Patricia Briggs Mercy Thompson: Hopcross Jilly Read online

  Samuel’s eyes were closed, his head thrown back to give Marsilia better access. So scared I could barely breathe, I pressed the silver lamb against Marsilia’s forehead and said a hurried, but fervent prayer, that the lamb would work the same way a cross did.

  The little figure pressed into her forehead, but Marsilia, as absorbed in the feeding as Samuel, paid me no mind. Then several things happened almost at the same time—only afterward did I put them in their probable order.

  The sheep under my hand blazed up with the eerie blue flame of a well-adjusted Bunsen burner. Marsilia was suddenly crouched on the back of the couch, as far from my necklace—and Samuel—as she could get. She shrieked, a high-pitched noise just barely within the range of my hearing, and made a gesture with her hands.

  Everyone dropped to the floor, Samuel, Stefan, and Marsilia’s guards, leaving me standing, my little sheep aglow like an absurdly small blue neon sign, facing the Mistress of the nest. I thought at first that the others had fallen voluntarily, reacting to some secret sign I hadn’t seen. But Marsilia jerked her chin, a quick, inhuman motion, and screamed again. The bodies on the floor twisted a little, as if something hurt, but they could not move to alleviate it—and I finally realized that it was magic as well as fear that was stealing my breath. Marsilia was doing something to hurt them all.

  “Stop it,” I said, with all the authority I could muster. My voice came out thin and shaky. Not impressive.

  I cleared my throat and tried again. Surely if I could face down Bran after the time I ran his Porsche into a tree without either a driver’s license or permission to drive it, I could steady my voice so it didn’t squeak. “Enough. No one has harmed you.”

  “No harm?” she hissed, tossing her head so her mane of hair fell away from her forehead to reveal a nasty-looking burn vaguely in the shape of my necklace.

  “You were feeding upon Samuel without his permission,” I said firmly, as if I knew that her action had given me the right to defend him—I wasn’t certain it was true, but bluffing worked with the wolves. And vampires seemed to be big on manners.

  She raised her chin but didn’t reply. She took a deep breath, and I realized she hadn’t been breathing since I’d driven her off Samuel. Her eyelids fluttered as she took in the smell of the room—I could smell it, too: fear, pain, blood, and something sweet and compelling brushed with the scents of those present.

  “It has been a long time since I had such presented for me,” she said. “He was bleeding and half-caught already.” Her tone wasn’t apologetic, but I’d settle for mere explanations if it only got us all out of here alive.

  Stefan managed to get out a single word. “Trap.”

  She drew a quick circle in the air and dropped her hand out and away. In response, all the men on the floor went limp. Samuel, I noticed with relief, was still breathing.

  “Explain, Stefan,” she said, and I took a deep, relieved breath at having her attention somewhere else.

  “A trap for you, Mistress,” Stefan said, his voice hoarse like a man who has been screaming. “Bleed the wolf and present him to you as if he were gift-wrapped. They were good. I didn’t notice that he was under thrall until I saw the blood.”

  “You may be right,” she said. She gave me an irritated look. “Put that thing away, please. You don’t need it now.”

  “It’s all right, Mercy,” said Stefan, his voice still whisper-thin. He hadn’t raised himself off the floor, but lay with his eyes closed, as if he’d come to the end of his strength.

  I hid the necklace again, and the room looked even dimmer in the remaining, more mundane, lighting.

  “Tell me about this trap, Stefano,” she said briskly as she climbed from the back of the couch and into her seat. If her eyes dwelled a moment too long upon Samuel, who was still limp, at least their inhuman flames had died to flickers.

  The vampires were all showing signs of life, but only Stefan was moving. He groaned as he sat up and rubbed his forehead as if it hurt. His movements were jerky, inhuman.

  “Lilly was sent to us without her attendant. I thought she was sent to create an incident. If Samuel had killed her, it would be war between our seethe and the Marrok. But perhaps it was more than that. I thought we got him away before she marked him, but looking back, I believe he was in thrall from that moment on. They sent him down here bleeding like a rare steak and presented him to you. If you had killed Samuel—and I think it likely, half-starved as you’ve been keeping yourself—” I could hear the disapproval in his voice. “If you had killed Samuel . . .” He let his words trail off.

