, not stopping until it was against the cage bars. The third time I threw it,
the oakman caught it out of the air. “Ah, Lugh, you did such fine work,” he crooned,
petting the thing. He rested a cheek against it. “It follows you because it owes you service,
Mercy.” He smiled, awakening lines and wrinkles in the dark-wood-colored face and
brightening his black eyes to purple. “And because it likes you.” I started to say something
to him, but a surge of magic interrupted me. The oakman’s smile drained away. “Brownie
magic,” he told me. “He seeks to lock the other vampire out. The brownie was His before
me, and she found her release just this past spring. His use of her power is still nearly
complete.” He looked over at Corban. “The magic he works will leave him hungry.” I had
one thing I could do—and it meant abandoning my word to Stefan. But I couldn’t let
Blackwood kill Corban without making any attempt to defend him. I stripped out of my
clothes and shifted. The bars in my cage were set close together. But, I hoped, not too
close. Coyotes are narrow side to side. Very narrow. Anything I can get my head through,
I can get everything else through, too. When I stood on the other side of my cage, I shook
my fur straight and watched the door open. Blackwood wasn’t watching for me, he was
looking at Corban. So I got in the first strike. Speed is the one physical power I have. I’m
as fast as most werewolves—and from what I’ve seen, most vampires, too. I should have
been weakened and a little slow because of the damage Blackwood had dealt me—and the
lack of real food and because I’d been feeding the vampire. Except that exchanging blood
with a vampire can have other effects. I’d forgotten that. It made me strong. I wished,
fiercely, that I weighed a couple of hundred pounds instead of just over thirty. Wished for
longer fangs and sharper claws—because all I could do was surface damage he healed
almost as soon as I inflicted it. He grabbed me in both hands and threw me at the cement
wall. It seemed as though I flew in slow motion. There was time to twist and hit on my
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feet instead of my side as he’d intended. There was power to vault off unhurt and hit the
ground, already running back to attack. This time, though, I didn’t have surprise on my
side. If I’d been running from him, he couldn’t have caught me. But up close, the
advantage of superior speed lost out to the disadvantage of my size. I hurt him once,
digging my fangs into his shoulder, but I was looking for a kill—and there was just no way
a coyote, no matter how fast or strong, could kill a vampire. I dodged back, looking for an
opening ... and he fell face-first on the cement floor. Standing like a victory flag, stuck
deep into Blackwood’s back, was the walking stick. “Fair spearman was I once,” the
oakman said. “And Lugh was better still. Nothing he built but what couldn’t become a
spear when needed.” Panting, I stared at him, then down at Blackwood. Who wiggled. I
shifted back to human because I could deal with doors better that way. Then I ran for the
kitchen where, hopefully, there would be a knife big enough to go through bone. The
wooden block beside the sink yielded both a butcher knife and a large French chef’s knife.
I grabbed one in each hand and ran down the stairs. The door was shut and the knob
wouldn’t turn. “Let me in,” I ordered in a voice I hardly recognized as mine. “No. No,”
said John’s voice. “You can’t kill him. I’ll be alone.” But the door opened, and that was
all I cared about. I didn’t see John, but Catherine was kneeling beside Blackwood. She
spared a glare for me, but she was paying more attention to the dying (I fervently hoped)
vampire. “Let me drink, dear,” she crooned to him. “Let me drink, and I’ll take care of her
for you.” He looked at me as he tried to get his arms underneath him. “Drink,” he said.
Then he smiled at me. With a crow of triumph she bent her head. She was still drinking
when the butcher knife swooshed through her insubstantial head and cut cleanly through
Blackwood’s neck. An axe would have been better, but with his strength still lingering in
my arms, the butcher knife got the job done. A second cut took his head completely off.
His head touched my toes, and I edged them away. A knife in either hand, I had no chance
to feel triumphant or sick at what I’d done. Not with a very solid Catherine smiling her
grandmotherly smile only six feet from me. She smiled, her mouth red with Blackwood’s
blood. “Die,” she said, and reached out— Last year Sensei spent six months on sai forms.
