Iron Kissed

Chapter 8

My bedroom was dark, but I didn't bother to turn on the light. I had worse things to worry about than the dark.
I headed for the bathroom and took a hot shower. By the time the water had cooled and I got out, I knew a couple of things. First, I was going to have just a little time before I had to face Adam. Otherwise he'd already have been waiting for me and my bedroom was empty. Second, I couldn't do anything about Adam or Zee until tomorrow, so I might as well go to sleep.
I combed out my hair and blow-dried it until it was only damp. Then I braided it so I could comb it out in the morning.
I pulled back my covers, knocking the stick that had been resting on top of them to the ground. Before Samuel moved in, I used to sleep without covers in the summer. But he kept the air-conditioning turned down until there was a real chill in the air, especially at night.
I climbed into bed, pulled the covers up under my chin, and closed my eyes.
Why was there a stick on my bed?
I sat up and looked at the walking stick lying on the floor. Even in the dark I knew it was the same stick I'd found at O'Donnell's. Careful not to step on it, I got out of bed and turned on the light.
The gray twisty wood lay innocuously on the floor on top of a gray sock and a dirty T-shirt. I crouched down and touched it gingerly. The wood lay hard and cool under my fingertips, without the wash of magic it had held in O'Donnell's house. For a moment it felt like any other stick, then a faint trace of magic pulsed and disappeared.
I searched out my cell phone and called the number Uncle Mike had been calling me from. It rang a long time before someone picked it up.
"Uncle Mike's," a not so cheerful stranger's voice answered, barely understandable amid a cacophony of heavy metal music, voices, and a sudden loud crash, as if someone had dropped a stack of dishes. "Merde. Clean that up. What do you want?"
I assumed that only the last sentence was directed at me.
"Is Uncle Mike there?" I asked. "Tell him it's Mercy and that I have something he might be interested in."
"Hold on."
Someone barked out a few sharp words in French and then yelled, "Uncle Mike, phone!"
Someone shouted, "Get the troll out of here."
Followed by someone with a very deep voice muttering, "I'd like to see you try to get this troll out of here. I'll eat your face and spit out your teeth."
Then Uncle Mike's cheerful Irish voice said, "This is Uncle Mike. May I help you?"
"I don't know," I answered. "I've got a certain walking stick that someone left on my bed tonight."
"Do you now?" he said very quietly. "Do you?"
"What should I do with it?" I asked.
"Whatever it will allow you to do," he said in an odd tone. Then he cleared his voice and sounded his usual amused self again. "No, I know what you are asking. I think I'll give someone a call and see what they'd like. Probably they'll come and get it this time, too. It's too late for you to be awaiting for them to come callin'. Why don't you put it outside? Just lean it against your house. It'll come to no harm if no one collects it. And if they do, well, then they'll not be disturbing you or the wolf, eh?"
"You're sure?"
"Aye, lass. Now I've got a troll to deal with. Put it outside." He hung up.
I put my clothes back on and took the stick outside. Samuel wasn't back yet, and the lights were still on at Adam's house. I stared at the walking stick for a few minutes, wondering who had put it on my bed and what they wanted. Finally I leaned it against the mobile home's new siding and went back to bed.
The stick was gone and Samuel was asleep when I got up the next morning. I almost woke him up to see what he'd told Adam, or if he'd noticed who'd gotten the stick, but as an emergency room doctor, his hours could be pretty brutal. If my staring at him hadn't woken him up, then he needed his sleep. I'd find out what had happened soon enough.
Adam's SUV was waiting next to the front door of my office when I drove up. I parked as far from it as I could, on the far side of the parking lot - which was where I usually parked.
He got out when I drove up, and was leaning against his door when I came up to him.
I've never seen a werewolf that was out of shape or fat; the wolf is too restless for that. Even so, Adam was a step harder, though not bulky. His coloring was a bit lighter than mine - which still left him with a deep tan and dark brown hair that he kept trimmed just a little longer than military standards. His wide cheekbones made his mouth look a little narrow, but that didn't detract from his beauty. He didn't look like a Greek god...but if there were Slavic gods, he'd be in strong contention. Right now that narrow mouth was flattened into a grim line.
I approached a little warily, and wished I knew what Samuel had told him. I started to say something when I noticed that there was something different about the door. My deadbolt was still there, but next to it was a new black keypad. He waited in silence as I checked out the shiny silver buttons.
I crossed my arms and turned back to him.
After a few minutes Adam gave me a half smile of appreciation though his eyes were too intent to carry off real amusement. "You complained about the guards," he explained.
"So why did you set up an alarm without asking me?" I asked stiffly.
"It's not just an alarm," he told me, the smile gone as if it had never been there. "Security is my bread and butter. There are cameras in the lot and inside your garage, too."
I didn't ask him how he'd gotten in. As he said, security was his business. "Don't you usually work on government contracts and things a little more important than a VW shop? I suppose someone might break in and steal all the money in the safe. Maybe five hundred bucks if they're lucky. Or maybe they'll steal a transmission for their 72 Beetle? What do you think?"
He didn't bother to answer my sarcastic question.
