Silver Borne (Mercy Thompson #5)(2)
Author: Patricia Briggs

Grandmother? Maybe Phin was younger than I’d thought.

"You are worried," I said.

He made a self-deprecating noise. "I know, I know. I’m paranoid."

"No trouble," I said. "I ought to get it back to him anyway. Unless he keeps long hours, he won’t be at the store by the time I can get there. Do you have a home address for him?"

He did. I wrote it down and let him go with reassurances. As I locked the door and set the security alarm, I glanced up at the hidden camera. Adam would probably not be watching – unless someone triggered an alarm, mostly the cameras ran all by themselves and simply sent pictures to be recorded. Still . . . as I started for my car, I kissed my hand and blew it to the tiny lens that watched my every move, then mouthed, "See you tonight."

My lover was worried about how well a coyote could play with the wolves, too. Being an Alpha werewolf made him a little overbearing about his concern – and being the CEO of a security contracting firm for various government agencies gave him access to lots of tools to indulge his protective instincts. I’d been mad about the cameras when he’d first had them installed, but I found them reassuring now. A coyote adapts; that’s how she survives.
* * *

PHINEAS BREWSTER LIVED ON THE THIRD FLOOR OF one of the new condo complexes in West Pasco. It didn’t seem like the sort of place where a collector of old books would live – but maybe he got his fill of dust, mold, and mildew at work and didn’t need it in his home.

I was halfway between my car and the building when I realized that I hadn’t brought the book when I got out of the car. I hesitated, but decided to leave it where it was, wrapped in a towel on the backseat of the Rabbit. The towel was to protect the book – in case I hadn’t gotten all the grease off my hands – but it worked okay to disguise it from would-be thieves, which seemed unlikely here anyway.

I climbed up two sets of stairs and knocked on the door marked 3B. After a count of ten, I rang the doorbell. Nothing. I rang the doorbell one more time, and the door at 3A opened up.

"He’s not there," said a gruff voice.

I turned to see a skinny old man, neatly dressed in old boots, new jeans, a button-down Western shirt, and a bolo tie. All he was missing was a cowboy hat. Something – I think it was the boots – smelled faintly of horse. And fae.

"He isn’t?"

Officially, all the fae are out to the public and have been for a long time. But the truth is that the Gray Lords who rule the fae have been very selective about which of them the public gets to know about and which ones might upset the public – or are more useful posing as human. There are, for instance, a few senators who are fae in hiding. There is nothing in the Constitution that makes it illegal for a fae to be a senator, and the Gray Lords want to keep it that way.

This fae was working pretty hard at passing for human; he wouldn’t appreciate me pointing out that he wasn’t. So I kept my discovery to myself.

There was a twinkle in the faded eyes as he shook his head. "Nope, he hasn’t been home all day."

"Do you know where he is?"

"Phin?" The old man laughed, displaying teeth so even and white they looked false. Maybe they were. "Well, now. He spends most of his time at his store. Nights, too, sometimes."

"Was he here last night?" I asked.

He looked at me and grinned. "Nope. Not him. Maybe he bought up some estate’s library and is staying at the store while he catalogs it. He does that sometimes." Phin’s neighbor glanced up at the sky, judging the time. "He won’t answer the door after hours. Closes himself in the basement and can’t hear anyone. Best wait and go check at the shop in the morning."

I looked at my watch. I needed to get home and get ready for my date with Adam.

"If you have something for him," the old man said, his eyes clear as the sky, "you can leave it with me."

Fae don’t lie. I used to think it wascan’t lie, but the book I’d borrowed made it pretty clear that there were other factors involved. Phin’s neighbor hadn’t said he was working at the store. He said maybe. He didn’t say he didn’t know where Phin was, either. My instincts were chiming pretty hard, and I had to work to appear casual.

"I’m here to check up on him," I told him, which was the truth. "His phone is off, and I was worried about him." And then I took a chance. "He hasn’t mentioned any of his neighbors – are you new?"

He said, "Moved in not long ago," then changed the subject. "Maybe he left the charger at home. Did you try the store phone?"

"I only have one number for him," I told him. "I think that was his cell."

"If you leave your name, I’ll tell him you stopped in."

I let my friendly smile widen. "No worries. I’ll run him down myself. Good to know he has neighbors who are watching over him." I didn’t thank him – thanking a fae implies that you feel indebted, and being indebted to a fae is a very bad thing. I just gave him a cheerful wave from the bottom of the stairs.

He didn’t try to stop me, but he watched me all the way out to my car. I drove out of sight before pulling over and calling Tad.

"Hello," his voice said. "This is my answering machine. Maybe I’m studying; maybe I’m out having a good time. Leave your name and number, and maybe I’ll call you back."

"Hey," I told Tad’s answering machine. "This is Mercy. Phin wasn’t home." I hesitated. Safely back in my car, I thought that I might have overreacted about his neighbor. The better I know the fae, the scarier they seem. But it was probable that he was harmless. Or that he was indeed really scary – but it had nothing to do with Phin.

So I said, "Met Phin’s neighbor – who is fae. He suggested calling the store. Do you have the store’s number? Have you tried calling him there? I’ll keep looking for him."

I hung up and put the Rabbit in gear with every intention of going home. But somehow I ended up on the interstate headed for Richland instead of Finley.

Phin’s mysterious call to Tad and the suspicion I felt toward Phin’s neighbor made me nervous. It was a short trip to Phin’s bookstore, I told myself. It wouldn’t hurt to just stop by. Tad was stuck on the other side of the country, and he was worried.

The Uptown is a strip mall, Richland’s oldest shopping center. Unlike its newer, upscale counterparts, the Uptown looks as though someone took a couple dozen stores of various styles and sizes, stuck them all together, and surrounded them with a parking lot.

It houses the sorts of businesses that wouldn’t thrive in the bigger mall in Kennewick: nonchain restaurants, several antiques (junk) stores, a couple of resale clothing boutiques, a music store, a doughnut shop, a bar or two, and several shops best described as eclectic.