Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

done.
    â€œBut—” I bit my tongue. I wasn’t going to tell a reporter that the Marrok was one of the wolves who wasn’t out yet.
    â€œI trust your judgement, Mercy—and I’ve raised a few strays before.” Like me.
    â€œI know.”
    He must have heard the gratitude in my voice, because I heard the smile in his. “One or two, anyway, Mercy. Tell your gentleman that he needs to find someone to help as soon as possible. Unless he uses silver, which will hurt her, I doubt he’ll be able to keep her in his cage forever. Not to mention that she doesn’t need the moon to change. Some day she’s going to be hurt or startled into changing and then she’ll kill someone.” Bran hung up.
    I gave Tom Black the list and explained what it meant. Then I gave him Bran’s warning. As the words sank in, he lowered his gun, but I don’t think it was on purpose. It was more as though he was sunk in despair and nothing mattered anymore.
    â€œListen,” I told him. “There’s nothing you can do about her being a werewolf—”
    â€œShe tried to commit suicide,” he told me, tears welling in his eyes. “The day after the full moon. She’s worried she will hurt someone. She used a knife on her wrist, but the cuts kept healing too fast. I’d take her to a damned shrink, but I don’t want to risk telling anyone what she is. She already thinks she’s a monster, she doesn’t need anyone else telling her so.”
    I saw Honey’s eyes widen, when he said that bit about being a monster. From the expression on her face, she thought she was a monster, too.
    I frowned at her. I didn’t want to have sympathy for Honey—it was so much easier to dislike her. She frowned back.
    â€œPut the gun away,” I told Black in the firm voice that sometimes worked on werewolves. I guess it worked on grieving fathers, too, because he slipped the pistol back in his shoulder holster.
    â€œShe doesn’t need a shrink,” I told him. “Every thirteen year old girl wants to kill themselves at some point or other.”
    I remembered being thirteen. When I was fourteen my foster father had killed himself, and that permanently removed the impulse. I’d never do that to people I cared about.
    â€œI expect getting locked in the basement once a month doesn’t help,” I continued. “The Marrok told me that there’s every reason to expect she’ll be able to control her wolf if you find an Alpha to guide her.”
    He turned away and raised his hands to his face. When he turned back his tears were gone, though his eyes were moist. He took the piece of paper I’d written on, and, only after I handed it to him, the roll of money. “Thank you for your help.”
    â€œWait,” I said, glancing at Honey. “Mr. Black, that werewolf who talks to you, has he ever shown you his wolf?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œHas he shown your daughter?”
    â€œWe only saw him once, the night he brought her back to us. The night of the attack. He left a number where he could be reached.”
    â€œSo the only wolf you’ve seen is your daughter, chained and out of control in her cage—and the only wolf she’s ever seen is the one who attacked her?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    Honey was, if anything, more beautiful in her wolf form than she was in her human form. I looked at her. Wolves communicate very well without words; she understood what I asked her to do. She also very clearly didn’t understand why, though she wasn’t strictly opposed to it. Black had his own secrets; he wouldn’t tell anyone that Honey was a werewolf.
    After a few moments of silent arguing while Black grew puzzled, I finally said, “Honey, as much as I hate to admit it, your wolf is glorious. No one would ever think you were a monster—any more than a Siberian tiger or a golden eagle is a monster.”
    Her mouth opened and closed, then she glanced at Black. “All right,” she said in a curiously shy voice. “Can I borrow your bathroom?”
    â€œIt will take her a little time,” I told Black when she was gone. “Fifteen minutes or so—and she might wait a few minutes beyond that. Changing is painful and newly changed werewolves tend to be a little grumpy about it.”
    â€œYou know an awful lot about werewolves,” he said.
    â€œI was raised by