"If you open the door without using the key code, a physical alarm will sound and one of my people will be tagged that the alarm has gone off." He spoke in a rapid, no-nonsense voice as if I hadn't said anything. "You have two minutes to reset it. If you do, my people will call your shop number to confirm it was you or Gabriel who reset it. If you don't reset it, they'll notify both the police and me."
He paused as if waiting for a response. So I raised an eyebrow. Werewolves are pushy. I've had a long time to get used to it, but I didn't have to like it.
"The key code is four numbers," he said. "If you punch in Jesse's birthday, month-month-day-day, it deactivates the alarm." He didn't ask if I knew her birthday, which I did. "If you punch in your birthday, it will alert my people and they'll call me - and I'll assume you're in the kind of trouble you don't want the police to attend."
I gritted my teeth. "I don't need a security system."
"There are cameras," he said, ignoring my words. "Five in the lot, four in your shop, and two in the office. From six at night until six in the morning, the cameras are on motion sensors and will only record when there's something moving. From six in the morning to six at night the cameras are off - though I can change that for you if you'd like. The cameras record onto DVDs. You should change them out every week. I'll send someone over this afternoon to show you and Gabriel how that all works."
"You can send them over to take it out," I told him.
"Mercedes," he said. "I'm not happy with you right now - don't push me."
What did he have to be unhappy with me about?
"Well, isn't that just convenient?" I snapped. "I'm not happy with you either. I don't need this." I waved my hand to take in the cameras and keypad.
He pushed himself off his SUV and stalked over to me. I knew he wasn't angry enough to hurt me, but I still backed up until I hit the outer wall of the garage. He put one hand on either side of me and leaned in until I could feel his breath on my face.
No one could ever say that Adam didn't know how to intimidate people.
"Maybe I'm mistaken," he began coolly. "Perhaps Samuel was misinformed and you aren't engaged in investigating the fae without their cooperation or the approval of either Zee or Uncle Mike, who might otherwise be reasonably expected to keep an eye out for you."
The warmth of his body shouldn't have felt good. He was angry and every muscle was tense. It was like being leaned on by a very heavy, warm brick. A sexy brick.
"Perhaps, Mercedes," he bit out in a voice like ice, "you didn't set out last night to join up with Bright Future, a group that has been tied into enough violent incidents that the fae, who are watching you, are going to be somewhat concerned - especially since you have ferreted out a number of things they'd rather be kept secret. I'm sure they'll be extremely happy when they find out you've told the son of the Marrok everything you know about the reservation - that you were supposed to keep secret." The coolness was gone from his voice by the time he'd finished, and he was all but snarling in my face.
"Uhm," I said.
"The fae aren't exactly cooperative at the best of times, but even they just might hesitate to do something to you if Samuel or I show up. I trust you to be able to survive until one of us gets here." He leaned down and kissed me forcefully once, a quick kiss that was over almost before it began. Possessive and almost punitive. Nothing that should have sent my pulse racing. "And don't think I've forgotten that the vampires have a good reason not to be happy with you, too." Then he kissed me again.
As soon as his lips touched mine the second time, I knew that Samuel, in addition to telling Adam everything I'd told him last night, had also informed Adam that he was no longer interested in being my mate.
I hadn't realized how much restraint Adam had been using until it was gone.
When he pulled back, his face was flushed and he was breathing as hard as I was. He reached over and punched in four numbers with his left hand.
"There's an instruction booklet, if you'd like to read it, next to your cash register. Otherwise my man will answer any questions you have when he comes." His voice was too deep and I knew he was a hairsbreadth away from losing control. When he pushed away and climbed back into his SUV, I should have been relieved.
I stayed where I was, leaning against the building until I could no longer hear his engine.
If he'd wanted to take me right then and there, I would have let him. I'd have done anything for his touch, anything to please him.
Adam scared me more than the vampires, more than the fae. Because Adam could steal more from me than my life. Adam was the only Alpha I'd ever been around, including the Marrok himself, who could make me do his bidding against my will.
It took me three tries before I was able to slide the key into the deadbolt.
Monday was my busiest day, and this was no exception. It might be Labor Day, but my clients knew I was usually unofficially open on most Saturdays and holidays. Adam's security man, who was not one of the wolves, came in shortly after lunch. He showed Gabriel and me how to change out the DVDs.
"These are better than the tapes," he told me with more childlike enthusiasm than I expected out of a fifty-year-old man with Marine tattoos on his arms. "People don't usually change tapes often enough, so the saved footage is too grainy to be much help, or else they record over an important incident without realizing it. DVDs are better. These can't be written over. When they fill up, they'll automatically switch to a secondary disc. Since you're only activating them when you are not here, they probably won't fill the first disc in a week. So you just change them once a week - most people do it on Monday or Friday. Then you store them for a few months before you throw them out. If something happens to your system here, the boss is recording remotely as well." He obviously loved his job.
After some additional instructions and a little bit of a sales pitch to make sure we were happy with what we had, Adam's man left with a cheery wave.
"Don't worry," Gabriel told me. "I'll change them for you."
He'd been as happy to play with the new toys as the tech had been.
"Thanks," I told him sourly, unhappy about the boss is recording remotely part. "You do that. I'll go take my temper out on that Passat's shift linkage problem."