The knives weren’t so well-balanced for fighting, but they worked. It was a butcher’s job I
made of it—and I managed it only by clinging fiercely to the here and now. The floors, the
walls, and I were all drenched in blood. And she wasn’t dead ... or rather she was dead
already. The knives kept her off me, but none of the wounds seemed to affect her at all.
“Throw me the stick,” said the oakman softly. I dropped the French chef’s knife and
grabbed the staff with my free hand. It slid out of Blackwood’s back as if it didn’t want to
be there. For a moment I thought that the end was a sharp point, but my attention was
focused on Catherine and I couldn’t be sure. I tossed it to the Oakman and drove
Catherine away from Corban’s cage. He’d collapsed when I’d cut off Blackwood’s head in
a motion not unlike Amber’s zombie. I hoped he wasn’t dead—but there wasn’t anything I
could do about it if he was. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the oakman lick the bloodcovered
stick with a tongue at least eight inches long. “Death blood is best,” he told me.
And then he flung the stick at the outside wall, and said a word ... The blast knocked me
off my feet and onto Blackwood’s corpse. Something hit me in the back of the head.
I STARED AT THE POOL OF SUNLIGHT THAT COVERED MY hand. It took me a
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moment to realize that whatever had hit me must have knocked me out. Under my hand
was a thick pile of ash, and I jerked away. Buried in the ash was a key. It was a pretty key,
one of those ornate skeleton keys. It took all my willpower to put my hand back into what
had been Blackwood and pick it up. I hurt from head to heels, but the bruises the vampire
had inflicted after Chad escaped were mostly gone. And the others were fading as I
watched. I didn’t want to think about that too much. The oakman had a hand stretched
though the bars, but he hadn’t been able to touch the sunlight streaming into the basement
from the hole he’d blasted in the wall with my walking stick. His eyes were closed. I
opened the cage, but he didn’t move. I had to drag him out. I didn’t pay attention to
whether or not he was breathing. Or I tried very hard not to. So what if he wasn’t, I
thought. Fae are very hard to kill. “Mercy?” It was Corban. I stared at him a moment,
trying to figure out what to do next. “Could you unlock my door?” His voice was soft and
gentle. The sort of voice you’d use on a madwoman. I looked down at myself and realized
that I was naked and covered with blood from head to toe. The butcher knife was still in
my left hand. My hand had cramped around it, and I had to work to drop it on the floor.
The key unlocked Corban’s door, too. “Chad’s with some friends of mine,” I told him. My
voice slurred a bit, and I recognized that I was a little shocky. The realization helped me a
little, and my voice was clearer when I told him, “The kinds of friends who might be able
to protect a boy from a vampire run amok.” “Thank you,” he said. “You were
unconscious a long time. How are you feeling?” I gave him a tired smile. “My head hurts.”
“Let’s get you cleaned up.” He led me up the stairs. I didn’t think that I should have
grabbed my clothes until I stood alone in a huge, gold-and-black bathroom. I turned the
shower on. “John,” I said. I didn’t bother looking for him because I could feel him. “You
will never harm anyone again.” I felt the push of magic that told me whatever it was I
could do to ghosts had worked on him. So I added, “And get out of this bathroom,” for
good measure. I scrubbed myself raw and wrapped myself in a towel big enough for three
of me. When I came out, Corban was pacing in the hall in front of the bathroom. “Who do
you call about something like this?” he asked. “It doesn’t look good. Blackwood is
missing; Amber is dead—probably buried in the backyard. I’m a lawyer, and if I were my
own client, I’d advise myself to avoid trial, plead guilty, and do reduced time if I could get
it.” He was scared. It finally occurred to me that we’d survived. Blackwood and his sweet
grandmotherly vampire ghost were gone. Or at least I hoped she was gone. There wasn’t a
second pile of ashes in the basement. “Did you notice the other vampire?” I asked him. He
gave me a blank look. “Other vampire?” “Never mind,” I told him. “I expect the sunlight
killed her.” I got up and found a phone on a small table in the corner of the living room. I
dialed Adam’s cell phone. “Hey,” I said. It sounded like I’d been smoking cigars all night.