  She licked her lips as if there was still a trace of blood left. I saw a flash of regret on her face as she stared at Samuel, as if she wished no one had stopped her.

  “If I had killed him, there would have been war.” She looked away from Samuel and met my eyes—but nothing happened. She frowned at me, but seemed less surprised than I was. But maybe the little sheep who must have protected me from her magic was still at work. She tapped her long, manicured nails together, looking as if she were considering something.

  “We would be badly outnumbered,” Stefan said, when she said no more. He gathered himself visibly before getting to his feet. “If war broke out, we would be forced to leave this country.”

  She stilled, as if his words were of great significance. “To leave this cursed desert and return home”—she closed her eyes—“now that is a prize that many here might risk my wrath to gain.”

  The other vampires were stirring by then. I moved between them and Samuel, trusting Stefan to keep his mistress off us. As they rose, they seemed to be more focused on Samuel than on Marsilia. Like most everyone else tonight, they ignored me as they slowly began closing in.

  “Wake up, Sam.” I nudged him with the heel of my foot.

  Stefan said something in liquid tones with the unmistakable cadence of Italian. Like they were in a peculiar game of “Swing the Statue,” the other vampires simply stopped moving, though it left some of them in awkward poses.

  “What’s wrong with Samuel?”

  I asked the question of Stefan, but it was Marsilia who answered. “He is bespelled by my bite,” she said. “Some do die of the Kiss, but it will probably do no permanent harm to a werewolf. If I were less, then he would not have succumbed.” She sounded pleased.

  “Then how did Lilly manage?” asked Stefan. “It wasn’t a full Kiss, but he was in thrall.”

  She crouched by my feet and touched Samuel’s neck. I didn’t like the way she just kept appearing places, especially when she did it near Samuel who couldn’t defend himself.

  “That is a good question,” she murmured. “He is a dominant, this son of Bran?”

  “Yes,” I answered. I knew that humans had trouble telling a dominant from a submissive wolf. I hadn’t thought the same would be true of a vampire.

  “Then Lilly could not enthrall him. But . . . perhaps she could have been loaned the power.” She brought her fingers to her lips and licked Samuel’s blood off them. Her eyes were glowing again.

  I reached into my shirt and started to draw out the sheep, but a pale hand wrapped around my wrist and jerked me against a body, all cold bone and sinew.

  By the time I realized I’d been grabbed, I’d already thrown him. If I’d had time to think, I’d never have tried to throw a vampire the way I would a human, but it was a reflexive thing born of hundreds of hours in the dojo.

  He landed right on top of Samuel because Marsilia had gotten out of the way. The creature twisted, and I thought he was coming at me again, but he was after Samuel instead. He struck at Samuel’s bleeding neck.

  Marsilia jerked her vampire off, leaving torn skin where his fangs had already locked onto flesh. Without visible effort or emotion, she tossed him into the nearest wall. Plaster flew, but he bounced to his feet with a snarl that died as soon as he saw who had thrown him the second time.

  “Out, my dears.” I noticed that the burn mark on her forehead was healing. “Out b
efore we lose all honor, overcome by such sweetness as is laid out here before us like a tempting feast.”

  I’d gotten my sheep out finally, but before it started glowing we were alone, Stefan, Samuel, and I.

  chapter 11

  There was an elevator hidden behind one of the doors in the corridor. Stefan leaned wearily against the wall; he carried Samuel, who was bloodstained, limp, but still breathing.

  “You’re sure he’s all right?” I asked, not for the first time.

  “He’ll not die of it,” he said, which was not quite the same thing.

