Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

long pull of her beer.
    Over her shoulder I could see that the others had pulled the chairs around into a loose semicircle and were starting to get settled down with munchies propped on a couple of small, strategically placed tables.
    Tim took a seat that someone else had moved and motioned to me to sit beside him, while Courtney went to scrounge her own chair.
    Since it was his house, I’d kind of expected him to take the lead, but it was Austin Summers who stood in front and let out a loud whistle.
    I wish he’d warned me. My ears were still ringing when he began talking.
    â€œLet’s get started. Who has business to address?”
    It only took a very few minutes to discern that Austin was the leader. I’d seen the possibilities of his dominance at the pizza party, but I’d been talking to Tim instead of watching Austin. Here his role was as established as Adam’s was in his pack.
    Aiden Fideal, the fae teacher, was either second in line or third behind Courtney. I had a hard time deciding—because so did they. From the uncertainness of their placement, I was pretty sure that O’Donnell had occupied that spot previously. A petty tyrant like O’Donnell wouldn’t have accepted Austin’s leadership easily. If Austin had been fae, I’d have put him on the top of my suspect list—but he was more human than I.
    Tim faded into the background as the meeting continued. Not because he didn’t say anything, but because no one listened to him unless his remarks were repeated by either Courtney or Austin.
    After a while I started to put some things together from chance remarks.
    O’Donnell might have started Bright Future in the Tri-Cities, but he hadn’t had much luck until he’d found Austin. They had met in a class at the community college a couple of years earlier. O’Donnell was taking advantage of the BFA program that paid for continuing education for the reservation guards. Austin divided his time between Washington State University and CBC and was almost through with a computer degree.
    Tim, who had no need to find work, was older than most of them.
    â€œTim has a masters in computer science from Washington State,” Courtney whispered to me. “That’s how he met Austin, in a computer class. Tim still takes a couple of classes from CBC or WSU every semester. It keeps him busy.”
    Austin, Tim, and most of the students had belonged to a college club—which seemed to have had something to do with writing computer games. Mr. Fideal had been the faculty advisor for that club. When Austin got interested in Bright Future, he’d preempted the club. CBC had dissociated itself with the group when it became obvious the nature of their business had changed—but Mr. Fideal had kept the privilege of dropping in occasionally.
    The first bit of business for Bright Future this meeting was to send a bouquet to O’Donnell’s funeral as soon as the time for it was arranged by his family. Tim accepted the assumption that he would pay for the flowers without comment.
    Business concluded, one young man got up and presented methods sure to protect you from the fae, among them salt, steel, nails in your shoes, and putting your underwear on inside out.
    In the question-and-answer session that followed, I finally couldn’t keep my mouth shut anymore. “You talk as if all the fae are the same. I know that there are some fae that can handle iron and it would seem to me that the sea fae, like selkies, wouldn’t have a problem with salt.”
    The presenter, a shy giant of a young man, gave me a smile, and answered with far more articulation than he’d managed during his presentation. “You’re right, of course. Part of the problem is that we know that some of the stories have been embellished past all recognition. And the fae aren’t exactly jumping up and down to tell us just what kind of fae are left—the registration process is a joke. O’Donnell, who had access to all the paperwork on the fae in the reservation, said that he knew for a fact that at least one in three lied when answering what they were. But part of what we’re trying to do is sift through the garbage for the gold.”
    â€œI thought the fae couldn’t lie,” I said.
    He shrugged. “I don’t know about that, exactly.”
    Tim spoke up. “A lot of them made up a Gaelic-or German-sounding word and used that