Frost Burned mt-7 Page 24

  I couldn’t help it, I laughed. “Zombie fae. That’s all we needed. I don’t know about you, but I’m going to get a really good night’s sleep with zombie fae running around. I’ll go see if I can track her.”

  “Mercy,” Adam said.

  “I won’t approach,” I promised. “I’ll just see where she’s going and come back and get you. By the time any of you wolves can change, she’ll be long gone.”

  Since young Sandovals were beginning to filter out of the house to see what the excitement was all about, I didn’t strip before changing into my coyote. Adam helped me get the sweatshirt off when my coyote-self got stuck in it—and only then did I remember that I’d shifted right in front of Armstrong and Tony, neither of whom had known what I was.

  One of my foster father Bryan’s favorite sayings had been, “No use crying over spilt milk.” Besides, Tad must have used the distraction to get the fae cuffs out of the trunk because I caught a glimpse of him slipping Peace and Quiet under his shirt, so something good came out of it anyway.

  I put my nose down and was off and running. Asil was right—she’d begun to rot, and she left a very clear trail.

  Adam ran beside me in his human form. Apparently he didn’t want me out zombie hunting on my own. Coyotes run a great deal faster than people can, and I run faster than most coyotes. Werewolves are good runners, but even a werewolf can run only so fast in their human form—four-footed travel is a lot quicker than two. He was keeping up with me, and moving faster than any human could have—and maybe I wasn’t running at my top speed. Not even close, really.

  Having Adam beside me if I had to confront a zombie fae assassin was worth slowing down for.

  10

  I thought we were going to catch her. It hadn’t been five minutes since Sofia had broken into the meeting—and how fast could a zombie fae assassin run?

  But when we got out to Bombing Range Road, the nearest main thoroughfare (so named because the area had been a bombing range back in WWII), the trail disappeared at the edge of the road. It was full dark, though it was only 6:00 P.M., but dark doesn’t bother me much. I had a clear view in either direction for several miles, and there was no dead woman running along the side of the road. There were, however, a number of cars traveling both directions.

  “She got into a car,” Adam said, trying not to appear winded, as I cast back and forth with my nose to the ground. “Someone picked her up—or she hitched a ride.”

  Disturbing to speculate about either way, I thought, but there was nothing we could do about it now. “Disturbing” was a good word. Of all the things that had happened over the past few days, a dead fae getting up and running off might just be the most disturbing.

  Still—a zombie. Maybe it would intrigue Marsilia enough she’d forget about her car. Not likely, but maybe. I wasn’t sure I should feel responsible for the damage to the trunk. How could I have been expected to know that the dead fae would break out on her own?

  Adam stared down the road. “If you hadn’t slowed down for me, you might have caught her.”

  Maybe I would have—and maybe that wouldn’t have been a good thing. Warren’s truck pulled up, and Warren leaned over and opened the passenger door.

  “No luck?” Warren asked, as we hopped in. I took the middle seat.

  “No. Looks like she got in a car. Could have gone either way.”

  Warren turned the truck around and headed back before he said anything. “That’s disturbing,” he said.

  Zombies or not, the press needed to be appeased.

  Tony had checked in with his boss and given him the official story that Adam and Armstrong had come up with—which was basically to leave out Cantrip’s involvement completely. The conveniently out-of-sight anonymous mercenaries took the majority of the blame. They had been hired to force the werewolves to act in violence and attack Senator Campbell, to get rid of the senator and to make the werewolves appear to be monsters.

  Adam didn’t look like a monster. He looked like a handsome, charismatic man. He was very good on camera.

  The person behind the plot apparently panicked when some of his mercenaries were captured while holding Kyle Brooks prisoner. He had them killed to keep them from talking.

  Armstrong had done some uncleaning to reveal the deaths of the men caught kidnapping Kyle because it was now a useful part of the story.

  When they heard about the killings, the other mercenaries left, burning the winery and letting Adam and the pack break free. Officials were trying to find the mercenaries (with an implied fat chance) and the man behind the plot (also fat chance). And hopefully, everyone would leave satisfied with nothing but the truth—if not quite the whole truth.