  The elevator came to a smooth stop, and the doors slid open to reveal a kitchen. Bright lights gleamed on bird’s-eye maple cabinetry and creamy stone countertops. There were no windows, but a clever use of mirrors and backlit stained-glass panels made up for the lack. Next to the refrigerator was something I was a lot more interested in, an outside door. I didn’t wait for Stefan, but opened the door and ran out to the manicured lawn. As I sucked in a shaky breath of air that smelled of dust and exhaust rather than vampires, I realized that I’d come out of the main house.

  “The houses are connected by the tunnels,” I said, as Stefan came down the back steps.

  “There’s no time to talk,” grunted Stefan.

  I looked at him and saw that he was struggling with Samuel’s weight.

  “I thought vampires were strong enough to upend trees,” I said.

  “Not after Marsilia gets finished with them,” said Stefan. He shifted Samuel, trying to get a better grip.

  “Why not a fireman’s carry?” I asked.

  “Because I don’t want to be carrying him that way when he starts waking up—he’s not going to be a happy wolf. This way I can put him down and get out of the way if I need to.”

  “I’ll carry him,” said a stranger’s voice.

  Stefan turned with a snarl and, for the first time ever, I saw his fangs, white and sharp in the night.

  Another vampire stood near us, wearing jeans and one of those white, piratey shirts, open to the waist, that you see at Renaissance Fairs and Errol Flynn movies. It didn’t look good on him. His shoulders were too narrow, and his flat stomach just looked cadaverous rather than sexy—or maybe I’d just had enough of vampires that night.

  “Peace, Stefan.” The vampire held up a hand. “Marsilia thought you could use some help.”

  “You mean she didn’t want Dr. Cornick to be here when he came out of the Kiss’s hold.” Stefan relaxed a little. “All right.”

  They transferred Samuel from one vampire to the other—the newcomer apparently wasn’t suffering from Stefan’s worries because he lifted the werewolf over his shoulder.

  The night was quiet, but there was a waiting quality to it that I recognized from the hunt. Someone was watching us—big surprise. None of us talked as we made our way through the garden and out the main gates, which someone had propped open while we had been inside.

  I slid the door of the van open and pointed to the long bench seat. The pirate-clad vampire pulled Samuel off his shoulder and put him on the far backseat. I decided that much strength was creepier in vampires than it was in werewolves—at least the wolves looked like people who should be strong.

  With Samuel safely stowed, the vampire turned directly to me.

  “Mercedes Thompson,” he said. “My mistress thanks you for your visit, which has allowed us to discover problems that otherwise might have gone unnoticed. She also thanks you for allowing her to keep her honor and that of her vassal, Stefano Uccello.” He saw the skepticism on my face and smiled. “She said that she’d never been repulsed by a sheep before. Crosses, scriptures, and holy water, but not a sheep.”

  “The lamb of God,” explained Stefan. He was looking almost like his usual self, with one elbow propped against the door of the van. “I didn’t think it would work either. Otherwise, of course, I would have told her to give it to Estelle.”

  “Of course.” The other vampire gave me another quick, charming smile. “In any case, I am to extend Signora Marsilia’s apologies for any discomfort you or yours experienced this night and we hope that you will extend our apologies also to Dr. Cornick. Please explain that the Mistress intended him no hurt, but that her recent indisposition has allowed some of her people to become . . . obstreperous. They will be punished.”

  “Tell the Signora that I find her apologies gracious and that I, too, regret any trouble she suffered this night,” I lied. But I must have done it well, because Stefan gave me a half nod of approval.

  The vampire bowed, then, holding it gingerly by its chain, handed me Samuel’s cross and a small sheet of paper, the thick handmade kind. It smelled of the same herbs that scented the house and upon it, written in a flourishing hand that had learned to write with a quill, was a Kennewick address.

  “She had intended to give this to you herself, but has asked me to tell you more. The wolves paid us just under ten thousand dollars for the rights to live at this address for two months.”

  Stefan straightened. “That’s too much. Why did she charge them so much?”

  “She didn’t. They paid us without any negotiation. I expressed my concerns about the oddity of the transaction to the Signora, but . . .” He glanced at Stefan and shrugged.

