Blood Bound (Mercy Thompson #2)(41)
Author: Patricia Briggs

"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.

" Hsst now, Fergus, you’ll not be wanting to do that, do ya hear me? Put that out. Of all the… You know better than that." Ireland lay thick as honey on his tongue and his voice

Uncle Mike looked like a tavern owner ought to. As if he’d reached into my mind and pulled out all the tavern owners in all the books and movies and stories I’d ever experienced, and then distilled them to produce the perfect caricature. His face was pleasing, but more charismatic than handsome. He was average in height with wide shoulders, thick arms, and short-fingered, powerful hands. His hair was reddish brown, but there were no freckles on his tanned face. His eyes, I knew, though the night robbed them of their color, were bright hazel and he turned their power on his hapless employee.

"Now, then, Fergus, you make yourself useful and tell Biddy she’s to guard the door for the rest of the night. Then you are to go to Cook and tell him I want you to stay busy until you remember that killing customers isn’t good for business."

"Yes, sir." Thoroughly cowed, the bouncer scuttled through the door and disappeared inside. I might have felt sorry for him, if it hadn’t been for the "killing customers" part.

"Now then," Uncle Mike said, turning to me. "You’ll have to excuse my help. That demon is raising all sorts of havoc for us here, keeping tempers at a killing edge as you have seen. I’m thinkin that it might not be the best night for one of your kind to join us in revelry."

It was more polite than a death curse perhaps, but even more effective at keeping me out. Damn it.

I swallowed my growl and tried to keep my voice as polite as his. "If I am not welcome, would you have someone find Marsilia and tell her to meet me out here?"

His face went blank with surprise. "And what are you doing meeting the Vampire queen? You play in waters much too deep to swim in for long, little girl."

I think it was the "little girl" that did it. Or maybe it was the shift in wind that brought the smell of garbage, wolf, and blood to my nose as well as the distinct scent that was Warren’s alone-reminding me that he had been dumped here, bleeding and dying only hours ago.

"Maybe if the fae would stir their asses once in a while, I could stay in shallow water," I said, all attempts at politeness gone. "I know the old stories. I know you have power, damn it all. Why are you all just sitting around and watching the sorcerer kill people?" I was trying not to include Stefan among the dead, but part of me was already in mourning-it added a reckless edge to my tongue. "I suppose if you are afraid it might put you ‘on a killing edge, it makes better sense to wait it out." Warren could have done that, too. Then he’d be safe at home instead of bleeding in Adam’s guest bedroom. "Especially since it is a vampire matter. The people who die along the way are merely effluvia and nothing to be concerned about."