Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

of Littleton?” I asked. I was afraid. I could smell my own fear over and above the roses, which had, oddly enough, grown stronger after we crossed the street.
    Andre stepped off the road and onto the sidewalk, then came to a full stop and looked at me. “I fed deeply this evening,” he said with an odd smile. “The Mistress herself did me that honor. With the ties that already bind us, and her blood fresh within me, I can call upon her gifts and her power at my need. It will take more than a new-made vampire, even one aided by a demon, to defeat us.”
    I remembered how easily Littleton had subdued Stefan and had my doubts. “Then why didn’t Marsilia just come herself?” I asked.
    His jaw dropped in genuine shock. “Marsilia is a lady. Women do not belong in combat.”
    â€œSo you brought me instead?”
    He opened his mouth then closed it again, looking a little embarrassed by what he’d been about to say to me.
    â€œWhat?” I asked, beginning to be a little amused—which was better than terrified. “Isn’t it polite to tell someone she’s expendable because she’s not a vampire?”
    At a loss, he started up the cement steps that led to the worn double doors that hadn’t been painted in too many years. I followed, but stayed a step behind.
    â€œNo,” he said finally, his hand on the doorknob. “And I prefer to be polite.” He turned to look down at me. “My mistress was certain that you were the only person who would be able to find this vampire. She gets glimpses of the future sometimes. Not often, but what she does see is seldom wrong.”
    â€œSo do we all survive?” I asked.
    He shook his head. “I do not know. I do understand, though, that you have taken great risk for the honor of the seethe. You are so fragile—” He reached out and rested his fingertips against my cheek. “Almost human. On my honor, I promise to do everything in my power to see that you are safe.”
    His eyes caught me for a moment before I took two quick steps back, all but falling over the steps. Stefan’s honor I trusted—Andre’s was questionable.
    Both of the front doors were locked, but neither had been designed to keep out a vampire. He put a shoulder against one of the doors and broke the frame so the door swung open freely. Apparently we weren’t being subtle tonight.
    I slid Zee’s backpack down my arms and retrieved the stake and knife. Zee’d included the belt and sheath for the knife so at least I didn’t have to run around with the knife in one hand and the stake in the other. I waited for Andre to ask me what I was doing with a knife, but he ignored me. All of his attention was on the church.
    Andre stood poised outside the threshold.
    â€œWhat happens if it is still holy ground?” I asked, hurriedly tying the belt.
    â€œThen I burst into flames,” he said. “But if it was holy ground I should have felt it before this.” As he spoke, he stepped through the doorway and stood fully inside the church. “This isn’t hallowed ground,” he told me, rather redundantly.
    I followed him into a large foyer and then looked around. The foyer was large enough for ten or twenty people to have milled around comfortably. The flooring was linoleum tile, cracked and pitted with age. There was a wide stairway leading upward that had a rather nicely carved handrail. Beside the stairway was a pair of double doors, propped open so I could see the large, empty room beyond them that must have been the sanctuary.
    The whole church was dark, but there were windows high up that let in a little illumination from the streetlights outside. A real human might have had trouble navigating, but it was light enough for Andre and me.
    He stalked over to the sanctuary doors and sniffed. “Come here, walker,” he said, his voice dark and rough. “Tell me what you smell.”
    I could have told him from where I stood, but I stuck my head into the sanctuary.
    The ceiling soared two stories above our heads with frosted windows on both walls that glimmered silver with the dim light of the city night. The floor was hardwood, scarred where pews had once been bolted in.
    The walls and some of the windows of the sanctuary had been covered with graffiti—probably done by the neighborhood kids. I just didn’t see either a vampire or demon writing things like For a Good