Iron Kissed
Chapter 11

I called Tim the next morning before I went to work. It was early, but I didn't want to miss him. He'd caught me off guard last night, but I had no business dragging a human into my mess of a love life - even if I liked him that way, which I didn't.
Maybe I couldn't live with Adam - but it looked like I was going to try. If I went to Tim's, it would hurt Adam and give Tim the wrong impression. It had been stupid not to just refuse yesterday...
"Hey, Mercy," he said as he picked up the phone. "Listen, Fideal called me last night - what did you do to tick him off? Anyway he told me that you came to our meeting to do some investigating into O'Donnell's death. He said you knew the suspect they have in custody."
There was absolutely no anger in his voice, which pretty much meant that he must have been speaking the truth when he said he wasn't interested in a romantic entanglement. If he'd been interested in me, he'd have felt used.
Good. He wouldn't feel bad when I told him I couldn't go.
"Yes," I said cautiously. "He's an old friend. I know that he didn't do it, which is more than anyone else investigating can say." Zee's name was still being withheld from the press, as well as his being a fae. "Since no one else was doing anything, I've been poking around."
"I suppose we're on the top of the list of suspects," said Tim matter-of-factly. "O'Donnell wasn't exactly rolling in friends."
"On top of my list until I attended one of your meetings," I told him.
He laughed. "Yeah, none of us is exactly murderer material."
I didn't agree with him - anyone can be driven to kill, given the right cause. Except for Fideal, though, none of them were capable of killing someone the way O'Donnell had been killed.
"I didn't think of it at the time," he said. "But after Fideal talked to me, I started thinking. That walking stick in your car was O'Donnell's, wasn't it? He'd just bought it off of eBay a couple of days before he died."
"Yes."
"Do you think it had something to do with his death? I know the police say they don't think that robbery was the motive, but O'Donnell started collecting Celtic stuff a couple of months ago. He claimed it was pretty valuable."
"Did he say where he got it?" I asked.
"He said he inherited some of it and the rest he picked up on eBay." He paused. "You know, he said that it was all magical fae stuff, but he couldn't get any of it to do anything. I assumed that he was just being conned...but do you suppose he actually got something that really belonged to the fae and they decided to take it back?"
"I don't know. Did you get a good look at his collection?"
"I recognized that staff," he said slowly. "But not until Fideal told me that you had a connection with O'Donnell. There was a stone with some writing on it, a few battered pieces of jewelry that might have been silver - or silver plate...If I took a look at his collection, I might be able to tell you what is missing."
"I think the whole collection is missing. Except for the walking stick." I saw no need to tell him that the fae had gotten some of it back.
He whistled. "So it was a robbery."
"That's what it looks like. If I can prove that, then my friend is no longer a good suspect."
The Gray Lords didn't want any mortals knowing that they had magical artifacts, and I could see their point. The problem was that the Gray Lords could be ruthless in making sure that no word got out. Tim already knew too much.
"Did Fideal know about the collection?" I asked.
Tim considered it. "No. I don't think so. O'Donnell didn't like him, and Fideal never went to O'Donnell's house. I think the only ones he showed it to were Austin and me."
"Okay." I took a deep breath. "Look, it might be dangerous to know about that collection. If he did manage to find something that belonged to the fae, they wouldn't want that known. And you, of all people, know how ruthless they are. Don't talk to the police or anyone else about it for now."
"You do think it was a fae who killed him," Tim said, sounding a little taken aback.
"The collection is gone," I said. "Maybe one of the fae sent someone after it, or maybe someone else believed O'Donnell's stories and wanted it. I might be able to figure out more, if I knew what he had. Could you make a list of what you remember?"
"Maybe," he said. "I only saw it the once. How about I do my best to write it down and we can take a look at them tonight?"
I remembered that I'd called him to cancel our dinner.
He didn't give me a chance to say anything. "If I have all day to think about it, I should be able to put together most of it. I'll see Austin at school; we usually do lunch together. He saw O'Donnell's collection, too, and he's a pretty decent artist." He gave a rueful laugh. "Yes, I know. Good looks, intelligence, and talented, too. He can do anything. If he wasn't so nice, I'd hate him, too."
"Drawings would be terrific," I said. I could compare them to the drawings in Tad's friend's book. "Just remember that this is dangerous stuff."
"I will. See you tonight."
I hung up the phone.
I ought to call Adam and tell him what I was doing. I dialed the first number and then hung it up. It was easier to get forgiveness than permission - not that I should need permission. Getting a list of what O'Donnell had stolen was a good enough reason that Adam would understand why I went to Tim's house. He might get mad, but he wouldn't be hurt.
And Adam angry was really an awesome sight. Was I a bad person that I enjoyed it?
Laughing to myself, I went to work.
Tim opened his own door this time, and the house smelled of garlic, oregano, basil, and fresh-baked bread.
"Hi," I said. "Sorry I'm late. It took me a while to get the grease out from under my nails." I'd taken Gabriel and some chains out to the Rabbit after work and towed it home with my Vanagon. It had taken a little longer than I'd expected. "I forgot to ask what to bring so I stopped and picked up some chocolate for dessert."
He took the paper bag and smiled. "You didn't have to bring anything, but chocolate is - "
I sighed. "A girl thing, I know."
His smile widened. "I was going to say, it is always good. Come in."
He led me through the house and into the kitchen, where he had a small bowl of Caesar salad.
"I like your kitchen." It was the only room that seemed to have a personality. I'd been expecting oak cabinets and granite counter tops and I'd been right about the counters. But the cabinets were cherry, and contrasted nicely with the dark gray counters. Nothing too daring, but at least it wasn't bland.
He looked around with a frown. "Do you think it looks all right? My fiancee - ex-fiancee - told me I needed a decorator for the kitchen."