“Mercy?” And I knew I was safe. I sat on the floor. “Hey.” I said again. “Chad told us
where you are,” he told me. “We’re about twenty minutes away.” “Chad told you?” Stefan
would still be unconscious, I’d known. It just hadn’t occurred to me that Chad could tell
them where we were. Stupid me. All he’d have needed was a piece of paper. “Chad’s all
right?” asked Corban urgently. “Fine,” I told him. “And he’s leading the cavalry here.” “It
sounds like we’re not needed,” said Adam. I needed him. “Blackwood is dead,” I told
Adam. “I thought so, since you are calling me,” Adam said. “If it weren’t for the oakman,
it might have been bad,” I told him. “And I think the oakman is dead.” “All honor to him,
then,” said Samuel’s voice. “To die killing one of the dark-bound evils is not a bad thing,
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Mercy. Chad asks after his father.” I wiped my face and gathered my thoughts. “Tell Chad
he’s fine. We’re both fine.” I watched bruises fade from my legs. “Could you ... could you
stop at a convenience store and buy a yellow toy car for me? Bring it with you when you
come?” There was a little pause. “A yellow toy car?” asked Adam. “That’s right.” I
remembered something else. “Adam, Corban’s worried that the police will think he’s killed
Amber-and probably Blackwood, though there won’t be any body.” “Trust me,” said
Adam. “We’ll fix it for everyone.” “All right,” I told him. “Thank you.” And then I
thought a little more. “The vampires will want Chad and Corban gone. They know too
much.” “You and Stefan and the pack are the only ones who know that,” said Adam. “The
pack doesn’t care, and Stefan won’t betray them.” “Hey,” I told him lightly—pressing the
handset into my face until it almost hurt. “I love you.” “I’ll be there.”
I LEFT CORBAN SITTING IN THE LIVING ROOM AND WALKED reluctantly down
the stairs. I didn’t want to know for sure that the oakman was dead. I didn’t want to
confront Catherine if she was still about ... and I thought she would have killed me if she
could have. But I also didn’t want to be naked when Adam came. The oakman was gone.
I decided that it must be a good thing. The fae didn’t—as far as I knew—turn into dust
and blow away when they died. So if he wasn’t here, that meant he’d left. “Thank you,” I
whispered because he wasn’t there to hear me. Then I put my clothes on and ran up the
stairs to wait for rescue with Corban. When Adam came, he had the yellow car I’d asked
him for. It was a one-sixteenth scale model of a VW bug. He watched as I took it out of
the package and followed me down the stairs and set it on the bed in the small room where
I’d first woken up. “It’s for you,” I said. No one answered me. “Are you going to tell me
what that was about?” Adam asked as we went back upstairs. “Sometime,” I told him.
“When we’re telling ghost stories around a campfire, and I want to scare you.” He smiled,
and his arm tightened around my shoulders. “Let’s go home.” I closed my hand on the
lamb necklace I’d found on the table next to the phone, as if someone had left it for me to
find.
13 THE FOLLOWING SATURDAY WE PAINTED THE GARAGE. True to his word,
Wulfe had removed the crossed bones. The least he could have done was repaint the door,
but he’d managed to remove the bones and leave the graffiti that had covered them alone.
I thought he’d done it just to bug me. Gabriel’s sisters had voted for pink as the new color
and were very disappointed when I insisted on white. So I told them they could paint the
door pink. It’s a garage. What can it hurt? “It’s a garage,” I told Adam, who was looking
at the Day-Glo pink door. “What can it hurt?” He laughed and shook his head. “It makes
me squint, even in the dark, Mercy. Hey, I know what I can get you for your next
birthday,” he said. “A set of open-end wrenches in pink or purple. Leopard print, maybe.”
