ONCE MOST EVERYONE ELSE WAS GONE, ADAM TOSSED the fae's rifle into the backseat of his truck.
"I'll see if I can't find out something from the serial numbers," he said. "The way she just left it probably means that she doesn't think we can trace it to her anyway, but it would be stupid not to check."
"You will be careful," I told him.
"Sweetheart" - he bent down and kissed me - "I am always careful."
"What'll you give me if I watch out for him?" It wasn't what Ben said; it was the way he'd said it. I have no idea how he made those words sound suggestive, but he managed it.
Adam shot him a look. Ben grinned unrepentantly and ducked around the side of the truck and hopped in.
"I was on the way to a job site when I got the call that something was up," Adam told me. "I've got to get back."
"No worries," I said. "I'll lock up. I don't think I'll be doing anything more here today."
He opened his door, and stopped with his head turned away from me. "I'm sorry about your counter."
I took a couple of steps forward until my nose pressed against his back and wrapped my arms around him. "I'm sorry about a lot of things. But I'm glad I have you."
He hugged my arms. "Me, too."
"Get a room," said Ben from inside the truck.
"Stuff it." Adam turned around, kissed me, and hopped in the truck.
Sam and I watched him drive away.
I STOPPED AT A SANDWICH SHOP AND BOUGHT TEN subs with double meat and cheese. Then I drove the Rabbit to the park on the Kennewick side of the river to eat. There wasn't any snow yet, but it was a cold and dreary day so, other than some distant joggers and a serious-looking biker, we had the place to ourselves. I ate half a sandwich and drank a bottle of water. Sam ate the rest.
"Well, Sam," I asked, when we were both finished, "what do you want to do today?"
He looked at me with interest, which didn't help much.
"We could go run," I told him as I threw our garbage into a can next to where I'd parked the Rabbit.
He shook his head with emphasis.
"Hunting not a good idea?" I asked. "I'd think it would help you to relax."
He lifted his lips to display his fangs, then snapped his teeth five times, each snap faster, more savage, than the one previous to it. When he stopped, he was perfectly calm - except that I could see that he was breathing harder, and there was a deep hunger in his eyes even though he'd just eaten nine and a half feet of loaded submarine sandwiches.
"Okay," I said after a pause to make sure my voice wasn't shaking, "hunting is a bad idea. I get it. Something peaceful."
I opened the passenger door to let him in and saw the towel-wrapped bundle on the backseat.
"Want to help me return a book?" I asked.
THE UPTOWN WAS BUSTLING WITH SATURDAY SHOPPERS, and I had to park a good distance away from the bookstore. I opened the door for Sam. He hopped out, then froze. After a second, he dropped his nose to the ground - but whatever he was looking for he didn't find because he stopped and drew in a deep breath of air.
My nose is better than a normal human's, if not as good as it is in my coyote shape. I took in a deep breath, too, but there were too many people, too many cars, for me to figure out what had set Sam off.
He shook himself, gave me a look I couldn't fathom, and hopped back into the Rabbit. He flattened himself on the seat, stretching across the gap between and lowered his muzzle to the driver's side seat.
"You're staying here, I take it?" I asked. It must not be anything dangerous, or he wouldn't let me go on my own - Sam with his wolf ascendant had always been even more protective of me than Samuel himself had.
Maybe one of the other werewolves was nearby. It would make sense for Sam to avoid them. I took another deep breath. I still didn't scent anyone I recognized, but Samuel's nose was better than mine outside of coyote shape.
I moved his tail out of danger and shut his car door. I opened the back door to get the book - and reconsidered. Phin's neighbor might have been fae and faintly creepy, but that didn't mean there was anything wrong. But there could be, and with Sam in the car, the book was just as safe here. If Phin was at the bookstore, I'd just come back and get it. If his neighbor or someone other than Phin was around instead, I'd regroup.
"I'm going to leave the book in the backseat," I told Sam. "I should be right back."
In the short time since we'd left the park, the temperature had dropped, and the wind had picked up. My light jacket wasn't quite up to the wind and the damp. I gave the gray skies a good look - if it rained tonight and the temperature dropped much from here, we might have a good, hard freezing rain. Montana may have steep, windy roads that are nasty when covered with snow and ice, but those are nothing compared to the Tri-Cities when the freezing rain turns the pavement into a polished ice-skating rink.