"It's lovely," I assured him.
A bell chimed and he opened the oven door and pulled out a small pizza. My oven's timer buzzes like an angry bee.
The smell of the pizza distracted me from my oven-envy.
"Now that smells marvelous," I told him, closing my eyes to get a better sniff.
A red flush tinted his cheeks at my compliment as he slid it onto a stone round and cut it with expert speed. "If you'll get the salad and follow me, we can eat."
Obediently I took the wooden bowl of greens and followed him through the house.
"This is the dining room," he told me unnecessarily, since the big mahogany table gave it away. "But when I eat alone or with just a couple of people, I eat out here."
"Out here" was a small circular room surrounded by windows. The shape of the room was innovative, but it was outblanded by beige tiles and window treatments. His architect would be sad to know his artistic vision had been swallowed by insipidness.
Tim set the pizza on the small oak table and opened the roman blinds so we had a view of his backyard.
"I keep the curtains down most of the time, or it gets like an oven in here," he said. "I suppose it will be nice in the winter."
He'd already set the table, and like the kitchen, his tableware was a surprise. Handmade stoneware plates that didn't match exactly, either in size or color, but somehow complemented each other, and handmade pottery goblets. His was blue with a cracked glaze finish and mine brown and aged-looking. There was a pitcher on the table, but he'd already filled the glasses.
I thought of Adam's house and wondered if he still used his ex-wife's china the way Tim obviously used the stuff his ex-fiancee or maybe the decorator had chosen.
"Sit, sit," he said, following his own advice. He put a piece of pizza on my plate, but allowed me to get my own salad and a generous helping of some kind of baked pear dish.
I took a cautious sip of the contents of my glass. "What is this?" I asked. It wasn't alcoholic, which surprised me, but something both sweet and tart.
He grinned. "It's a secret. Maybe I'll show you how to make it after dinner."
I sipped again. "Yes, please."
"I noticed you're limping."
I smiled. "I stepped on some glass. Nothing to worry about."
We both quit talking as we dug into the meal with appetite.
"Tell me about your friend," he said as he ate. "The one the police think killed O'Donnell."
"He's a grumpy, fussy old man," I said. "And I love him." The pears had some sort of brown sugar glaze. I expected them to be too sweet, but they were tart and melted in my mouth. "Mmm. This is good. Anyway, right now he's ticked off at me for poking my nose into this investigation." I took a deep drink. "Or else he thinks it's dangerous and I'll quit investigating if he makes me think he's angry with me." Zee was right, I talked too much. Time to shift the conversation Tim's way. "You know, I'd have thought you would be angry with me when you found out I had an ulterior motive for attending your meeting."
"I always wanted to be a private investigator," Tim confided. He'd finished his food and was watching me eat with a pleased expression. "Maybe if I liked O'Donnell, I'd have been angrier."
"Were you able to come up with a list?" I asked.
"Oh, yes," he lied.
I frowned at him and put down my fork. I'm not as good at smelling a lie as some of the wolves. Maybe I'd misread his response. It seemed like an odd thing to lie about.
"Did you make sure that Austin wouldn't talk about it to anyone?"
He nodded and his smile widened. "Austin won't tell anyone. Finish up your pears, Mercy."
I had eaten two bites before I realized something was wrong. Maybe if I hadn't been fighting this kind of compulsion with Adam, I wouldn't have noticed anything at all. I took a deep breath and concentrated, but couldn't smell any magic in the air.
"This was terrific," I told him. "But I'm absolutely full."
"Take another drink," he said.
The juice or whatever it was tasted better with every sip - but...I wasn't thirsty. Still, I'd swallowed twice before I thought. It wasn't like me to do anything someone told me to do, let alone everything. Maybe it was the juice.
As soon as the doubt touched my mind, I could feel it. The sweet liquid burned with magic and the goblet throbbed under my hand - so hot that I was surprised my hand wasn't smoking.
I set the old thing down on the table and wished the stupid book had included a picture of Orfino's Bane - the goblet that the fairy had used to rob Roland's knights of their ability to resist her will. I'd bet it would match the rustic goblet beside my plate.
"It was you," I whispered.
"Yes, of course," he said. "Tell me about your friend. Why do the police think he killed O'Donnell?"
"They found him there," I told him. "Zee could have run, but he and Uncle Mike were trying to gather all the fae artifacts so the police wouldn't find them."
"I thought I got all the artifacts," said Tim. "The bastard must have been taking more things than the ones I sent him for. Probably thought that he might get more money for them somewhere else. The ring isn't as good as the goblet."
"The ring?"
He showed me the worn silver ring I'd noticed last night.
"And it makes the tongue of the wearer sweeter than honey. It's a politician's ring - or will be," he said. "But the goblet works better. If I'd made him drink before he went out, he wouldn't have been able to take more. I told him if we took too much, the fae would start looking outside Fairyland for their murderer. He should have listened to me. I suppose your friend is a fae and was going to talk to O'Donnell about the murders."
"Yes." I had to answer him, but I could hold back information if I tried. "You hired O'Donnell to get magic artifacts and kill the fae?"
He laughed. "Killing the fae was his thing, Mercy. I just gave him the means to do it."
"How?"
"I went over to his house to talk to him about the next Bright Future meeting, and he had this ring and a pair of bracers sitting on his bookcase. He offered to sell them to me for fifty bucks." Tim sneered. "Dumb putz. He had no idea what he had, but I did. I put on the ring and persuaded him to tell me what he'd done. That's when he told me about the real treasure - though he didn't know what he had."
"The list," I said.
