"You are such an innocent," he said in a low angry purr. "I learned a long time ago that God is a myth. I prayed every hour for six months in a stinking foreign swamp before I opened my eyes—and a crazy werewolf finished teaching me that there is no God." His eyes lightened from warm brown to cool yellow as he spoke. "I don't know. Maybe there is. If so, He's a sadist who watches His children shoot at each other and blow themselves up without doing something."
He was pretty wound up because he wasn't even making sense—and Adam usually made sense even when he was shouting at the top of his lungs. He knew it too, because he turned abruptly and strode over to the big picture window that looked out over the Columbia.
The river was nearly a mile wide just here. Sometimes, when it was stormy, the water could appear nearly black, but today the sun turned it a glittery, bright blue.
"You've been avoiding me," he said, sounding calmer.
The other window looked out over my place. I was gratified to see that the partially dissected Rabbit was framed in the center of his view.
"Mercy."
I just kept looking out the window. Lying would be pointless and telling the truth would lead to the next question, which I didn't want to answer.
"Why?" He asked it anyway.
I glanced over my shoulder, but he was still looking out the other window. I turned around and hitched a hip on the window sill. He knew why. I'd seen it in his eyes when I walked away from the garage. And if he didn't know… well, I wasn't going to explain it to him.
"I don't know," I said finally.
He spun around and looked at me, as if spotting unexpected prey, his eyes still hunter's yellow. I'd been wrong. Lying was worse than pointless.
"Yes, you do," he said. "Why?"
I rubbed my face. "Look, I'm just not up to your fighting weight tonight. Can it wait until Warren is out of danger?"
He watched me out of narrowed amber eyes, but at least he didn't prod any more.
Desperate to change the subject, I said, "Did the reporter get in touch with you? The one with the daughter."
He closed his eyes and took a deep, lingering breath. When he opened his eyes again they were the color of a good chocolate bar. "Yes, and thank you for dropping that one on me without warning. He thought you had already called me: it took us both a while to realize I hadn't a clue what he was talking about."
"So are they coming here?"
Adam waved his hand toward Warren's room, "When there is something that can do that to one of my wolves here? They were supposed to come here. I'll have to call him and tell him it's not advisable. I don't know who to send them to, though. There's not an Alpha I know that I'd trust to watch over my daughter—and his is even younger than Jesse."
"Send him to Bran," I suggested. "Bran said he's raised a few strays in his time."
Adam gave me an assessing look. "You'd trust the Marrok with a child?"
"He didn't hurt me," I said. "And a lot of Alphas would have."
Adam grinned suddenly. "And that's saying something. Did you really run his Lamborghini into a tree?"
"That's not what I meant," I said hotly. "A lot of Alphas would have killed a coyote pup thrust upon them."
I strode across the room to the door. I stopped there.
"It was a Porsche," I said with dignity. "And the road was covered with ice. If it was Samuel who told you about it, I hope he told you he was the one who egged me into taking the car out in the first place. I'm going back to see how Warren is."
Adam was laughing quietly as I shut the door behind me.
I drove home alone a few hours later. Samuel was staying all night to make sure nothing went wrong—at least nothing more wrong than it already had. Kyle was staying as well: I was pretty sure it would have taken more than a pack of werewolves to get him out of that room.
There was nothing I could do for Warren, or for Stefan. Or Ben. Why couldn't the people I cared about just need someone to fix their cars? I could do that. And when had I started worrying about Ben? He was a rat bastard.
But the sick feeling in my stomach was partly on his account, too. Damn it. Damn it all.
There were two phone messages waiting for me when I got home. One from my mother and the other from Gabriel. I returned Gabriel's call and told him that Warren had been badly hurt, but should be fine. My mother I couldn't face. Not without crying, and I didn't intend to cry until I found out for certain what had happened.
I ate ramen noodles for dinner and fed most of it to Medea who purred as she licked the broth. I cleaned up my meal, then vacuumed and dusted. You can tell the shape of my life by how clean my house is. When I'm upset I cook, or I clean. I couldn't eat anything more, so I cleaned.
I turned the vacuum off to move the couch and realized that the phone had been ringing. Had something else gone wrong?
I picked up the receiver and hit talk. "Thompson residence."
"Mercedes Thompson, the Mistress would like to speak with you." The voice was urbane and female, a secretary's voice. I looked out the window and saw that the sun was setting, bathing the Horse Heaven Hills in brilliant orange light.
All the frustrated anger I'd been working off returned with a vengeance. If Stefan's mistress had sent out all of her minions after the sorcerer, instead of playing petty power games, Warren wouldn't be fighting for his life.
"I'm sorry," I said insincerely. "Please inform your mistress that I am not interested in visiting with her." I hung up the phone. When it rang again, I turned off the ringer and pulled the cushions off the couch so I could clean underneath them.
When my cell phone rang, I almost ignored it, too, because I didn't recognize the number. But it might have been one of Adam's pack calling, or Stefan.
"Hello?"
"Mercedes Thompson, I need you to help me find Stefan and kill this sorcerer," said Marsilia.
I knew what I should do. If she'd said anything else I could have hung up on her, I would have done it, too, no matter how stupid hanging up on the Mistress of the vampire seethe would be. But she needed me, needed me to do something.
To kill the sorcerer.
But that was ridiculous—what could I do that two vampires and a pair of werewolves could not?
"Why me?"
"I'll explain it to you face-to-face."
She was good, I had to give her that much—if I hadn't been listening for it, I don't think I'd have heard the satisfaction in her voice.
CHAPTER 8
Though it was nearly midnight, the parking lot at Uncle Mike's was full and I had to park in the warehouse's lot next door. My little Rabbit wasn't alone, but it looked worried among all the SUVs and trucks. I don't know why the fae like big vehicles, but you never see one driving a Geo Metro.
There are several bars near the fae reservation in Walla Walla, about sixty miles up the highway, that claim to be fae hangouts to attract publicity. There was a new bar, not too far from my shop, that billed itself out as a werewolf den. But you won't find Uncle Mike advertising for customers, nor will you find many humans there. If some stupid human, attracted by the number of cars in the lot, stops by, a subtle spell has him hurrying along his way. Uncle Mike's is for the fae—though he tolerates most any kind of preternatural creature, as long as they don't cause any problems.