Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

smiled at her, a relaxed, full-faced smile. Whatever I thought of her, Kyle liked her. Since it couldn’t be her warm manner, it must mean she was good people.
    I’d have felt better if she’d had pets. A dog or even a cat would have hinted at a warmth that I couldn’t see in her, but she only smelled of Chanel No. 5 and dry-cleaning fluid.
    â€œMercy,” coaxed Kyle in a tone he must have perfected with the women whose divorces he handled. “You have to tell her.”
    I don’t go around telling people I’m a walker. Outside of my family, Kyle is the only human who knows.
    â€œFreeing your friend might mean that you have to take the stand and tell a whole courtroom of people what you are,” said Ms. Ryan. “How much do you care about what happens to Mr. Adelbertsmiter?”
    She thought I was a fae of some kind.
    â€œFine.” I got out of the sinfully comfortable chair and walked over to the window to look down at the traffic on Clearwater Avenue for a moment. I could see only one way to get this over with quickly.
    â€œI’m not just a mechanic,” I told her, using her words, “I’m Zee’s friend.” I spun abruptly on my heel so that I faced her and pulled my T-shirt over my head, using my toes to push off my tennis shoes and socks at the same time.
    â€œAre you trying to tell me you’re a stripper, too?” she asked, as I took off my bra and dropped it on top of my shirt on the floor. From her tone of voice, I could have been doing sit-ups instead of undressing.
    I unsnapped my jeans and pushed them off my hips along with my underwear. When I stood wearing nothing but my tattoos, I called the coyote to me and sank into her shape. It was over in moments.
    â€œWerewolf?” Ms. Ryan had scrambled out of her chair and was backing slowly to the door.
    She couldn’t tell a coyote from a werewolf? That was like looking at a Geo Metro and calling it a Hum-Vee.
    I could smell her fear and it satisfied something deep inside me that had been writhing under her cool, superior expression. I curled my upper lip so she could get a good look at my teeth. I might weigh only thirty or so pounds in my coyote shape, but I was a predator and could have killed a person if I wanted to: I’d killed a werewolf once with nothing but my fangs.
    Kyle was up and beside her before she could run out the door. He took her arm in a firm grip.
    â€œIf she were a werewolf, you’d be in trouble,” Kyle told her. “Never run from a predator. Even the best behaved of them will have a hard time restraining themselves from chasing after prey.”
    I sat down and yawned away the last of the change-tingles. It also gave her another look at my teeth, which seemed to bother her. Kyle gave me a chiding look, but continued soothing the other lawyer.
    â€œShe’s not a werewolf; they’re a lot bigger and scarier, trust me. She’s not fae either. She’s something a little different, native to our land, not imported like the fae or werewolves. The only thing she can do is shift to coyote and back.”
    Not quite. I could kill vampires—as long as they were helpless, imprisoned by the day.
    I swallowed, trying to get moisture to my suddenly dry mouth. I hated this sudden, gut-wrenching fear that assaulted me without warning. Every time I saw the little hitch in Warren’s walk, I knew I would destroy the vampires again—but I paid the cost of their elimination with these panic attacks..
    Kyle’s calm explanation had given Ms. Ryan time to restore her calm facade. Kyle probably couldn’t tell how angry she was, but my keener senses weren’t fooled by the cool control she’d regained. She was still afraid, but her fear was not as strong as her rage.
    Fear usually made me angry, too. Angry and careless. I wondered if showing her what I was had been such a good idea.
    I changed back into my human self and ignored the growl of hunger that the two quick changes left me with. I put my clothes back on, taking time to tie my tennis shoes so that the bow was even before I resumed my seat, giving Ms. Ryan time to regain her composure.
    She was seated when I looked up, but she’d moved to the other side of the table and taken the chair next to Kyle’s.
    â€œZee is my friend,” I told her again in measured tones. “He taught me everything I know about fixing cars and sold me his shop when he was forced