Adam was laughing quietly as I shut the door behind me.
I drove home alone a few hours later. Samuel was staying all night to make sure nothing went wrong-at least nothing more wrong than it already had. Kyle was staying as well: I was pretty sure it would have taken more than a pack of werewolves to get him out of that room.
There was nothing I could do for Warren, or for Stefan. Or Ben. Why couldn't the people I cared about just need someone to fix their cars? I could do that. And when had I started worrying about Ben? He was a rat bastard.
But the sick feeling in my stomach was partly on his account, too. Damn it. Damn it all.
There were two phone messages waiting for me when I got home. One from my mother and the other from Gabriel. I returned Gabriel's call and told him that Warren had been badly hurt, but should be fine. My mother I couldn't face. Not without crying, and I didn't intend to cry until I found out for certain what had happened.
I ate ramen noodles for dinner and fed most of it to Medea who purred as she licked the broth. I cleaned up my meal, then vacuumed and dusted. You can tell the shape of my life by how clean my house is. When I'm upset I cook, or I clean. I couldn't eat anything more, so I cleaned.
I turned the vacuum off to move the couch and realized that the phone had been ringing. Had something else gone wrong?
I picked up the receiver and hit talk. "Thompson residence."
"Mercedes Thompson, the Mistress would like to speak with you." The voice was urbane and female, a secretary's voice. I looked out the window and saw that the sun was setting, bathing the Horse Heaven Hills in brilliant orange light.
All the frustrated anger I'd been working off returned with a vengeance. If Stefan's mistress had sent out all of her minions after the sorcerer, instead of playing petty power games, Warren wouldn't be fighting for his life.
"I'm sorry," I said insincerely. "Please inform your mistress that I am not interested in visiting with her." I hung up the phone. When it rang again, I turned off the ringer and pulled the cushions off the couch so I could clean underneath them.
When my cell phone rang, I almost ignored it, too, because I didn't recognize the number. But it might have been one of Adam's pack calling, or Stefan.
"Hello?"
"Mercedes Thompson, I need you to help me find Stefan and kill this sorcerer," said Marsilia.
I knew what I should do. If she'd said anything else I could have hung up on her, I would have done it, too, no matter how stupid hanging up on the Mistress of the vampire seethe would be. But she needed me, needed me to do something.
To kill the sorcerer.
But that was ridiculous-what could I do that two vampires and a pair of werewolves could not?
"Why me?"
"I'll explain it to you face-to-face."
She was good, I had to give her that much-if I hadn't been listening for it, I don't think I'd have heard the satisfaction in her voice.
Chapter 8
Though it was nearly midnight, the parking lot at Uncle Mike's was full and I had to park in the warehouse's lot next door. My little Rabbit wasn't alone, but it looked worried among all the SUVs and trucks. I don't know why the fae like big vehicles, but you never see one driving a Geo Metro.
There are several bars near the fae reservation in Walla Walla, about sixty miles up the highway, that claim to be fae hangouts to attract publicity. There was a new bar, not too far from my shop, that billed itself out as a werewolf den. But you won't find Uncle Mike advertising for customers, nor will you find many humans there. If some stupid human, attracted by the number of cars in the lot, stops by, a subtle spell has him hurrying along his way. Uncle Mike's is for the fae - though he tolerates most any kind of preternatural creature, as long as they don't cause any problems.
I'd refused to go to the seethe without Stefan. Stubborn, I might be, but not stupid. I wouldn't invite her to my house either-it's much easier to invite evil in than it is to keep it
Out afterwards. I wasn't even certain how you uninvited a vampire, beyond knowing that it was possible. So I'd suggested Uncle Mike's as a neutral meeting place.
I'd expected it to be less crowded since it was a work night. Apparently Uncle Mike's clientele wasn't worried about getting up in the morning like I had to.
I opened the door and noise poured out like water over a dam. Caught by the sheer volume of sound, I hesitated-then a firm hand caught my breastbone and pushed me, sending me stumbling back outside. The door swung shut, leaving me alone in the parking lot with my assailant.
I took a second step back, putting space between us, wishing I'd brought a gun. Then I took a good look and relaxed. He was dressed in a lincoln green tunic and hose, looking not unlike one of Robin Hood's Merry Men, the uniform of Uncle Mike's staff.
He looked about sixteen, tall and thin with just a faint shadow of hair about his mouth that might be a moustache in a few years. His features were ordinary, neither too big nor too small, but not neatly arranged enough to be overtly attractive.
He made a little gesture at me and I smelled the sharp astringent scent of fae magic. Then he turned on his heel and started back to the door. He was a bouncer. Damn it all, this was the second time today someone tried to throw me out of someplace.
"I'm not human." I told him impatiently, following behind him. "Uncle Mike doesn't mind me coming here." Not that Uncle Mike had taken much notice of me.
The boy hissed and turned to face me, anger darkening his features. He held his hands up between us and cupped them. This time the smell of magic was as strong as ammonia, clearing my sinuses. I gave a choked cough at the unexpected strength of the scent.
I don't know what he intended to do to me because the door behind him opened again and Uncle Mike himself came out.