Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

so it’s safe. Did you clean Stefan’s van?” I nodded at the bus.
    â€œYes, yes. Did you think you were dealing with an amateur?” She gave an offended sniff. “Your vampire friend will never know that his van held a corpse other than his own.”
    â€œThank you.” I tilted my head, but I couldn’t hear anything from inside the garage, so I opened the office door and called, “Adam?”
    â€œIt’s all right,” he said, sounding tired. “It’s safe.”
    â€œElizaveta is here with her chauffeur,” I warned him in case he hadn’t noticed them when he’d stormed in.
    â€œHave her come in, too.”
    I would have held open the door, but Elizaveta’s grandson took it out of my hand and held it for both of us. Elizaveta shifted her bony grasp from his arm to mine, though from the strength of her grip I was pretty certain that she didn’t need help walking.
    Mac was curled up in the far corner of the garage where I’d left him. His wolf form was dark gray, blending in with the shadows on the cement floor. He had one white foot and a white stripe down his nose. Werewolves usually have markings that are more doglike than wolflike. I don’t know why. Bran, the Marrok, has a splash of white on his tail, as though he’d dipped it in a bucket of paint. I think it’s cute—but I’d never had the nerve to tell him so.
    Adam was kneeling beside the dead man, paying no attention to Mac at all. He looked up when we came in fromthe office. “Elizaveta Arkadyevna,” he said in a formal greeting, then added something in Russian. Switching back to English, he continued, “Robert, thank you for coming tonight, too.”
    Elizaveta said something in Russian directed at Adam.
    â€œNot quite yet,” Adam replied. “Can you reverse his change?” He gestured to the dead man. “I don’t recognize his scent, but I’d like to get a good look at his face.”
    Elizaveta frowned and spoke rapidly in Russian to her grandson. His response had her nodding, and they chatted for a few moments more before she turned back to Adam. “That might be possible. I can certainly try.”
    â€œI don’t suppose you have a camera here, Mercy?” Adam asked.
    â€œI do,” I told him. I work on old cars. Sometimes I work on cars that other people have “restored” in new and interesting fashions. I’ve found that getting a picture of the cars before I work on them is useful in putting them back together again. “I’ll get it.”
    â€œAnd bring a piece of paper and an ink stamp pad if you have it. I’ll send his fingerprints off to a friend for identification.”
    By the time I returned, the corpse was back in human form, and the hole I’d torn in his neck gaped open like a popped balloon. His skin was blue with blood loss. I’d seen dead men before, but none that I was responsible for killing.
    The change had torn his clothing—and not in the interesting way that comic books and fantasy artists always depict it. The crotch of his pants was ripped open along with his blood-soaked shirt’s neck and shoulder seams. It seemed terribly undignified.
    Adam took the digital camera from me and snapped a few pictures from different angles, then tucked it back in its case and slung it over his shoulder.
    â€œI’ll get it back to you as soon as I get these pictures off it,” he promised absently as he took the paper and inkstamp and, rather expertly, rolled the limp fingers in the ink, then on the sheet of paper.
    Things moved rapidly after that. Adam helped Elizaveta’s grandson deposit the body in the luxurious depths of the trunk of her car for disposal. Elizaveta did her mumbles and shakes that washed my garage in magic and, hopefully, left it clean of any evidence that I’d ever had a dead man inside. She took Mac’s clothing, too.
    â€œHush,” said Adam, when Mac growled an objection. “They were little more than rags anyway. I’ve clothes that should fit you at my house, and we’ll pick up more tomorrow.”
    Mac gave him a look.
    â€œYou’re coming home with me,” said Adam, in a tone that brooked no argument. “I’ll not have a new werewolf running loose around my city. You come and learn a thing or two, then I’ll let you stay or go as you choose—but not until I’m satisfied you can