Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

Karmann Ghia in almost pristine condition.
    â€œAre you going to restore it or make a street rod?”
    â€œI don’t know,” I said. “Her paint is still the original and there’s only a little cracking on the hood. I hate to mess with it unless I have to. If I can get her running well with original parts and Kim can stitch up the seats, I’ll leave it at that.”
    There are three groups of old car enthusiasts: people who think a car should be left as much original as possible; the ones who restore it better than factory; and the people who gut them and replace the brakes, engine, and suspension with more modern equipment. Zee is firmly in the latter group.
    He is not sentimental—if something works better, that’s what you should use. I suppose forty or fifty years doesn’t mean the same thing to him as it does to the rest of us—one person’s antique is another’s rusting hulk.
    Since a good part of my income comes from restoring rusting hulks, I’m not picky. I have a partnership with an upholstery genius, Kim, and a painter who also likes to drive around and show the cars so we can sell them. After deducting the actual material cost of the restore and the shows, we split the profits according to hours spent on the project.
    â€œAir-cooled takes a lot of upkeep,” Zee said.
    â€œSomeone who wants an original condition Ghia won’t care about that,” I told him. He grunted, unconvinced, and went back to his job.
    Gabriel took my Rabbit out to get sandwiches, then sat in the garage to eat with us. I uncovered the Ghia, and the three of us ate and debated the best thing to do with the car until it was time to go back to work.
    â€œZee,” I asked as he raised a Passat in the air to take a look at the exhaust.
    He grunted as he tapped with his index finger the exhaust pipe where it was badly dented, just in front of the first muffler.
    â€œWhat do you know about sorcerers?”
    He stopped his tapping and sighed. “Old gremlins go out of their way to stay away from demon-hosts, and it’s been a while since humans believed enough in the Devil to sell their souls to him.”
    I got a little light-headed. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe in evil—quite the opposite. I’ve had ample proof of God, so I accepted that His opponent exists, too. I just didn’t particularly want to know that someone who made a deal with Satan was lurking ten miles from my home killing hotel maids.
    â€œI thought it was a just a demon,” I said faintly.
    â€œ Ja ,” he said; then he turned and saw my face. “Devil, demon—English is an imprecise language in these things. There are things that serve the Great Beast of Christian scripture. Greater and lesser spirits, demons or devils, and they all serve evil. The greater servants are bound away from our world, but can be invited in—just as vampires cannot enter a home without an invitation.”
    â€œAll right,” I took a deep breath. “What else do you know.”
    Zee reached up and put his hand on the pipe. “Not much, Liebchen . The few men I’ve encountered who claimed to be sorcerers were nothing but demon-bait when I met them.”
    â€œWhat’s the difference?”
    â€œThe difference is who’s holding the reins.” The exhaust pipe began glowing a bright cherry red under Zee’s hand. “Demons serve only one master well, and those who forget it tend to become enslaved rather quickly. Those who remember might stay in control a while longer.”
    I frowned at him. “So all the demon-possessed start out as sorcerers?”
    Zee shook his head. “There are many kinds of invitations, intentional and not. Sorcerer, demon-possessed, it doesn’t matter. Eventually the demon is in control.”
    The exhaust pipe made a loud noise and popped back out to its proper shape. Zee met my gaze. “This creature is playing with the vampires, Mercy. Stay out of its business. The seethe is better equipped to deal with such than you are.”
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    By five thirty, I was elbow deep in a Vanagon tune-up so I had Gabriel close up the office and tried to send both him and Zee off. My battered face made them more reluctant than usual to leave me working alone, but I persuaded them to go at last.
    While Zee had been there, I’d kept the big air conditioner running and the garage doors shut, but, unlike the werewolves,