Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

waited for him.
    â€œWait,” she told him before he sat down. She looked at the stands across from us, where the vampires and their food sat. “Do you want me to question Estelle, first? Would that make you happier?”
    I couldn’t tell who she was speaking to.
    â€œFine,” she said. “Bring Estelle here.”
    A door I hadn’t noticed opened on the far side of the room and Lily, the gifted pianist and quite insane vampire who never left the seethe and Marsilia’s protection, came in carrying Estelle like a new groom carried his bride over the threshold. Lily was even dressed in a frothy white mass of lace that could have been a wedding dress to Estelle’s dark suit. Though I’d never seen a bride with blood all over her face and down her gown. If I were a vampire, I think I’d only wear black or dark brown—to hide the stains.
    Estelle hung limp in Lily’s arms, and her neck looked like a pack of hyenas had been chewing on her.
    â€œLily,” Marsilia chided. “Haven’t I told you about playing with your food?”
    Lily’s sapphire eyes glittered with a hungry iridescence visible even in the overly brightly lit room. “Sorry,” she said. She skipped a couple of steps. “Sorry, ’Stel.” She smiled whitely at Stefan, then she plopped Estelle’s limp form on the chair, like a doll. She moved Estelle’s head so it wasn’t flopped to the side, then straightened her skirt. “Is that good?”
    â€œFine. Now be a good girl and go sit next to Wulfe, please.”
    Lilly had been in her thirties, I thought, when she was killed, but her mind had stopped developing far earlier. She smiled brightly and skipped over to Wulfe and bounced down to the seat beside him. He patted her knee, and she put her head on his shoulder.
    As with Bernard, Marsilia stuck Estelle’s hands on the thorns. The limp vampire came to shrieking, screaming life as soon as her second hand was pierced.
    Marsilia allowed it for a minute, then said, “Stop,” in a voice that fired like a .22. It popped but didn’t thunder.
    Estelle froze midscream.
    â€œDid you betray me?” Marsilia asked.
    Estelle jerked. Shook her head frantically. “No. No. No. Never.”
    Marsilia looked at Wulfe. He shook his head. “If you control her enough to keep her on the chair, Mistress, she can’t answer with truth.”
    â€œAnd if I don’t, all she does is scream.” She looked into the bleachers. “As I told you. You can try it yourself if you choose? No?” She pulled Estelle’s hands off the chair. “Go sit by Wulfe, Estelle.”
    A Hispanic man came to his feet on one of the seats behind me. He had a tear tattooed just below one eye and he, like Wulfe, hopped down to the floor via the seats, though without Wulfe’s grace. It was more as if he fell slowly down the bleachers, landing on hands and knees on the unforgiving floor.
    â€œEstelle, Estelle,” he moaned, brushing by me. He was human, one of her sheep, I thought.
    Marsilia raised an eyebrow, and a vampire followed Estelle’s human at three or four times his speed. He caught up to him before the man had made it halfway across the floor. The vampire had the appearance of a very elderly man. He looked as though he’d died of old age before being made a vampire, though there was nothing old or shaky in the hold he kept on the struggling man.
    â€œWhat would you have me do, Mistress?” the old man said.
    â€œI would have had you not allow him to interrupt us here,” Marsilia said. I glanced at Warren, who frowned. She was lying then. I’d thought so. This was part of the script. After a thoughtful moment Marsilia said, “Kill him.”
    There was a snap, and the man dropped to the ground—and every vampire in the place who had been breathing stopped. Estelle fell to the ground, four or five feet from Wulfe. I glanced away and unexpectedly caught Marsilia staring at me. She wanted me dead; I could see it in the hungry look she had. But she had more pressing business just now
    Marsilia gestured at the chair in invitation to Stefan. “Please, accept my apologies for the delay.”
    Stefan stared at her. If there was an emotion on his face, I couldn’t read it.
    He’d taken a step forward, and she stopped him once again. “No. Wait. I have a better idea.”
    She looked at me.