When there was a lull in customers about two, Gabriel came back to the garage. I was teaching him a little here and there. He was going on to college rather than becoming a mechanic, but he wanted to learn.
"So, for a person who just shelled out a lot of money for a security system, you don't seem too happy," he said. "Is there some trouble I should know about?"
I pushed a strand of hair out of my eyes, doubtlessly leaving a trail of the sludge that covered every inch of the thirty-year-old engine I was working on and had gotten a good start on covering every inch of me, too.
"Not much trouble that you need to worry about," I told him after a moment. "If I thought there'd be a problem, I'd have warned you. Mostly it's just Adam overreacting."
And it was overreacting, I'd decided after thinking things over all morning. Only a moron would believe that I was joining Bright Future in order to protest the fae - and somehow I was pretty sure that stupid fae didn't last long. If they talked to Uncle Mike - or Zee (even if he was still angry) - they'd know that I was still trying to clear Zee.
I might know a few things that made the fae uncomfortable, but if they wanted me dead for it, I'd already be dead.
Gabriel whistled. "Jesse's father installed the whole security system without asking you? I guess that's pretty aggressive." He gave me a concerned look. "I like him, Mercy. But if he's stalking you - "
"No." He'd go away if I told him to. "He feels he has reason." I sighed. Things just got more and more complicated. I couldn't involve Gabriel in this mess.
"Something to do with Zee's arrest?" Gabriel laughed at my look. "Jesse warned me yesterday that you'd be preoccupied. Zee didn't do it, of course." The confidence in his voice showed how innocent Gabriel still was: it would never occur to him that the only reason Zee hadn't killed O'Donnell was because someone else had gotten there first.
"Adam's afraid I'm stirring up a hornet's nest," I said. "And he's probably right." I wasn't really mad about the security system. It was more than I could afford - and it was a good idea.
I always get angry when I'm afraid - and Adam terrified me. When he was around, it was all I could do not to follow him around and wait for orders like a good sheep dog. But I didn't want to be a sheep dog. Nor, to his credit, did Adam want me to be one.
Which was something I didn't need to tell Gabriel. "I'm sorry to be such a grouch. I'm worried about Zee, and the security system gave me something to fuss about."
"All right," Gabriel said.
"Did you come back to help me with this engine or just to talk?"
Gabriel looked at the car I was working on. "There's an engine in there?"
"Somewhere." I sighed. "Go do some paperwork. I'll call you in if I need a second hand, but there's no reason for both of us to get dirty if I don't need you."
"I don't mind," he said.
He never complained about work, no matter what I asked him to do.
"It's all right. I can get this."
My cell phone rang about fifteen minutes later, but my hands were too greasy to pick it up so I let it take a message while I worked on cleaning up the engine well enough that I could figure out where all the oil was leaking from.
It was almost quitting time and I'd already sent Gabriel home when Tony walked into the open garage bay.
"Hey, Mercy," he said.
Tony is half-Italian, half-Venezuelan, and all whatever he decides to be for the moment. He does most of his work undercover because he's a chameleon. He'd worked a stint in Kennewick High School posing as a student ten or fifteen years younger, and Gabriel, who knew Tony pretty well because Gabriel's mother worked as a police dispatcher, hadn't recognized him.
Today Tony was all cop. The controlled expression on his face meant he was here on business. And he had company. A tall woman in jeans and a T-shirt had one hand tucked under his elbow and the other holding firmly to the leather harness of a golden retriever. Dogs are sometimes troublesome for me. I suppose they smell the coyote - but retrievers are too friendly and cheerful to be a problem. It wagged its tail at me and gave a soft woof.
The woman's hair was seal brown and hung in soft curls to just below her shoulders. Her face was unremarkable except for the opaque glasses.
She was blind, and she was fae. Guess what fae I'd run into lately that was blind? She didn't look like someone who could turn into a crow, but then I didn't look much like a coyote, either.
I waited for the sense of power I'd sensed from the crow to sweep over me, but nothing happened. To all of my senses she was just what she appeared to be.
I wiped the sweat off my forehead onto the shoulder of my work overalls. "Hey, Tony, what's up?"
"Mercedes Thompson, I'd like you to meet Dr. Stacy Altman from the University of Oregon's folklore department. She is consulting with us on this case. Dr. Altman, this is Mercedes Thompson, who would doubtless shake your hand except hers is covered in grease."
"Nice to meet you." Again.
"Ms. Thompson," she said. "I asked Tony if he would introduce us." She patted his arm when she said his name. "I understand you don't think the fae the police are holding is guilty: though he had motive, means, and opportunity - and he was found next to the freshly killed dead body."
I pursed my lips. I wasn't sure what her game was, but I wasn't going to let her railroad Zee. "That's right. I heard it from the fae who was with him at the time. Zee is not incompetent. If he'd killed O'Donnell, no one would have known it."
"The police surprised him." Her voice was cool and precise without a trace of accent. "A neighbor heard fighting and called the police."
I raised an eyebrow. "If it had been Zee, they would have heard nothing, and if they had, Zee would have been gone long before the police showed up. Zee doesn't make stupid mistakes."
