"Two?" I asked in a voice that was smaller than I'd meant it to be. "That was no raven you met," he said grimly. "It was the great Carrion Crow herself." He gave me a long look. "I wonder why she didn't kill you."
"Maybe she thought I was a coyote," I said in a small voice.
Uncle Mike shook his head. "She might be blind, but she perceives more clearly than I, still."
There was a brief silence. I don't know what the others were thinking about, but I was contemplating just how many close calls I'd been having lately. If the vampires didn't hurry, the fae or some other monster would kill me before she got a chance. What had happened to all the years of carefully keeping to myself and staying out of trouble?
"You are sure that one of the Gray Lords didn't kill O'Donnell?" I asked.
"Yes," he said firmly, then paused. "I hope not. If so, then Zee's arrest was intended and he is doomed--and probably me as well." He ran a hand along his chin and something about the gesture made me wonder if he'd once worn a beard. "No. It was not they. They aren't above a messy kill--but they wouldn't have left the staff for the police to find. The Carrion Crow came to keep the staff out of human hands-- though I'm surprised she didn't retrieve it sooner." He gave me a speculative look. "Zee and I weren't in that living room long, but we'd never have overlooked the staff. I wonder..."
"What is the staff?" I asked. "I could tell it was magic, but nothing else."
"Naught of interest to you, I trust," said Uncle Mike, coming to his feet. "Naught for you to fuss with when there's the Carrion Crow about. There's money in the briefcase..." For the first time I noticed a brown leather case tucked against the arm of his chair. "If it is not enough to cover Zee's expenses, let me know."
He tipped an imaginary hat toward Samuel, then took my hand, bowed, and kissed it. "Mercy, I'd be doing you no favors if I didn't tell you to stop. We appreciate the help you have given us so far, but your usefulness ends here. There are things going on that I'm not at liberty to tell you. If you continue, you are not going to discover anything--and if those Nameless Ones find out how much you know, it will go ill with you. And there are two too many of them about." He nodded sharply at me, then at Samuel. "I'll bid you both good mornin'."
And he was out the door.
"Keep your weather eye on him, Mercy," Samuel said, still standing with his back to me as we watched Uncle Mike's headlights turn on as he backed out of the driveway. "He's not Zee. His loyalties are to himself and his alone."
I rubbed my shoulders and stood up myself. Never have a discussion with a werewolf when he's standing and you're sitting; it puts you at a disadvantage and makes them think they can give you orders.
"I trust him about as far as I can throw him," I agreed. Uncle Mike wouldn't go out of his way to harm me, but..."You know, one of the things I learned growing up about you wolves was that sometimes the most interesting part of the conversation with someone who can't lie is the questions they don't answer."
Samuel nodded. "I noticed it, too. That staff, whatever it is, was stolen from one of the murder victims--and he didn't want to talk about it."
I yawned twice and heard my jaw pop the second time. "I'm going to bed tonight. I have to go to church in the morning." I hesitated. "What do you know about the Black Smith of Drontheim?"
He gave me a small smile. "Not as much as you do, I expect, if you've worked with him for ten years."
"Samuel Cornick," I snapped.
He laughed.
"Do you know a story about this Black Smith of Drontheim?" I was tired and the heap of my worries was a weight I was staggering under: Zee, the Gray Lords, Adam, and Samuel--and the wait for Marsilia to find out that Andre had not been killed by his helpless victims. However, I'd been searching for stories about Zee for years. Too many of the fae treated him with awed respect for him not to be in stories somewhere. I just couldn't find them.
"The Dark Smith, Mercy, the Dark Smith." I tapped my toe and Samuel gave in. "Ever since I saw his knife, I've wondered if he was the Dark Smith. That one was supposed to have forged at least one blade that would cut through anything."
"Drontheim..." I muttered. "Trondheim? The old capital of Norway? Zee's German."
Samuel shrugged. "Or he's pretending to be German--or the old story could have it wrong. In the stories I heard, the Dark Smith was a genius and a malicious bastard, a son of the King of Norway. The sword he made had a nasty habit of turning on the man who wielded it."
I thought about it for a moment. "I guess I could believe a villain before I'd believe a story about him being a goody-goody hero."
"People change over the years," said Samuel.
I looked up sharply and met his eyes. He wasn't talking about Zee anymore.
There were only a few feet between us, but the gulf of history was much larger: I'd loved him so much, once. I'd been sixteen and he'd been centuries older. I'd seen in him a gentle protector, a knight who would rescue me and build his world around me. Someone for whom I would not be an obligation, a burden, or a bother. He'd seen in me a mother who could bear his living children.
Werewolves, with one exception, are made, not born. It takes more than a nip or two--or as I read in a comic book once, a scratch of a claw. A human who wants to change must be savaged so badly that he either dies or becomes a werewolf and is saved by the rapid healing that is necessary to surviving as a hot-tempered monster among other such beasts.
Women don't survive the Change as well as the men for some reason. And the women who do cannot bear children. Oh, they're fertile enough, but the monthly change at the full moon is too violent and they abort any pregnancies when they shift from human to werewolf.
Werewolves can mate with humans, and often do. But they have a terribly high miscarriage rate and higher than usual infant mortality. Adam had a daughter born after his Change, but his ex-wife had had three miscarriages while I knew her. The only children who survive are completely human. But Samuel had a brother who was born a werewolf. The only one that anyone I know had ever heard of. His mother was from a family that was gifted with magic native to this land and not Europe as most of our magic-using humans have. She was able to hold off the change every month until Charles's birth. Weakened by her efforts, she died at his birth--but her experiences had started Samuel thinking.
When I, neither human nor werewolf, was brought to his father for his pack to raise, Samuel had seen his chance. I don't have to change-- and even when I do, the change is not violent. Though real wolves in the wild kill any coyotes they find in their territory, they can mate and have viable offspring.