Iron Kissed (Mercy Thompson #3)(73)
Author: Patricia Briggs

There was no one at Jacob’s rock and I went hunting with Ben for a place we could see it and still stay out of sight. We found a nice place in some bushes near the canal and settled in to wait. At least Ben did. I fell asleep. I’d been sleeping a lot more than usual. Samuel told me he thought it was a result of the forced healing, but I saw the concern in his eyes.

Yes, I’d had moments of black depression – but I treated them the way I always treated things that bothered me. My freezer was full of cookies and there were brownies in Adam’s fridge. My fridge sparkled and the main bathroom would have sparkled if the years hadn’t worn the shiny finish off the linoleum floor.

Someday I was going to get new fixtures for that bathroom, if Samuel didn’t beat me to it. I was really tired of avocado green. My bathroom had been done in mustard yellow when I moved in. Who would put a mustard yellow toilet in a bathroom? Now it sported a boring white sink, shower, and commode – but boring is better than yellow.

Under my head, Ben moved, waking me up.

I rolled over and looked up. Sure enough, there was a young man walking down the road who looked quite a bit like Austin. He was limping a little. I guess Jesse had done some damage. The satisfaction I felt meant I wasn’t as nice a person as I liked to pretend.

I stayed where I was until he’d made it all the way to his rock and sat down. Then I got up and dusted myself off until I looked relatively normal.

"You wait here until I call you," I told Ben.

"Hello, Jacob," I said when I was still a little ways off.

He rubbed his face quickly before he turned. Once his initial panic at being found crying was over, he frowned at me.

"You’re the girl who was raped. The one who killed my brother’s friend."

I changed my friendly approach between one breath and the next. "Mercedes Thompson. The one who was raped and the one who killed Tim Milanovich. And you are Jacob Summers, the bastard who decided to get together with his friend and see how easy it would be to beat up my good friend Jesse."

His face paled and I smelled the guilt on him. Guilt was good.

"She wouldn’t tell anyone who you were because she knew her father would kill you both." I waited for fear, but had to settle for the guilt. I suppose he thought I was speaking figuratively.

"That’s not why I came, though," I told him. "Or at least it’s not the only reason I came. I thought you ought to know the truth of how your brother died. This is the story that is not going to get into the newspapers." And I told him what Tim had done to his brother and how.

"So this fairy thing made my brother kill himself? I thought those things were supposed to be playtoys."

"Even playtoys can be dangerous in the wrong hands," I told him. "But no. Tim murdered your brother just as he did O’Donnell. If he hadn’t had the cup, he’d have used a gun."

"Why did you tell me this? Aren’t you afraid I’ll tell people that those artifacts are dangerous?"

It was a good question and it would require a little smooth talking interspaced with truth. "The police know the real story. The newspapers aren’t going to take you seriously. How did you find out? Mercy Thompson told me. Then I can say, well, no, sir, I’ve never met him in my life. That’s quite a story, but that’s not how it happened. Your parents…" I sighed. "I think your parents would be happier thinking he committed suicide, don’t you?"

I saw from his face that he agreed with his brother on that. I don’t understand some people. If you’ve brushed up against evil, you don’t mistake it for anything else, not werewolves, not teenagers dressed in black with piercings on their piercings, and not fae magic, however powerful.

"The real reason I almost didn’t tell you about this is that the people who will believe you are the fae. And if they think that you are making real trouble for them, you might have a convenient accident some dark night. To their credit, they don’t want to do that. None of us, not the fae, not me, and not you, want that. It would be better if you just kept it to yourself."

"So why did you tell me?"

I looked at him and then looked at Austin, who stood just behind him. Jacob had goose bumps on his arms, but he wasn’t paying attention.

"Because once, when I was a kid, someone I cared about committed suicide," I told him. "I thought it was important that you knew that your brother wasn’t that selfish, that he didn’t desert you." I turned my face to the river. "If it helps, Tim didn’t get away with it."

His response told me I’d been right to believe that anyone Jesse had once liked wasn’t irredeemable.

"Does it help you to know that he’s dead?" he asked.

I showed him the answer in my face. "Sometimes. Most times. Sometimes not at all."

"I think…I think I believe you. Austin had too much to live for – and you have no reason to lie to me." He sniffed, then wiped his runny nose on his shoulder, trying to pretend he wasn’t crying. "It does help. Thank you."

I shook my head. "Don’t thank me yet. That wasn’t the only reason I came. You need to know why you don’t want to hurt Jesse. Ben? Could you come here a moment?"

I threw the stick and Ben tore off after it. I’d been right. He’d had a great time. Scaring teenage bullies was right down his alley.

We’d been gentle with Jacob. Ben had played it just right. Scary enough to convince Jacob that Jesse had a reason to worry that her father would kill anyone who hurt her, but just gentle enough that Jacob had asked to touch.

Ben, like Honey, was beautiful – and he was vain enough to enjoy the attention. Jacob, I thought, was entirely redeemable – and he was ashamed that he’d hurt Jesse. He wouldn’t do it again.

I’d gotten the name of his friend…and his friend’s girlfriend who had thought the whole thing up. We’d visited them, too. Ben made a really, really scary boogeyman – not that any werewolf wasn’t scary. I don’t know if they’d ever be people I’d care to know, but at least neither of them would go near Jesse ever again.

Sometimes I am not a nice person. Neither is Ben.

Sunday I went to church and tried to pretend that all the looks were directed at Warren and Kyle, who had come to church with me. But Pastor Julio stopped me at the door.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

I liked him so I didn’t growl or snap or do any of the things I felt like doing. "If one more person asks me that, I’m going to drop to the floor and start foaming at the mouth," I told him.

He grinned. "Call me if you need something. I know a good counselor or two."

"Thanks, I will."

We were in the car before Kyle started laughing. "Foam at the mouth?"