"Actually," Tony told me with a small smile, "the neighbor who called said he saw the vehicle Zee was driving pull up to the house after he called the police having heard someone scream."
The doctor who was a Gray Lord hadn't known about the neighbor before he told us both. I saw her lips tighten in anger. Tony must not like her, since he'd never play a trick like that on someone he liked.
"So why are you trying so hard to pin this on Zee?" I asked her. "Isn't it up to the police to find the guilty party?"
"Why are you trying so hard to defend him?" she countered. "Because he used to be your friend? He doesn't appear to be appreciative of your efforts."
"Because he didn't do it," I said, as if I were surprised she'd asked such a stupid question. From the way she stiffened, she was as easy to get a rise out of as Adam. "What are you worried about? It's no skin off your nose if the police do a little more work. Do you think a fae in the hand is better than searching the reservation for the guilty one?"
Her face tightened and magic swelled in the air. It was searching the reservation that she was here to prevent, I thought. She wanted a quick execution - maybe Zee was supposed to hang himself and save everyone the publicity of a trial and the inconvenience of an investigation that put intruders' noses into the reservation. She was here to make sure there were no screwups.
Like me.
I considered her and then turned to Tony. "Did you put Zee on a suicide watch? Fae don't do well in iron cages."
He shook his head while Dr. Altman's mouth tightened. "Dr. Altman said that as a gremlin, Mr. Adelbertsmiter would be fine with the metal. But if you think I ought to, I will."
"Please," I said. "I'm very concerned." It wouldn't be foolproof, but it would make it harder to kill him.
Tony's eyes were sharp as they looked from me to Dr. Altman. He was too good a cop not to notice the undercurrents between the two of us. He probably even knew it wasn't suicide I was worried about.
"Didn't you tell me you had some questions to ask Mercedes, Dr. Altman?" he suggested with deceptive mildness.
"Of course," she said. "The police here seem to respect your opinion about the fae, but they don't know what your credentials are - other than the fact you once worked with Mr. Adelbertsmiter."
Ah, an attempt to discredit me. If she'd expected to fluster me, she didn't know me very well. Any female mechanic knows how to respond to that kind of attack.
I gave her a genial smile. "I've a degree in history and I read, Dr. Altman. For instance, I know that there was no such thing as a gremlin until Zee decided to call himself one. If you'd excuse me, I'd better get back to work. I promised that this car would be finished today." I turned to do just that and tripped on a stick that was lying on the ground.
Tony was there with a hand under my elbow to help me back to my feet. "Did you twist an ankle?" he asked.
"No, I'm fine," I told him, frowning at the fae walking stick that had appeared on the floor of my garage. "You'd better let go or you'll get covered with grease."
"I'm fine. A little dirt just impresses the rookies."
"What happened?" Dr. Altman asked, as if her blindness was something that would keep her from knowing what was happening around her. Which I was certain it did not. I noticed that her dog was staring intently at the stick. Maybe she really did use it to help her see.
"She tripped on a walking stick." Tony, who'd disengaged himself from Dr. Altman to catch me when I'd stumbled, bent down, picked it up, and put the stick down on my counter. "This is pretty cool workmanship, Mercy. What are you doing with an antique walking stick on the floor of your garage?"
Darned if I knew.
"It's not mine. Someone left it at the shop. I've been trying to give it back to its rightful owner."
Tony looked at it again. "It looks pretty old. The owner should be happy to get it back." There was a question in his voice - I don't think Dr. Altman heard it.
I don't know how sensitive Tony is to magic, but he was quick and his fingers lingered on the Celtic designs on the silver.
I met his eyes and gave him a brief nod. Otherwise he'd pick at it until even the blind fae noticed he'd seen more than he ought.
"You'd think so," I said ruefully. "But here it is."
He smiled thoughtfully. "If Dr. Altman is through, we'll just get out of your way," he said. "I'm sorry Zee is unhappy with the way you chose to defend him. But I'll see to it he doesn't get railroaded."
Or killed.
"Take care," I told him seriously. Don't do anything stupid.
He raised an eyebrow. "I'm as careful as you are."
I smiled at him and went back to work. No matter what I'd told its owner, this car wasn't going to be done until tomorrow. I buttoned it up, then cleaned up and checked my phone. I'd actually missed two calls. The second one was from Tony, before he'd brought the department's fae consultant. The first one was a number I didn't know with a long-distance area code.
When I dialed it, Zee's son, Tad, answered the phone.
Tad had been my first tool rustler, but then he'd gone on to college and deserted me - just as Gabriel would do in a year or two. He'd actually been the one to hire me. He'd been working alone when I'd come needing a belt for my Rabbit (having just blown an interview at Pasco High; they wanted a coach and I thought they should be more concerned that their history teachers could teach history) and I'd helped him out with a customer. I think he'd been nine years old. His mother had just passed away and Zee wasn't dealing well with it. Tad had had to rehire me three more times in the next month before Zee resigned himself to me - a woman and, he thought at first, a human.
