River Marked (Mercy Thompson #6)(38)
Author: Patricia Briggs

"Hank Owens," his brother said. "USMC retired. Rancher. Welder. Red-tailed hawk when it suits him." He tilted his head at his brother. Evidently it was a family joke because his brother smiled a little. "It was Fred who couldn’t let Calvin handle the job on his own."

"We left Calvin–" Jim began to explain, but Gordon interrupted him.

"–at the hospital. I told them."

There was a little strain between Jim and Gordon that reminded me of when there were two Alphas in the room. They might be allies, even friends, but they were waiting for the slightest sign of weakness or aggression.

"Adam Hauptman," said my husband, who was sitting in the second of our camp chairs. "Alpha of the Columbia Basin Pack. Army, honorably discharged 1973. Mate and husband of Mercedes Thompson Hauptman. In my spare time, I run a security firm."

Jim gave him a startled look. I was surprised myself. Werewolves might be out, but the public doesn’t know everything. And one of the things that Bran was not telling the public about werewolves was that they were immortal.

"Long time ago," observed Fred.

"Vietnam," said Hank. "You were a ranger in Vietnam."

From my observation post on the ice chest, I watched Adam’s face. He’d offered the chair–but I hate the camp chairs. Ten minutes, and my feet are falling asleep.

What was he up to? If Bran found out, he wouldn’t be pleased. But Adam always had a reason for what he did. I usually figured it out about five years after the fact. He seemed to be watching Gordon. Maybe it was something as simple as acknowledging that we were all going to be sharing secrets before this was over.

"Nasty time," said Jim.

Adam tipped his water bottle toward Jim, then brought it up to tip his imaginary hat. He looked at me.

"Mercedes Thompson Hauptman," I said, obedient to the look that told me he wanted to move things along. "VW mechanic. Coyote walker mated to Adam Hauptman."

"Gordon Seeker," said Gordon. "But Indian names change from time to time. I have had others. I work a little healing, a little magic, a little of this and that. When I was young, I was a mighty hunter, but it has been a long time since I was young." He eyed Adam. "Maybe even longer ago than when this one was as young as he looks."

"All right," said Adam, when it became obvious that the old man had said all he intended to. "Jim and Calvin told us a few things this afternoon. Namely that we have a monster in the river that has killed at least one person–though the tally is unlikely to stop with Benny’s sister. Let me tell you some things you don’t know–some of which might not have anything to do with our current problem at all." He told them about the faes’ redirection of our honeymoon, including Yo-yo Girl Edythe’s prophecy and the otterkin who had been relocated to the Columbia.

Fred frowned and glanced at Jim. "I told you those otters we saw looked odd. Their heads are the wrong shape."

"I have seen them," said Gordon, his voice dismissing their importance. "Prophecy is a weak crutch to lean on."

"Have you met Edythe?" I asked in an interested voice. "Short. Usually looks about ten?"

Gordon raised his eyebrows, and I thought that the answer might have been yes.

I smiled cheerfully at him. "Fae are deceptive. The weaker and more harmless they appear, the more dangerous they are likely to be. Edythe is probably the scariest monster in a raft of scary monsters. I’m not inclined to discount anything she said. And I’m not sure relegating the otterkin to harmless–even though our contact with the fae seemed to be doing it–is very smart."

"They aren’t eating people," observed Fred.

"That you know of," I said at the same time that Adam said, "Yet."

He smiled at me. "I’ll admit that they don’t appear to be part of this–but I don’t like that they are here. They were watching Mercy when she pulled Benny out of the water."

"I have a few more things to add," I said. And just then the wind picked up a little, and Benny’s sister, Faith, sat down beside me on the edge of the ice chest. I looked at the others–at Fred, Hank, and Gordon, who were supposed to be like me–expecting . . . I don’t know. Some sort of recognition, I suppose. But no one jumped up and exclaimed the dead woman’s name–or even seemed to see her. Not even Gordon Seeker.

"It wants him," she said. She wasn’t looking at me; she was looking at Hank.

"Him who?" I asked.

"Benny." She sighed. "Stupid. I know better than to lean out over the water like that. But he was stupid, too. I can swim. He should have stayed in the boat. But now . . . it’s like the crocodile in Peter Pan. It’s had a bite of him and wants the whole meal."

"We’ll keep him safe," I told her.

Everyone was watching us–or me at least. Adam had stood and was holding up his hand, keeping the others from interrupting. It might not be important–sometimes ghosts could be incredibly stubborn. But sometimes a loud noise or a sudden move, and they disappeared like rabbits.

"I don’t know if you can keep him safe," she said sadly. "You know, in the story, all the first people the river monster ate came back to life after it was dead."

"I thought Coyote left it alive?"

She turned toward me, finally, and smiled. It didn’t look like a smile that should be on the face of a dead woman. She had a good smile. "There are several versions of that story. When he was a little boy, Calvin always did like the ones in which everyone lived."

She stood up and wandered over to the grill, her fingers passing through the grating, and pressed on the coals beyond.

"Be careful," she told me, her gaze on the coal. "When it marks someone, they belong to it." She looked at Hank again.

"It was always him for me, you know? Ever since high school. But he never had eyes for me." She turned to me in sudden alarm. "Don’t tell him that. He doesn’t deserve to feel guilty."

"I won’t," I assured her.

"And don’t believe Jim’s mysterious-Indian schtick, either. He’s got a Ph.D. in psychology and taught over at UW in Seattle until he retired last year."

She put her hands back on the grill, but this time she didn’t go through the grating but kept them on top of the hot metal, tapping her fingers lightly on the grill as if it fascinated her that she could do that without burning herself. I wanted to go and pull them off, even though I knew it couldn’t hurt her anymore.

She glanced at the Owens brothers. "And Fred trains cuttin’ horses. He’s starting to make a name for himself. Hank works with him on the business side, then does welding to help balance the books."