I trotted through the parking lot and narrowly avoided getting run over by a Subaru that was backing out without looking. I kept an eye out for other idiots, and so it wasn't until I stepped onto the sidewalk and looked up into the window of the bookstore that I saw a gray-haired woman behind the counter. I felt a frizzle of relief: she wasn't the creepy neighbor.
I reached for the door and saw that the closed sign was still up - with an addition. Someone had taped a piece of white paper with UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE printed in thick black Sharpie.
While I hesitated, the woman inside gave me a cheery smile and walked up to the door, turning the dead bolt so she could open it. Her movements were surprisingly brisk and sprightly for a woman of her grandmotherly roundness and wrinkles.
"Hello, dear," she said. "I'm afraid we're closed today. Did you need something?"
She was fae. I could smell it on her - earth and forest and magic with a touch of something burning, air and salt water. I'd never smelled the like, and I've met two of the Gray Lords who rule the fae.
Most fae smell to me like one of the elements the old alchemists claimed made up the universe - earth, air, fire, and water. Never more than one. Not until this woman.
Her faded hazel eyes smiled into mine.
"Is Phin around?" I said. "Who are you? I haven't seen you here before." I wasn't a regular customer; maybe she worked with Phin all the time. But I was betting she didn't. If she'd helped often, I'd have smelled her in the store the first time I'd come here. I would have remembered if I'd caught her scent.
Lots of things scare me - like vampires, for instance. Since I've become more intimately acquainted with them, they scare me even more than they used to. I know that they can kill me. But I've killed one and helped to kill two others.
The fae . . .
In the most terrifying horror films, you never see what is killing people. I know that's because the unknown is far scarier than anything some makeup or special-effects person can come up with. The fae are like that, their true faces concealed behind other forms - and designed to blend in with the human race and hide what they truly are.
This sweet-faced person who looked like someone's grandmother might be one of those who ate children who were lost in the woods, or drowned young men who trespassed in her forest. Of course, it was possible that she might be one of the lesser or gentler fae - just as she looked. But I didn't think so.
I'm smarter than Snow White: I wouldn't be eating any apples she gave me.
She ignored my questions - fae don't give out their true names - and said, "Are you a friend of his? You're shivering. I don't suppose it would hurt anything if you came in and sat down a bit to warm up. I'm just helping straighten out the books while Phin is gone."
"Gone?" I wasn't going into that shop alone with her. Instead, I pounded her with the kind of questions any customer . . . okay, any obsessive customer would ask. "Where is he? Do you know how I can get in touch with him? Why isn't the store open?"
She smiled. "I don't know where he is at the moment." Another evasion. She might know that he was in the basement, for instance, but not exactly where he was standing. "He'll probably let me know when he gets a chance to call me. Who should I tell him came asking after him?"
I looked into her guileless eyes and knew that Tad had been right to be worried. All I had was Phin's unresponsive phone, a nasty neighbor, and the store closed - but my instincts were clamoring. Something had happened to Phin, something bad.
I didn't know him well, but I liked him. And, going by the phone call Tad had received, whatever had happened to him was tied to the book he'd loaned to me. Which made it my fault. Maybe if I hadn't kept it to read this past month, he'd still be safe in his store.
I smiled back at her, a polite smile. "Don't worry about it. I'll stop in another time."
She snapped her fingers. "Wait just a minute. My grandson told me that he'd loaned a nice young woman a rather valuable book that she should be returning soon."
I raised my eyebrows. "Right now I'm interested in a first British edition of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone." Not really a lie. It would be interesting, and I didn't tell her I was trying to buy one. I don't know if the fae can figure out if someone is lying as well as the werewolves can, but any group that has a prohibition against lying that is as stringent as the fae's probably has a method to detect when it happens.
"He didn't tell me about anything like that," she said suspiciously, as if he would have normally.
But she had lost the chance to convince me that she was Phin's assistant when she allowed my comment that she was a stranger to his store to stand.
"I suspect it'll take him a while," I told her. "I just stopped by to check in with him. I'll come back another time." I stopped the "thanks" that was on the tip of my tongue and substituted "Bye, now" and a casual wave.