He licked his finger and pointed at me. "Score a point for the bright girl. Yes, the list. With names. O'Donnell knew where they lived and I knew what they were and what they had. He was scared of the fae, you know. Hated them. So I loaned him back the bracers and a couple of other things and told him how to use them. He fetched artifacts for me - for which I paid him - and he got to kill the fae. It was easier than I'd thought it would be. You'd think a dumbshit like O'Donnell would have a little more trouble with a thousand-year-old Guardian of the Hunt, wouldn't you? The fae have gotten complacent."
"Why did you kill him?" I asked.
"I thought the Hunter would take care of it, actually. O'Donnell was a weakness. He wanted to keep the ring - and threatened to blackmail me for it. I told him 'sure' and had him steal a couple more things. Once I had enough that I could do my own stealing without much danger, I sent O'Donnell after the Hunter. When that didn't work...well." He shrugged.
I looked at the silver ring. "A politician can't afford to hang out with stupid men who know too much."
"Take another drink, Mercy."
The goblet was full again though it had only been half-full when I'd set it down. I drank. It was harder to think, almost like being drunk.
Tim couldn't afford to let me live.
"Are you a fae?"
"Oh, no." I shook my head.
"That's right," he said. "You're Native American, aren't you? You won't find any Native American fae."
"No." I wouldn't look for fae among the Indians; the fae with their glamour were a European people. Indians had their own magical folk. But Tim hadn't asked, so I didn't need to tell him. I didn't think it was going to save me, him thinking I was a defenseless human instead of a defenseless walker. But I was going to try to keep any advantages that I could.
He picked up his fork and played with it. "So how did you end up with the walking stick? I looked all over for it and couldn't find the darn thing. Where was it?"
"In O'Donnell's living room," I told him. "Uncle Mike and Zee overlooked it, too." It must have been the extra drink, but I couldn't stop before I said, "Some of the old things have a will of their own."
"How did you get into O'Donnell's living room? Do you have friends on the police force? I thought you were just a mechanic."
I considered what he'd asked me and answered with the absolute truth. The way a fae would have. I held up a finger for the first question. "I walked in." Two fingers. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do have a friend on the police force." Three fingers. "I'm a damn good mechanic - though not as good as Zee."
"I thought Zee was a fae; how can he be a mechanic?"
"He's iron kissed." If he wanted information, maybe I could stall him and babble. "I like that term better than gremlin because he can't be a gremlin if they just made up that word in the last century, can he? He's a lot older than that. In fact, I finally found a story - "
"Stop," he said.
I did.
He frowned at me. "Drink. Take two drinks."
Damn. When I set the goblet down, my hands tingled with fae magic and my lips were numb.
"Where is the walking stick?" he asked.
I sighed. That stupid stick followed me around even when it wasn't in the room. "Wherever it wants to be."
"What?"
"Probably in my office," I told him. It liked to show up where I was going to come upon it unexpectedly. But the need to answer him made me continue to feed him information. "Though it was in my car. It's not now. Uncle Mike didn't take it."
"Mercy," he said. "What is the thing you least wanted me to know when you came here?"
I thought about that. I'd been so worried about hurting his feelings yesterday, and standing on his doorstep I'd been a little worried still. I leaned forward and said in a low voice, "I am not attracted to you at all. I don't find you sexy or handsome. You look like an upscale geek without the intelligence to make it work for you."
He surged to his feet and his face whitened, then flushed with anger.
But he'd asked and so I continued, "Your house is bland and has no personality at all. Maybe you should try some naked statues - "
"Stop it! Stop it!"
I sat back and watched him. He was still a boy who thought he was smarter than he really was. His anger didn't scare me, or intimidate me. He saw that and it made him angrier.
"You wanted to know what O'Donnell had? Come with me."
I would have, but he grabbed my arm in a grip and his hand bit down. I heard a crack but it was a moment before the pain registered.
He'd broken my wrist.
He pulled me through the doorway, through the dining room, and into his bedroom. When he pushed me onto his bed, I heard a second bone pop in my arm - this time the pain cleared my head just a little. Mostly, though, it just hurt.
He threw open a large oak entertainment center, but there was no TV on the shelf. Instead there were two shoe boxes sitting on a bulky fur of some sort that looked almost like yak hide, except it was gray.
Tim set the boxes on the ground and pulled out the hide, shaking it out so I could see it was a cloak. He pulled it around himself, and once it settled over him, it disappeared. He didn't look any different from when he'd put it on.
"Do you know what this is?"
And I did, because I'd been reading my borrowed book and because the strange-looking hide smelled of horse, not yak.
"It's the Druid's Hide," I told him, breathing through my teeth so I didn't whimper. At least it wasn't the same arm I'd broken last winter. "The druid had been cursed to wear the form of a horse, but when he was skinned, he regained his human form. But the horse's skin did something..." I tried to remember the wording, because it was important. "It kept his enemies from finding or harming him."
I looked up and realized that he hadn't wanted me to answer him. He'd wanted to know more than I did. I think it was the "not intelligent enough" comment still bothering him. But part of me wanted to please him, and as the pain subsided, that compulsion grew stronger.
"You are much stronger than I thought," I said to distract myself from this new facet of the goblet's effect. Or maybe I said it to please him.
He stared at me. I couldn't tell if he liked hearing that or not. Finally he drew up the sleeves of his dress shirt to show me that he wore a silver band around each wrist. "Bracers of giant strength," he said.
I shook my head. "Those aren't bracers. Those are bracelets or maybe wristlets. Bracers are longer. They were used - "
"Shut up," he gritted. He closed the wardrobe and kept his back to me for a moment. "You love me," he said. "You think I'm the handsomest man you've ever seen."
I fought it. I did. I fought his voice as hard as I've ever fought anything.
But it's hard to fight your own heart, especially when he was so handsome. Until that moment, no man had competed with Adam for sheer breathtaking male beauty - but his face and form palled beside Tim.
