Patricia Briggs Mercy Thompson: Hopcross Jilly Page 41

  I pulled open the closet door—Stefan’s pillow and blanket were still there from the last time he’d spent the day. “Are you sure the sorcerer is still here? He could have moved on.”

  Stefan looked grim. “Watch the news this morning,” was all he said before stepping into my closet and closing the door.

  The car wreck that had so upset Samuel made the early news. So did the violent deaths of three young men who had gotten in an argument. We were two weeks into a heat wave that showed no signs of letting up anytime soon. There was another Arts festival in Howard Amon Park this weekend.

  I assumed Littleton wouldn’t have anything to do with the Arts festival or the weather (at least I hoped that a sorcerer wasn’t powerful enough to affect the weather), so I paid close attention to the report on the dead men.

  “Drugs are a growing problem,” the newscaster said, as EMTs carried black sheathed bodies out on stretchers behind him. “Especially meth. In the last six months the police have shut down three meth labs in the Tri-City area. According to witnesses, last night’s violence apparently broke out in a meth lab when one man made a comment about another’s girlfriend. All of the men were high, and the argument quickly escalated into violence that left three men dead. Two other men are in police custody in connection to the deaths.”

  On the brighter side, all of Samuel’s patients were apparently still alive, though the baby was in critical condition.

  I turned off the TV, poured a bowl of cereal, then sat down at my computer desk in the spare bedroom while I ate breakfast and searched the Internet.

  The online story had even fewer details than the morning news. On a whim I looked up Littleton’s name and found his website offering online tarot readings for a mere $19.95, all major credit cards accepted. No checks. Not a trusting soul, our sorcerer.

  On impulse, since Elizaveta wouldn’t tell me anything, I Googled for demons and sorcerers and I found myself buried under a morass of contradictory garbage.

  “Any idiot can put up a website,” I growled, shutting down the computer. Medea meowed in sympathy as she licked the last of the milk out of my cereal bowl and then cleaned her face with a paw.

  Dirty bowl in hand, I checked in on Samuel, but his room was empty. When he hadn’t gotten up at Stefan’s arrival, I should have realized he was gone. He didn’t have to work today.

  It worried me, but I wasn’t his mother. He didn’t have to tell me where he was going anymore than I usually told him my plans. So I couldn’t pry, no matter how worried I was. With that thought in mind I wrote him a note.

  S sleeping in my closet.

  I’m at work until ?

  Stop by if you need anything.

  Me

  I left it on his bed then rinsed out my bowl and left it in the dishwasher. I started for the door, but the sight of the phone on the end table by the door stopped me.

  Samuel had been in a bad way last night; I knew his father would want to know about it. I stared at the phone. I wasn’t a snitch. If Samuel wanted the Marrok to know about his problems, he would have stayed in Aspen Creek. Samuel had his own cell phone—he could call Bran if he needed help. Which would be when Hell froze over. Samuel had taught me a lot about independence, which was actually an unusual trait for a werewolf.

  Bran might be able to help. But it wouldn’t be right for me to call him behind Samuel’s back. I hesitated, then remembered that Samuel had called Zee to check up on me.

  I picked up the phone and made the long-distance call to Montana.

  “Yes?”

  Unless he wanted it to, Bran’s voice didn’t sound like it belonged to the most powerful werewolf in North America. It sounded like it belonged to a nice young man. Bran was deceptive that way, all nice and polite. The act fooled a lot of wolves into stupidity. Me, I knew what the act hid.

  “It’s me,” I said. “About Samuel.”

  He waited.

  I started to say something and then guilt stopped my tongue. I knew darned well that what Samuel told me had been in confidence.

  “Mercedes.” This time Bran didn’t sound like a nice young man.

  “He had a little trouble last night,” I said finally. “Do you know what happened to him in Texas?”

  “He won’t talk about Texas.”

  I drummed my fingers against my kitchen counter and then stopped when it reminded me of the vampire’s mistress.

  “You need to ask him about Texas,” I said. Bran didn’t ask people about the past as a rule. It had something to do with being very old, but more to do with being wolf. Wolves are very centered in the here and now.