I felt her eyes on my back until I was hidden behind rows of cars, and I was glad I'd parked the car a long way from the mall. Sam moved his head off my seat without raising any part of his body enough that he might be seen through the windows. He was hiding.
I looked at him and glanced at the bookstore as I cruised past it on the way out of the parking lot. The woman was back behind the counter going over something that looked like an account book.
Coincidences happen a lot less often in real life than they do in the movies.
"Sam," I said, "are you staying out of sight of a fae? One that smells like all the elements at once?"
He raised his chin and dropped it.
"Is she one of the good guys?" I asked.
He made a gesture that was neither yes nor no.
"Trouble?"
He snorted affirmative.
"Damn it."
I pulled over at a gas station, parked the car, and called Warren, Adam's third in the pack and my friend.
"Hey, Warren," I said when he answered. "Does Kyle have a safe in that monstrosity he lives in?" I could put the book in Adam's safe - and if it weren't fae who were looking for it, I'd feel relatively confident with it hidden and surrounded by werewolves. But Warren's human boyfriend's house would be a much less likely spot to leave it and nearly as safe.
"Several." Warren's voice was dry. "I'm sure he'd be delighted to loan you one. You storin' blackmail material now, Mercy?" There were noises in the background of his phone, people and the kind of echoing you get in a really big building.
"Wouldn't that be something," I said. "How much do you suppose Adam would pay to keep an X-rated video of him off the Internet?"
Warren laughed.
"Yeah," I said sadly, "that's what I think, too. So no riches in my future, and no blackmail either. Can you or Kyle meet Sam and me at Kyle's house sometime soon?"
"I'm on guard duty right now, but I bet Kyle is home. He doesn't always answer the house phone. Do you have his cell number?"
Warren worked for his boyfriend - I know, it's an awkward thing, but Warren hadn't exactly been making rent at the Stop and Rob he'd worked at before. Kyle'd shaken a few trees, bribed a few officials (probably) and maybe blackmailed more, and gotten Warren a private detective's license. Warren guarded clients and did quiet investigations for Kyle's law firm.
"I have it," I told him. "Are you at Wal-Mart?"
"Nope, grocery store. Wal-Mart was an hour ago."
"Poor baby," I said sympathetically.
"Nope," he said, his voice soft. "I'm doin' something useful. This lady deserves to feel safe - though lots of folks seem to think I'm responsible for her black eye."
"You're tough," I said unsympathetically. "You can handle a few nasty looks." Being a gay werewolf for a hundred years gave Warren a skin so thick it might as well be armor. Not much ruffled his feathers except for Kyle.
"I'm kinda hoping her soon-to-be-ex shows up," he said softly; I thought so she wouldn't hear him. "I'd like to get the opportunity to introduce myself to him."
KYLE BROOKS'S HOUSE IS IN THE WEST RICHLAND HILLS, where the rich folks live. Huge and yet somehow delicately designed, it settles in among its neighbors like a sly cat among poodles. The size is right, but it's more graceful and comfortable in the desert light than the rest of them. Divorce lawyering, at least in Kyle's case, pays very well.
I parked the Rabbit on the street, let Sam out, and got the book . . . and the walking stick that was lying beside it.
"Hello," I told it. It didn't do anything magical or warm in my hands, but somehow, it felt smug.
I bumped the Rabbit's door closed with a hip and trotted all the way up to Kyle's front door. The significance of the book had just entered a whole new dimension, once the old woman at the bookstore had mentioned it. So I held it with both hands and tucked the walking stick under my arm.
When I got to the front door, I couldn't ring the bell.
Sam saw my dilemma and caught the doorbell with a gentle nudge of one claw. Kyle must have been right by the door, as he'd promised when we talked, because when he opened the door, he was face-to-fang with Sam.
He didn't even flinch. Instead, he cocked a hip, made a kissy face, then smiled seductively, turning an ordinary pair of jeans and a purple wifebeater into brothel-wear.
"Hey, darling," he told Sam. "I bet you're gorgeous in man shape, hmm?"
"It's Sam," I told Kyle dryly. And even though I knew it would just stir up trouble, I had to warn him again because I really liked him. "You need to be careful about whom you flirt with among the wolves - you might get more than you bargain for."
