Iron Kissed (Mercy Thompson #3)(72)
Author: Patricia Briggs

Safely covered in a sweatshirt with a picture of the two-masted sailing vessel, Lady Washington, on the front and black jeans, I headed into the kitchen to look for a newspaper to see when Austin Summer’s funeral was going to be – if they hadn’t already held it. I figured after the funeral was as good a time as any for Jacob Summers to head for the river.

I found yesterday’s newspaper on a counter in the kitchen and made myself a cup of chocolate from the water that was already hot in the teakettle. It was the instant kind, but I didn’t feel like doing the work to make the good stuff. So I dumped a handful of stale minimarshmallows on top.

I took the paper and my mug and sat down at the table next to Samuel. Unfolding the paper, I began to read.

"Feeling better?" he said.

Politely I said, "Yes, thank you." And went back to reading, ignoring him when he tugged at my braid.

I’d made the front page. I hadn’t expected that. When you run with werewolves and other things that people aren’t supposed to know too much about, you get used to fake news. MAN DIES IN MYSTERIOUS FIRE, ARSONIST SOUGHT, or WOMAN FOUND STABBED TO DEATH. Things like that.

LOCAL MECHANIC KILLS RAPIST was just above STUDENT DROWNS IN COLUMBIA. I read my story first. When I finished, I put down the newspaper and took a thoughtful sip of cocoa in which the marshmallows had softened to chewy.

"Now that you can talk, tell me how you are," Samuel said.

I looked at him. He appeared composed and self-contained, but that wasn’t how he smelled.

"I think Tim Milanovich is dead. I killed him and Adam ripped him into pieces small enough that not even Elizaveta Arkadyevna is witch enough to call back to unlife if she decided to make zombies instead of money." I took another sip of cocoa, chewed on a marshmallow, and said reflectively, "I wonder if killing your ra**st will ever become a recognized therapy practice. Worked for me."

"Really?"

"Honest to Pete," I said, slamming my cup down on the table. "Really. That is, if everyone else quits running around here like their best friend died and it was their fault."

He smiled, just a little and only with his lips. "Message received. No victims in this house?"

"Damn straight." I picked up the newspaper.

Thursday. Today was Friday. Tad was going to fly down Friday if his father was still in danger.

"Did someone call Tad?" I asked.

He nodded. "You asked us to do that. Adam called him when he got back from the police station. But apparently Uncle Mike had gotten the word to him first."

I didn’t remember asking. There were a few hazy bits from Wednesday, but I didn’t like having things I didn’t remember doing. It made me feel helpless. So I changed the subject.

"So are we going to blame Tim for O’Donnell’s murder?"

"Tomorrow," he said. "The police and the fae want to tie up some loose ends and make sure everyone has their story straight. Since Milanovich is dead, there won’t be a trial. Objects found in his house will be linked to O’Donnell and some robberies in the reservation. Officials will conclude that O’Donnell and Milanovich were working together and Milanovich got greedy and offed O’Donnell. Zee connected O’Donnell to the robberies and went to his house to talk, finding O’Donnell already dead. He was taken in for questioning, but released when the evidence proved that he didn’t do it. They are being vague on the evidence. Milanovich decided to try out one of the things he and O’Donnell stole on you but you killed him defending yourself."

He grinned faintly. "You’ll be happy to know that the newspaper is going to report that the magical objects they stole were obviously not as powerful as the thieves thought, which is why you were able to kill Milanovich."

"Weak magical objects being considerably less frightening than powerful ones," I observed. "And Austin Summers?"

"They’re going to try and keep him out of it – but his connection to both Milanovich and O’Donnell is too close to just leave the family wondering. The police will gently tell them that there is some evidence that he was involved, but no one knows exactly how – and never will since everyone is dead."

"Have you heard from Adam?"

"No, but Bran called. The policeman who sent the shortened version of the video has been reprimanded and the copy he made confiscated. Bran seems to think that Adam and Charles are making an impression. Adam should be home Monday."

I didn’t want to think about what was going to happen when Adam came home. Today I was going to be very good at only thinking about what I wanted to.

I pulled the paper up and read the article about Austin. "Funeral’s tomorrow morning. I think I’ll go visit Austin’s brother afterward. Do you want to come?"

"I have to work tomorrow – I had last weekend off." He sighed. "Do I want to know why you’re going to visit Austin’s brother?"

I smiled at him. "I think I’ll take Ben."

Samuel’s eyebrows shot up. "Ben? Adam won’t like that."

I waved him off. "Adam won’t care, and Ben’s the only one I trust to take things just far enough. Warren may sound like a pu**ycat, but some things hit his hot buttons. Besides, Ben will enjoy this."

Samuel closed his eyes. "You enjoy doing this. Fine, be mysterious. Ben might be a creep, but he’s Adam’s creep." He may have sounded exasperated but I saw the relief in his body. He was willing to play along that everything was normal if that’s what I wanted. He was even beginning to believe it. I could see it in the way his shoulder muscles were relaxing and in the fading of the scent of his protective anger.

I needed to leave before I blew it. Besides, I needed to clean up. "I think I’ll just go take a shower," I said.

It wasn’t until Samuel stiffened that I remembered I’d just come out of the shower. So much for playing normal.

On Saturday, I took Ben for a walk. He’d been pretty wary when I let myself into Adam’s house and told him he was going to be my escort today.

Aurielle, who had been my assigned guard this morning, had tried to invite herself along, but I knew her too well. She had no soft spots for people who hurt the ones she cared about. If she knew that Jacob Summers was one of the boys who’d tried to assault Jesse, she’d have his head. Really.

Me, I believe in revenge – but I also believe in redemption.

So I told Aurielle she couldn’t come – and since the pack had decided to treat me as if I had already agreed to be Adam’s mate, there was nothing she could do.

At my request, Ben changed, so I went walking with a werewolf by my side.

You’d think that we’d have attracted more attention. Only recently, I’d begun to notice that mostly people don’t see the werewolves when they are out and about. I used to think it was just that people didn’t know about the wolves, but now they do – and they still don’t see them. It’s probably some sort of pack magic that keeps them unseen. Not invisible exactly, but easily overlooked.