"Mercy, where have you been? I've been trying to get you since Saturday morning." He didn't give me a chance to answer. "Uncle Mike told me that Dad had been arrested for murder. All I could get out of him was that it was related to the deaths on the reservation and that I was, under the Gray Lords' edict, to stay where I am."
Tad and I share a certain disregard and distaste for authority. He probably had a plane ticket in his hand.
"Don't come," I said after a moment's fierce thought. The Gray Lords wanted someone guilty and they didn't care who it was. They wanted a quick end to this mess and anyone who stood between them and what they wanted would be in danger.
"What the hell happened? I can't find out anything." I heard in his voice the frustration I was feeling, too.
I told him as much as I knew, from when Zee asked me to sniff out the murderer to the blind woman who had just come with Tony - including Zee's unhappiness with me because I had told the police and his lawyer too much. My gaze fell on the walking stick, so I added it into the mix.
"It was a human killing the fae? Wait a minute. Wait a minute. The guard who was killed, this O'Donnell, was he a swarthy man, about five-ten or thereabouts? His first name was Thomas?"
"That's what he looked like. I don't know what his first name was."
"I told her that she was playing with fire," Tad said. "Damn it. She thought it was funny because he thought he was doing her such a favor and she was just stringing him along. He amused her."
"She who?" I asked.
"Connora...the reservation's librarian. She didn't like humans much, and O'Donnell was a real turkey. She liked playing with them."
"He killed her because she was playing games?" I asked. "Why'd he kill the others?"
"That's why they quit looking at him as the killer. He had no connection to the second guy murdered. Besides, Connora didn't have much magic. A human could have killed her. But Hendrick - "
"Hendrick?"
"The guy with the forest in his backyard. He was one of the Hunters. His death pretty much eliminated all the human suspects. He was pretty tough." There was a crashing sound. "Sorry. Stupid corded phone - I pulled it off the table. Wait a minute. Wait a minute. A walking stick, huh? It just keeps showing up?"
"That's right."
"Can you describe it to me?"
"It's about four feet long, made of some sort of twisty wood with a gray finish. It's got a ring of silver on the bottom and a silver cap with Celtic designs on the top. I can't think why someone would keep bringing it back to me."
"I don't think anyone is bringing it to you. I think it is following you around on its own."
"What?"
"Some of the older things develop a few quirks. Power begets power and all that. Some of the things made when our power was more than it is now, they can become a little unpredictable. Do things they weren't meant to."
"Like follow me around. Do you think it followed O'Donnell to his house?"
"No. Oh, no. I don't think it did that at all. The walking stick was created to be of use to humans who help the fae. It's probably following you around because you are trying to help Dad when everyone else has their fingers up their noses."
"So O'Donnell stole it."
"Mercy..." There was a choking sound. "Damn it. Mercy, I can't tell you. I am forbidden. A geas, Uncle Mike said, for the protection of the fae, of me, and of you."
"It has something to do with your father's situation?" I thought. "With the walking stick? Were other things stolen? Is there anyone who can talk to me? Someone you could call and ask?"
"Look," he said slowly, as if he was waiting for the geas to stop him again, "there's an antiquarian bookstore in the Uptown Mall in Richland. You might go talk to the man who runs it. He might be able to help you find out more about that stick. Make sure you tell him that I sent you to him - but wait until he's alone in the store."
"Thank you."
"No, Mercy, thank you." He paused, and then for a moment sounding a bit like the nine-year-old I'd first met, he said, "I'm scared, Mercy. They mean to let him take the fall, don't they?"
"They were," I said. "But I think it might be too late. The police are not accepting his guilt at face value and we found Zee a terrific lawyer. I'm doing a little nosing about in O'Donnell's other doings."
"Mercy," he said quietly. "Jeez, Mercy, are you setting yourself up against the Gray Lords? You know that's what the blind woman is, right? Sent to make sure they get the outcome they want."
"The fae don't care who did it," I told him. "Once it's been established that it was a fae who killed O'Donnell, they don't care if they get the murderer. They need someone to take the fall quickly and then they can hunt down the real culprit out of sight of the world."
"And even though my father has done everything he can think of to dissuade you, you're not going to back down," he said.
Of course. Of course.
"He's trying to keep me out of it," I whispered.
There was a short pause. "Don't tell me you thought he was really mad at you?"
"He's calling in his loan," I told him as a knot of pain slowly unknotted. Zee knew what the fae would do and he'd been trying to keep me out of danger.
How had he put it? She'd better hope I don't get out. Because if I got him out, the Gray Lords would be unhappy with me.
"Of course he is. My father is brilliant and older than dirt, but he has this unreasoning fear of the Gray Lords. He thinks they can't be stopped. Once he realized how the wind was blowing, he would do his best to keep everyone else out of it."
"Tad, stay at school," I told him. "There's nothing you can do here except get into trouble. The Gray Lords don't have jurisdiction over me."
He snorted. "I'd like to see you tell them that - except that I like you just as you are: alive."
"If you come here, they will kill you - how is that going to help your father? Tear up that ticket and I'll do my best. I'm not alone. Adam knows what's up."
Tad really respected Adam. As I hoped, it was the right touch.
"All right, I'll stay here. For now. Let me see if I can give you a little more help - and how far this damned geas Uncle Mike set on me goes."