Kyle could sometimes have a real chip on his shoulder - getting disinherited, then living in a conservative community has had that effect on more than one gay man - and Kyle could take flaming (and bitchy) to an art form when he thought it would make someone who disapproved of him uncomfortable. Luckily, he chose to take my warning in the spirit it was offered.
In an entirely different kind of voice, he said, "Love you, too, Mercy." He dropped the flirtatious act with a speed and completeness that many an Oscar winner would envy. "Hey, Samuel. Sorry, didn't recognize you with all the fur." He looked at what I held. "You want to put a towel in my safe?"
"It's a very special towel," I told him as I ducked around him and into the house. "Dried Elvis's hair on the day of the last concert."
"Oooh," he said, stepping back so Sam could follow me. He shut the door and, almost as an afterthought, turned the dead bolt. "In that case, you certainly need it someplace secure. You want the big safe with all the electronics or something better hidden?"
"Better hidden would be cool." I didn't think that electronics were going to work against the fae.
He led the way through the house, up the stairs, and past his library - one side filled with beautiful leather-clad law books, the other with tattered paperbacks that included Nora Roberts's complete works. I took two steps and stopped, backed up, and looked in the library again.
If the fae were after the book, and they had some way of tracking it - certainly they would already have it. Instead, it had spent the better part of two days in my Rabbit wrapped in a towel.
Kyle came back and looked at the library, too. "It's a book, is it? You're thinking of hiding it in plain sight?" He shook his head. "We can do that, but if someone is looking for a book, the first place they'll look - after the big safe - is the library. I have a better idea."
So I followed him to a bedroom. It was painted dark blue with black splatters, and the twin-sized bunk beds had comforters with Thomas the Tank Engine chugging around on his track - not exactly something I expected to ever see in Kyle's house. I knew that he never had family visit, so it couldn't be for a nephew. Kyle continued into the bathroom so I did, too. Sam's claws clicked on the slate floor.
Thomas continued to rule the bathroom, too. A plastic toothbrush holder in the shape of a train sat next to the sink, and a set of towels embroidered with Thomas and his friends hung from towel racks shaped like train tracks.
Kyle opened a cupboard next to the sink to reveal two empty shelves and one filled with towels of various colors.
"Give me that," he said, so I handed him the book.
He knelt on the floor and unfolded the towel, repositioned the book, and folded the towel in the same way as all the other towels. He handed it back to me, and I put it on the bottom of one of the stacks.
Kyle looked at my work and straightened the stack. The book towel looked just like the ones around it.
One thing pretending to be another.
For some reason I thought about the incident with the bounty hunter this morning. The bounty hunter - and the fae armed with a plastic gun loaded with silver bullets just like Kelly Heart's gun had been. Because he'd been hunting werewolves.
Maybe . . . maybe that was not what the fae had been hunting. Adam had suggested the silver ammunition might have been used only to match Kelly Heart's, that the shooter might have been after any of us and not just a werewolf. I'd thought he was just trying to draw the spotlight off himself and keep me from worrying about him. But what if he was right? What if the fae had been after me?
I was probably being paranoid. The world didn't revolve around me, after all. Just because this past year I'd had vampires, fae, and werewolves try to kill me at various times didn't mean someone was after me at present. The old woman in the bookstore hadn't known who I was. Surely, if the fae were trying to kill me, she'd have recognized my face. Maybe the fae were willing to kill for the book I'd just hidden in my friend's home. Warren wasn't always here, and Kyle was just human. Maybe I shouldn't leave it here. Maybe I was paranoid and seeing conspiracies where there were none.
"Hey, Kyle?" I said.
He looked at me.
"You don't risk anything for that book," I told him. "If someone comes and threatens you - just give it to them."
He raised a well-groomed eyebrow. "Why don't you give it to them? Whoever 'them' is."
I sorted through a number of answers, but finally said, "That's just it. I don't really know who 'them' is or why they want that book. Or really if they want the book." Probably I was overreacting to the whole thing, and Phin would call me in a couple of days and ask for his book back. Probably the bounty-hunter incident was just what everyone thought it was - a publicity-hungry producer. And the armed fae was . . . My imagination failed me. But there could be an explanation that had nothing to do with me or the book.