Tim turned to me and stared into my eyes. "You want me," he said. "More than you wanted that ugly doctor you were dating."
Of course I did. Desire made my body go languid and I arched my back a little. The pain in my arm was nothing to the desire I felt.
"The walking stick makes you rich," I told him as he put a knee on the bed. "The fae know I have it and they want it back." I tried to brace up on my elbow so I could kiss him, but my arm didn't work right. My other hand did, but it was already reaching up to caress the soft skin of his neck. "They'll get it, too. They have someone who knows how to find it."
He pulled my hand away.
"It's at your work?"
"It should be." After all, it followed me wherever I went. And I was going to go to my office. This beautiful man would take me.
He ran a hand over my breast, squeezed too hard, then released it and stood up. "This can wait. Come with me."
My love had me drink some more from the goblet before we took his car to go to my office. I couldn't remember what it was that we were looking for there, but he'd tell me when we got there. That's what he told me. We were on 395 headed toward East Kennewick when he unzipped his jeans.
A trucker, passing us, honked his horn. So did the car in the other lane when Tim swerved too much and almost had a wreck.
He swore and pulled me off him. "We'll do that where there aren't so many cars," he said, sounding breathless and almost giddy. He had me zip his pants again, because he couldn't manage. It was hard with only one hand, so I used the other one, too, ignoring the pain it caused.
When I'd finished, I looked out the window and wondered why my arm hurt so badly and why I was sick to my stomach. Then he picked the cup off the floor where it had fallen and gave it to me.
"Here, drink this."
There was dirt on the outside of the cup, but the inside was full - which didn't make sense. It had been on its side on the floor mat under my feet. There shouldn't be any liquid there at all.
Then I remembered it was a fairy thing.
"Drink," he said again.
I quit worrying about how it had happened, and took a sip.
"Not like that," he said. "Drink the whole glass. Austin took two sips this morning and did exactly what I told him to do. You sure you aren't fae?"
I upended the goblet, drinking as fast as I could, though some of it spilled over and poured stickily down my neck. When it was empty, I looked for a place to set it. It didn't seem right to put it on the floor. Finally I managed to make the cup holder on my door fit around it.
"No," I told him. "I'm not fae."
I set my hands on my lap and watched them clench into fists. When the highway dropped us into east Kennewick, I told him how to find my shop.
"Would you shut up?" he said. "That noise is getting on my nerves. Take another drink."
I hadn't realized I was making noise. I reached up and felt my vocal cords, which were indeed vibrating. The growl I'd been hearing must be me. It stopped as soon as I became aware of it. The cup was full again when I reached for it.
"That's better."
He pulled into the parking lot and parked in front of the office.
I was so jittery that I had trouble opening the door of the car, and even when I was out, I was shaking like a junkie.
"What's the code?" he asked, standing in front of the door.
"One, one, two, zero," I told him through the chattering of my teeth. "It's my birthday."
The little light on the top switched from red to green: something in me relaxed and my jitters settled down.
He took my keys and opened the door, then locked it behind us. He looked through the office for a while, even pulling the step ladder over so he could get up high on the parts shelves. After a few minutes he started pulling things off the shelves and dumping them on the floor. A thermostat housing hit the cement floor and cracked. I would have to remember to reorder it, I thought. Maybe Gabriel could go through the parts and see what we could salvage. If I had to repay Zee, I couldn't afford to lose too much inventory.
"Mercy!" Suddenly Tim's face replaced the thermostat housing in my view. He looked angry, but I didn't think it had anything to do with the housing.
He hit me, so it must have been my fault that he was angry. He obviously wasn't used to fighting. Even with his borrowed strength, he only managed to knock me back a couple of steps. It hurt to breathe afterward; I recognized the feeling. One of my ribs was cracked or broken.
"What?" he asked.
I cleared my throat and told him again, "You need to get your thumb out of your fist before you hit someone or you'll break it."
He swore and stormed out of the office and out to the car. When he came back, he had the goblet.
"Drink," he said. "Drink it all."
I did and the jitters got worse.
"I want you to focus," he said. "Where is the walking stick?"
"It wouldn't be in here," I told him solemnly. "It only stays places where I live. Like the Rabbit or my bed."
"What?"
"It will be in the garage." I let him into the heart of home.
The bay nearest the office was empty, but so was the other bay - which worried me until I remembered that the Karmann Ghia I'd been restoring was out getting more work done. Upholstery.
"I'm glad to hear it," he said dryly. "Whoever Carmine is. Now where's the walking stick?"
It was lying across the top of my second biggest tool chest as if I'd set it down casually when I got some other tool. Clever stick. It hadn't been there when we walked into the garage, but I doubt Tim had noticed.
Tim picked it up and ran his hands over it. "Gotcha," he said.
Not for long. I must not have said it out loud - or else maybe he didn't hear me. I was babbling again, so maybe it just had bled in with the rest of the words that were leaving my mouth. I took a breath and tried to direct what I said.
"Was it worth killing O'Donnell for?" I asked him. A dumb question but maybe it could keep my thoughts focused. He'd told me that, that I needed to focus.
As soon as the thought occurred to me, my head quit feeling so muzzy.
He caressed the stick. "I'd have killed O'Donnell for pleasure," he said. "Like I did my father. The walking stick, the cup, they were gravy." He laughed a little. "Very nice gravy."
He leaned it against the tool chest and then turned to me.
"I think this is the perfect place," he said.
He might have been handsome, but the expression on his face wasn't.
"So it was all a game," he said. "All the talk of King Arthur and the flirting. Was that guy even your boyfriend?"
He was talking about Samuel. "No," I said.
It was the truth. But I could have said it in a way that wouldn't make him angry. Why did I want my love angry with me?
