"Is there any reason for BFA to have sent someone into all the murder scenes?" I asked.
"The BFA can do random searches," Zee told me. "But they were not called in here."
"You mean there was a Beefa in each house?" Uncle Mike asked. "Who, and how do you know him?"
Zee's eyes narrowed suddenly. "There's only one BFA agent she would know. O'Donnell was at the gate when I brought her in." I nodded. "His scent was in every house and his blood was on the floor in the library inside here." I tipped my head at the house. "His was the only scent in the library besides the selkie's and yours, Uncle Mike."
He smiled at me. "It wasn't me." Still with that charming smile he looked at Zee. "I'd like to talk to you alone."
"Mercy, why don't you take my truck. Just leave it at your friend's house and I'll pick it up tomorrow."
I took a step off the porch before I turned around. "The one I met in there..." I tipped my head at the selkie's house.
Zee sighed. "I did not bring you here to risk your life. The debt you owe us is not so large."
"Is she in trouble?" asked Uncle Mike.
"Bringing a walker into the reservation might not have been as good an idea as you thought," Zee said dryly. "But I think matters are settled--unless we keep talking about it."
Uncle Mike's face took on that pleasant blankness he used to conceal his thoughts.
Zee looked at me. "No more, Mercy. This one time be content with not knowing."
I wasn't, of course. But Zee had no intention of telling me more.
I started back to the truck and Zee cleared his throat very quietly. I looked at him, but he just stared back. Just as he had when he was teaching me to put together a car and I'd forgotten a step. Forgotten a step...right.
I met Uncle Mike's gaze. "This ends my debt to you and yours for killing the second vampire with your artifacts. Paid in full."
He gave me a slow, sly smile that made me glad Zee had reminded me. "Of course."
According to my wristwatch, I'd spent six hours at the reservation, assuming, of course, that a whole day hadn't passed by. Or a hundred years. Visions of Washington Irving aside, presumably if I had been there a whole day--or longer--either Uncle Mike or Zee would have told me. I must have spent more time staring at the ocean than I'd thought. At any rate, it was very late. There were no lights on at Kyle's house when I arrived, so I decided not to knock. There was an empty spot in Kyle's driveway, but Zee's truck was old and I worried about leaving oil stains on the pristine concrete (which was why my Rabbit was parked on the blacktop). So I pulled in and parked it on the street behind my car. I must have been tired, because it wasn't until I'd already turned off the truck and gotten out that I realized any vehicle belonging to Zee would never drip anything.
I paused to pat the truck's hood gently in apology when someone put his hand on my shoulder.
I grabbed the hand and rotated it into a nice wrist lock. Using that as a convenient handle, I spun him a few degrees to the outside, and locked his elbow with my other hand. A little more rotation, and his shoulder joint was also mine. He was ready to be pulverized.
"Damn it, Mercy, that is enough!"
Or apologized to.
I let Warren go and sucked in a deep breath. "Next time, say something." I should have apologized, really. But I wouldn't have meant it. It was his own darn fault he'd surprised me.
He rubbed his shoulder ruefully and said, "I will." I gave him a dirty look. I hadn't hurt him--even if he'd been human, I wouldn't have done any real hurt.
He stopped faking and grinned. "Okay. Okay. I heard you drive up and wanted to make sure everything was all right."
"And you couldn't resist sneaking up on me."
He shook his head. "I wasn't sneaking. You need to be more alert. What was up?"
"No demon-possessed vampires this time," I told him. "Just a little sleuthing." And a trip to the seashore.
A second-floor window opened, and Kyle stuck his head and shoulders out so he could look down at us. "If you two are finished playing Cowboy and Indian out there, some of us would like to get their beauty sleep."
I looked at Warren. "You heard 'um, Kemo Sabe. Me go to my little wigwam and get 'um shut-eye." "How come you always get to play the Indian?" whined Warren, deadpan.
"'Cause she's the Indian, white boy," said Kyle. He pushed the window up all the way and set a hip on the casement. He was wearing little more than most of the men in the movie we'd been watching, and it looked better on him.