Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

without a pin on one end, and I wove the other end of the belt through and tied it off.
    â€œIt’s too loose,” said Stefan, reaching for it—but Samuel got there first.
    â€œTighten it around your waist,” he said, adjusting it forme. “Then pull it over your hips so the weight of the blade doesn’t slide the whole thing down around your ankles.”
    When he was satisfied, he stepped away.
    â€œI’m not the enemy,” Stefan told him mildly.
    â€œWe know that,” I said.
    Stefan patted my shoulder, but continued, “I am not your enemy, Wolf. I’ve risked more than you know by taking both of you under my protection. The Mistress wanted to send others for you—and I don’t think you’d have enjoyed that.”
    â€œWhy take the risk?” Samuel asked. “Why take us under your protection? I know something of what that means. You don’t know me—and Mercy is just your mechanic.”
    Stefan laughed, his hand still on my shoulder. “Mercy is my friend, Dr. Cornick. My mother taught me to take care of my friends, didn’t yours?”
    He was lying. I don’t know how I was so certain of it, but I was.
    Some werewolves can tell if a person is lying. I can only do it if it is someone I know really well, and I’m paying attention. It has to do with the change in the normal sounds a person makes—breathing and pulse, things like that. Usually I’m not paying that much attention. I’ve never been able to tell a thing about Stefan, not even the usual emotions that carry such distinctive smells. And Stefan’s pulse and breathing tended to be erratic. I sometimes thought he only breathed because he knew how uncomfortable he made people when he didn’t.
    Nonetheless, I knew he had lied.
    â€œYou just lied to us,” I told him. “Why are you helping us?” I pulled out from under his hand so I could turn and face him, putting Samuel at my back.
    â€œWe don’t have time for this,” Stefan said, and some of the usual liveliness faded from his face.
    â€œI need to know if we can trust you,” I told him. “Or at least how far we can trust you.”
    He made one of those grand stage magician gestures, throwing his hands up and tossing his head—but I felt afine cloak of real magic settling around us. Like Zee, it tasted of earth, but there were darker things in Stefan’s spell than anything the gremlin had done around me.
    â€œFine,” he said. “Just don’t blame me when she’s in a rotten mood because we kept her waiting. You called me tonight with a question.”
    â€œWhat did you just do?” asked Samuel quietly.
    Stefan let fall an exasperated sigh. “I made certain that the three of us are the only ones participating in this conversation, because there are things that hear very well in the night.”
    He turned his attention back to me. “When I called our accountant she put me right through to our Mistress—which is not standard procedure. Our Mistress was obviously more interested in your Dr. Cornick than she was with your question. She came to me and had me call you back—she didn’t intend me to escort you. She didn’t want you to have even that much protection, but once I offered, she could not contradict me. I am here, Mercy, because I want to know what is going on that stirs my Mistress from the lethargy that has been her usual state since she was exiled here. I need to know if it is a good thing, or something very bad for me and my kind.”
    I nodded. “All right.”
    â€œBut I would have done it for friendship’s sake,” he added.
    Unexpectedly, Samuel laughed a little bitterly. “Of course. We all do things for our Mercy for friendship’s sake,” he said.
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    Stefan didn’t take us through the front gates, which were large enough to drive a semi through, but led the way around the side to a small, open door in the wall.
    In contrast to the undeveloped scrub outside the gates, the interior grounds were elaborate. Even in November, the grass, under the moon’s waxing light, was dark and luxurious. A few roses peeked out from protected areas near thehouse, and the last of the mums still had a few blooms. It was a formal French-style garden, with organized beds and meticulous grooming. Had the house been a Victorian- or Tudor-style home, it would have looked lovely. Next to a