I couldn't really see someone just killing me outright like that for the book. Wouldn't they at least approach me first? Ask me for it? Tell me that if I didn't give it to them, they'd kill Phin?
Unless they'd already killed Phin.
"You okay, Mercy?" Kyle asked.
"Fine. I'm fine."
WE WERE ON OUR WAY DOWN THE STAIRS BEFORE I finally gave in to curiosity. "Okay. Who's the Thomas the Tank Engine fan - you or Warren?"
Kyle threw back his head and laughed. "Maybe we should have hidden it in the bathroom of the Princess room. Then you could have asked which one of us likes to sleep with a pink canopy over his head." The grin died down. "I have guests, Mercy. Mostly divorces are messy and hurtful for everyone involved. All that hurt can explode on the wrong people. Sometimes people need a place to be safe for a while - and if there's a pool and a hot tub in the backyard, so much the better."
Kyle hid people in his home, children who needed to be safe.
Sam growled.
I reached down and rested my hand on his head, but Kyle didn't seem to recognize that Sam's reaction was a little extreme even from a wolf who loved children. No one was being hurt here and now.
"Yes" - Kyle started down the stairs - "I agree, Samuel. Those are the men I really love sticking it to in court." He paused. "And women, too, sometimes. Abuse and violence goes both ways. Did I ever tell you about the client I had who took a contract out on her husband?"
"You mean a killing-for-hire type contract?"
He nodded. "It was a first for me, too. Who'd have thought it would happen in our little town? Killer took him out with a single shot. They'd been married for thirty-two years, and he took up with their grandson's girlfriend. Apparently she decided divorce and the lovely settlement I'd gotten her weren't enough. She turned herself in that afternoon. Seemed pretty happy to do so." He paused at the kitchen. "Would you like something to eat?"
"I think I'd better go," I told him. "I'd rather no one realized I stopped by here."
"Weren't you carrying that walking stick of yours? Did you leave it in the bathroom?"
It was gone. I'd been carrying it, and I hadn't noticed when it left. "Don't worry about it," I told him. "It'll show up again when it wants to."
He gave me a delighted smile. "That's right. That's what Warren said. The thing just follows you around like a puppy?"
I shrugged.
"Pretty cool."
At the door, he hugged me and kissed my cheek. Sam gravely raised one paw like a well-trained dog, and Kyle shook the lion-sized foot without flinching.
"You take care of Mercy," he told Sam. "I don't know what she's gotten herself into this time - but danger seems to be her new middle name."
"Hey," I objected.
Kyle looked down his nose at me. "Broken arm, concussion, sprained ankle, stitches, kidnapped . . ." He let his voice trail off. "And that's not the end of the list, is it? You keep Samuel or someone next to you until this blows over. I don't want to be attending your funeral, darling."
"Fine," I said, hoping that he wasn't right. "I'll be careful."
"You just let Warren or me know if we can give you any more help."
I DROVE TO THE BIG MALL IN KENNEWICK BECAUSE I felt a strong desire not to park somewhere isolated - and I wanted to call Tad. I had to park in Outer Mongolia because on a Saturday, that was the only place with parking spaces. But I was as far from alone as it was possible to be. Then I called Tad.
"Hey, Mercy," he answered. "Dad told me that you were nearly involved in a shoot-out at the OK Corral in East Kennewick this morning."
"That's right," I told him. "But let me tell you about the whole day and see what you think."
I ran through the whole thing from beginning to end - leaving out only the part where I hid the book.
When I'd finished, there was a small pause while Tad absorbed what I'd said. Then he asked, "Just what is in that book anyway?"
"It's a book written about the fae by someone who was fae," I told him. "I don't think there's anything magical about it - or if there is, I can't tell, and I usually can. There's a lot of information in it and a lot of fairy tales retold from the other side." I had to laugh. "Gave me a whole new perspective on 'Rumplestiltskin' and a real aversion to ever reading 'Hansel and Gretel' again."
"Nothing shocking?"
