Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

being hurt here and now.
    â€œYes”—Kyle started down the stairs—“I agree, Samuel. Those are the men I really love sticking it to in court.” He paused. “And women, too, sometimes. Abuse and violence goes both ways. Did I ever tell you about the client I had who took a contract out on her husband?”
    â€œYou mean a killing-for-hire type contract?”
    He nodded. “It was a first for me, too. Who’d have thought it would happen in our little town? Killer took him out with a single shot. They’d been married for thirty-two years, and he took up with their grandson’s girlfriend. Apparently she decided divorce and the lovely settlement I’d gotten her weren’t enough. She turned herself in that afternoon. Seemed pretty happy to do so.” He paused at the kitchen. “Would you like something to eat?”
    â€œI think I’d better go,” I told him. “I’d rather no one realized I stopped by here.”
    â€œWeren’t you carrying that walking stick of yours? Did you leave it in the bathroom?”
    It was gone. I’d been carrying it, and I hadn’t noticed when it left. “Don’t worry about it,” I told him. “It’ll show up again when it wants to.”
    He gave me a delighted smile. “That’s right. That’s what Warren said. The thing just follows you around like a puppy?”
    I shrugged.
    â€œPretty cool.”
    At the door, he hugged me and kissed my cheek. Sam gravely raised one paw like a well-trained dog, and Kyle shook the lion-sized foot without flinching.
    â€œYou take care of Mercy,” he told Sam. “I don’t know what she’s gotten herself into this time—but danger seems to be her new middle name.”
    â€œHey,” I objected.
    Kyle looked down his nose at me. “Broken arm, concussion, sprained ankle, stitches, kidnapped . . .” He let his voice trail off. “And that’s not the end of the list, is it? You keep Samuel or someone next to you until this blows over. I don’t want to be attending your funeral, darling.”
    â€œFine,” I said, hoping that he wasn’t right. “I’ll be careful.”
    â€œYou just let Warren or me know if we can give you any more help.”

    I DROVE TO THE BIG MALL IN KENNEWICK BECAUSE I felt a strong desire not to park somewhere isolated—and I wanted to call Tad. I had to park in Outer Mongolia because on a Saturday, that was the only place with parking spaces. But I was as far from alone as it was possible to be. Then I called Tad.
    â€œHey, Mercy,” he answered. “Dad told me that you were nearly involved in a shoot-out at the OK Corral in East Kennewick this morning.”
    â€œThat’s right,” I told him. “But let me tell you about the whole day and see what you think.”
    I ran through the whole thing from beginning to end—leaving out only the part where I hid the book.
    When I’d finished, there was a small pause while Tad absorbed what I’d said. Then he asked, “Just what is in that book anyway?”
    â€œIt’s a book written about the fae by someone who was fae,” I told him. “I don’t think there’s anything magical about it—or if there is, I can’t tell, and I usually can. There’s a lot of information in it and a lot of fairy tales retold from the other side.” I had to laugh. “Gave me a whole new perspective on ‘Rumplestiltskin’ and a real aversion to ever reading ‘Hansel and Gretel’ again.”
    â€œNothing shocking?”
    â€œNot that I read. Not a whole lot that isn’t already out in the realm of folklore—though this is more organized. Particularly in regard to the variety of the fae and the fae artifacts. I suppose there could be something shocking in the part I haven’t gotten through yet—or there’s something concealed by magic or a secret code . . . Invisible ink, maybe?” My imagination failed me.
    â€œLet me tell Dad all of this,” Tad said. “I can’t think that there would be that much interest in that old book. Sure, it’s valuable—and there would be a desire, I think, to keep it out of the hands of the humans. But it wouldn’t be disastrous if there’s nothing in it but fairy tales not that much different from books already available . . . Wait a minute.” He paused.