Moon Called (16 page)

“No violence?” I said.

He put his hand over his heart and bowed. “I swear.”

It took long enough that I got worried, but finally he opened the door and called me over. He hadn't rolled down the window because I had the keys and the windows were electric. For some reason I still hadn't tracked down, the windows only worked one at a time even with the car running.

I scooted in the driver's seat and gave Adam a cautious look—but his eyes were closed.

As soon as “roaming” quit appearing on my phone, I called Zee.

“Who's this?” he answered.

“Mercy,” I told him.

“Didn't tell me the part was for the
vampire's
bus,” he said shortly.

I rubbed my face. “I couldn't afford to pay them the percentage you were,” I explained, not for the first time.

In the Columbia Basin, which included Richland, Kennewick, and Pasco as well as the smaller surrounding towns like Burbank and West Richland, every business the vampires considered under their jurisdiction (meaning anyone touched by the supernatural who was too powerless to stand against them) paid them protection money. And yes, just like the mob, the vampires only protect you from themselves.

“They agreed I could repair their cars instead—and they pay me for parts. That way they save face, and I only have
to repair Stefan's bus and an occasional Mercedes or BMW. Stefan's not bad for a vampire.”

There was a growl from the seat beside me.

“It's okay,” Adam told Samuel. “We keep an eye on her. And she's right, Stefan's not bad for a vampire. Word is that he runs a little interference so she's not bothered.”

I hadn't known any of the vampires had
intended
to bother me—or that Stefan would care enough to stop them.

“I didn't know that,” said Zee, who'd obviously overheard Adam's comment. He hesitated. “Vampires are bad news, Mercy. The less you have to do with them the better—and writing a check and mailing it every month is safer than dealing with them face-to-face.”

“I can't afford it,” I told him again. “I'm still paying the bank and will be until I'm as old as you are.”

“Well, it doesn't matter,” he said at last. “I didn't have to deal with him, anyway. Your new supply house sent the wrong part. I sent it back to them and called with a word to their sales manager. The right part should be here on Friday—best he could do with Thanksgiving tomorrow. I called the number on the vampire's file and left a message. What kind of vampire plays the Scooby Doo song on his answering machine?” It was a rhetorical question, because he continued. “And a woman came by and said your
Politzei
friend had sent her.”

I rubbed my forehead. I'd forgotten about Tony's girl. “Did you figure out what's wrong with her car?”

“Mercy!” he snapped, insulted.

“No insult meant. Was it something worth fixing?”

“Wiring harness is bad,” he said. “Mercy . . .”

I grinned because I'd seen the effect this woman had on “I'm married to my job” Tony. “You like her,” I told him.

Zee grunted.

“Did you give her a quote?”

“Haven't talked to her yet,” he said. “She's got poor and proud written all over her. She wouldn't let me give her a lift, so she and her kids walked home. She doesn't have a phone number except a work phone.”

I laughed to myself. There was more than one reason that Zee didn't have the kind of money the older fae generally amass. Well, I'm probably never going to be rich either.

“Okay,” I said. “What kind of deal are we talking about?”

“I called the
Politzei
,” Zee said. He knew what Tony's name was; he even liked him, though he did his best to hide it. He just disapproved of letting the human authorities get too close. He was right, too—but I don't always follow the rules of wisdom. If I did, I wouldn't be hauling two werewolves in my van.

“What did he say?” I asked.

“He said that she has an older boy who's been looking for work after school.”

I let him say it; it was just too fun to listen to him squirm. He liked to play the gruff, nasty old man—but he had a marshmallow heart.

“With my Tad gone, you're short a pair of hands.”

And with Mac dead.
I lost interest in teasing the old gremlin.

“It's fine, Zee. If you talk to her, you can tell her that her son can work off the bill. If he works out, I'll offer him Tad's job. I assume you've already fixed the car?”

“Ja,”
he said. “You'll have to talk to the lady yourself, though, unless you need me tomorrow, too. She works day shift.”

“No, I won't need you. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I'll leave the shop closed—if you would remember to put up a sign in the window.”

“No problem.” He hesitated. “I might have a lead for you on Jesse. I was just getting ready to call you. One of the fae who is still in hiding told me she might be able to help, but she wouldn't tell me without talking to you.”

“Still in hiding” meant either that the Gray Lords hadn't noticed her yet, or that she was of the terrible or powerful sort.

This time it was Adam who growled. Such are the joys of trying to have a private phone call in the presence of
werewolves. Somehow it didn't bother me so much when I was the eavesdropper.

“We're about an hour out of town,” I said. “Could you set up a meeting tonight at a place of her choice?”

“All right,” he said, and hung up.

“You caught all of that?” I asked them.

“Adam can't go,” Samuel said firmly. “No, Adam, you know it yourself.”

Adam sighed. “All right. I even agree I'm not fit to be on my own—but I want Mercy there. We can call Darryl and—”

Samuel held up a hand. “Mercy,” he said, “what caused you to bring Adam all the way to Montana rather than calling on his pack for help?”

“It was stupid,” I said.

“Maybe, but tell us anyway.”

“I was trying to get in touch with Darryl, and I suddenly felt uneasy. I remembered a snippet of conversation between Ben and Darryl earlier that night, but in retrospect it wasn't much.”

“What were Ben and Darryl doing talking to you?” asked Adam in that mild voice he used to cozen people into thinking he wasn't angry.

“I can take care of myself, Adam,” I told him. “I was taking the trash out and ran into them. All Darryl did was tell Ben to leave me alone. He said, ‘Not now.' I don't know why I decided it meant he knew that something was going to happen.”

“First you felt uneasy,” said Samuel. “Then you came up with this stupid reason.”