“You have me confused with my mother,” I said with dignity. “The door was painted with
cheap spray paint—as no reputable paint company had anything this gaudy in their color
palette. Give it a couple weeks, and it’ll turn this sickly orangish pink color. Then I can
hire them to paint it brown or green.” “Police have searched Blackwood’s house,” Adam
told me. “They haven’t found any sign of Blackwood or Amber. Officially, they believe
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Amber might have run off with Blackwood.” He sighed. “I know that it tarnishes Amber
unfairly, but it was the best story we could come up with and still leave her husband in the
clear.” “The people who matter know,” I told him. Amber didn’t have any immediate
family she cared for. In a few months, I was tentatively planning a trip to Mesa, Arizona,
where Char was living. I’d tell her, because Char was the only other person Amber would
care about. “No one is going to get into trouble about this, are they?” “The people who
matter know,” he answered with a faint smile. “Unofficially, Blackwood scared the
bejeebers out of a lot of people who are glad to see him gone. No one will take it further.”
“Good.” I touched the bright white wall next to the door. It looked better. I hoped that it
wouldn’t scare away customers. People are funny. My customers look at my run-downappearing
garage and know they are saving the money I don’t put into face-lifts. Tim’s
cousin Courtney had paid for all of the paint and labor in return for my dropping the
charges against her. I figured she had been hurt enough. “I heard you and Zee worked out
something on the garage.” I nodded. “I have to repay him immediately—he said so, and he
is fae so it must be done. He’s going to loan me the money to do it at the same interest
rate as the original loan.” He grinned and opened the pink door so I could precede him
inside. “So you’re paying him the same amount as before?” “Uncle Mike came up with it,
and it made Zee happy.” Amused him was more like it. All the fae have a strange sense of
humor. Stefan was sitting on my stool by the cash register. He’d spent two nights
unmoving in Adam’s basement, then disappeared without a word to either Adam or me.
“Hey, Stefan,” I said. “I came to tell you that we no longer share a bond,” he told me
stiffly. “Blackwood broke it.” “When?” I asked. “He didn’t have time. You answered my
call—and it wasn’t very long after that when Blackwood died.” “I imagine when he fed
from you again,” Stefan said. “Because when Adam called me to tell me you’d
disappeared, I couldn’t find you at all.” “Then how did you manage to find me?” I asked.
“Marsilia.” I looked at his face, but I couldn’t read how much it had cost him to ask for
her help. Or what she’d demanded in return. “You didn’t tell me,” Adam said. “I’d have
gone with you.” The vampire smiled grimly. “Then she would have told me nothing.” “She
knew where Blackwood denned?” Adam asked. “That’s what I hoped.” Stefan picked up
a pen and played with it. I must have used it last because his fingers acquired a little black
grease for his trouble. “But no. What she did know was that Mercy had a message for me
with a blood-and-wax seal. Her blood. She could track the message. Since it was just
outside of Spokane, we were both pretty sure Mercy still had it with her.” That reminded
me. I pulled the battered missive out of my back pocket. It hadn’t gone through the wash
with my jeans—but only because Samuel had a habit of checking pockets before he did
laundry. Something about nuts and bolts in the dryer being irritatingly noisy—I thought
that was directed at me, but I could have been paranoid. Stefan took the letter like I was
handing him a bottle of nitroglycerine. He opened it and read. When he was through, he
balled it up in a fist and stared at the counter. “She says,” he told us in a low, controlled
voice, “that my people are safe. She and Wulfe took them and convinced me that they had
died—so I would believe it. It was necessary that I believe they were dead, that Marsilia
no longer wanted me in the seethe. She has them safe.” He paused. “She wants me to
come home.” “What are you going to do?” Adam asked. I was pretty sure I knew. But I
hoped that he made her work like hell for it. She might not have killed his people, but
she’d hurt them—Stefan had felt it. “I’m going to take the matter under advisement,” he
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said. But he straightened out the note and read it again. “Hey, Stefan,” I said. He looked
up. “You’re pretty terrific, you know? I appreciate all the chances you took for me.” He
smiled, folded the letter carefully. “Yeah, well you’re pretty terrific yourself. If you ever
want to be dinner again sometime ...” He popped out of the office without saying goodbye.
