Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

vampires can’t stand on holy ground.” Slipped in among a dozen things that weren’t true—say, for instance, the one about vampires crossing water. “But if Littleton was staying in a church, how could you explain it?”
    He turned onto Third and slowed way down so we could look for likely buildings. Gabriel’s sister hadn’t told me which side of Washington the church was on. Since my shop was east of there, that’s where we started. I pressed several buttons and finally got my window to roll down so I could sniff the air.
    â€œAll right,” he said. “Maybe the demon changes the rules, but they’re not supposed to be able to abide holy ground either. Or, the church could have been desecrated.”
    â€œIt was a school for a while,” I said hopefully.
    He shook his head. “Not unless it was a whorehouse. It takes one of the great sins to desecrate a church—adultery, murder—something of that nature.”
    â€œHow about a suicide?” I asked. Gabriel’s sister hadn’t said the suicide had taken place in the church—but she hadn’t said it hadn’t happened there either.
    He glanced at me. “Then I think a demon would take great delight in living in a desecrated church.”
    The traffic on Washington was light tonight and he goosed the little sports car across all four lanes without stopping for the stop sign.
    â€œWhen this is over,” I muttered darkly, “I am never getting in a car with a vampire driving again.”
    Rosalinda was right. The church was two blocks off of Washington. There were no signs around it, but it was unmistakably a church.
    It was bigger than I expected, almost three times the size of the church I attended on Sundays. The old church had once had a fair sized yard, but there was little left of it but sunburnt weeds chopped almost level with the ground. The parking lot had faired little better, the blacktop had worn down until it was more rock than tar and bleached weeds poked out through branching cracks in the surface. I looked, but I couldn’t see any sign of the BMW Littleton had been driving.
    Andre pulled over as soon as we saw the church, parking his car across the street, in front of a two-story Victorian home that looked as though it might once have been a farm house.
    â€œI don’t see his car,” I said.
    â€œMaybe he’s already out hunting,” said Andre. “But I think you’re right, he was here. This is someplace he would stay.” He closed his eyes and inhaled. It made me realize that he hadn’t been breathing tonight except a couple of shallow breaths before he talked. I must be getting used to being around vampires. Ugh.
    I took a deep breath myself, but there were too many scents around. Dogs, cats, cars, blacktop that had baked all day in the hot sun, and plants. I knew without looking that there was a rose garden behind the house we were standing in front of—and that someone nearby was composting. I couldn’t smell werewolf, demon, or vampire—except for Andre. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been counting on some sign that Adam or Samuel had been here.
    â€œI don’t smell anything.”
    Andre lifted an eyebrow and I realized that under the right circumstances he was very good looking—and that I’d been right, there was something different about him, something more tonight.
    â€œHe’s not stupid,” he said. “Only a stupid vampire leaves a trail to his doorstep.” There was a little bit of pride in his voice.
    He looked at the church a moment, then starting walking across the street, leaving me to trot after him.
    â€œShouldn’t we be practicing a little stealth?” I asked.
    â€œIf he’s at home, he’ll know we’re here anyway,” he told me helpfully. “If he’s not, then it doesn’t matter.”
    I stretched my senses as far as I could, and wished that the roses didn’t have quite so strong a scent. I couldn’t smell anything. I wished I was certain that Andre would fight on my side tonight.
    â€œSo if we’re not trying to take him by surprise,” I asked, “why did you park across the street?”
    â€œI paid over a hundred grand for that car,” Andre told me mildly. “And I’m moderately fond of it. I’d hate to see it destroyed in a fit of temper.”
    â€œWhy aren’t you more afraid