Because I liked it when he was angry. But the picture that ran through my head was Adam, punching the bathroom door frame. So angry. Magnificent. And I knew to the bottom of my soul that he'd never turn that great strength against anyone he loved.
"So you were just using the doctor to shake up the situation, huh? And you invaded"  -  he liked the sound of that, so he said it again - "invaded my home. What did you think? Poor geek, he never gets any. What a loser. He'll be grateful for a few crumbs, eh?" He grabbed me by the shoulders. "What did you think? Flirt with the geek a little and he'll fall in love?"
I had worried that he'd take it too seriously - once I realized I'd been flirting. "Yes," I said.
He shoved me with an inhuman sound and I stumbled back, then fell hard, knocking into a rolling tool tray that spilled a few tools on the ground.
"You'll do it with me," he said, breathing hard. "You'll do it with the poor pathetic loser - and you'll like it...no, be grateful to me." He looked around frantically, then noticed I was carrying the cup. "You drink. Drink it all."
It was hard. My stomach was so full. I wasn't thirsty, but with his words ringing in my ear, I couldn't do anything else. And the magic in it burned.
He took the cup from me and set it on the ground, next to the walking stick.
"You'll be so grateful to me and you'll know that you'll never feel anything like it again." He dropped to his knees beside me. His beautiful skin was flushed an ugly red. "When I finish...when I leave - you won't be able to stand it all alone, because you know that no one will ever love you after I'm done. No one. You'll go to the river and swim until you can't swim anymore. Just like Austin did."
He unzipped his jeans, and I knew with bleak certainty that he was right. No one would love me after this. Adam would never love me after this. I might as well drown myself when I lost my love, just as my foster father had.
"Quit crying," he said. "What do you have to cry about? You want this. Say it. You want me."
"I want you," I said.
"Not like that. Not like that." He reached out and grabbed the end of the walking stick and used it to knock the cup over, so it rolled toward him. He dropped the stick and grabbed the cup.
"Drink," he said.
I don't remember exactly what happened from there. The next remotely clear thought I had was when my hand touched something smooth and old, something that spread its coolness up my arm when I closed my hand over it.
I stared at Tim's face. His eyes were closed as he made animal grunts, but almost as if he felt the intensity of my gaze, they opened.
The angle was bad, so I didn't try anything fancy. I just shoved the silver end of the walking stick into his face, visualizing it going through his eye and out the back of his skull.
It didn't, of course. I didn't have the strength of giants, or even of werewolves. There is only so much force you can gather when you are flat on your back hitting someone who is on top of you. But I hurt him.
He reared back and I scrambled away, dropping the stick as I moved. I knew where there was a better weapon. I ran to the counter, where my big crowbar sat right where I'd put it after prying the engine I was replacing this afternoon that extra quarter of an inch.
I could have run away. I could have shifted into my coyote form and run while he was distracted. But I had nowhere to run. No one could love me after tonight. I was all alone.
I'd learned to make the strange noises that seem to go along with all the martial arts - though part of me had always winced away at the stupid sounds. As I raised the crowbar as if it were a spear, the sound I made came from the depths of my anger and despair. Somehow it didn't sound stupid at all.
He was strong, but I was faster. When I closed with him, he grabbed my right arm, the one he'd already injured, and squeezed.
I screamed, but not in pain. I was too far gone to feel something as finite as physical pain. I shoved the end of the pry bar into his stomach with my left hand.
He dropped, vomiting and wheezing, to the ground. Even with only my left hand to guide it, the pry bar was heavy enough to crush his skull when I brought it down on his head.
Part of me wanted to beat his head in until there was nothing left but splinters of bone. Part of me knew I loved him. But I didn't give in to love. Not with Samuel so long ago, not with Adam, and not with Tim.
I didn't bring the pry bar back down on his head - I had something more important to do.
But no matter how hard I hit it, the iron bar did nothing to the cup. It didn't make sense because the cup was clearly made of pottery and iron broke through most fae enchantments. I chipped up cement, but I couldn't so much as put a smudge on that damned cup with the pry bar.
I was searching for a sledgehammer, tracking blood and other stuff all over my garage, when I heard a car engine being revved hard as it peeled around a corner.
I knew that engine.
It was Adam, but he was too late. He couldn't love me anymore.
He would be so angry with me.
I had to hide. He didn't love me so he might hurt me when he was angry. When he calmed down, that would hurt him. I didn't want him hurting because of me.
There was nowhere for a person to hide. So I wouldn't be a person. My eyes fell on the shelves that lined the far back corner. A coyote could hide there.
I changed, and on three legs scrambled up the shelves and slipped behind a couple of big boxes of belts. The shadows were dark.
There was a crash from the office as Adam proved that a deadbolt lock is no protection against an angry werewolf. I cowered a little lower.
"Mercy." He didn't shout. He didn't need to.
The voice carried and swept me up in its liquid rage. It didn't sound like Adam, but it was. I pulled back from the boxes just a little so that they would quit shaking.
What came through the door into the garage was like nothing I'd ever seen before. The closest I'd seen was one of the between forms a werewolf takes on when he's changing. But this one was more complete than that, as if the between form had become finished and useful. He was covered from top to tail with black fur and his hands looked very functional - as did his teeth-laden muzzle. He stood upright, but not like a man. His legs were caught halfway between human and wolf.
Adam.
I had only an instant to take it in, because Adam caught sight of Tim's body. With a roar that hurt my ears, he was upon him, ripping and tearing with those huge claws. It was horrifying, terrifying...and part of me wished it was I who was being torn to shreds.
It would only hurt for an instant and then it would be over. I panted with pain and fear, but stayed where I was because Tim had told me that I was to find the river instead. And I didn't want to hurt Adam.