  So Adam, Tony, Armstrong, Kyle, and Warren headed for Kyle’s office in Kennewick by way of Adam’s house so he could dress appropriately for a press conference, leaving the rest of us to hold down the fort. The good news was that between the runaway dead woman and the upcoming press conference, no one had said anything to me about the fact that I’d changed into a coyote. Maybe they all assumed I was a half-blood fae like Tad.

  When Ben came up to tell me that there was a messenger from Marsilia for me at the front door, I was in one of the upstairs bedrooms reading James and the Giant Peach to the youngest three Sandovals. Kyle’s stash of emergency family-in-need supplies included a big box of books designed to appeal to a wide range of age groups.

  “It’s just getting to the good part,” said Sofia. “We’re almost to the giant bugs.”

  “Can you keep reading?” I asked Sylvia.

  “Who is Marsilia?” she asked, taking the book from me.

  “The woman who owns the car I’ve been driving around,” I told her.

  She winced—she’d seen the car.

  “Is that the vampire, Mercy?” asked Sissy, who was nearly seven going on thirty.

  “Vampires?” Sylvia asked. “There are vampires, too?” And then she said, “You stole a vampire’s car and trashed it?”

  I winced, too. “Officially, there are no vampires. If you don’t believe in them, they will leave you alone. So it’s best if you don’t believe in them.”

  Maia nodded solemnly. “My best friend Penny asked me if there were vampires, and I told her, no. I did tell her I rode a werewolf, and her mama told me that lying wasn’t good. I wasn’t lying that time, but sometimes lying is good, right? Mercy, will you come to my house when they come over again and tell them I’m not lying?”

  Maia was either going to grow up to rule the world or loose a planetwide plague upon the land. Maybe both. She had started kindergarten this year, or should have anyway, so we had a little time before we had to look for a place to hide from her.

  “You stole a vampire’s car?” Sylvia said again.

  “Stole is a strong word,” I told Sylvia. “It was at my shop for an oil change when trouble hit, and I needed a car that no one could track. It’ll be okay, trust me—as long as you don’t talk about vampires. They take their secrecy very seriously.”

  “Mercy,” said Maia.

  “Okay,” Sylvia said. “I’ll make sure the children understand.”

  “Mercy.” Maia’s eyebrows lowered, and her voice rose. “You need to tell Penny’s mama so she won’t think I’m a liar.”

  “I will speak to Penny’s mama,” said Sylvia. “Now hush so I can read about big bugs and rotten fruit.”

  They hushed.

  Ben followed me down the stairs. Asil and Honey, in her wolf form, were waiting at the base of the stairs. Ben must have told them before he’d gone upstairs to get me. That was okay, it saved me time.

  I pointed to Honey, and said, “Stay out of sight, please. Too many guards says I’m scared of her—which I am—but I don’t have to advertise that. It would reflect badly on the pack. Ben and Asil can come to the door with me, because no guards says I don’t respect her.” Which was also true but not useful.

  I patted the lamb necklace around my neck to make sure it was still there.
Objects of faith worked against vampires, and for me the lamb worked as well as a cross. Adam had given me a gold-with-emerald-eyes replacement for my silver lamb because wearing silver is problematical when you are the mate of a werewolf. It was just the right size to stay around my neck when I changed, and it was sturdy enough to stay on when I ran. On the same chain I wore one of Adam’s army dog tags. Wedding rings are dangerous for a mechanic. I took a breath and centered myself as if I were about to enter a match at a dojo.

  The man waiting on the porch step was a complete stranger, though my nose told me he was a vampire. I didn’t know all of Marsilia’s vampires by name, but there weren’t that many, and most of them I knew by sight.

  Marsilia was low on powerful vampires. Maybe she’d been recruiting. Though I had no way of telling which vampires were more or less powerful than others, this one did not seem like a new vampire. They had less control of themselves.

  He was Asian—Chinese, if I wasn’t mistaken—with a lean build. He wore black jeans and a gold silk shirt with a mandarin collar. With the porch light shining directly on him, I could see that it was embroidered with dragons in a gold just slightly darker than the cloth of his shirt. The temperature had fallen with the sun, and if he’d been human, he’d have been shivering in the cold.