  “Marsilia has not been herself since she was exiled here from Milan,” Stefan told me. He looked at the other vampire, and said, “It is a good thing that happened tonight. To see our Mistress potent with her hunger again is wondrous, Andre.”

  “Wondrous” was not the word I’d have chosen.

  “I hope so,” said the other harshly. “But she has been asleep for two centuries. Who knows what will happen when the Mistress awakens? You may have outsmarted yourself this time.”

  “It was not I,” murmured Stefan. “Someone was trying to stir up trouble again. Our Mistress has said I might investigate.”

  The two vampires stared at each other, neither of them breathing.

  At last Stefan said, “Whatever their purpose, they have succeeded in awakening Her at last. If they had not put my guests in danger, I would not willingly hunt them.”

  Vampire politics, I thought. Humans, werewolves, or, apparently, vampires, it doesn’t matter; get more than three of them together and the jockeying for power begins.

  I understood some of it. The older wolves pull away from the world as it changes until some of them live like hermits in their caves, only coming out to feed and eventually even losing interest in that. It sounded as if Marsilia suffered from the same malady. Evidently some of the vampires were happy with their Mistress’s neglect while Stefan was not. Andre sounded as if he didn’t know which side he was on. I was on whichever side meant that they left me alone.

  “The Mistress told me to give you something, too.” Andre told Stefan.

  There was a sound, like the crack of a bullet, and Stefan staggered back against the van, one hand over his face. It wasn’t until the faint blush of a handprint appeared on Stefan’s cheek that I realized what had happened.

  “A foretaste,” Andre told him. “Today she is busy, but tomorrow you will report to her at dusk. You should have told her what Mercedes Thompson was when you first knew. You should have warned the Mistress, not let her find out when the walker stood against her magic. You should not have brought her here.”

  “She brought no stake or holy water.” Stefan’s voice gave no indication that the blow bothered him. “She is no danger to us—she barely understands what she is, and there is no one to teach her. She does not hunt vampires, nor attack those who leave her in peace.”

  Andre jerked his head around faster than anyone should and looked at me. “Is that true, Mercedes Thompson? You do not hunt those who merely frighten you?”

  I was tired, worried about Samuel, and somewhat surprised to have survived my encounter with Signora Marsilia and her people.

  “I don’t hunt anything except the occasional rabbit, mouse, or pheasant,” I said. “Until this week, that was it for me.�
� If I hadn’t been so tired, I’d never have uttered that last sentence.

  “What about this week?” It was Stefan who asked.

  “I killed two werewolves.”

  “You killed two werewolves?” Andre gave me a look that was hardly flattering. “I suppose you were defending yourself and just happened to have a gun at hand?”

  I shook my head. “One of them was moonstruck—he’d have killed anyone near him. I tore his throat out and he bled to death. The other one I shot before he could kill the Alpha.”

  “Tore his throat out?” murmured Stefan, while Andre clearly didn’t know whether to believe me or not.

  “I was coyote, and trying to get his attention so that he’d chase me.”

  Stefan frowned at me. “Werewolves are fast.”

  “I know that,” I said irritably. “I’m faster.” I thought about the wild chase with Bran’s mate, and added, “Most of the time anyway. I didn’t intend to kill—”

  Someone screamed, and I quit talking. We waited, but there were no more sounds.

  “I had better attend the Signora,” said Andre, and was gone, just gone.

  “I’ll drive,” Stefan told me. “You’ll need to ride in the back with Dr. Cornick so he has someone he trusts with him when he wakes up.”

  I gave him the keys and hopped in the back.

  “What’s going to happen when he wakes up?” I asked as I settled onto the backseat, lifting Samuel’s head so I could scoot underneath it and sit down. My hands smoothed over his hair and slid over his neck. The marks of the vampires were already scabbed over, rough under my light touch.

  “Maybe nothing will happen,” Stefan said, getting in the driver’s seat and starting the van. “But sometimes they don’t react well to being Kissed. Signora Marsilia used to prefer wolves to more mundane prey—that’s why she lost her place in Italy and was sent here.”