Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

voice said, “It’s because you’re too much for him right now, dear. He did try to make you his servant ... but your ties to the wolves and to that other vampire—and how did you manage that, clever girl?—have blocked him. It won’t be forever. Eventually, he’ll exchange enough blood for you to be his—but not for a few months yet.”
    Mrs. Claus ghost stood in the cage with her back to me, looking at the door that had closed behind Blackwood.
    â€œWhat does he want from me?” I asked her.
    She turned and smiled at me. “Why, me, dear.”
    She had fangs.
    â€œYou’re a vampire,” I said.
    â€œI was,” she agreed. “It isn’t the usual thing, I admit. Though that young man you met earlier is one as well. We’re tied to James. Both his. John was the only vampire James ever made—and I blush to admit that James is my fault.”
    â€œYour fault?”
    â€œHe was always so kind, so attentive. A nice young man, I thought. Then one night one of my other children showed me the murdhuacha James had captured—one of the merrow folk, dear.” That faint accent was Cockney or Irish, I thought, but so faint I couldn’t be sure.
    â€œWell,” she said, sounding exasperated. “We just don’t do that, dear. First off—the fae aren’t a people to toy with. Secondly, whatever we exchange blood with could become vampire. When they’re magical folk, the results can be unpleasant.” She shook her head. “Well, when I confronted him...” She looked down at herself ruefully. “He killed me. I haunted him, followed him from home all the way to here—which wasn’t the smartest idea I’ve ever had. When he took that other man, the one who was like you—well, then he saw me. And found he still had use for this old woman.”
    I had no idea why she was telling me so much—unless she was lonely. I almost felt sorry for her.
    Then she licked her lips, and said, “I could help you.”
    Vampires are evil. It was almost as if the Marrok himself were whispering in my ear.
    I raised an eyebrow.
    â€œIf you feed me, I’ll tell you what to do.” She smiled, her fangs carefully concealed. “Just a drop or two, love. I’m only a ghost—it wouldn’t take much.”

12
    â€œI COULD JUST TAKE IT FROM YOU WHILE YOU SLEEP dear,” the ghost said. “I was only trying to make it a gift. If you give it as a gift, I can help you.” She looked like the sort of woman you’d hire to watch your children, I thought. Sweet and loving, a little complacent.
    â€œYou won’t,” I growled. And I felt a little pop of something. Something I’d done.
    Her eyes widened and she backtracked. “Of course not, dearie. Of course not—if you don’t want me to.”
    She’d tried to cover it up. But I’d done something. I’d felt it once before, in the bathroom at Amber’s house when I’d told the ghost to leave Chad alone. Magic. It wasn’t the magic the fae used, or the witches, but it was magic. I could smell it.
    â€œTell me,” I said, trying to put some push behind it, imitating the authority that Adam wore closer than any of his well-tailored shirts. “How did Blackwood manage the haunting at Amber’s house. Was it you?”
    Her lips tightened in frustration, and her eyes lit up like the vampire she had been. But she answered me. “No. It was the boy, James’s little experiment.”
    Outside of the cages and out of reach was a table stacked with cardboard boxes. A pile of five-gallon buckets—six or eight of them—was on one corner. They fell over with a crash and rolled to the drain in the center of the room.
    â€œThat’s what you were,” she called in a vicious tone that sounded wrong coming out of that grandmotherly face. “He made you vampire and played with you until he was bored. Then he killed you and kept playing until your body rotted away.”
    Like Blackwood had done to Amber, I thought, except he hadn’t managed to make her into a vampire before he’d turned her into a zombie. Here and now, I told myself. Don’t waste energy on what you can’t change just now.
    The buckets quit rolling and the whole room was silent—except for my own breathing.
    She shook herself briskly. “Never fall in love,” she told me. “It makes you