Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

look at a cross without seeing the son of God dying upon it.
    So, no crosses for me. But, having been raised in Bran’s pack, I carried around something else. Reluctantly, I pulled out my necklace and showed it to them.
    Samuel frowned. The little figure was stylized; I suppose he couldn’t tell what it was at first.
    â€œA dog?” asked Zee, staring at my necklace.
    â€œA lamb,” I said defensively, tucking it safely back under my shirt. “Because one of Christ’s names is ‘The Lamb of God.’ ”
    Samuel’s shoulders shook slightly. “I can see it now, Mercy holding a roomful of vampires at bay with her glowing silver sheep.”
    I gave his shoulder a hard push, aware of the heat climbing up my cheeks, but it didn’t help. He sang in a soft taunting voice, “Mercy had a little lamb . . .”
    â€œI’ve been told it’s the faith of the wearer that matters,” Zee said, though he sounded doubtful, too. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever used your lamb against a vampire?”
    â€œNo,” I said shortly, still huffy over the song. “But if the Star of David works, and Bran says it does, then this should, too.”
    We all turned to watch a car drive into the parking lot, but its occupants got out and, after the driver tipped an imaginary hat at Zee, walked into Uncle Mike’s. No vampires in that lot.
    â€œIs there anything else we should know?” I asked Zee, who seemed to be the most informed of us. All I knew for certain about vampires came under the heading of “Stay Away From.”
    â€œPrayer doesn’t work” he said. “Though it seems to have some effect on demons and some of the oldest of the dark fae. Garlic doesn’t work—”
    â€œExcept like insect repellent,” said Stefan, just appearing between two parked cars behind Zee. “It doesn’t hurt, but it smells bad and tastes worse. If you don’t irritate one of us, and make sure you bring a friend who hasn’t eaten garlic, it’ll at least put you last on the menu.”
    I hadn’t heard him come, hadn’t seen him or sensed him at all until he spoke. From somewhere, Zee drew a dark-bladed dagger as long as my arm and stepped between me and the vampire. Samuel growled.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Stefan apologized humbly, as he noticed how badly he’d startled us. “Moving unseen is a talent ofmine, but I usually don’t use it on my friends. I’ve just had an unpleasant episode, and it left me with my guard up.”
    Stefan was tallish, but he always seemed to take up less space than he should, so I seldom thought of him as being a big man unless he was standing next to someone else. He was, I noticed, just exactly the same height as Samuel and nearly as broad in the shoulders, though he lacked some of the werewolf’s bulk.
    His face had regular features and in repose he might be handsome, I suppose. But his expressions were so big that I lost the shape of his features for the bright engagement of his grin.
    Just then, though, he frowned at me. “If I am to take you before the Mistress, I’d rather you had dressed up a bit more.”
    I looked down and realized I was wearing the clothing I’d had on when I’d gone over to check out Adam’s house. It seemed like a week ago, rather than the night before last. The T-shirt was one Stefan himself had given me for teaching him how to correct the timing on his bus. It read “Happiness is German engineering, Italian cooking, and Belgian chocolate” and bore a large stain from the cocoa I spilled on it. Thinking about how long I’d been wearing it made me realize that it smelled a little bit stronger than it usually did—and not of detergent and fabric softener either.
    â€œWe just came back into town late this afternoon,” I apologized. “I haven’t had a chance to go home and change yet. But you’re not much better.”
    He looked down at himself, rocking back on his heels and spreading his hands like a vaudeville comic exaggerating his motions for an audience. He was wearing a casual black long-sleeved shirt unbuttoned over a plain white T-shirt, and jeans with a hole over one knee. I’ve never seen him wearing anything more formal, but for some reason his casual clothes always looked . . . wrong somehow, as if he were wearing a costume.
    â€œWhat,