Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

to fill out the form. If I said I was a Heeberskeeter, I wouldn’t be lying since I just invented the word. The treaties that set up the reservation system didn’t allow any questions asked about the way the registration forms were filled out.”
    By the time the meeting was wrapping up, I was convinced that none of these kids had anything to do with O’Donnell’s killing spree and subsequent murder. I’d never attended the meeting of any hate group—being half-Indian and not quite human, I’d have been pretty out of place. But I hadn’t been expecting a meeting conducted with all the passion and violence of a chess club. Okay, less passion and violence than a chess club.
    I even agreed with most of what they said. I might like a few individual fae, but I knew enough to be afraid. Hard to blame these kids for seeing through the fae politicians and speech making. As Tim had told me, all they had to do was read the stories.
    Tim walked me to my car after the meeting.
    â€œThanks for coming,” he said, opening my door for me. “What did you think?”
    I smiled tightly to disguise my dislike of the way he’d grabbed my door before I had. It felt intrusive—though Samuel and Adam, both products of an earlier era, opened doors for me, too, and they didn’t bother me.
    I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, though, so all I said was, “I like your friends…and I hope you aren’t right about the threat the fae present.”
    â€œYou don’t think we’re a bunch of overeducated, under-socialized geeks running around yelling the sky is falling ?”
    â€œThat sounds like a quote.”
    He smiled a little. “Directly from the Herald .”
    â€œOuch. And no, I don’t.”
    I bent to get in the car and noticed that the walking stick was back, lying across the two front seats. I had to move it so I could sit down.
    I glanced at Tim after I moved it, but he didn’t seem to recognize the stick. Maybe O’Donnell had kept it out of sight during the Bright Future meetings; maybe it had kept itself out of sight. Nor did Tim seem to see anything odd about a person who had a walking stick in the front seat of their car. People tend to expect VW mechanics to be a little odd.
    â€œListen,” he said. “I’ve had a little time to brush up on my Arthurian myths—read a little de Troyes and Malory after we got through talking. I wonder if you’d like to come over for dinner tomorrow?”
    Tim was a nice man. I wouldn’t have to worry about him practicing undue influence via some werewolf mojo or turning control freak on me. He’d never get mad and rip out someone’s throat. He wouldn’t kill two innocent victims in order to protect me or anyone else from the mistress of the vampires. I hadn’t seen Stefan since then, but I often went months without seeing the vampire.
    For a bare instant I thought about how nice it would be to go out with a normal person like Tim.
    Of course, there was the small problem of telling him what I was. And the little fact that I wasn’t interested in getting into his bed at all.
    Mostly, though, I was more than half in love with Adam, no matter how much he scared me.
    â€œSorry, no,” I said, shaking my head. “I just got out of one relationship. I’m not about to start another.”
    His smile widened a little and grew pained. “Funny, me, too. We’d been dating for three years and I’d just gone to Seattle to buy a ring. I took her to our favorite restaurant, the ring in my pocket, and she told me she was getting married in two weeks to her boss. She was sure I would understand.”
    I hissed in sympathy. “Ouch.”
    â€œShe was married in June, so it’s been a couple of months, but I don’t really feel like getting involved again either.” Evidently tiring of bending down, he crouched beside the car, putting his head just a little below mine. He reached out and touched me on the shoulder. He wore a plain silver ring, the once smooth surface scratched and worn. I wondered what it meant to him because he didn’t seem to be the kind of man who normally wore rings.
    â€œSo why invite me to dinner?” I asked.
    â€œBecause I don’t intend to turn into a hermit. In the spirit of ‘Don’t let the bastards get you down.’ Why shouldn’t we sit down and have a nice meal and a little