“Better collect your purse,” said Adam. “We don’t want to be late.” Adam was
taking me to Richland, where the local light opera company was performing The Pirates
of Penzance. Gilbert and Sullivan, pirates and no vampires, he’d promised me. It was a
great production. I laughed until I was hoarse and came out humming the final number.
“Yes,” I told him. “I think the guy playing the Pirate King was awesome.” He stopped
where he was. “What?” I asked, frowning at the big smile on his face. “I didn’t say I liked
the Pirate King,” he told me. “Oh.” I closed my eyes—and there he was. A warm, edgy
presence right on the edge of my perception. When I opened my eyes, he was standing
right in front of me. “Cool,” I told him. “You’re back.” He kissed me leisurely. When he
was finished, I was more than ready to head home. Fast. “You make me laugh,” he told
me seriously.
I WENT BACK TO MY HOUSE TO SLEEP SAMUEL WAS working until the earlymorning
hours, and I wanted to be there when he got home. I stopped before I went in
because something was different. I took a deep breath but didn’t smell any vampires
lurking at my door. But there was an oak tree next to my bedroom window. It hadn’t been
there when I’d left this morning to go paint. But there it was, with a trunk nearly two
inches around and branches that were a couple of feet taller than my trailer. There was no
sign of freshly turned earth, just the tree. Its leaves were starting to change color for the
autumn. “You’re welcome,” I said. When I started back to go into the house, I tripped
over the walking stick. “Hey. You’re back.” I set it on my bed while I showered, and it
was still there when I got out. I put on one of Adam’s flannel shirts because the fall nights
were pretty nippy and my roommate didn’t want to turn up the heat. And because it
smelled like Adam. When the doorbell rang, I pulled on a pair of shorts and left the stick
where it was. Marsilia stood on the porch. She was wearing low-rise jeans and a low-cut
black sweater. “My letter was opened tonight,” she told me. I folded my arms over my
chest and did not invite her in. “That’s right, I gave it to Stefan.” She tapped a foot. “Did
he read it?” “You didn’t actually kill his people,” I told her in a bored voice. “You just
hurt them and ripped his ties from them so he’d think they died.” “You disapprove?” She
raised an eyebrow. “Any other Master would have killed them—it would have been easier.
If he had been himself, he’d have known what we’d done.” She smiled at me. “Oh, I see.
You were worried about his sheep. Better hurt a little and alive—wouldn’t you say?”
“Why are you here?” I asked her. Her face went blank, and I thought she might not
answer. “Because the letter was read, and Stefan did not come.” “You tortured him,” I
said hotly. “You almost forced him to do something he’d never willingly do—” “I wish
he’d killed you,” she told me sincerely. “Except that would have hurt him. I know Stefan.
I know his control. You were never in any danger.” “He doesn’t believe that,” I told her.
“Now you throw him a bone. ‘Look, Stefan, we didn’t really kill your people. We tortured
you, hurt you, abandoned you—but it was all in a good cause. We meant Andre to die,
and let you twist in guilt for months because it served our purpose.’ And you wonder why
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he didn’t come back to you.” “He understands,” she said. “I do.” Stefan’s hands came
down upon my shoulders, and he pulled me a few inches back from the threshold of the
door. “I understand the why and the how.” She stared at him ... and for a moment I could
see how old, how tired she was. “For the good of the seethe,” she told him. He put his
chin on the top of my head. “I know.” He wrapped both arms around me just above my
chest and pulled me against him. “I’ll come back. But not right now.” He sighed into my
hair. “Tomorrow. I’ll get my people from you then.” And he was gone. Marsilia looked at
me. “He’s a soldier,” she told me. “He knows about sacrificing himself for the good of the
whole. That’s what soldiers do. It’s not the torture he can’t forgive me for. Nor deceiving
him about his people. It’s because I put you in harm’s way he is so angry.” Then she said,
very calmly, “If I could kill you, I would.” And she disappeared, just like Stefan had.
“Right back atcha,” I told the space where she had been.
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