Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

Tuesday, I could cancel. “Tuesday would be really good.”
    He hung up, and I asked Sam, “Can you teach me how to keep the pack out of my head?”
    He made a sad noise.
    â€œNot without being able to talk,” I agreed. “But I promised Adam I’d ask.” So I had three days to fix Samuel. And I felt like a traitor for . . . I hadn’t really lied to Adam, had I? Raised among werewolves, who are living lie detectors, I’d long ago learned to lie with the truth nearly as well as a fae.
    Maybe I had time to make brownies, too.
    My cell phone rang, and I almost just answered it, assuming it was Adam. Some instinct of self-preservation had me hesitate and glance at the number: Bran’s.
    â€œThe Marrok is calling,” I told Samuel. “Think he’ll wait three days? Me either.” But I could delay him a little by not answering the phone. “Let’s go work on some cars.”

    SAM SAT IN THE PASSENGER SEAT AND GAVE ME A sour look. He’d been mad at me since I put his collar on—but the collar was camouflage. It made him look more like a dog. Something domesticated enough for a collar, not a wild animal. Fear brings violence out in the wolves, so the fewer people who are scared of them, the better.
    â€œI’m not going to roll the window down,” I told him. “This car doesn’t have automatic windows. I’d have to pull over and go around and lower it manually. Besides, it’s cold outside, and unlike you, I don’t have a fur coat.”
    He lifted his lip in a mock snarl and put his nose down on the dashboard with a thump.
    â€œYou’re smearing the windshield,” I told him.
    He looked at me and deliberately ran his nose across his side of the glass.
    I rolled my eyes. “Oh, that was mature. The last time I saw someone do something that grown-up was when my little sister was twelve.”

    AT THE GARAGE, I PARKED NEXT TO ZEE’S TRUCK, AND as soon as I got out of the car, I could hear the distinctive beat of salsa music. I have sensitive ears, so it was probably not loud enough to bother anyone in the little houses scattered among the warehouses and storage units that surrounded the garage. A little figure at the window waved at me.
    I’d forgotten.
    How could I have forgotten that Sylvia and her kids were going to be cleaning the office? Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t have been a problem—Samuel would never hurt a child, but we weren’t dealing with Samuel anymore.
    I realized that I’d gotten used to him, that I was still thinking of him as though he was only Samuel with a problem. I’d let myself forget how dangerous he was. Then again, he hadn’t killed me yet.
    Maybe if he stayed with me in the garage . . .
    I couldn’t risk it.
    â€œSam,” I told the wolf, who’d followed me out of the car, “there are too many people here. Let’s—”
    I’m not sure what I was going to suggest, maybe a run out somewhere no one would see us. But it was too late.
    â€œMercy,” said a high-pitched voice as the office door popped open with a roar of bongos and guitars, and Gabriel’s littlest sister, Maia, bounced down the short run of steps and sprinted toward us. “Mercy, Mercy, guess what? Guess what? I am all grown-up. I am going to pretty school, and I—”
    And that was when she caught a glimpse of Sam.
    â€œOoo,” she said, still running.
    Samuel is not bad-looking in his human form—but his wolf is pure white and fluffy. All he needed was a unicorn’s horn to be the perfect pet for a little girl.
    â€œPretty school?” I asked, stepping forward and to the side, so I was between the werewolf and Maia. Maia stopped instead of bumping into me, but her eyes were on the wolf.
    The next-oldest girl, Sissy, who was six, had emerged from the office a few seconds after her sister. “ Mamá says you can’t run out of the office, Maia. There might be cars who wouldn’t see you. Hi, Mercy. She means preschool. I’m in first grade this year—and she is still just a baby. Is that a dog? When did you get a dog?”
    â€œPretty school,” repeated Maia. “And I’m not a baby.” She gave me a hug and launched herself at Sam.
    I would have caught her if Sam hadn’t bounded forward, too.
    â€œPony,” she said, attacking him as if he weren’t a scarily huge wolf. She grabbed