There was a long pause as he worked through things.
"Okay. I think I can talk about Nemane."
"Who?"
"Uncle Mike said the Carrion Crow, right? And I assume he wasn't talking about the smallish crow that lives in the British Isles, but the Carrion Crow."
"Yes. The three white feathers on her head seemed to be important."
"It must be Nemane then." There was satisfaction in his voice.
"This is a good thing?"
"Very good," he said. "There are some of the Gray Lords who would just as soon kill everyone until the problems go away. Nemane is different."
"She doesn't like to kill."
Tad sighed. "Sometimes you are so innocent. I don't know of any fae who doesn't enjoy spilling blood at some level - and Nemane was one of the Morrigan, the battle goddesses of the Celts. One of her jobs was delivering the killing blow to the heroes dying in the aftermath of a battle to end their suffering."
"That doesn't sound promising," I muttered.
Tad heard. "The thing about the old warriors is that they have a sense of honor, Mercy. Pointless death or wrongful death is an anathema to them."
"She won't want to kill your father," I said.
He corrected me gently. "She won't want to kill you. I'm afraid that, except to you, my father is an acceptable loss."
"I'll see what I can do to change that."
"Go get that book," he said, then coughed a bit. "Stupid geas." There was real rage in his voice. "If it cost me my father, I'm going to have a talk with Uncle Mike. Get that book, Mercy, and see if you can't find something that will give you some bargaining room."
"You'll stay there?"
"Until Friday. If nothing breaks by then, I'm coming home."
I almost protested, but said good-bye instead. Zee was Tad's father - I was lucky he agreed to wait until Friday.
The Uptown Mall is a conglomeration of buildings cobbled together into a strip mall. The stores range from a doughnut bakery to a thrift store, plus bars, restaurants, and even a pet store. The bookstore wasn't hard to find.
I'd been there a time or two, but since my reading tastes run more to sleazy paperbacks than collectibles, it wasn't one of my regular haunts. I was able to park in front of the store, next to a handicapped space.
I thought for a moment it had already closed. It was after six and the store looked deserted from the outside. But the door opened easily with a jingle of mellow cowbells.
"A minute, a minute," someone called from the back.
"No trouble," I said. I took in a deep breath to see what my nose could tell me, but there were too many smells to separate much out: nothing holds smells like paper. I could detect cigarettes and various pipe tobaccos, and stale perfume.
The man who emerged from the stacks of bookcases was taller than me and somewhere between thirty-five and fifty. He had fine hair that was easing gracefully from gold to gray. His expression was cheerful and shifted smoothly into professional when he saw that I was a stranger.
"What can I help you with?" he asked.
"Tad Adelbertsmiter, a friend of mine, told me you could help me with a problem I have," I told him and showed him the stick I was carrying.
He took a good look at it and paled, losing the amiable expression. "Just a moment," he said. He locked the front door, changing the old-fashioned paper sign to CLOSED and pulling down the shades over the window.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Mercedes Thompson."
He gave me a sharp-eyed look. "You're not fae."
I shook my head. "I'm a VW mechanic."
Comprehension lit his face. "You're Zee's protege?"
"That's right."
"May I see it?" he asked, holding out his hand for the stick.
I didn't give it to him. "Are you fae?"
His expression went blank and cold - which was an answer in itself, wasn't it?
"The fae don't consider me one of them," he said in an abrupt voice. "But my mother's grandfather was. I've just enough fae in me to do a little touch magic."
"Touch magic?"
"You know, I can touch something and have a pretty good idea how old it is, and who it belonged to. That kind of thing."
I held up the staff to him.
He took it and examined it for a long time. At last he shook his head and gave it back. "I've never seen it before - though I've heard of it. One of the fairy treasures."
"If you're a sheep farmer, maybe," I said dryly.
He laughed. "That's the one, all right - though sometimes those old things can do unexpected things. Anyway, it's a magic they can't work anymore, enchanting objects permanently, and they hold those things precious."
"What did Tad think you could tell me about it?"
He shook his head. "If you already know the story about it, I suppose you know as much as I do."
"So what did touching it tell you?"
He laughed. "Not a darn thing. My magic only works on mundane things. I just wanted to hold it for a bit." He paused. "He told you I could find you information on it?" He looked me over keenly. "Now this wouldn't have any bearing on that trouble his father is in, could it? No, of course not." His eyes smiled slyly. "Oh, I expect that I know just exactly what Tad wants me to find for you, clever boy. Come back here with me."
He led me to a small alcove where the books were all in locking barrister's bookcases. "This is where I keep the more valuable stuff - signed books and older oddities." He pulled up a bench and climbed on it to unlock the topmost shelf, which was mostly empty - probably because it was difficult to reach.
He pulled out a book bound in pale leather and embossed in gold. "I don't suppose you have fourteen hundred dollars you'd like to pay for this with?"
I swallowed. "Not at the moment - I might be able to scrape it up in a few days."
He shook his head as he handed the book down to me. "Don't bother. Just take care of it and give it back when you're finished. It's been here for five or six years. I don't expect that I'll have a buyer for it this week."