Werewolves filtered in cautiously from the office. Ben and Honey, both still in human form - I wondered how they did that with Adam in a frenzy. Maybe something about this halfway form protected them...but then Darryl followed. He had a grimace on his face and sweat glistened on his forehead and darkened his rib-knit shirt. His control was allowing the others to keep from being caught up in Adam's rage.
They looked around the garage though they stayed near the door and away from Adam.
"Do you see her?" Darryl asked softly.
"No," said Ben. "I'm not sure she's still here - do you smell..."
His voice stopped because Adam dropped an arm (not one of his) and focused on Ben.
"Obviously," Darryl said in a strained voice, "we all smell her terror." He knelt on one knee, like a man proposing to his beloved.
Ben dropped to both knees and bowed his head. Honey did the same, and their attention was all for Adam.
"Where is she?" His voice was guttural and oddly accented from speaking out of a mouth meant for howling rather than talking.
"We will look, sir." Darryl's voice was very quiet.
"She's here," said Ben in a rush. "She's hiding from us."
Adam's great mouth opened and he roared, more like a bear at that moment than a wolf. He dropped to all fours - and I expected him to complete the change, to become all wolf. But he didn't. I could feel him pull on the power of the pack and they gave it to him. Either it was easier to change from a transitional stage, or the pack sped his way, but it wasn't five minutes before Adam stood naked and human in the harsh fluorescent light.
He took a deep breath and stretched out his neck, the crack of his vertebrae loud in the silent garage. When he was finished, all that was left of the wolf was the scent of his anger and the amber of his eyes.
"She's still here?" he asked. "You can tell?"
"Her scent is all over," Ben answered. "I can't track her. But she'd have found a corner to hide in. She wouldn't have run." He said the last sentence absently as his eyes drifted over the shop.
"Why not?" asked Darryl, his voice surprisingly gentle.
Ben inhaled as if the question startled him. "Because you only run if you have hope. You saw what he did, heard what he told her. She's here."
They'd watched, I thought, remembering the technician telling me that Adam was recording from the cameras, too. They'd seen it: I was so ashamed I wanted to die. Then I remembered that I was going to and took comfort from the thought of the river, so cool and inviting.
"Mercy?" Adam turned in a slow circle. I tucked my nose into my tail and held very still, closing my eyes and trusting my ears to tell me if they got too close. "Everything is all right, now. You can come out."
He was wrong. Nothing was all right. He didn't love me, nobody loved me, and I would be all alone.
"You could call her," suggested Darryl.
There was a thud and a choking sound. Unable to resist, I looked.
Adam held Darryl against the wall, his forearm across his throat.
"You saw," he whispered. "You saw what he did to her. And now you suggest I do the same? Bring her to me with magic that she cannot resist?"
I knew the drink from the fae goblet was still affecting me: my stomach was burning, my body shaking like a meth addict's. But something bothered me. I still should have been able to understand Adam's reactions, right? He'd been so concerned...angry for me. But if he'd seen...
He'd know I'd been unfaithful.
Adam had declared me his mate before his pack. And if I was just learning that there were other, paranormal results, I did understand the politics involved.
A werewolf whose mate is unfaithful is seen as weak. If it is the Alpha...well, I knew that there had been one Alpha whose mate had slept around, but she did it with his permission. By not accepting Adam, I had already weakened him. If his pack knew that Tim had...that I'd let Tim...
Adam dropped his arm, freeing Darryl. "Did you hear that?"
I'd quit whining as soon as I realized I was making noise. But it was too late.
"It came from over there," said Honey. She stepped over a few pieces of Tim on her way to my side of the garage, followed by Darryl and Ben. Adam stayed where he was, his back to me, his hands braced shoulder high against the wall.
So it was him that the fae attacked when she came through my office door.
Nemane looked very little like the woman who had come to my office with Tony. Her dark hair glowed with silver and red highlights and floated about her as if held away from her body by the power of her magic. She blasted Adam with a wave of magic that knocked him halfway across the garage to land flat on his back in a puddle of dark blood. He rolled to his feet as soon as he hit and went for her.
War, I thought. If he killed her or she him, it would be war.
I was off my shelf and sprinting as fast as my three legs could manage before the thought had completed itself.
Though there was no uncertainty in his movement, she must have hurt him because I reached her before he did.
I shifted so I could talk, but I didn't get a chance because Adam hit me like a football player, his shoulder in my stomach. I don't think he meant to hit me, because he rolled under me, jerking me down with him. I never hit the ground.
Diaphragm spasming, I sprawled all over him in an awkward position that left one of my knees in his armpit and my good arm caught under his opposite shoulder. In another instant he was on his feet and I was cradled against him, all three of the other werewolves between us and the enraged fae.
I tried to talk, but he'd knocked the wind out of me.
"Shh," Adam said, never taking his eyes off the enemy. "Shh, Mercy. You'll be all right now. I've got you safe."
I swallowed against the bleak sorrow. He was wrong. I would always be alone now. Tim had told me so. He had had me, and now I would be alone forever. No, not forever because there was the river flowing nearby, almost a mile wide and so deep that it could appear black. My shop was close enough that sometimes I could catch a scent of the water from the Columbia.
Thoughts of the river calmed me, and I could think a little better.
The werewolves were waiting for Nemane to attack again. I don't know why Nemane waited, but the pause gave me a chance to talk before anyone got hurt.
"Wait," I said, getting my wind back. "Wait. Adam, this is Nemane, the fae who was sent here to deal with the guard's death."
"The one who was willing to let Zee die rather than find the real murderer?" He lifted his upper lip in contempt as he spoke.
"Adam?" Nemane said coolly. "As in Adam Hauptman? What is the werewolf Alpha doing with our stolen property?"
"They came to help me," I said.
