Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ACE and the “A” design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

This book is lovingly dedicated to
the folks of the Tri-Cities, Washington,
who never knew what was living
in their midst.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
    With thanks to Barry Bolstad, who let me pick his brain about police work in the Tri-Cities—and to his wife, Susan, who was patient with us while we talked business at lunch. Thanks also to my sister, Jean Matteucci, who double-checked my German. This book wouldn’t be what it is without the contributions over the years of our VWs, VW mechanics, and the folks at opelgt.com. Also a hearty thanks to the usual suspects for service above and beyond the call of duty: Collin and Mike Briggs, Michael and Dee Enzweiler, Ann Peters, Kaye and Kyle Roberson, and John Wilson—and my editor, Anne Sowards. They read it when it was rough, so you don’t have to. Special thanks to my terrific agent, Linn Prentis, who takes care of business so I can write. Most of all I’d like to thank my family, who is getting used to “make your own dinners” and “go away—I have to finish this three weeks ago last Tuesday.” Without these folks this book would never have been written.

    As always, all mistakes are the fault of the author.



Chapter 1
    Like most people who own their own businesses, I work long hours that start early in the morning. So when someone calls me in the middle of the night, they’d better be dying.
    â€œHello, Mercy,” said Stefan’s amiable voice in my ear. “I wonder if you could do me a favor.”
    Stefan had done his dying a long time ago, so I saw no reason to be nice. “I answered the phone at”—I peered blearily at the red numbers on my bedside clock—“ three o’clock in the morning.”
    Okay, that’s not exactly what I said. I may have added a few of those words a mechanic picks up to use at recalcitrant bolts and alternators that land on her toes.
    â€œI suppose you could go for a second favor,” I continued, “but I’d prefer you hang up and call me back at a more civilized hour.”
    He laughed. Maybe he thought I was trying to be funny. “I have a job to do, and I believe your particular talents would be a great asset in assuring the success of the venture.”
    Old creatures, at least in my experience, like to be a little vague when they’re asking you to do something. I’m a businesswoman, and I believe in getting to the specifics as quickly as possible.
    â€œAt three in the morning you need a mechanic?”
    â€œI’m a vampire, Mercedes,” he said gently. “Three in the morning is still prime time. But I don’t need a mechanic, I need you. You owe me a favor.”
    He was right, darn him. He’d helped me when the local Alpha werewolf’s daughter was kidnapped. He had warned me that he’d be collecting in return.
    I yawned and sat up, giving up all hope of going back to sleep. “All right. What am I doing for you?”
    â€œI’m supposed to be delivering a message to a vampire who is here without my mistress’s permission,” he said, getting to the point. “I need a witness he won’t notice.”
    He hung up without getting an answer, or even telling me when he was coming to pick me up. It would serve him right if I just went back to sleep.
    Muttering to myself, I threw on clothing: jeans, yesterday’s T-shirt complete with mustard stain, and two socks with only one hole between them. Once I was more or less dressed, I shuffled off to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of cranberry juice.
    It was a full moon, and my roommate, the werewolf, was out running with the local pack, so I didn’t have to explain to him why I was going out with Stefan. Which was just as well.
    Samuel wasn’t a bad roommate as such things go, but he had a tendency to get possessive and dictatorial. Not that I let him get away with it, but arguing with werewolves requires a certain subtlety I was lacking at—I checked my wristwatch—3:15 in the morning.
    For all that I was raised by them, I’m not a werewolf, not a were-anything. I’m not a servant of the moon’s phases, and in the coyote shape that is my second form, I look like any other canis latrans : I have the buckshot