"I know that you prefer justice to slaughter," I told her.
"I prefer," she said, "that my people survive. If I have to eliminate a few innocents or--stupidly obtuse people--in the meantime, that will not live long on my conscience."
I didn't say anything. I wouldn't give up on Zee, couldn't give up on Zee. If I told her that, she'd kill me right now. I could feel her power gathering around her like a spring thunderstorm. Layer upon layer it built as I stared at her.
I wouldn't lie and the truth would get me killed--and leave no one to help Zee.
Just then a car turned into the gravel of the driveway. Samuel's car. I knew then what I could do, but would it be enough? What would it cost?
"I know who you are, Nemane," I whispered. "But you don't know who I am."
"You're a walker," she told me. "A shapeshifter. Zee explained it to me. There aren't many of the native preternatural species left--so you belong nowhere. Neither fae nor wolf, vampire or anything else. You are all alone." Her expression didn't change, but I could smell her sorrow, her sympathy. She was alone, too. I don't know if she meant me to understand that, or if she was unaware how much I could glean from her scent. "I don't want to have to kill you, but I will."
"I don't think so." Thank goodness, I thought, thank goodness that I had told everything to Samuel. He wouldn't have to play catch-up. "Zee told you part of who I am." Maybe because he thought it would make her hesitate to kill me, knowing that I was alone. "You're right, I don't know any other people like me, but I'm not alone."
Samuel opened the door on cue. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked tired and grumpy. I could smell the blood and disinfectant on him. He paused with the door open, taking in Dr. Altman's appearance.
"Dr. Altman," I said pleasantly, "may I introduce you to Dr. Samuel Cornick, my roommate. Samuel, I'd like you to meet Dr. Stacy Altman, police consultant, the Carrion Crow. The fae know her as Nemane."
Samuel's eyes narrowed.
"You're a werewolf," said Nemane. "Samuel Cornick." There was a pause. "The Marrok is Bran Cornick."
I kept my gaze on Samuel. "I was just explaining to Dr. Altman why it would be inadvisable for them to eliminate me even though I'm sticking my nose in their business."
Comprehension lit his eyes, which he narrowed at the fae.
"Killing Mercy would be a mistake," he growled. "My da had Mercy raised in our pack and he couldn't love Mercy more if she were his daughter. For her he would declare open war with the fae and damned be the consequences. You can call him and ask, if you doubt my word." I'd expected Samuel to defend me--and the fae could not afford to hurt the son of the Marrok, not unless the stakes were a lot higher. I'd counted on that to keep Samuel safe or I'd have found some way to keep him out of it. But the Marrok...
I'd always thought I was an annoyance, the only one Bran couldn't count on for instant obedience. He'd been protective, still was--but his protective instinct was one of the things that made him dominant. I'd thought I was just one more person he had to take care of. But it was as impossible to doubt the truth in Samuel's voice as it was to believe that he'd be mistaken about Bran.
I was glad that Samuel was focused on Nemane, who had risen to her feet when Samuel began speaking. While I blinked back stupid tears, she leaned on the walking stick and said, "Is that so?"
"Adam Hauptman, the Columbia Basin Pack's Alpha, has named Mercy his mate," continued Samuel grimly.
Nemane smiled suddenly, the expression flowing across her face, giving it a delicate beauty I hadn't noticed before.
"I like you," she said to me. "You play an underhanded and subtle game--and like Coyote, you shake up the order of the world." She laughed. "Coyote indeed. Good for you. Good for you. I don't know what else you'll run into--but I'll let the Others know what they are dealing with." She tapped the walking stick on the floor twice. Then, almost to herself, she murmured, "Perhaps...perhaps this won't be a disaster after all."
She raised the staff up and touched the top end to her forehead in a salute. Then she took a step forward and disappeared from the reach of any of my senses between one moment and the next.
Chapter 9
Wednesday night I ate dinner at my favorite Chinese place in Richland then drove out to Tim's house. Since O'Donnell's killer was almost certainly fae, I didn't know how much good it would do me to attend a Bright Future meeting--but maybe someone would know something important. I only had until Friday to prove Zee innocent or Tad would be putting his life on the line, too.
The more time I had to think about it, though, the more sense it made for Tad to come back. I certainly wasn't getting any nearer to figuring out anything. Tad, being fae, could go to the reservation and ask questions--if the Gray Lords didn't kill him for his disobedience. Maybe I could persuade Nemane that it was in the fae's best interest that Zee's son come home to help me save his father. Maybe.
Tim's address was in West Richland, a few miles from Kyle's. It was in a block so new that several houses didn't have lawns yet, and I could see two buildings under construction on the next block over.
Half of the front was beige brick and the rest was adobe the color of oatmeal. It looked upscale and expensive, but it was missing the touches that made Kyle's house a mansion rather than a house. No stained glass, no marble or oak garage doors.
Which meant that it was still several orders of magnitude nicer than my old trailer even with its new siding.
There were four cars parked in the driveway and a '72 once-red Mustang with a lime green left fender parked on the street in front. I pulled in behind it because it's not often I find a car that makes the Rabbit look good.
As I got out of the car, I waved at the woman who was peering out at me from behind a sheer curtain in the house across the street. She jerked a window shade down.
I rang the doorbell and waited for the stocking-footed person who was hopping down a carpeted staircase to open the door. When it opened, I wasn't surprised to see a girl in her late teens or very early twenties. Her footsteps had sounded like a woman--men tend to clomp, thunder, or like Adam, move so silently you can barely hear them.