Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

to cut strips off my linen jacket sleeve so I could wrap my wrist. It wasn’t as if anything would ever get the jacket clean again anyway.
    I was disoriented and shocky, so it took me a while to find the backpack again. The dragon medallion was warmer than my fingers.
    It was easier to find the bed this time. My eyes were accustomed to the dark and the flashlight beam, as dim as it was, was the only light in the room.
    I set the medallion on his chest.
    â€œDrachen,” I said and suddenly there was more light than my eyes could handle.
    Blinded, I had to stay where I was for a moment. By the time I could see, the fire had spread from the vampire, to the bedding and smoke filled the room. I couldn’t wait and reclaim the medallion or the stake without suffocating from smoke inhalation. So I left them behind and scrambled up the ladder. Zee’s knife was still in my hand.
    The skies were dark, boiling with energy, and as I stumbled out of the broken patio door, the wind pulled a tree limb off a nearby tree. The wind, or something else tugged and pulled me away from the house. I had to cover my eyes because dirt and plant matter filled the air.
    I staggered to the picnic table and touched the man’s shoulder. “Come on,” I said. “We need to get to the car.”
    But he fell over, off the bench, and onto the ground. Only then did my brain catch up to what my nose and ears had been trying to tell me. He was dead. The woman was lying forward on the table, as if she’d set her head down and fallen asleep. My heart was the only one beating. She was dead, too.
    As I stood dumbfounded, I became aware that there was something missing. The whole time I had been here I could feel the weight of the dead teasing the outer edges of my senses. There were no ghosts here, now.
    Which meant that there were vampires nearby.
    I spun around, looking, but I would never have seen him if he hadn’t wanted me too.
    Wulfe was leaning against the wall of the house, looking up at the sky, his head banging rhythmically against the wall of the house in time with my furiously beating heart.
    Then he stopped and looked at me. His eyes were fogged, but I had no doubt he could see me.
    â€œIt’s daytime,” I said.
    â€œSome of us aren’t as limited as others,” he answered me. “Andre’s death cries have roused the seethe by now. Marsilia will know he is dead—they have been bound for a long time, she and Andre. It won’t have to be much darker before the rest of us are here. You need to get her away.”
    I stared at him, then realized he wasn’t talking to me—because a cold hand wrapped around my upper arm.
    â€œCome on,” Stefan said, his voice strained. “You need to get out of here before the rest come.”
    â€œYou killed them,” I said, digging in my heels. I didn’t look at him because I didn’t want to see him looking the way Wulfe and Andre looked in the daylight. “They were safe and you killed them.”
    â€œNot him,” Wulfe said. “He told me you would never forgive him if he did. It was a clean death, they weren’t frightened—but they had to die. They couldn’t be allowed to run free crying, ‘vampire.’ And we need culprits to give to the Mistress.” He smiled at me and I took a step closer to Stefan. “I came to find the house on fire,” he said, “and two humans, Andre’s current menagerie, outside of his house. I always told Andre that the way he kept his sheep would be the death of him someday.” He laughed.
    â€œCome on,” Stefan said. “If we get you out of here in the next ten minutes or so, no one will know you were ever here.”
    I let him urge me away from Wulfe, still not looking at him.
    â€œYou knew I was hunting Andre.”
    â€œI knew. There was nothing else you would have done, being you.”
    â€œShe’ll question you with the chair,” I said. “She’ll know I did this.”
    â€œShe won’t question me because I’ve been locked up in the cells under the seethe for the past week because of my ‘unfortunate attitude’ about the Mistress’s plans to create another monster. No one can escape from the cells because Wulfe’s magic ensures what is locked there stays locked there.”
    â€œWhat if she questions Wulfe?”
    â€œThe chair is Wulfe’s creation,” said Stefan,