Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

dive in and rake it with his sword.
    From my vantage point, I could hear Peter mutter, “Can’t find flesh in all this seaweed.”
    â€œI can’t tell if they’re winning or losing,” Jesse said as she climbed through the window. She threw her comforter over me and knelt near the edge of the roof.
    â€œI can’t either,” I started to say, but I stopped halfway through the last word as a wave of magic brushed painfully over me and dumped me on my rump.
    â€œCareful,” I yelled to the wolves below. I was up and on the edge of the roof as quickly as I could manage—which was just in time to see the fae make an incredibly quick move across the stretch of beach and into the inky river. Adam was still on his back.
    Werewolves can’t swim. Like chimpanzees, they have too little fat: they are too dense to float. My foster father had committed suicide by walking into a river.
    I started to jump off the roof. I could have changed in midair, and on four legs I’d have been in the water in seconds—but I’d promised to watch Jesse. Just because a promise becomes desperately inconvenient doesn’t mean you don’t have to keep it.
    Peter dropped his sword and waded into the river without wasting an instant. The porch light showed me his head as it disappeared under the water.
    Jesse’s hand closed over mine in a bone-crushing grip.
    â€œCome on, come on,” she muttered, then let out a yip of joy as Peter reemerged, towing a coughing and sputtering wolf in his wake.
    I sat down and buried my face in my hands in relief.

chapter 10
    â€œYou are covered with blood and glass,” Jesse snapped at me as she helped me drag my tired bones over the windowsill. “All that blood isn’t going to do anything to help the wolves calm down.”
    â€œI have to go down and check,” I insisted doggedly, not for the first time. “Some of them are hurt and it’s my fault.”
    â€œThey enjoyed every minute of that fight and you know it. It’ll take them a bit to calm enough to be safe anyway. Dad’ll come up when he’s fit to talk. You get in the shower before you ruin the carpet.”
    I looked down and saw that I was still trailing blood. My feet started to throb as soon as I noticed.
    With a little more prodding on Jesse’s part, I shuffled off to the shower (in Adam’s bedroom, since the hall shower was still exposed to the world). Jesse stuffed a pair of old sweats and a T-shirt that told everyone that I loved New York into my arms and shut the bathroom door behind me.
    With the excitement done, I was so tired I could hardly move. Adam’s bathroom was decorated in tasteful browns that somehow managed to escape being bland. His ex-wife, whatever her other faults—and they were many—had excellent taste.
    While I waited for the shower to warm up, I glanced in the full-length mirror that covered the wall between the shower and the his-and-her sinks—and despite the guilt of bringing the fae down upon Adam’s unsuspecting pack—I had to grin.
    I looked like something out of a bad horror flick. Naked, I was covered from fingertip to elbow and toe to knee with marsh muck: it always amazes me how much swamp there is in the Tri-Cities, which is pretty much a desert. The rest of me sparkled, as though I’d covered myself with some glitter lotion instead of having a window broken over my sweat-covered body. Here and there were larger chunks of glass that dripped off me every time I moved—my hair was littered with them.
    And everywhere, I was covered with tiny cuts that oozed blood. I picked up my foot and removed a largish splinter that was responsible for the small pool of blood that was growing around me. All the cuts were really going to hurt tomorrow. Not for the first time, I wished I healed like the werewolves did.
    Steam began to rise from the shower and I trudged in and shut the glass door behind me. The water stung and I hissed as it hit tender bits—then swore when I stepped on another shard of glass, probably one of the ones that had fallen out of my hair as soon as the water hit me.
    Too tired to fish the glass out, I leaned against the wall and let the water pour over my head and relief rolled over me with it, robbing my knees of their last bit of starch. Only the fear that I’d sit on glass and cut something more dear than my feet kept me from sinking to the tiled shower