  He’d been changed young—not as young as Wulfe, who still looked like a half-grown teenager, and had since the Middle Ages. But if the vampire on Kyle’s porch had been over twenty when he’d been turned, it hadn’t been by much.

  He bowed his head in greeting—the kind of bow I made before beginning a karate match, with head up and eyes on your opponent rather than the way some of the older European vampires and werewolves do it. I returned his bow the same way he gave it.

  “I am Thomas Hao, Ms. Hauptman,” he said without inflection of accent or emotion. “It is my great pleasure to issue you and your mate an invitation to meet with Marsilia, Mistress of the Tri-Cities’ seethe. You may, of course, refuse. I am asked also to inform you that if you come tonight, certain matters may be quickly resolved. She has some information regarding the recent regrettable incidents that she believes would be interesting to you.”

  “Oh, that’s too easy,” said Ben, looking at me. “What does she want?” He spoke quietly, and both he and Asil had stayed a step farther back in the foyer than I was, so Hao didn’t have a clear view of them. That didn’t mean he couldn’t hear them clearly.

  “Do the wolves speak for you, mate of the Alpha of the Columbia Basin Pack?” Hao asked, his voice exquisitely polite. No, this was not a new vampire.

  “I agree with Ben,” I said half-apologetically. “I’ve all but totaled Marsilia’s new, very expensive car, and she’s just going to forget about it and give me information to top it off? If that’s so, why not just a phone call?”

  Hao studied me, then looked over his shoulder and took a step back to stare at the Mercedes. He stood there motionless for a few seconds, and when he turned back to me, I was sure I saw amusement on his face, though there was not even a hint of it around his mouth.

  “Ah. I do not believe she is aware that the car had been damaged, Ms. Hauptman.” Yes, that was amusement.

  I folded my arms; last night I’d have jumped at the chance. Having Marsilia invite me would have given me a slight advantage over inviting myself, as I had planned. But with Adam and the pack back safely, we didn’t need the vampires anymore. “I think I’ll play it prudent. Tell Marsilia that I’ll have the car repaired to her satisfaction and give her a few months to get over it before I visit.”

  Hao looked at his feet and pursed his lips. “Marsilia is worried, Ms. Hauptman. We know about the abduction of the pack. The one behind the incident is a danger to everyone in the Tri-Cities and not just to the Columbia Basin Pack. At a different time, the damage to the car would, I am certain, have just the effect you are concerned about. But Marsilia is old and very, very wealthy. A car is as nothing given what she sees coming.”

  Beside me, Asil came subtly alert, and I felt it myself. This was a twist I hadn’t seen.

  “Why doesn’t she just use the phone?” I asked.

  “Or let you tell us right now,” murmured Asil.

  “Because one may be overheard on the phone, and this is dangerous information,” said Hao, choosing to ignore Asil, “information that may prevent more deaths in your pack.” He paused, and again I got the impression he was amused, but no sign of it crossed his face. “Also, because Marsilia dislikes using phones or”—he glanced at Asil—“surrogates when she can make you dance to her bidding.”

  That sounded like Marsilia, all right.

  Vampires do not breathe except to talk, they do not perspire, and their hearts race only with stolen blood. So it’s very difficult to tell when they are lying and when they are telling the truth. I cannot reliably do it.

  “Can it wait until tomorrow night?” I asked.

  “I believe that you would regret it if you waited,” Hao said. It struck me as odd that he ventured an opinion. I might not be able to tell how old or powerful a vampire was, but I could read subtle cues. This vampire was not anyone’s minion. He caught the mistake himself and was more careful as he continued to speak. “I was to tell you that you should bring Adam and however many of the pack you choose to.”

  Adam’s welcome put a different slant on things. For one thing, it made it less likely that she was setting me up—unless she knew Adam wasn’t here right now. It also meant that she probably had a use for the whole pack.

  “She wants the wolves to deal with this person, so she doesn’t have to,” I said.