"And who are you?" She cocked her head to the side and I realized that I didn't sound like myself. My voice was hoarse, as if I'd been smoking for a dozen years - or screaming all night. And Nemane was blind.
"Mercedes Thompson," I said.
"Coyote," she said. "What mischief have you been making tonight?" She took a step forward, into the room, and all the werewolves stiffened. "And whose blood is feeding the night?"
"I found your murderer," I told her tiredly, resting my face against Adam's bare skin. His scent washed over me in a falsely comforting wave: he didn't love me. I was so weary that I accepted the comfort while I could. I would be alone soon enough. "And he brought his own death upon himself."
The tension in the air went down noticeably as Nemane's magic quit scenting the air. But the wolves waited for Adam to tell them the danger was over.
"Darryl, call Samuel and see if he can come," Adam said quietly. "Then call Mercy's policeman. Honey, there's a blanket and some spare clothes in the back of the truck. Fetch them."
"Should we call Warren, too?" asked Ben, looking away from Nemane so he could see Adam, but his eyes stopped on my arm. "Bloody hell. Look at her wrist."
I didn't want to, so I watched Nemane, because she was the only one who didn't look horrified. It takes a bit to horrify a werewolf. I'd certainly never managed it before.
"It's crushed," said Nemane, in her cool professorial voice. "And her arm broken above it, too."
"How can you tell that?" said Honey, returning with the blankets and clothes. "You're blind."
The fae smiled. Not a happy expression. "There are other ways of seeing."
"How can they fix that?" said Ben, looking at my arm. He sounded a lot more shaken up than I expected from Ben. Werewolves are used to violence and its results.
Nemane walked past Adam like a wolf on a scent. She bent and picked up the druid horse's skin. It must have fallen off Tim when Adam ripped him to pieces.
Those pieces might haunt my dreams for a good long time, but I was too numb to be horrified by them now.
Nemane caressed the cloak and shook her head. "No wonder we couldn't find him. Here, this is what she needs." She'd found the goblet where it had rolled under my tool chest.
"What is that?" asked Adam.
"Orfino's Bane, it was once called, Huon's cup, or Manannan's gift. It has a few uses and one of those is healing."
"That's not what it does," I told Adam in a horrified whisper.
Nemane looked at me.
"He made her drink from it," Adam said. "I thought it contained some kind of drug - but it's fairy magic?"
She nodded. "In the hands of a human thief, it allows him to enslave another, given as a gift it will heal as well, and in the hands of the fae it will testify to truth."
"I won't drink it," I told Adam's shoulder, shifting in his arms until I'd gotten as far from the cup as I could.
"It will heal her?" he asked.
We all heard a car drive up.
"It's one of mine," Adam said - I assumed he was talking to the fae because the rest of us could all recognize the sound of Samuel's car. To get here so fast he must have come from work. The hospital was only a few blocks away. "He's a doctor. I'd like to get his opinion."
When he came in, Samuel's single, awed swearword took in the whole garage: bits of Tim scattered wherever Adam had deposited them, blood all over the place, a couple of naked people (Adam and I), and Nemane in her full fae glory.
"I need you to check out Mercy's arm," Adam said.
I didn't want him to touch it. It was numb right now, but I knew that could change at any time. It looked more like a pretzel than an arm, bending in places that it shouldn't. It had been working when we came into the office. Sort of. Tim must have damaged it more while I was killing him.
No one cared what I wanted.
At first Samuel just knelt so he could look at it lying across my thighs. He whistled between his teeth. "You need to pick out new friends, Mercy. The crowd you hang out with is awfully hard on you. If things keep going this way, you're going to be dead before the year is out."
He was so relentlessly cheerful, I knew it was bad. His hands were light on my arm, but the searing pain made odd flashes of light dance in front of my eyes. If Adam hadn't been holding me, I'd have jerked away, but he held me steady, murmuring soft, comforting things I couldn't hear over the buzzing in my ears.
"Samuel?" It was Ben who asked, his voice sharp and clear.
Samuel quit touching my arm and stood up. "Her arm feels like a tube of toothpaste filled with marbles. I don't think it's something that can be tacked back together with a hundred pins or bolts."
I am not a fainting kind of person, but the imagery Samuel used was too horrible and black things swam in front of my vision. It felt like I blinked twice and someone jumped events forward a minute or two. If I'd remembered about the river sooner, Samuel's prognosis wouldn't have made me faint.
I knew I'd been out because gathering the amount of power that Adam was amassing didn't just suddenly happen. I didn't realize why he was doing it until it was too late.
"You don't have to worry anymore, Mercy," Adam murmured, his head bent so that he whispered it into my ears.
I stiffened. I tried. But tired, hurt, and terrified, I didn't have the slightest chance to fight his voice. I didn't really want to. Adam wasn't angry. He wouldn't hurt me.
I let him pull the power of his pack over me like a warm blanket and relaxed against him. My arm still hurt, but the feeling of peace that wove over me separated me from the pain just as it did from the terror. I was so tired of being afraid.
"That's it," he said. "Take a deep breath, Mercy. I won't let you do anything that will harm you, all right? You can trust me that far."
It wasn't a question, but I said "yes" anyway.
In a very quiet voice I don't think even the other werewolves could hear, he said, "Please don't hate me too much when this is over." There was no push to his voice when he said it.
"I don't like this," I told him.
He ran his chin and cheek over the side of my face in a quick caress. "I know. We're going to give you something that will heal you."
That information broke through the peace he'd given me. He was going to make me drink from the cup again. "No," I said. "I won't. I won't."
"Shh." His power rolled over me and smothered my resistance.
"I know the fae," said Samuel harshly. "Why are you so eager to help?"
