Mercy Thompson 06 - River Marked

hunches sometimes. One of them was when a Roman ex-slave named Patrick came back to Ireland. We all wish we’d killed him right off just as she advised—except probably that would have only meant the Church would have sent someone else, and there would be a Saint Aiden or Saint Conner or some such instead of Saint Patrick. Harbingers are often like that old seven-headed dragon that grew three new heads whenever you cut one off.”
    “Hydra,” Adam said.
    “That’s the one. Anyway, she doesn’t have those moments very often, maybe no more than once a century. Last one was right before Mount St. Helens blew. After that Patrick thing, we all listen to her. A week ago she told me that she had a premonition that it might be a good idea if you and Mercy honeymooned at her campground and took a look at what the otterkin had been up to.”
    “What have they been up to?” Adam had stopped pacing and was looking wary. Edythe, whoever she was, had a premonition once a century or so—and had had one about us being here. That sounded a lot more serious than a man losing his foot to a bear or ghosts dancing beside the river, no matter how much they had affected me.
    “Surviving, evidently.” Uncle Mike’s voice was suddenly grim. “Which is better than we had feared. Otterkin aren’t like the selkies, who are their closest kin. There are other fae who wear otter shapes, but they aren’t really related to otterkin. For one thing, otterkin don’t interact with people well. We brought all that were left to the Walla Walla reservation and turned them loose in our waters.”
    “You don’t have waters there,” said Adam, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It was one of the things that the government made sure of—no running water that went into any of the reservations could come running out.” He wasn’t arguing. He was just telling Uncle Mike that they both knew there was something odd going on in the Walla Walla reservation.
    Running water was supposed to enhance the powers of a number of fae. I was surprised anyone in the government—who wasn’t fae—knew that little gem.
    It had been a useless precaution, though. I’ve seen oceans in the reservation where they’ve somehow managed to open entry points into Underhill. That was one of the things I couldn’t tell Adam—or anyone else. I’d promised, and the ones who’d suffer if I broke my promise included my mentor, Zee, so I kept my mouth shut.
    “We have ponds,” said Uncle Mike, not-lying even better than Gordon Seeker had. “But they weren’t enough. So Edythe bought a scrub piece of desert and turned it into a campground.”
    “And turned the otters loose here.”
    “Otterkin. Edythe had a sanctuary built for them near the swimming hole. They should have been happy there, but they disappeared from it, and we haven’t been able to find them for about six months. None of them were in good health when we put them there, and we assumed that they were gone until Edythe suddenly decided to send you.”
    “Tell me about the otterkin,” said Adam.
    “You should feel a kindred spirit with them,” Uncle Mike told him. “They are shapeshifters who can take human form though their true shape is otter. As humans, they tend to resemble someone with severe autism. In the past, it got many burned at the stake.”
    “Do they kill people?” asked Adam.
    There was a rather long pause.
    “Not for food,” said Uncle Mike.
    “Neither do werewolves. Nonetheless, there are bodies wherever there are packs. Are there bodies where there are otterkin?”
    “Not of the kind that would bring attention,” said Uncle Mike. “They are territorial. Sometimes people drown near otterkin lairs.”
    “And you put them near the swimming hole.”
    “Which is protected by rune and magic,” snapped Uncle Mike. “They couldn’t even drown a baby in that swimming hole. They can swim and fish, but they can harm none therein.”
    “So they moved to where they could,” Adam said. “We found them a few miles upriver. Are we supposed to stop them?”
    “For that we wouldn’t need you.” Uncle Mike’s voice was impatient. “There are seven of them. You could eat them for lunch and be hungry by dinner. They have very little magic of their own though they are clever with what they have, and they cooperate with each other. When there were hundreds of them, they were dangerous. There are otter-shaped fae who are powerful—but they are still back in the Old Country and