"Not that I read. Not a whole lot that isn't already out in the realm of folklore - though this is more organized. Particularly in regard to the variety of the fae and the fae artifacts. I suppose there could be something shocking in the part I haven't gotten through yet - or there's something concealed by magic or a secret code . . . Invisible ink, maybe?" My imagination failed me.
"Let me tell Dad all of this," Tad said. "I can't think that there would be that much interest in that old book. Sure, it's valuable - and there would be a desire, I think, to keep it out of the hands of the humans. But it wouldn't be disastrous if there's nothing in it but fairy tales not that much different from books already available . . . Wait a minute." He paused. "Maybe that old woman in the shop was Phin's grandmother."
"His grandmother? She was older, but not that old. Phin is . . ." It had been difficult to pin his age, I remembered. But he had been an adult - at least in his thirties, possibly as old as a well-preserved fifty. "Anyway, this woman was maybe early sixties, no older than that."
Tad cleared his throat. "If she's fae, Mercy, it doesn't matter how old she looks."
"Phin doesn't have much fae in his background," I said. I was certain of that. "This woman was big-time old-school Gray Lord kind of fae."
Tad laughed. "The woman he calls his grandmother is probably more like his great, great, great . . . Add a lot more 'great's to the end of it. He told me that one time, when he was a kid, she drove off a bunch of fae who were unhappy that he was so human . . . or maybe that he, a human, had a touch of fae blood at all. After that, she'd drop in now and then until she started to keep up with him just by cell phone."
"So she's a good guy? You think I should talk to her? Tell her about the book and ask her where Phin is?"
"I don't know if this piece has any good guys or villains, Mercy," he said. "And I certainly don't know if the fae you saw was Phin's grandmother or a Gray Lord. And if it was . . . there's no surety that she's safe to deal with. Fae are not human, Mercy. Some of them could eat their own children without anger or regret. Power motivates them more than love - if they can love. Some of them are so alone . . . You have no idea. I'll call Dad, then get back to you."
He hung up.
"Well," I asked Sam, "excitement enough for one day? Do you want to go home?"
He looked up at me, and I saw that he was tired, too. More tired than a day mostly running around in a car could account for. Sad, I thought suddenly.
"Don't worry," I told him, bending down until my forehead was on the back of his neck. "Don't worry, we'll find some answers for you, too."
He sighed and wiggled until his muzzle was on my lap. I drove home that way.
I MADE MEAT LOAF - SAMUEL'S RECIPE, WHICH INCLUDED plenty of jalapenos and several other peppers. Day-old and out of the refrigerator, it could burn the skin off the roof of your mouth if you weren't careful.
My phone rang, and I looked at the number. I set the timer on the oven, and it was still ringing.
"Bran," I answered.
"You're playing with fire," he said. He sounded tired.
"How did you know I'm making Samuel's meat loaf?"
"Mercedes."
"You're supposed to give us some time," I told him. My stomach roiled. I needed more time to prove Sam's ability to keep the peace.
"I love my son," Bran said, "but I love you, too."
I heard everything that he didn't say. He'd chosen his son over me before - that was how he saw it. That was how I might have seen it at the time, too.
"He's not going to hurt me," I said, looking into Sam's white eyes. He stiffened, and I remembered to drop my gaze - though he hadn't been making me do that after last night. Usually, once the wolf knows you've acknowledged he's the boss, those kinds of things only crop up when the more dominant wolf is upset.
"You don't know that."
"I do, actually," I replied. "I had a gunman break into the garage and point a gun at him, and he didn't attack because I asked him not to - and because someone, a child, might have gotten hurt in the cross fire."
There was a very long pause.
"I need you to be very clear on what is wrong," he said.
But I interrupted him. "No, you don't. If I tell you that Samuel's wolf is in charge, you will have to kill him."
He didn't say anything.
"Maybe if he weren't your son, you could afford to be more lenient. Or if you hadn't used your position as Marrok to force wolves who would rather have stayed hidden out into the open. But that lost you a lot of moral support that you haven't recovered yet. If you loosen those rules even a little . . . well, you probably won't lose your position - but there might be a lot of dead bodies on the ground. Maybe more than can be explained away to the humans." I'd been doing a lot of thinking about this.
I let that hang in the air for a little while. We needed that week to justify Sam's reprieve to the other wolves.
"Stay by the phone," he said, and hung up.
