Iron Kissed (30 page)

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?”

“You remember,” I said. “We watched
The Exorcist
a couple of months ago.”

“I know a few good counselors, too,” he said, and being smart, he continued without giving me a chance to respond. “So what are we doing this afternoon?”

“I don't know what we're doing,” I told him. “I'm going to see if I can get my Rabbit running again.”

 

The pole barn that served as my home garage was twenty degrees cooler than the sun-scorched outside air. I stood in the dark for a minute, dealing with the momentary panic that the scent of oil and grease brought on. This was the first panic attack of the day, which was exactly one third the number of panic attacks I'd had yesterday.

Warren didn't say anything; not when I was fighting for breath and not when I'd recovered—which is one of the reasons I love him.

I hit the lights as soon as the sweat began drying on my shirt.

“I'm not too optimistic about the Rabbit's chances,” I told Warren. “When Gabriel and I brought it home, I checked it out a little. Looks like Fideal turned my diesel to saltwater—and it's been sitting in my tank and lines since Tuesday.”

“And that's bad.” Warren knew about as much about cars as I did about cows. Which is to say, not a thing. Kyle was better, but given the choice, he'd opted for the air-conditioned house and chocolate chip cookies.

I popped the hood and stared down at the old diesel engine. “It'd probably be as cheap to go find another one in a junkyard and use this for parts as it would be to fix it.”

Problem was I had a lot more places to put money than I had money to put there. I owed Adam for the damage to his house and car. He hadn't said anything, but I owed him. And I hadn't been to work since Wednesday.

Tomorrow was Monday.

“Do you want to try this later?” Warren's sharp glance lingered on my face.

“No, I'm all right.”

“You taste of fear.”
It wasn't Warren's voice.

I jerked my head out from under the hood hard enough to kink my neck. “Did you hear that?” I asked. I'd never run into a ghost at my home, but there was a first time for everything.

But even before he said anything, I saw the answer in Warren's body posture. He'd heard it all right.

“Do you smell anything unusual?” I asked.

Something laughed, but Warren ignored it. “No.”

Let's see. We were in a brightly lit building with no hiding places and neither Warren nor I could see or smell anything. That left two things it could be, and since it was still daylight outside, vampires were out.

“Fae,” I said.

Warren must have had the same thought because he picked up the digging bar I kept just inside the door. It was five feet long and weighed eighteen pounds and he picked it up in one hand like I'd grab a knife.

Me, I picked up the walking stick that was lying by my feet where a moment ago there had been nothing but cement. It wasn't cold iron, but it had saved my life once already. Then we waited, senses alert…and nothing happened.

“Call Adam's house,” Warren told me.

“Can't. My cell phone's still dead.”

Warren threw back his head and howled.

“That won't work,” the intruder whispered. I cocked my head. The voice was different, bigger and had a distinct Scots accent. It was Fideal, but I couldn't tell where he was. “No one can hear you, wolf. She is my prey and so are you.”

Warren shook his head at me; he couldn't tell where the voice was coming from either.

I heard a pop and saw a spark out of the corner of my eye just before the lights went out.

“Damn it,” I growled. “I cannot afford an electrician.”

I don't have windows in my pole barn, but it was still bright afternoon and the light leaked in around the RV-sized garage doors. I could still see just fine, but there were a lot more shadows for Fideal to hide in.

“Why are you here?” Warren growled. “She is safe from your kind now. Ask your precious Gray Lords.”

Fideal emerged from hiding to hit him. For a moment I saw him, a darker form vaguely horse shaped, the size of a large donkey. His front hooves connected with Warren's chest, knocking him off his feet.

I hit the fae with the walking stick and it throbbed in my hands like a cattle prod. Fideal bugled like a stallion, twisted away from the stick's touch, and vanished into the shadows again.

Warren used the distraction to regain his feet. “I'm fine, Mercy. Get out of the way.”

I couldn't see Fideal, but Warren held the digging bar like a baseball bat, took two steps to his right, then swung and connected with something.

Warren could perceive the Fideal, but I still couldn't. He was right—I needed to get out of the way before I blundered and got Warren hurt.

I put the Rabbit between me and the fight and then started looking around for something that would be a better weapon against the fae.

There were lots of aluminum fencing supplies and old copper pipes for plumbing. All my pry bars and good steel tools were on the other side of the garage.

Fideal shrieked, a nasty ear-splitting sound that echoed wildly. It was followed by a ringing clank, like a digging bar being flung across a cement floor.

Then there was no sound at all and Warren lay unmoving on the floor.

“Warren?”

Not even the sound of breathing. I ran across the garage to stand over his body, still armed with the walking stick. There was no sign of Fideal.

Something cut my face. I swiped blindly and this time the stick vibrated like a rattlesnake's tail when I connected. Fideal hissed and ran, tripping over a jack stand and into a small tool chest. I still couldn't see him, but he made a mess of my garage.

I jumped over the fallen jack stand, knowing that Fideal couldn't be too far away. As I rounded the tool chest, something big hit me.

I landed on the cement chin-, elbow-, and knee-first. Helpless. It took me a full second to understand that the buzzing in my head was someone snapping nasty phrases in German.

Even dazed and facedown on the floor, I knew who'd come to my rescue. I only knew one man who snarled in German.

Whatever he said, it made Fideal lose control of whatever magic he'd been doing to block my nose. The whole building suddenly reeked of swamp. But it stank more in one place than any other.

I ran for the place where the shadows were the darkest.

“Mercy,
halt
,” Zee said.

I swung the walking stick as hard as I could. It connected with something and stuck for a moment, then blazed as brightly as the sun.

Fideal shrieked again and made one of those impossible leaps, jumping over the Rabbit and up against the far wall, knocking the walking stick from my hand as he leapt past me. He wasn't down or even hurt. He just crouched in a manner no horse could ever adopt and stared at Zee.

Zee didn't look like someone worthy of the wariness of a monster. He looked as he always had, a man past middle age, lanky and rawboned, except for his small pot belly. He bent over Warren, who started coughing as soon as Zee touched him. He didn't look at me when he spoke. “He's all right. Let me handle this, please, Mercy. I owe you at least this.”

“All right.” But I picked up the walking stick.

“Fideal,” Zee said. “This one is under my protection.”

Fideal hissed something in Gaelic.

“You grow old, Fideal. You forget who I am.”

“My prey. She is mine. They said. They said I could eat her and I will. Barnyard animals they give me. That the Fideal should be reduced to eating cow or pig like a dog.” Fideal spat on the ground, showing fangs blacker than the grayish slime that coated his body. “The Fideal takes its tribute from the humans who come into its territory to harvest the rich peat to heat their houses or the children who venture too close. Pig, faugh!”

Zee stood up. The area around him lightened oddly, as if someone were slowly turning up a spotlight on him. And he changed, dropping his glamour. This Zee was a good ten inches taller than mine and his skin was polished teak instead of age-spotted German pale. Glistening hair that could have been gold or gray in better light was braided in a tail that hung down over one shoulder and reached past his waist. Zee's ears were pointed and decorated with small white slivers of bone threaded through piercings that ran all the way around them. In one dark hand he held a blade that was identical to the one he'd let me borrow except that it was at least twice as long.