"Not a good idea," I told Bran as I looked Black in the eyes. It was hard to blame him for the gun when I could read the fear in his face. "He's worried about his daughter. She's thirteen and he doesn't want her hurt." I had to use the tone of my voice to convey just how worried Black was. Much too worried to amaze him with Bran's powers of deduction.
"I see. A little paranoid is he?"
"Absolutely," I agreed. There was a short pause, then Bran said, "Do you have a sheet of paper handy?"
"Yes."
"Right. Josef is right, neither of the pack leaders in that area are the sort I'd trust with a child. I'm going to give you the names of the pack leaders who would be safe with a child. Leaders who would not mind a reporter knowing who they are. It is very short, and none of them are anywhere near Virginia. There are others. Do you believe his story?"
"Yes," I said.
"Then I'll also give you places where the Alphas have not come out to the public and don't want to do so, but who would take care of a young girl. If he wants to chance it, he could go there and see if the Alpha would meet with him."
I wrote down the names he told me, four men, including Adam, complete with phone numbers. Then I wrote down fifteen towns. Nineteen Alphas out of maybe a hundred and fifty that Bran thought could be trusted to help a child without abusing her.
It made me acknowledge just how lucky I was that the werewolf relative my mother went to for help once she realized I could turn into a coyote belonged to the Marrok and not to some other pack.
"You can send them to me, too," he said, when he was done.
"But--" I bit my tongue. I wasn't going to tell a reporter that the Marrok was one of the wolves who wasn't out yet.
"I trust your judgement, Mercy--and I've raised a few strays before." Like me.
"I know."
He must have heard the gratitude in my voice, because I heard the smile in his. "One or two, anyway, Mercy. Tell your gentleman that he needs to find someone to help as soon as possible. Unless he uses silver, which will hurt her, I doubt he'll be able to keep her in his cage forever. Not to mention that she doesn't need the moon to change. Some day she's going to be hurt or startled into changing and then she'll kill someone." Bran hung up.
I gave Tom Black the list and explained what it meant. Then I gave him Bran's warning. As the words sank in, he lowered his gun, but I don't think it was on purpose. It was more as though he was sunk in despair and nothing mattered anymore.
"Listen," I told him. "There's nothing you can do about her being a werewolf--"
"She tried to commit suicide," he told me, tears welling in his eyes. "The day after the full moon. She's worried she will hurt someone. She used a knife on her wrist, but the cuts kept healing too fast. I'd take her to a damned shrink, but I don't want to risk telling anyone what she is. She already thinks she's a monster, she doesn't need anyone else telling her so."
I saw Honey's eyes widen, when he said that bit about being a monster. From the expression on her face, she thought she was a monster, too.
I frowned at her. I didn't want to have sympathy for Honey--it was so much easier to dislike her. She frowned back.
"Put the gun away," I told Black in the firm voice that sometimes worked on werewolves. I guess it worked on grieving fathers, too, because he slipped the pistol back in his shoulder holster.
"She doesn't need a shrink," I told him. "Every thirteen year old girl wants to kill themselves at some point or other."
I remembered being thirteen. When I was fourteen my foster father had killed himself, and that permanently removed the impulse. I'd never do that to people I cared about. "I expect getting locked in the basement once a month doesn't help," I continued. "The Marrok told me that there's every reason to expect she'll be able to control her wolf if you find an Alpha to guide her."
He turned away and raised his hands to his face. When he turned back his tears were gone, though his eyes were moist. He took the piece of paper I'd written on, and, only after I handed it to him, the roll of money. "Thank you for your help."
"Wait," I said, glancing at Honey. "Mr. Black, that werewolf who talks to you, has he ever shown you his wolf?"
"No."
"Has he shown your daughter?"
"We only saw him once, the night he brought her back to us. The night of the attack. He left a number where he could be reached."
"So the only wolf you've seen is your daughter, chained and out of control in her cage--and the only wolf she's ever seen is the one who attacked her?"
"That's right."
Honey was, if anything, more beautiful in her wolf form than she was in her human form. I looked at her. Wolves communicate very well without words; she understood what I asked her to do. She also very clearly didn't understand