  “No,” he answered. “No. She will act against him, but matters are more likely to be successful if she and the pack can coordinate their efforts.”

  She was worried, I thought, and so was Thomas Hao.

  “Adam is not here at the moment,” I told him. And he wouldn’t be for hours.

  Hao’s mouth tightened. “That is regrettable.”

  I was having to rely on body language instead of my nose, but either he was very good at lying with his body (and very few people, vampire or not, are aware enough to do that) or he was dismayed that Adam would not be coming.

  “It would still be a good idea,” Hao told me. “If you came, Mercy who is a walker.”

  A walker is the name given to those of us who are descendants of Coyote, Raven, Hawk, or any of the other archetypes who once walked this land. Vampires do not like us. First, I see ghosts, and ghosts congregate around the daytime resting places of vampires, betraying the presence of the monster who killed them. I am also resistant to a lot of magic—and almost entirely resistant to the standard magic of vampires. When vampires came to the New World, they were met by my kind and nearly destroyed. I think that if disease and war had not decimated the Indians—and thus the walkers—there would be no vampires in the Americas.

  Of course, being resistant to vampire magic didn’t mean I was a match for a vampire in any way, shape, or form.

  This vampire stared at me with black eyes and waited. Marsilia wasn’t going to hurt me—she couldn’t afford to because the werewolves would destroy her if she did. She was just playing games. If I didn’t accept her invitation, by werewolf rules, which weren’t so different, really, from vampire rules because both are predators, it would be a coup for Marsilia and a black eye of cowardice for the pack.

  Being seen as strong and scary kept the monsters at bay. If I showed the world that I was afraid of Marsilia, it made those wolves who belonged to the pack that much less safe.

  I could insist on waiting until Adam got back. That might make me look weak, but it wouldn’t reflect, much, on the pack. Adam had had less than an hour’s worth of sleep since he escaped, and I was pretty sure he hadn’t slept otherwise since before the pack was taken.

  I was tired, too, and wanted nothing more than to go back upstairs and read about giant squishy fruit with the Sandoval girls. We had lost Peter, and I didn’t want to lose anyone else, no matter
how much the vampires scared me. Waiting for Adam, when I knew Marsilia wouldn’t hurt me, really was cowardice. Adam was exhausted, and this was something I could do for him and for the pack.

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll come. I have matters to arrange first if I’m going to go. I can find my way to the seethe.”

  Hao shook his head. “The Mistress asked me to make sure that you made it there safely. I will wait here.”

  “It might take me a while,” I warned him.

  He bowed again. “I am used to waiting.”

  “Your decision,” I told him, then closed the door. I looked at the werewolves and waited for their reactions.

  Asil gave Dick and Jane—the nude statues that adorned Kyle’s foyer—an amused look.

  “I like the hat,” he said.

  “Which one?” I asked.

  Jane had a new hat this month, a straw cowboy hat with an ostrich feather pointing jauntily up, just like the first ten inches or so of the ski hat Dick wore somewhere south of his belly button. The long tail of Dick’s hat drooped down until its pompom end hung just below Dick’s knees.

  Asil’s amusement turned into a real smile, an open and beautiful smile that made him look twenty-five instead of how-many-hundreds of years old.

  “Kyle has Christmas wear for them,” I told him. “He usually dresses them up the day after Thanksgiving. But he’s been a little too busy to get them rigged out.”

  “You aren’t really going to go, right?” asked Ben.

  “Marsilia isn’t going to hurt me,” I told him.

  He rolled his eyes. “Have you seen what you did to her car?”

  “Peter died,” I told Ben. “Go find Tad, and tell him that you two will be watching this house tonight.”

  His chin rose.

  “I’m not taking Tad into the vampire den,” I told him. “And Honey … Honey should not be left guarding the kids, not tonight.” Not when Peter had just died and she might lose control of her wolf.

  Honey padded into the foyer, graceful, golden, and beautiful. She snarled at me.

  “I am the boss of you,” I told her as I headed for the stairs. “You’re coming with Asil and me, so put a sock in it.”