I took it gingerly, not being used to handling books that were worth more than my car (not that that was saying very much). The title was embossed on front and spine: Magic Made.
"I'm loaning this to you," he said slowly, considering his words carefully, "because it talks a little about that walking stick..." He paused and added in a "pay attention to this part" voice, "And a few other interesting things."
If the walking stick had been stolen, maybe more things had disappeared, too. I clutched the book tighter.
"Zee is a friend of mine." He locked the bookcase again and then got off the bench and put it back where it had been. Then in an apparent non sequitur he said casually, "You know, of course, that there are things that we are forbidden to discuss. But I know that the story of the walking stick is in there. You might start with that story. I believe it is in Chapter Five."
"I understand." He was giving me all the help he could without breaking the rules.
He led the way back through the store. "Take care of that staff."
"I keep trying to give it back," I said.
He turned and walked backward a few steps, his eyes on the staff. "Do you now?" Then he gave a small laugh, shook his head, and continued to the front door. "Those old things sometimes have a mind of their own."
He opened the door for me and I hesitated on the threshold. If he hadn't told me that he was part fae, I'd have thanked him. But acknowledging a debt to a fae could have unexpected consequences. Instead I took out one of the cards that Gabriel had printed up for me and gave it to him. "If you ever have trouble with your car, why don't you stop by? I work mostly on German cars, but I can usually make the others purr pretty well, too."
He smiled. "I might do that. Good luck."
Samuel was gone when I got back, but he'd left a note to tell me he had gone to work - and there was food in the fridge.
I opened it and found a foil-covered glass pan with a couple of enchiladas in it. I ate dinner, fed Medea, then washed my hands and took the book into the living room to read.
I hadn't expected a page that said, "This is who killed O'Donnell," but it might have been nice if each page of the six-hundred-page book hadn't been covered with tiny, handwritten words in old faded ink. At least it was in English.
An hour and a half later I had to stop because my eyes wouldn't focus anymore.
I'd turned to Chapter Five and gotten through maybe ten pages of the impossible text and three stories. The first story had been about the walking stick, a little more complete than the story I'd read off the Internet. It also had a detailed description of the stick. The author was obviously fae, which made it the first book I'd ever knowingly read from a fae viewpoint.
All of Chapter Five seemed to be about things like the walking stick: gifts of the fae. If O'Donnell had stolen the walking stick, maybe he'd stolen other things, too. Maybe the murderer had stolen them in return.
I took the book to the gun safe in my room and locked it in. It wasn't the best hiding place, but a casual thief was a little less likely to run off with it.
I washed dishes and mused about the book. Not so much about the contents, but what Tad had been trying to tell me about it.
The man at the bookstore had told me that the fae treasure things like the walking stick, no matter how useless they are in our modern world.
I could see that. For a fae, having something that held the remnant of magic lost to them was power. And power in the fae world meant safety. If they had a record of all the fairy-magicked items, then the Gray Lords could keep track of them - and apportion them as they chose. But the fae are a secretive people. I just couldn't see them making up a list of their items of power and handing it over.
I grew up in Montana, where an old, unregistered rifle was worth a lot more than a new gun whose ownership could be traced. Not that the gun owners in Montana are planning on committing crimes with their unregistered guns - they just don't like the federal government knowing their every move.
So what if...what if O'Donnell stole several magic items and no one knew what they were, or maybe what all of them were. Then some fae figured out it was O'Donnell. Someone who had a nose like mine - or who saw him, or maybe tracked him back to his house. That fae could have killed O'Donnell to steal for himself the things O'Donnell had taken.
Maybe the murderer had timed it so Zee would be caught, knowing the Gray Lords would be happy to have a suspect wrapped up in a bow.
If I could find the killer and the things O'Donnell had stolen, I could hold those things hostage for Zee's acquittal and safety.
I could see why a fae would want the walking stick, but what about O'Donnell? Maybe he hadn't known exactly what it was? He'd had to have known something about it, or else why take it? Maybe he'd intended to sell it back to the fae. You'd think that anyone who'd been around them for very long would know better than to think you'd survive long selling back stolen items to the fae.
Of course, O'Donnell was dead, wasn't he?
Someone knocked on my door - and I hadn't heard anyone drive up. It might have been one of the werewolves, walking over from Adam's house. I took a deep breath, but the door effectively blocked anything my nose might have told me.
I opened the door and Dr. Altman was standing on the porch. The seeing eye dog was gone - and there was no extra car in the driveway. Maybe she'd flown here.
"You've come for the walking stick?" I asked. "You're welcome to it."
"May I come in?"
I hesitated. I was pretty sure the threshold thing only worked on vampires, but if not...
She smiled tightly and took a step forward until she was standing on the carpet.
"Fine," I said. "Come in." I got the old stick and handed it to her.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked.
I deliberately misunderstood. "Because it's not my stick - and that sheep thing won't do me any good."
She gave me an irritated look. "I don't mean the stick. I mean why are you pushing your nose into fae business? You are undermining my standing with the police - and that may be dangerous for them in the long run. My job is to keep the humans safe. You don't know what is going on and you're going to cause more trouble than you can handle."
