"Sam," I whispered. And as if my voice had conjured him from thin air he was suddenly in front of me. I'd expected him to be in wolf form like everyone else, but he wasn't. He cupped my hot face in his hands. "What's wrong, Mercy?"
"Witch," I said and I saw comprehension in his eyes.
"Where is she?"
I shook my head and panted. "Robert. It's Robert."
"Where?" he asked again.
I thought I was going to tell him I didn't know, but my arm raised up and pointed at the rooftop of the boarded-up house. "There."
Samuel was gone.
As if my gesture had somehow done something, the flow of magic increased fivefold. I collapsed completely, pressing my face against the cold dirt in hopes of keeping the fire burning inside of me from consuming my skin. I closed my eyes and I could see Robert, crouched on the roof.
He'd lost something of his handsomeness, his face twisted with effort and his skin mottled with reddish splotches.
"Mercedes." He breathed my name to his spell and I could feel it change like a bloodhound given a different handkerchief to sniff. "Mercedes Thompson."
Mercedes, whispered the spell, satisfied. He'd given death my name.
I screamed as pain rushed through me, making the earlier agony from my arm pale in comparison. Even in the consuming fire, though, I heard a song. I realized there was a rhythm to Robert's spell, and I found myself moving with it, humming the tune softly. The music filled my lungs, then my head, banking the fire for a moment while I waited.
And then Samuel stopped the magic for me.
I think I passed out for a little while because suddenly I was in Samuel's arms. "They're all here, but for one," he said.
"Yes." Adam's voice still held the moon's power.
I struggled and Samuel set me down. I still had to lean against him, but I was on my feet. Samuel, Adam, and I were the only ones on our feet.
There couldn't have been as many as it looked like. The Columbia Basin Pack is not that big, and Gerry's pack was much smaller--but all of them were sitting on the ground like a platoon of Sphinxes awaiting Adam's order.
"Two of the lone wolves, older and more dominant, ran when you first called," Samuel said. "The rest answered. They're yours now. All you have to do is call Gerry."
"He won't come," Adam said. "He can't leave. That much I can do. But he's not a lone wolf. He belongs to the Marrok."
"Will you let me help?"
The moon caught Adam's eyes and, although he was still human, his eyes were all wolf. I could smell his reaction to Samuel's question. A low growl rose over the waiting werewolves as they smelled it, too. Wolves are territorial.
Adam stretched his neck and I heard it pop. "I would appreciate it," he said mildly.
Samuel reached out his hand and Adam took it. He straightened and lifted his face to the moon once more. "Gerry Wallace of the Marrok Pack, I call you to come and face your accusers."
He must have been very close, because it didn't take him long. Like Samuel, he had stayed in human form. He paused at the edge of the wolves.
"Gerry, old friend," said Samuel. "It's time. Come here." The gentle words didn't hide their power from me--or from Gerry. He dropped to his hands and knees and crawled through the motionless wolves, his head down submissively. He wasn't fighting anymore.
He stopped when he neared us. I thought he'd be angry--as I would have been if someone had forced me against my will. Or maybe frightened. But I'm not a werewolf. The only emotion I could catch was resignation. He'd lost and he knew it.
Adam crouched until he sat on his heels and put his hand on Gerry's shoulder.
"Why?"
"It was my father," Gerry said. His face was calm and his voice dreamy, firmly held in the moon's call. "He was dying. Cancer, they said. I talked and talked. I begged and pleaded. Please, Papa, being a wolf is a wonderful thing. I think he was just tired of me when he agreed. Bran did it--because I couldn't bear it. And at first it was perfect. The cancer went away, and he could run."
"I heard," Adam said. "He couldn't control the wolf."