Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

knows the promised trip to the toy store is about to be delayed.
    â€œI’m sure she meant we had guests for you to entertain, my sweet.” Stefan hadn’t moved from his chair, but his shoulders were tight, and his weight was forward.
    â€œBut he smells so good,” she murmured. I thought she darted her head forward, but I must have been mistaken because Samuel didn’t move. “He’s so warm.”
    â€œHe’s a werewolf, darling Lilly. You’d find him a difficult meal.” Stefan got up and walked slowly around my couch. Taking one of Lilly’s hands in his, he kissed it. “Come entertain us, my lady.”
    He pulled her gently off Samuel and escorted her formally to an upright piano tucked into one corner of the room. He pulled out the bench and helped her settle.
    â€œWhat should I play?” she asked. “I don’t want to play Mozart. He was so rude.”
    Stefan touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers. “By all means, play whatever you wish, and we will listen.”
    She sighed, an exaggerated sound with an accompanying shoulder droop, then, like a marionette she straightened from head to toe and placed her hands just so on the keys.
    I don’t like piano music. There was only one music teacher in Aspen Creek when I grew up, and she played piano. For four years I banged out tunes for a half hour a day and hated the piano more each year. It hated me back.
    It took only a few measures for me to realize I’d been wrong about the piano—at least when Lilly played it. It didn’t seem possible that all that sound came from the little upright piano and the fragile woman sitting before us.
    â€œLiszt,” whispered Samuel, stepping away from the window and sitting on the back of my seat. Then he closed his eyes and listened , just as he’d listened to the moon.
    Stefan stepped away from the piano once Lilly was focused on her music. He drifted back to stand beside me, then he held out a hand.
    I glanced at Samuel, but he was still lost in the music. I took Stefan’s hand and let him pull me to my feet. He took me to the far side of the room before releasing me.
    â€œIt isn’t being a vampire that made her this way,” he said, not whispering, exactly, but in low tones that didn’t carry over the music. “Her maker found her playing piano at an expensive brothel. He decided he wanted her in his seethe, so he took her before he understood that she was touched. In the normal course she would have been mercifully killed: it is dangerous to have a vampire who cannot control herself. I know the werewolves do the same. But no one could bear to lose her music. So she is kept in the seethe and guarded like the treasure she is.”
    He paused. “But usually she is not allowed to wander about at will. There are always attendants who are assigned to keep her—and our guests—safe. Perhaps our Mistress amuses herself.”
    I watched Lilly’s delicate hands flash across the keys and produce music of power and intellect that she didn’t possess herself. I thought about what had happened when Lilly had come into the room.
    â€œIf Samuel had reacted badly?” I asked.
    â€œShe’d have no chance against him.” Stefan rocked back on his heels unhappily. “She has no experience at taking unwilling prey, and Samuel is old. Lilly is precious to us. If he had hurt her, the whole seethe would have demanded retribution.”
    â€œShh,” said Samuel.
    She played Liszt for a long time. Not the early lyrical pieces, but the ones he composed after hearing the radical violinist Paganini. But, right in the middle of one of his distinctively mad runs of notes, she switched into a blues piece I didn’t recognize, something soft and relaxed that lazed in the room like a big cat. She played a little Beatles, some Chopin, and something vaguely oriental in style before falling into the familiar strains of Eine Kleine Nachtmusik .
    â€œI thought you weren’t going to play Mozart,” said Stefan when she’d finished the song and begun picking out a melody with her right hand.
    â€œI like his music,” she explained to the keyboard. “But he was a pig.” She crashed her hands on the keys twice. “But he is dead, and I am not. Not dead.”
    I wasn’t going to argue with her. Not when one of those delicate fingers broke the key beneath it. No one else said