“Yes.” I felt my face flush.

“How do you feel about his pack now?”

I opened my mouth, then shut it again. “Damn it. Something's wrong. I don't think Adam should go to the pack until he can defend himself.”

Samuel settled back with a small, smug smile.

“What?” I asked.

“You noticed something,” Adam said. “A scent or something at my house that makes you think someone from my
pack is involved. Instincts.” He sounded grim. “I thought it was odd that they came so soon after my wolves left.”

I shook my head. “Look, I don't know anything.”

“We're not going to kill anyone,” said Samuel. “Not on the basis of your instincts, anyway—but what's the harm in being careful? Call your friend back. We'll see to his information tomorrow, when Adam has enough control to be on his own.”

“No,” said Adam.

“Damned if I will.” It felt odd not to be arguing with Adam. “The faster we find Jesse, the better.”

“I can't be in two places at once,” Samuel said. “And I won't allow you to go out on your own and talk to who knows what kind of fae.”

“We need to find Jesse,” I said.

“My daughter comes first.”

Samuel twisted around to look at Adam. “You have a dominant wolf in your pack that you trust? Someone not in line to be pack leader?”

“Warren.” Adam and I said his name in the same instant.

Warren was my favorite of Adam's pack, and the only wolf whose company I sought out. I met him shortly after I moved to the Tri-Cities, before I even knew there was a pack in town.

I hadn't met a werewolf since I'd left Montana, and I certainly hadn't expected to meet one working the night shift at the local Stop and Rob. He'd given me a wary look, but there were other people in the store, so he accepted my payment without a word. I accepted my change with a nod and a smile.

After that we'd mostly ignored each other, until the night a woman with a fresh shiner came into the store to pay for the gas her husband was pumping. She gave Warren the money, then took a firmer grip on the hand of the boy at her side, and asked Warren if he had a back door she could use.

He smiled gently at her and shepherded the two frightened people into a small office I'd never noticed before at
the back of the store. He left me to watch the till and went out and had a short talk with the man at the pump. When he came back, he had two hundred dollars cash for her, and her husband drove away with a speed indicating either terror or rage.

Warren and I waited with the battered pair until the lady who ran the local women's shelter drove over to collect her newest clients. When they left, I turned to him and finally introduced myself.

Warren was one of the good guys, a hero. He was also a lone wolf. It had taken him a while to trust me enough to tell me why.

Perhaps in other ages, in other places, it wouldn't have mattered that he was gay. But most of the werewolves in power in the US had been born in a time when homosexuality was anathema, even punishable by death in some places.

One of my professors once told me that the last official act of the British monarchy was when Queen Victoria refused to sign a law that made same-sex acts illegal. It would have made me think more highly of her, except the reason she objected was because she didn't believe women would do anything like that. Parliament rewrote the law so it was specific to men, and she signed it. A tribute to enlightenment, Queen Victoria was not. Neither, as I have observed before, are werewolf packs.

There was no question of Warren's staying in the closet, either, at least not among other werewolves. As demonstrated by Adam and Samuel just a few hours ago, werewolves are very good at sensing arousal. Not just smells, but elevated temperature and increased heart rate. Arousal in werewolves tends to bring out the fighting instinct in all the nearby males.

Needless to say, a male wolf who is attracted to other male wolves gets in a lot of fights. It spoke volumes about Warren's fighting ability that he survived as long as he had. But a pack won't accept a wolf who causes too much trouble, so he'd spent his century of life cut off from his kind.

It was I who introduced Adam and Warren, about the time Adam moved in behind me. I'd had Warren to dinner and we'd been laughing about something, I forget what, and one of Adam's wolves howled. I'll never forget the desolation on Warren's face.

I'd heard it all the time when I was growing up—wolves are meant to run in a pack. I still don't understand it completely myself, but Warren's face taught me that being alone was no trivial thing for a wolf.

The next morning, I'd knocked on Adam's front door. He listened to me politely and took the piece of paper with Warren's phone number on it. I'd left his house knowing I'd failed.

It was Warren who told me what happened next. Adam summoned Warren to his house and interrogated him for two hours. At the end of it, Adam told Warren he didn't care if a wolf wanted to screw ducks as long as he'd listen to orders. Not actually in those words, if Warren's grin as he told me about it was an accurate measure. Adam uses crudeness as he uses all of his weapons: seldom, but with great effect.

I suppose some people might think it odd that Warren is Adam's best friend, though Darryl is higher-ranking. But they are heroes, both of them, two peas in a pod—well, except Adam isn't gay.

The rest of the pack weren't all happy when Warren came in. It helped a little that most of Adam's wolves are even younger than he, and the last few decades have seen a vast improvement over the rigid Victorian era. Then, too, none of the pack wanted to take on Adam. Or Warren.

Warren didn't care what the rest of the wolves thought, just that he had a pack, a place to belong. If Warren needed friends, he had me and he had Adam. It was enough for him.

Warren would never betray Adam. Without Adam, he would no longer have a pack.

“I'll give him a call,” I said with relief.

He picked up on the second ring, “Warren, here. Is this you, Mercy? Where have you been? Do you know where Adam and Jesse are?”

“Adam was hurt,” I said. “The people who did it took Jesse.”

“Tell him not to let anyone else know,” said Samuel.

“Who was that?” Warren's tone was suddenly cool.

“Samuel,” I told him. “Bran's son.”

“Is this a coup?” Warren asked.

“No,” answered Adam from the backseat. “At least not on Bran's part.”

“Excuse me,” I said. “But this is
my
phone call. Would you all
please
pretend that it is a private conversation? That includes you, Warren. Quit listening to the other people in my van.”