  “Is he all right?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Are there any bodies?” he said dryly.

  “No. Nothing like that. I shouldn’t have called.”

  “Samuel is my son,” Bran said softly. “You did right to call. Mercy, living in a town with a sorcerer isn’t going to make him the safest roommate if something is upsetting him. You might consider moving in with Adam until they find the demon-rider.”

  “Demon-rider?” I asked, though I was thinking about what he’d said.

  “Sorcerer, as opposed to demon-ridden, as the possessed are. Though there’s not much to choose between them, except that the demon-ridden are easier to spot. They’re in the middle of the carnage instead of on the sidelines.”

  “You mean sorcerers attract violence?” I asked. I should have called Bran for information about the sorcerer earlier.

  “Does sugar water attract hornets? Violence, blood and evil of all kinds. Do you think I had Adam send his wolves out to help the vampires with this hunt because I like vampires?” Actually, I had thought Warren and Ben volunteered. “If there’s a sorcerer about, all the wolves will have to hold tight to their control. So don’t go around pushing buttons, honey. Especially with the younger wolves. You’ll get hurt—or killed.”

  He’d been warning me about “pushing buttons” for as long as I could remember. I don’t know why. I’m not stupid. I’m always careful when I torment werewolves…then I remembered Samuel’s eyes last night.

  “I won’t,” I promised, meaning it.

  But then he said, “Good girl,” and hung up.

  As if he’d never doubted I’d do as he told me. Bran seldom had to worry about people not following his orders—except for me. I guess he’d forgotten about that.

  It was a good thing there weren’t any werewolves around to annoy. I’d like to think I was grown-up enough not to pick a fight just because Bran told me not to, but, still…I wouldn’t have poked at Samuel, not in his current state, but it was probably a good thing Ben wasn’t around.

  Although it was not yet eight in the morning, there was a car waiting for me in the parking lot, a sky blue Miata convertible. Even after our talk last night, Adam had sent Honey out to babysit me again.

  Sometimes you wonder what gets into parents when they name their children. I knew a girl named Helga who grew up to be five feet tall and weighed 95 pounds. Sometimes, though, sometimes, parents get it right.

  Honey had waves of shimmering golden brown hair that fell over her shoulders to her hips. Her face was all soft curves and pouty lips, the kind of face you’d expect to see in a professional cheerleading outfit, though I’ve never seen Honey wear anything that wasn’t classy.

  “I’ve been waiting here for an hour and a half,” she said, sounding miffed as she got out of her car. Today she was wearing creamy linen shorts that would show every smudge of dirt—if she irritated me too much today, I could always get her with my grease gun.

  “It’s Saturday,” I told her amiably, cheered by my thoughts. “I work whatever hours I want to on Saturday. However, I believe in being fair. Since you had to wait for me, why don’t you count that as a good effort and go on home?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Because Adam sent me here to watch you and make sure the boogeyman doesn’t come and eat you. And as much as I’d like to see that happen, I don’t disobey t
he Alpha.”

  There were a lot of reasons I didn’t like Honey.

  The car I was working on needed a new starter. That’s how it all began. Three hours later I was still sorting through unlabeled dusty boxes in the storage shed that predated Gabriel’s reign of order on my parts supply.

  “Somewhere in here there should be three starters that fit a 1987 Fox,” I told Gabriel, wiping my forehead off on my sleeve. I may not mind the heat usually, but the thermometer on the outside of the shed read 107 degrees.

  “If you told me that somewhere in here you had Excalibur and the Holy Grail, I’d believe you.” He grinned at me. He’d only come out after he’d finished the parts supply order so he still had energy to be happy. “Are you sure you don’t want me to run down to the parts store and pick one up?”

  “Fine,” I said dropping a box of miscellaneous bolts on the floor of the shed. I shut the door and locked it, though if I’d left it open, maybe some nice thieves would come and clean it out for me. “Why don’t you pick up some lunch for us while you’re out? There’s a good taco wagon by the car wash over on First.”

