Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

was the fae,” I said with a sigh, bumping the nearest table leg halfheartedly with my ankle.
    â€œWhat—all of them?” asked Ben humorously. I slid down in my chair so I could reach past Jesse and kicked his foot, which was more satisfying.
    â€œNo, not all of them,” I said, after he yipped with mock pain.
    â€œYou just bring us one damned thing after another don’t you, Mercy,” said Mary Jo, looking out the window.
    â€œBitch,” said Ben. It seemed to be his word of the day—which was better than the usual assortment. He hadn’t actually sworn much around me that day, if I didn’t include the time while Samuel was fixing his hands. And if the only words that counted were the ones that got movies an “R” rating. I wondered if it was coincidental, if he was trying to improve himself—or if I hadn’t spent enough time with him.
    Mary Jo’s lip curled. “Suck-up.”
    â€œYou have some nerve throwing stones,” he told her, “when you just sat there and watched them set fire to Mercy’s house.”
    â€œWhat?” said Darryl in a very, very soft voice.
    But Mary Jo wasn’t listening to Darryl. Instead, she half rose to her feet and leaned on the table, threatening Ben. “So what? You think I should have taken on a bunch of unknown fae for her ?”
    Auriele stood up and gave the table a hard shove, pinning Mary Jo against the wall behind her with a bang that must have hurt. If someone didn’t know her very well, I suppose it might be possible to underestimate Auriele. She was delicately built, as some Hispanic women are, and looked as though she’d never gotten her beautifully manicured hands dirty.
    Most of the pack would rather have Darryl mad at them than Auriele.
    Darryl’s mate’s voice was frozen as she asked, “You just watched a bunch of fae burn down the house of a pack member?”
    I’d picked my cocoa up off the table when it moved and managed to save Jesse’s, too. With my hip, I altered the trajectory of the table just enough to make certain that it didn’t hit Jesse. Darryl caught Ben’s cup—he’d finished his own. So it was only Mary Jo’s and Auriele’s cocoa that spilled across the table and down on the floor.
    Into the tense silence of that moment, the interruption of my ringing phone seemed decidedly welcome. I thumped the two mugs I held down onto the table and pulled the phone out of my pocket.
    I didn’t recognize either the number or the area code. Usually, I recognize the number of people who call me in the middle of the night.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œMercedes Thompson, you have something that belongs to me. I have something that belongs to you. Shall we play?”
    I hit the speaker button and set the phone in the middle of the table. Of course, everyone except for Jesse could have overheard the call anyway—but with all of us listening full volume, maybe someone would hear something different. My cell was relatively new, and I’d paid extra to get one with good sound quality.
    Darryl pulled out his phone—one of those miniature computers with every gadget known to man—hit the screen a couple of times, and set it next to mine. “Recording,” he mouthed.
    â€œEverything I have went up in flames last night,” I told my unknown caller, and after I said it, the truth of that hit me again. Poor Medea. I set my jaw with determination that this person—who sounded female to me, though a female with a deep smoker’s voice—would never hear the pain she’d caused me. Assuming that this was one of the fae who set the fire.
    â€œIt wasn’t there,” she said—and I was growing more confident it was a “she.” Her next words made me certain that she was one of the fae, too. “It would have revealed itself in fire or in death. We watched it burn, watched the fire eat your life, and what you took from Phineas Brewster wasn’t in the coals or in the ashes.”
    Fae often say things that sound odd to human ears. I’ve found myself spouting Zee’s sayings and having people stop to look at me.
    â€œIn fire or in death,” I said, repeating the phrase that had sounded like a quote of some kind.
    â€œIt reveals itself when the one who holds it dies or if it burns,” she clarified impatiently.
    â€œYour bounty hunter seemed like the kind of man who gets