I laughed. I couldn't help it. "You and I both know that Zee didn't kill O'Donnell. I just made sure that the police were aware that someone else might be involved. I don't leave my friends out to swing in the wind."
"The Gray Lords will not allow someone like you to know so much about us." The aggressive tension she'd been carrying in her shoulders relaxed and she strode confidently across my living room and sat in Samuel's big, overstuffed chair.
When she spoke again, her voice had a trace of a Celtic lilt. "Zee's a cantankerous bastard, and I love him, too. Moreover, there are not so many of the iron kissed left that we can lightly lose them. At any other time I would be free to do what I could to save him. But when the werewolves announced themselves to the public, they caused a resurgence of fear that we cannot afford to make worse. An open-and-shut case, with the police willing to keep mum about the condition of the murder victim, won't cause too much fuss. Zee understands that. If you know as much as you think you do, you should know that sometimes sacrifices are necessary for the majority to survive."
Zee had offered himself up as a sacrifice. He wanted me to get mad enough I'd leave him to rot because he knew that otherwise I'd never give up, I'd never agree to leave him as a sacrifice no matter what the cost to the fae.
"I came here tonight for Zee," she told me earnestly, her blind eyes staring through me. "Don't make this harder on him than it already is. Don't let this cost you your life, too."
"I know who you are, more or less, Nemane," I told her.
"Then you should know that not many get a warning before I strike."
"I know that you prefer justice to slaughter," I told her.
"I prefer," she said, "that my people survive. If I have to eliminate a few innocents or - stupidly obtuse people - in the meantime, that will not live long on my conscience."
I didn't say anything. I wouldn't give up on Zee, couldn't give up on Zee. If I told her that, she'd kill me right now. I could feel her power gathering around her like a spring thunderstorm. Layer upon layer it built as I stared at her.
I wouldn't lie and the truth would get me killed - and leave no one to help Zee.
Just then a car turned into the gravel of the driveway. Samuel's car.
I knew then what I could do, but would it be enough? What would it cost?
"I know who you are, Nemane," I whispered. "But you don't know who I am."
"You're a walker," she told me. "A shapeshifter. Zee explained it to me. There aren't many of the native preternatural species left - so you belong nowhere. Neither fae nor wolf, vampire or anything else. You are all alone." Her expression didn't change, but I could smell her sorrow, her sympathy. She was alone, too. I don't know if she meant me to understand that, or if she was unaware how much I could glean from her scent. "I don't want to have to kill you, but I will."
"I don't think so." Thank goodness, I thought, thank goodness that I had told everything to Samuel. He wouldn't have to play catch-up. "Zee told you part of who I am." Maybe because he thought it would make her hesitate to kill me, knowing that I was alone. "You're right, I don't know any other people like me, but I'm not alone."
Samuel opened the door on cue. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked tired and grumpy. I could smell the blood and disinfectant on him. He paused with the door open, taking in Dr. Altman's appearance.
"Dr. Altman," I said pleasantly, "may I introduce you to Dr. Samuel Cornick, my roommate. Samuel, I'd like you to meet Dr. Stacy Altman, police consultant, the Carrion Crow. The fae know her as Nemane."
Samuel's eyes narrowed.
"You're a werewolf," said Nemane. "Samuel Cornick." There was a pause. "The Marrok is Bran Cornick."
I kept my gaze on Samuel. "I was just explaining to Dr. Altman why it would be inadvisable for them to eliminate me even though I'm sticking my nose in their business."
Comprehension lit his eyes, which he narrowed at the fae.
"Killing Mercy would be a mistake," he growled. "My da had Mercy raised in our pack and he couldn't love Mercy more if she were his daughter. For her he would declare open war with the fae and damned be the consequences. You can call him and ask, if you doubt my word."
I'd expected Samuel to defend me - and the fae could not afford to hurt the son of the Marrok, not unless the stakes were a lot higher. I'd counted on that to keep Samuel safe or I'd have found some way to keep him out of it. But the Marrok...
I'd always thought I was an annoyance, the only one Bran couldn't count on for instant obedience. He'd been protective, still was - but his protective instinct was one of the things that made him dominant. I'd thought I was just one more person he had to take care of. But it was as impossible to doubt the truth in Samuel's voice as it was to believe that he'd be mistaken about Bran.
I was glad that Samuel was focused on Nemane, who had risen to her feet when Samuel began speaking. While I blinked back stupid tears, she leaned on the walking stick and said, "Is that so?"
"Adam Hauptman, the Columbia Basin Pack's Alpha, has named Mercy his mate," continued Samuel grimly.
Nemane smiled suddenly, the expression flowing across her face, giving it a delicate beauty I hadn't noticed before.
"I like you," she said to me. "You play an underhanded and subtle game - and like Coyote, you shake up the order of the world." She laughed. "Coyote indeed. Good for you. Good for you. I don't know what else you'll run into - but I'll let the Others know what they are dealing with." She tapped the walking stick on the floor twice. Then, almost to herself, she murmured, "Perhaps...perhaps this won't be a disaster after all."
She raised the staff up and touched the top end to her forehead in a salute. Then she took a step forward and disappeared from the reach of any of my senses between one moment and the next.