Sam looked at me and sighed, then flattened out on the floor on his side like a big fur rug.
When the phone rang next, it was Charles, Samuel's brother and Bran's enforcer. "Mercy?"
"Right here," I answered.
"Tell me about Samuel."
"Is it safe?"
"I won't know until you tell me, will I?"
Was he trying to be funny? With Charles, I could never tell. Of all the Marrok's wolves, his younger son was the most intimidating - at least to me.
"I meant for Samuel," I said.
"I'm under orders," he said, with a cool smile in his voice, "to keep the contents of our conversation to myself."
"All right." I cleared my throat and took Charles through my discovery that Samuel had tried to commit suicide all the way through Kelly Heart trying to apprehend Adam.
"He played with the children?" Charles asked.
"Yes. I told you. Maia got on his back and rode him like a pony. It's a good thing for him she wasn't wearing spurs."
Still flat on the floor, Sam thumped it with his tail twice - otherwise, he might have been asleep.
"That's good, isn't it?" I asked. "It means he has some time."
"Maybe," Charles answered. "Mercy, for werewolves - all of us have different relations with our wolves." Charles didn't usually talk a lot, and when he did, his speech was deliberate, as if he thought through everything twice before saying anything out loud. Bran sounded that way on the phone, but Charles did it all the time, even in person.
"Think of werewolves as conjoined twins. Some of us are quite separate, barely sharing anything at all with our wolves. Just two entities under the same skin - we all start out that way. When our human side is able to take control, wolf and man work out a . . . 'Truce' is the wrong word. 'Balance' is better. And just as our human soul loses parts of what it was to be human, our wolf loses part of what it means to be wolf."
"So Samuel's wolf isn't dangerous?"
"No," he said quickly, and Sam picked up his head, rolled up to his belly, and took a more sphinxlike stance. "Never think that. He's not whole anymore - he isn't equipped to be in charge. Like a conjoined twin, he shares his heart and head with Samuel. And if he succeeds in wresting complete control from Samuel, or if Samuel lets him do it, that heart will quit beating."
I dropped to my knees and put a hand on Sam's shoulder because the pain in Charles's voice found its echo in mine.
"I doubt he'll survive for very long that way - do you hear me, wolf?"
Sam's upper lip curled, showing teeth.
"He does," I said.
"He'll grow tired and more hungry than usual. He'll slowly lose the chains that Samuel forged to control him, but all that will be left is a ravenous beast. A new wolf, a whole wolf in charge, kills easily and often, but usually there is a reason for it, even if that reason is that he doesn't like the way his victim smelled. What will be left of Samuel will kill and destroy until he drops dead."
"How do you know?" Charles was only a couple of centuries old. He hadn't ever lived in a place outside of the Marrok's control, and the Marrok killed the wolves who lost control. But he sounded absolutely certain.
"Let's say that, like you, I once had a friend I wished to help, and I kept him out of sight of my father in a place he could do no harm. It would have been kinder to kill him from the first."
My fingers sank into Sam's fur.
"How long do we have?"
"My friend was old, but not as old as Samuel. He lost his humanity over a few days, became sick and lethargic toward the end of that. I thought he was just fading - but he went into a frenzy." He stopped speaking for a moment. "Then just dropped dead. Less than a week. I have no idea how long Samuel will last."
"If he'd lost it when the wolf took over?" I asked. "Like the new wolves do? He'd have been better off?" I'd been so happy that he'd been different.
"Then he'd have lived until our father caught up with him - but you would have died along with the people in the hospital where you found him. This is better, Mercedes. But do not trust him, too much."
"Do you have any suggestions how I can help him?"
"The first is to convince the wolf to allow Samuel back in the driver's seat, if only for a short period of time."
"He wants to survive," I told them both. "That's why he took over from Samuel in the first place. If that means letting Samuel back in, he'll do it." I sounded much more convinced of that than I felt, but Sam sighed and gave me a tired, faint whine.
"And then you have to convince Samuel that he wants to survive."
"And if I can't? If the wolf lets Samuel out, and he still wants to kill himself?"
"Then the wolf will have to fight for control again - or my brother dies." Charles let out a breath of air. "All things die, Mercedes. Some just take longer than others."
