Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

connected. Fideal hissed and ran, tripping over a jack stand and into a small tool chest. I still couldn’t see him, but he made a mess of my garage.
    I jumped over the fallen jack stand, knowing that Fideal couldn’t be too far away. As I rounded the tool chest, something big hit me.
    I landed on the cement chin-, elbow-, and knee-first. Helpless. It took me a full second to understand that the buzzing in my head was someone snapping nasty phrases in German.
    Even dazed and facedown on the floor, I knew who’d come to my rescue. I only knew one man who snarled in German.
    Whatever he said, it made Fideal lose control of whatever magic he’d been doing to block my nose. The whole building suddenly reeked of swamp. But it stank more in one place than any other.
    I ran for the place where the shadows were the darkest.
    â€œMercy, halt ,” Zee said.
    I swung the walking stick as hard as I could. It connected with something and stuck for a moment, then blazed as brightly as the sun.
    Fideal shrieked again and made one of those impossible leaps, jumping over the Rabbit and up against the far wall, knocking the walking stick from my hand as he leapt past me. He wasn’t down or even hurt. He just crouched in a manner no horse could ever adopt and stared at Zee.
    Zee didn’t look like someone worthy of the wariness of a monster. He looked as he always had, a man past middle age, lanky and rawboned, except for his small pot belly. He bent over Warren, who started coughing as soon as Zee touched him. He didn’t look at me when he spoke. “He’s all right. Let me handle this, please, Mercy. I owe you at least this.”
    â€œAll right.” But I picked up the walking stick.
    â€œFideal,” Zee said. “This one is under my protection.”
    Fideal hissed something in Gaelic.
    â€œYou grow old, Fideal. You forget who I am.”
    â€œMy prey. She is mine. They said. They said I could eat her and I will. Barnyard animals they give me. That the Fideal should be reduced to eating cow or pig like a dog.” Fideal spat on the ground, showing fangs blacker than the grayish slime that coated his body. “The Fideal takes its tribute from the humans who come into its territory to harvest the rich peat to heat their houses or the children who venture too close. Pig, faugh!”
    Zee stood up. The area around him lightened oddly, as if someone were slowly turning up a spotlight on him. And he changed, dropping his glamour. This Zee was a good ten inches taller than mine and his skin was polished teak instead of age-spotted German pale. Glistening hair that could have been gold or gray in better light was braided in a tail that hung down over one shoulder and reached past his waist. Zee’s ears were pointed and decorated with small white slivers of bone threaded through piercings that ran all the way around them. In one dark hand he held a blade that was identical to the one he’d let me borrow except that it was at least twice as long.
    Shadows pulled away from Fideal, too. For a moment I saw the monster that Adam and his pack had fought, but that gave way to a creature that looked like a small draft pony, except that ponies don’t have gills in their necks—or fangs. Finally he became the man I’d first met at the Bright Future meeting. He was crying.
    â€œGo home, Fideal,” Zee said. “And leave this one. Leave my child alone and your blood will not feed my sword. It, too, hungers and it feeds best on things less helpless than a human child.” He waved a hand and a motor spun to life, lifting the garage door next to Fideal.
    The fae scrambled out of the pole barn and disappeared around the corner.
    â€œHe won’t bother you again,” said Zee, who once more looked like himself. The knife was gone, too. “I’ll speak to Uncle Mike and we’ll make certain of it.” He held out a hand and Warren used it to pull himself to his feet.
    Warren was pale and his clothes were wet as if he’d been immersed in water, seawater from the smell of him. He straightened himself slowly, as if he hurt.
    â€œAre you all right?”
    Warren nodded, but he was still leaning on Zee.
    The walking stick was just in front of Zee’s foot—the blackened silver knob had smoke gently rising from it.
    I picked it up gingerly, but it was as inert to my touch as the stick I’d thrown for Ben on Saturday. “I thought this was