"You aren't stupid.
You're right.
I'd have made you come home if I'd had to collect you myself with ropes and a gag.
And your boy Chad would have died." I leaned a little against his shoulder, and he leaned a little back.
"You never used to get into trouble like this"--amusement threaded through his voice--"except for a few memorable occasions.
Maybe it's like that fae woman, the one at Uncle Mike's, said." He didn't say Baba Yaga's name.
I didn't blame him.
"Maybe you've absorbed a little of Coyote, and chaos follows you." He touched my neck lightly.
"That vampire is going to be sorry for this." "Stefan?" He laughed, and this time he meant it.
"Him, too, probably.
But I won't have to do anything about that.
No.
I was speaking of Blackwood." Adam stuck around until I'd showered, and he ate the pancakes I made afterward.
Samuel came in while we were eating.
He looked tired and smelled like antiseptic and blood.
Without a word, he poured the last of the batter in the pan.
When Samuel looked like that, it meant he'd had a bad day.
Someone had died or been crippled, and he hadn't been able to fix it.
He took his cooked pancakes and sat down at the table beside Adam.
After dousing his meal in maple syrup, he stopped moving.
Just looked at the pool of liquid sugar as if it held the secrets of the universe.
He shook his head.
"I guess my eyes were bigger than my appetite." He dumped the food in the garbage disposal and ran it like he'd enjoy stuffing a person down it.
"So what is it this time?" I asked.
"`Johnny fell down and broke his arm' or `my wife ran into a door'?" "Baby Ally got bitten by their pit bull," he growled, flipping the switch so the disposal quieted.
In an artifically high-pitched voice, he said, "`But Iggy's so good.
Sure he's bitten me a couple of times.
But he's always adored Ally.
He watches her while I shower.' " He walked off a little steam, then said, in his own voice, "You know, it's not the pit bulls.
It's the people who own them.