  “Honey, too?”

  I glanced over at her car where she was sitting in air-conditioned comfort as she had been since I came out here. I hoped she’d had her oil changed recently—idling for hours could be hard on an engine.

  She saw me looking at her and smiled unpleasantly, still not a hair out of place. I’d been sweating in a dusty and greasy shed all morning and the bruises Littleton left on my face were a lovely shade of yellow today.

  “Yeah,” I said reluctantly. “Take the lunch money out of petty cash. Use the business credit card for the starter.”

  Gabriel bounced back into the office and was on his way out by the time I made it to the door. The air-conditioning felt heavenly and I drank two glasses of water before going back to work. The garage wasn’t as cool as the office, but it was a lot better than outside.

  Honey followed me through the office to the shop and managed to ignore me at the same time. I noticed, with some satisfaction, that soon after she left the office, she broke out in a sweat.

  I’d just had time to get a good start on a brake job when she spoke. “There’s someone in the office.”

  I hadn’t heard anyone, but I hadn’t been listening. I wiped my hands hastily and headed back into the office. I wasn’t officially opened, but a lot of my regular customers know I’m here on Saturdays more often than not.

  As it happened the face was familiar.

  “Mr. Black,” I said. “More car problems?”

  He started to look at me, but his eyes ran into trouble as they hit Honey and refused to move off of her. It was not an uncommon reaction. One more reason to hate Honey—not that I needed another one.

  “Honey, this is Tom Black, a reporter who wants the skinny on what it’s like to date Adam Hauptman, prince of the werewolves.” I said it to get a rise out of her, but Honey disappointed me.

  “Mr. Black,” she said, coolly extending her hand.

  He shook her hand, still staring at her, and then seemed to recover. He cleared his throat. “Prince of the Werewolves? Is he?”

  “She can’t talk to you, Mr. Black,” Honey told him, though she glanced at me to make it clear that the words were directed at me. If she weren’t more careful, she’d find herself outed as a werewolf. If she weren’t dumber than a stump she’d have known I don’t take orders. Not from Bran, not from Adam or Samuel—certainly not from Honey.

  “No one ever told me not to talk to reporters,” I said truthfully. Everyone just assumed I’d be smart enough not to. I was so busy tormenting Honey that I ignored what the implicit promise in my statement would do to the reporter.

  “I will make it worth your while,” Black said in a classic assumption close worthy of a used car salesman. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a roll of bills in a gold clip and set them on the counter. If I hadn’t been so ticked off with Honey—and Adam for sticking me with her—I’d have laughed. But Honey was there, so I licked my lips and looked interested.

  “Well…” I began.

  Honey turned to me, vibrating with rage. “I hope that Adam lets me be the one to break your scrawny neck.”

  Yep. It wouldn’t be long before everyone knew Honey was a werewolf. She was just too easy. I ought to have felt guilty for baiting her.

  Instead, I rolled my eyes at her. “Please.”

  Black ignored Honey. “I want to know what you think about him personally. What is dating a werewolf like?” He gave me a charming smile, though his eyes were still watchful. “The public wants to know.”

  That last statement was too comic-book reporter for me to ignore. It pulled my attention from Honey. I considered Black thoughtfully for a moment. He smelled anxious—and angry. Not the emotions of a reporter about to get the story he wanted.

  I pushed the money roll back at him. “Put that away. I’m pretty upset with Adam right now, so I’d really like to give you an earful.” Especially with Honey watching. “You may not quote me, but the truth is that, for a domineering control freak, he’s pretty damn nice. He’s honest, hard working, and generous. He’s a good father. He’s loyal to his people and he takes care of them. It doesn’t make a very good story, but that’s your problem, not mine. If you are looking for dirt on Adam Hauptman, let me save you a lot of fruitless effort. There is no dirt.”

  I don’t know what kind of a reaction I expected, but it wasn’t the one I got. He ignored the bills on the counter and leaned down over it, invading my space.

  “He’s a good father?” he asked intently. The fake smile vanished from his face. I could smell his anxiety winning over anger.

