Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

enshrined upon my heart as Mr. Fideal.”
    If I hadn’t shaken his hand, I don’t know if I would have noticed anything odd about his scent. Though brine is not usually a fragrance I associate with people, he might have had a saltwater aquarium hobby or something.
    But his grip made my skin buzz with the faint touch of magic. There are things other than fae that carry a feel of magic: witches, vampires, and a few others. But fae magic had a certain feel to it—I was willing to bet that Mr. Fideal was as fae as Zee…or at least as fae as Tad’s bookstore guy.
    I wondered what he was doing at a Bright Future meeting. It might be that he was here to keep track of what they were doing. Or maybe he was a part-breed and didn’t even know what he was. A drop of fae blood could account for those young eyes in the older face and for the faintness of the magic I felt.
    â€œGood to meet you,” I told him.
    â€œSo you know what I do to earn my bread,” he said in a gruffly friendly voice. “What is it that you do?”
    â€œI’m a mechanic,” I said.
    â€œRighteous,” declared Courtney. “My Mustang’s been making odd noises for the last couple of days. Do you think you could take a look at it? I don’t have any money right now—just paid for this semester of school.”
    â€œI do mostly VWs,” I told her, taking a card out of my purse and handing it to her. “You’d be better off taking it to a Ford mechanic, but you can bring it by my shop if you want. I can’t do it for free. My hourly rates are better than most places, but since I don’t work on a lot of Fords, it’ll probably take me longer to fix.”
    I heard the front door open. A moment later Tim and Austin arrived with a case of beer and a couple of white plastic grocery bags filled with chips. They were greeted with cheers and mobbed for food and beer.
    Tim set his burdens down on a small table next to the door and escaped being buried by foraging young men. He looked at me for a moment without smiling. “I thought you might bring your boyfriend.”
    â€œHe’s not my boyfriend anymore,” I said—and the relief of that made me smile.
    Courtney saw my relief and misread it. “Oh, honey,” she said. “One of those, eh? Better off without them. Here, have a beer.”
    I shook my head, softening my refusal with a smile. “I never learned to like the stuff.” And I intended to keep my wits about me to catch any clues that came my way, though my already-not-high hopes of that had been falling by the minute. I’d thought I was going to infiltrate an organized hate group, not a bunch of beer-swilling college kids and their teacher.
    I was willing to swear there wasn’t a murdering bastard among them.
    â€œHow about a Diet Coke,” Tim said in a friendly voice. “I used to have a six-pack of ginger ale and another of root beer in the fridge, but I bet these turkeys have already finished them off.”
    He got a bunch of denying catcalls back that seemed to please him. Good for you, I thought, and quit feeling sorry for him because he didn’t have a purple wall or a statue wearing a hat. Find your own group to fit in with.
    â€œDiet Coke would be great,” I told him. “Your house is pretty impressive.”
    That pleased him even more than the catcalls had. “I had it built after my parents died. I couldn’t stand to stay in that old empty place alone.”
    Since Tim stayed to talk, Courtney was actually the one who got the pop for me. She handed it over and then patted Tim on the head. “What Tim isn’t telling you is that his parents were rich. They died in a freak car accident a few years back and gave Tim an estate and life insurance that left him set for life.”
    His face tightened in embarrassment at her rather bold announcement in front of a relative stranger. “I’d rather have had my parents,” he said stiffly, though he must have gotten over whatever grief he’d felt, because all he smelled of was irritation.
    She laughed. “I knew your father, honey. No one would rather have had him than money. Your mother was a sweetie, though.”
    He thought about getting mad, then shrugged it off. “Courtney and I are kissing cousins,” he told me. “It makes her pushy—and I’ve learned to tolerate her.”
    She grinned at me and took a