Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

control yourself.”
    â€œI am going now; it is not good for an old woman like me to be up this late,” Elizaveta said. She looked at me sourly. “Don’t do anything stupid for a while if you can help it, Mercedes. I do not want to come back out here.”
    She sounded as if she came out to clean up my messes on a regular basis, though this was the first time. I was tired, and the sick feeling that killing a man had left in my stomach was still trying to bring up what little was left of my dinner. Her sharpness raised the hackles I was too on edge to pull down, so my response wasn’t as diplomatic as it ought to have been.
    â€œI wouldn’t want that, either,” I said smoothly.
    She caught the implied insult, but I kept my eyes wide and limpid so she wouldn’t know whether I meant it or not. Insulting witches is right up there on the stupid list with enraging Alpha werewolves and cuddling with a new wolf next to a dead body: all of which I’d done tonight. I couldn’t help it, though. Defiance was a habit I’d developed to preserve myself while growing up with a pack ofdominant and largely male werewolves. Werewolves, like other predators, respect bravado. If you are too careful not to anger them, they’ll see it as a weakness—and weak things are prey.
    Tomorrow I was going to repair old cars and keep my head down for a while. I’d used up all my luck tonight.
    Adam seemed to agree because he took Elizaveta’s hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow, drawing her attention back to him as he escorted her back to her car. Her grandson Robert gave me a lazy grin.
    â€œDon’t push the babushka too hard, Mercy,” he said softly. “She likes you, but that won’t stop her if she feels you aren’t showing her proper respect.”
    â€œI know,” I said. “I’m going home to see if a few hours of sleep won’t curb my tongue before it gets us into trouble.” I meant to sound humorous, but it just came out tired.
    Robert gave me a sympathetic smile before he left.
    A heavy weight leaned against my hip and I looked down to see Mac. He gave me what I imagined was a sympathetic look. Adam was still with Elizaveta, but Mac didn’t seem to be having trouble. I scratched him lightly behind one pricked ear.
    â€œCome on,” I told him. “Let’s lock up.”
    This time I remembered to grab my purse.

chapter 4
    Home at last, I decided that there was only one remedy for a night like this. My stash of dark chocolate was gone, and I’d eaten the last gingersnap, so I turned on the oven and pulled out the mixing bowl. By the time someone knocked at my door, I was pouring chocolate chips into the cookie dough.
    On my doorstep was a sprite of a girl with Day-Glo orange hair that sprang from her head in riotous curls, wearing enough eye makeup to supply a professional cheerleading squad for a month. In one hand she held my camera.
    â€œHey, Mercy. Dad sent me over to give you this and to get me out of the way while he dealt with some pack business.” She rolled her eyes as she handed me the camera. “He acts like I don’t know enough to stay out of the way of strange werewolves.”
    â€œHey, Jesse,” I said and waved her inside.
    â€œBesides,” she continued as she came in and toed offher shoes, “this wolf was cute. With a little stripe here—” She ran her finger down her nose. “He wasn’t going to hurt me. I was just rubbing his belly and my father came in and had a cow —oh yum, cookie dough! Can I have some?”
    Jesse was Adam’s daughter, fifteen going on forty. She spent most of the year with her mother in Eugene—she must be in town to spend Thanksgiving with Adam. It seemed a little early to me for that, since Thanksgiving wasn’t until Thursday, but she went to some private school for brilliant and eccentric kids, so maybe her vacations were longer than the public schools’.
    â€œDid you dye your hair especially for your father?” I asked, finding a spoon and handing it to her with a healthy glob of dough.
    â€œOf course,” she said, taking a bite, then continuing to talk as if her mouth weren’t half-full. “It makes him feel all fatherly if he can complain about something. Besides,” she said with an air of righteousness, “everyone in Eugene is doing it. It’ll wash out in a week or two. When