"Whatever you might think, wolf"  -  Nemane's voice was chill - "the fae don't forget our friends or our debts. This happened because she was trying to help one of us. I can heal only her body, but it looks to me as if it is the least of the hurts she took tonight. The debt is still owed."
A cup was pressed against my lips, and as soon as I recognized the smell of it, my stomach rebelled and I retched helplessly as Adam shifted me in his arms until I wasn't throwing up on either of us. When I was finished, he tipped me back where I'd been.
"Plug her nose," suggested Darryl and Samuel pinched my nostrils together.
"Swallow fast," Adam told me. "Get it over with quickly."
I did.
"Enough," said Nemane. "It will take an hour or so, but I swear that it will heal her."
"I just hope we didn't break her doing it." Adam's voice rumbled under my ear and I sighed in contentment. I wasn't all alone yet. His arms shook and I worried that holding me was tiring him.
"No," he told me, so I must have said something. "You aren't heavy."
Samuel, used to emergencies, took control. "Honey, give me the blanket and the clothes. Go grab a chair from the office - something with a back. Darryl, take Mercy, so that - " Adam's arm tightened around my legs and he growled, making Samuel change his mind. "All right, all right, we'll wait for Honey to get back with the chair. Here she is. We'll wrap Mercy in the blanket, you send her to sleep, and then go wash up and change before the police get here."
Adam didn't move.
"Adam..." Samuel's tone was wary, his posture carefully neutral. A truck drove up and the tension in the garage dropped appreciatively. No one said anything, though, until Warren came in to the garage. He looked pale and strained, and he slowed down as he got a good look around him.
He walked into the center of the garage and nudged a piece of meat with the toe of his boot. Then he looked at Adam. "Good job, boss."
His eyes went to Samuel and the blanket he was holding. Then he looked at the chair resting on the floor in front of Honey.
Samuel's body language told Warren what had been going on and what he wanted without saying a word.
Warren strolled over to us and snagged the blanket from Samuel, snapping it out. "Let's get her warm and covered up."
Adam let Warren take me without argument. Instead of setting me in the chair, though, Warren sat in it and pulled me snugly against him. Adam watched us for a moment - I couldn't read his face at all. Then he leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead.
"If you called the police, they will be here shortly," said Nemane as soon as Adam had gone to the bathroom to wash up. "I need to be gone with these before the police come."
"There's a ring," I told her, still basking in the peace that Adam had gifted me with.
"What?"
"A silver ring on his finger." I yawned. "I think there are a few more things in Tim's house. He keeps them in a cabinet in his bedroom."
"The Mac Owen ring," Nemane said. "Would you all help me to look for it?"
"Maybe Adam swallowed it," I suggested and Warren laughed.
"No more horror movies for you," he murmured. "But Adam didn't eat any of him."
"Here it is," Honey said, bending down to pick something up. Instead of giving it to Nemane, she closed her hand over it. "If you go and take that cup, they're going to prosecute Mercy for murder."
"Give it to me." The temperature in the room dropped appreciatively with the ice in Nemane's voice.
"We have the video," Darryl said. "It should be enough."
Honey laughed and turned on him. "Why? All it shows is that Mercy was drunk. She drank more every time he asked her to. She might have said no, but he never appeared to force her to drink. From the video, a prosecutor could argue that her judgement was impaired by alcohol - but that's not enough to get her freed from a murder charge. She had him incapacitated and she deliberately got up and took a crowbar and hit him with it."
"Then that is what may be," Nemane said. "It is too dangerous for humans to know we have these things."
"Not everything," said Honey. "Just the cup."
"By itself it would answer most of the police's questions," said Samuel. "Though you might have to explain how a human managed to rip a man's head off."
"He had bracelets," I told him. "Called them bracers of giant strength - but they weren't bracers. They'll be around someplace, too."
"Ben," said Adam, sounding cool and controlled as he came back into the garage bay. "Go get my laptop." He was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved gray shirt. His hair was damp. "Nemane, I will make you a deal. If you watch what happened tonight, I will let you take your toys and run away - if that's what you still want to do."
"I am the Carrion Crow," Nemane said. "I've seen more death and rape than you can imagine."
Shame slipped through the warm peace Adam had given to me. I didn't want anyone to watch. "She's blind," I said. "She can't see anything."
"She can use my eyes," Samuel said.
I saw Nemane stiffen.
"My father is a Welsh bard as well as the Marrok," Samuel told her. "He knows things. You can use my eyes, if Adam thinks it's important to see this."
Ben brought Adam's laptop and handed it to him. Adam set it up on the counter.
I buried my head against Warren and tried to ignore the sounds coming from Adam's laptop. The speakers weren't very good so I pretended I couldn't hear the helpless noises I made or the wet sounds...
He let it play until the moment Nemane walked in and turned it off.
"She should be dead," Nemane said flatly when he was finished. "If I'd seen it first, I'd never have given her another drink so soon."
"Will she be all right?" Warren asked sharply.
"If she hasn't gone into convulsions and died yet, I don't suppose she's going to." Nemane stroked the cloak she held on her arm, sounding troubled. "I don't know how she managed to kill him while he was wearing this. It should have kept her from touching him."
"It only protected him from his enemies," I told Warren's shirt. "I wasn't his enemy because he told me not to be."
A storm of police sirens was brewing up outside.
"All right," Nemane said. "You may have the bracelets to explain how a human killed O'Donnell. And the cup. Adam Hauptman, Alpha of the Columbia Basin Pack, you will take possession of them on your honor and return them to Uncle Mike when they are of no further use."
"Samuel," said Warren, and I realized I was starting to shiver helplessly.
"She needs to sleep," Nemane told them.
Adam knelt beside us and looked me in the eye. "Mercedes, go to sleep."
I was too tired to fight the compulsion, even if I had wanted to.