Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada
(a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R ORL, England
Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)
Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia
(a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)
Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India
Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand
(a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,
South Africa
    Â 
    Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R ORL, England
    Â 
    This is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.
    Â 
    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
    Â 
Copyright © 2009 by Hurog, Inc.
    Map illustration by Michael Enzweiler.
    Â 
    All rights reserved.
    No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
    ACE and the “A” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
    Â 
    Â 
    Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
    Â 
    eISBN : 978-1-440-69880-4
    1. Thompson, Mercy (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Automobile mechanics—Fiction.
3. Metamorphosis—Fiction. 4. Vampires—Fiction. 5. Werewolves—Fiction. I. Title.
    Â 

PS3602.R53165B66 2009
813’.6—dc22
2008046403
    Â 

    http://us.penguingroup.com

For Jordan, whimsical, musical friend of critters furred, scaled, and feathered

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
    There are dozens of people who have helped in this endeavor, but I am especially grateful to those who, on a moment’s notice, went through the manuscript with a fine-tooth comb—Mike Briggs, Dave and Katharine Carson, Laurie Martin, Jean Matteaucci, Anne Peters, Kaye Roberson, and Anne Sowards. I also would like to take a moment to thank the people who’ve worked so hard to determine that, yes, you can indeed cast a silver bullet—Mike Briggs, Dr. Kevin Jaansalu, Dr. Kyle Roberson, and Tom Lenz.



1
    I STARED AT MY REFLECTION IN THE MIRROR. I WASN’T pretty, but my hair was thick and brushed my shoulders. My skin was darker on my arms and face than it was on the rest of my body, but at least, thanks to my Blackfoot father, I’d never be pasty pale.
    There were two stitches Samuel had put in the cut on my chin, and the bruise on my shoulder (not extensive damage considering I’d been fighting something that liked to eat children and had knocked out a werewolf). The dark thread looked from some angles like the legs of a shiny black spider. Aside from that slight damage, there was nothing wrong with my body. Karate and mechanicking kept me in good shape.
    My soul was a lot more battered than my body, but I couldn’t see it in the mirror. Hopefully no one else could either. It was that invisible damage that left me afraid to leave the bathroom and face Adam, who waited in my bedroom. Though I knew with absolute certainty that Adam wouldn’t do anything I didn’t want him to do—and had wanted him to do for a long time.
    I could ask him to leave. To give me more time. I stared at the woman in the mirror, but all she did was stare back.
    I’d killed the man who’d raped me. Was I going to let him have this last victory? Let him destroy me as he’d intended?
    â€œMercy?” Adam didn’t have to raise his voice. He knew I could hear him.
    â€œCareful,” I told him as I left off mirror-gazing and began pulling on clean underwear and an old T-shirt. “I have an ancient walking stick, and I know how to use it.”
    â€œThe walking stick is lying across your bed,” he said.
    When I came out of the bathroom, Adam was lying