  I didn’t answer. I wasn’t going to take responsibility for directing the eyes of the press toward Jesse, when Adam had been so careful to keep her out of the way. Besides, the reporter’s strange reactions made me think there was something else going on.

  Black closed his eyes briefly. “Please,” he said. “It’s important.”

  I took a deep breath and could smell the truth of his words. The first complete truth he’d uttered in my presence. This was very important to him.

  I shuffled through possibilities and then asked, “Who do you know that is a werewolf?”

  “Are you a werewolf?” he asked.

  “No.” Not that he could have known if I lied, because he was decidedly human.

  The same thought must have occurred to him. He waved away his last question impatiently. “It doesn’t matter. If you’ll tell me why you say he’s a good father…I’ll tell you about the werewolves I know.”

  Fear. Not the kind of fear you feel when unexpectedly confronted by a monster in the dark, but the slower, stronger fear of something terrible that was going to happen. Fear and pain of an old wound, the kind that Samuel had smelled of last night. I hadn’t been able to help Samuel, not enough.

  I considered Mr. Black who might or might not be a reporter.

  “Your word you won’t use this for a story,” I said, ignoring Honey’s raised eyebrows.

  “You have it.”

  “Are you a reporter?” I asked.

  He nodded his head, a quick up and down followed by a get-on-with-it glare.

  I thought a moment. “Let me give you an example. Adam is supposed to be speaking to government officials about legislation dealing with werewolves. He’s up to his neck in touchy negotiations. When his daughter needed him, he dropped everything and came back here—though he has a number of trusted people he could have called upon to take care of her.”

  “She’s human, though, right? His daughter. I read that they can’t have werewolf children.”

  I frowned at him, trying to see the point of his question. “Does it matter?”

  He rubbed his face tiredly. “I don’t know. Does it? Would he treat her differently if she was a werewolf?”

  “No,” said Honey. Black was being so interesting, I’d forgotten about Honey. “No. Adam takes care
of his own. Wolf, human or whatever.” She looked at me pointedly. “Even when they don’t want him to.”

  It felt weird to exchange a smile with Honey, so I stopped as soon as I could. I think she felt the same way because she turned her head to stare out the window.

  “Or when they don’t belong to him,” I told her. Then I turned to Black. “So tell me about your werewolves.”

  “Three years ago, my daughter survived an attack by a rogue werewolf,” he said, speaking quickly as if that would make it easier for him to handle. “She was ten.”

  “Ten?” whispered Honey. “And she survived?”

  Like Honey, I’d never heard of someone attacked so young surviving—especially not a girl. Females don’t survive the change as well as males. That was why Adam’s pack only had three females and nearly ten times that many males.

  Lost in his tragic story, Black didn’t seem to hear Honey’s comment. “There was another werewolf. He killed her attacker before it could finish her off. He brought her back to us and told us what to do for her. He told me to hide her. He said that a young girl might…might have it rough in a pack.”

  “Yes,” said Honey fervently. At my questioning look she said, “Unmated females belong to the Alpha. Your wolf instincts kick in, so it’s not terrible”—her eyes said differently—“even if you don’t particularly like the Alpha. But a girl so young…I’m not certain that an Alpha would spare her.” She took a deep breath and whispered, almost to herself, “I know some of them would even enjoy it.”

  Black nodded, as if this wasn’t news to him—though it was to me. I thought I knew all there was to know about werewolves.

  “What about when she first changed?” I asked. Humans are not equipped to deal with a new-made werewolf.

  “I built a cage in the basement,” he said. “And every full moon I chain her and lock her in.”

  Every full moon even after three years? I thought. She should have managed to gain control of her wolf by now.

  “Two months ago she broke the chain to her collar.” Black looked ill. “I got a thicker chain, but this time…My wife told me that she gouged a hole in the cement. I was in Portland covering a trade conference. I called the werewolf. The one who saved her. He told me she was getting stronger, that I had to find a pack for her. He told me our local Alpha would be a poor choice. When he found out I was in Portland, he gave me Hauptman’s name—and yours.”