Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

it, see.’ ” I used my best Jimmy Cagney voice as I recited the scene as I had pieced together. “And then he nods to his minions—Jolly Green Giants One and Two, because they both smell like green beans to me. Giant One, she pushes over a bookcase that topples a few more.” I couldn’t always tell the sex of the person whose scent trail I was following, but Giant One was definitely female, though not necessarily big. “Two, he’s a little stronger. He gets some loft on his and tosses it about halfway across the room, taking down a couple of more bookcases along the way in a much more destructive fashion.”
    The original bookcase Two had tossed was in pieces, having broken apart when it hit. I could see the action running like a film through my head; the steps had been laid out before my nose, and eyes—with a little imagination thrown in. I wasn’t sure even a werewolf could have picked up a bookcase stuffed full of books.
    â€œBut Phin doesn’t tell right away,” I told Sam.
    I thought about Tad, my morning visitor- with-gun, and the dried blood on the floor. “So Fishy Boy continues working on Phin while the Giant Twins go looking for it in the store. They’re pretty convinced it is here because they took apart everything. I’m thinking that the ripped-up books might just be frustration—because it wasn’t done in a methodical way. I suppose, even so, it could be that they are looking for something that is not a book.” I looked around. “Maybe it could be hidden in a book or behind a book. They stopped because Phin started talking.”
    Sam sneezed a quick agreement—or maybe it was just dust. I was worried it was just dust.
    â€œDid he know they were coming and call Tad to warn me?” I asked. “Or did they make him call Tad, and he managed to leave a vague warning instead? Either way, isn’t it interesting that he didn’t say what it was I’d borrowed?”
    I tapped my fingers on a bookcase that was still upright. “So maybe they don’t know it was a book, and he was afraid they could hear him—or they could read Tad’s message.”
    Sam sneezed again. I glanced at him and saw the intelligent gleam that told me he was listening—and made me realize that he hadn’t been just a few minutes ago.
    â€œMaybe they really are after something entirely different. It could even be that Phin got clever and sent them after me to throw them off the trail. He does know that I have more protection than most people.”
    I let go of the bookcase so I could start pacing. “And this is where I’m going to be adding one and one and getting fifty—but bear with me.” I walked twice around the shop and came to a halt where I’d started in the first place.
    â€œAssume that at some point yesterday, Phin breaks down and tells them exactly who I am: things like who I’m dating and how many people would be angry if they just came after me. This next part is the weakest part of my story, Sam, but my instincts are screaming at me that the incident with Kelly Heart this morning and what happened to Phin are connected—it’s that fae waiting up on the roof that makes me certain of it. I just don’t know exactly why they wanted me dead.”
    Sam growled.
    â€œThink about it,” I told him, as if I were sure that he was growling at the threat to me. “This isn’t the work of the Gray Lords. If it were, I’d be dead. We know there are at least three of the fae. Four if the woman on the roof of the storage building wasn’t Giant One . . . Five if the old woman I saw here earlier today, who may or may not be Phin’s grandmother, is one of them. But still, I don’t think it’s a huge group. It wouldn’t be a happy thing for them if the werewolves went out hunting them. So they set up an incident, and Kelly Heart’s producer is encouraged—by charm or by harm, as Zee would say—to send Kelly to my garage to find Adam.”
    I stopped and looked out past the parking lot to the headlights of the cars driving by.
    â€œIf they were after Adam, there are better ways to find him than coming to my garage. He’s not hard to find. He goes to work six days a week, and his home address is a matter of public record. I had put it down to Heart’s producer looking for the best drama . . .”
    I took a deep breath and