Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

face-first on the cement floor. Standing like a victory flag, stuck deep into Blackwood’s back, was the walking stick.
    â€œFair spearman was I once,” the oakman said. “And Lugh was better still. Nothing he built but what couldn’t become a spear when needed.”
    Panting, I stared at him, then down at Blackwood. Who wiggled.
    I shifted back to human because I could deal with doors better that way. Then I ran for the kitchen where, hopefully, there would be a knife big enough to go through bone.
    The wooden block beside the sink yielded both a butcher knife and a large French chef’s knife. I grabbed one in each hand and ran down the stairs.
    The door was shut and the knob wouldn’t turn. “Let me in,” I ordered in a voice I hardly recognized as mine.
    â€œNo. No,” said John’s voice. “You can’t kill him. I’ll be alone.”
    But the door opened, and that was all I cared about.
    I didn’t see John, but Catherine was kneeling beside Blackwood. She spared a glare for me, but she was paying more attention to the dying (I fervently hoped) vampire.
    â€œLet me drink, dear,” she crooned to him. “Let me drink, and I’ll take care of her for you.”
    He looked at me as he tried to get his arms underneath him. “Drink,” he said. Then he smiled at me.
    With a crow of triumph she bent her head.
    She was still drinking when the butcher knife swooshed through her insubstantial head and cut cleanly through Blackwood’s neck. An axe would have been better, but with his strength still lingering in my arms, the butcher knife got the job done. A second cut took his head completely off.
    His head touched my toes, and I edged them away. A knife in either hand, I had no chance to feel triumphant or sick at what I’d done. Not with a very solid Catherine smiling her grandmotherly smile only six feet from me.
    She smiled, her mouth red with Blackwood’s blood. “Die,” she said, and reached out—
    Last year Sensei spent six months on sai forms. The knives weren’t so well-balanced for fighting, but they worked. It was a butcher’s job I made of it—and I managed it only by clinging fiercely to the here and now. The floors, the walls, and I were all drenched in blood. And she wasn’t dead ... or rather she was dead already. The knives kept her off me, but none of the wounds seemed to affect her at all.
    â€œThrow me the stick,” said the oakman softly.
    I dropped the French chef’s knife and grabbed the staff with my free hand. It slid out of Blackwood’s back as if it didn’t want to be there. For a moment I thought that the end was a sharp point, but my attention was focused on Catherine and I couldn’t be sure.
    I tossed it to the Oakman and drove Catherine away from Corban’s cage. He’d collapsed when I’d cut off Blackwood’s head in a motion not unlike Amber’s zombie. I hoped he wasn’t dead—but there wasn’t anything I could do about it if he was.
    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the oakman lick the blood-covered stick with a tongue at least eight inches long. “Death blood is best,” he told me. And then he flung the stick at the outside wall, and said a word ...
    The blast knocked me off my feet and onto Blackwood’s corpse. Something hit me in the back of the head.
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    I STARED AT THE POOL OF SUNLIGHT THAT COVERED MY hand. It took me a moment to realize that whatever had hit me must have knocked me out. Under my hand was a thick pile of ash, and I jerked away. Buried in the ash was a key. It was a pretty key, one of those ornate skeleton keys. It took all my willpower to put my hand back into what had been Blackwood and pick it up. I hurt from head to heels, but the bruises the vampire had inflicted after Chad escaped were mostly gone. And the others were fading as I watched.
    I didn’t want to think about that too much.
    The oakman had a hand stretched though the bars, but he hadn’t been able to touch the sunlight streaming into the basement from the hole he’d blasted in the wall with my walking stick. His eyes were closed.
    I opened the cage, but he didn’t move. I had to drag him out. I didn’t pay attention to whether or not he was breathing. Or I tried very hard not to. So what if he wasn’t, I thought. Fae are very hard to kill.
    â€œMercy?” It was Corban.
    I stared at