Iron Kissed mt-3

by Patricia Briggs

  Ah, an attempt to discredit me. If she'd expected to fluster me, she didn't know me very well. Any female mechanic knows how to respond to that kind of attack.

  I gave her a genial smile. "I've a degree in history and I read, Dr. Altman. For instance, I know that there was no such thing as a gremlin until Zee decided to call himself one. If you'd excuse me, I'd better get back to work. I promised that this car would be finished today." I turned to do just that and tripped on a stick that was lying on the ground.

  Tony was there with a hand under my elbow to help me back to my feet. "Did you twist an ankle?" he asked.

  "No, I'm fine," I told him, frowning at the fae walking stick that had appeared on the floor of my garage. "You'd better let go or you'll get covered with grease."

  "I'm fine. A little dirt just impresses the rookies."

  "What happened?" Dr. Altman asked, as if her blindness was something that would keep her from knowing what was happening around her. Which I was certain it did not. I noticed that her dog was staring intently at the stick. Maybe she really did use it to help her see.

  "She tripped on a walking stick." Tony, who'd disengaged himself from Dr. Altman to catch me when I'd stumbled, bent down, picked it up, and put the stick down on my counter. "This is pretty cool workmanship, Mercy. What are you doing with an antique walking stick on the floor of your garage?"

  Darned if I knew.

  "It's not mine. Someone left it at the shop. I've been trying to give it back to its rightful owner."

  Tony looked at it again. "It looks pretty old. The owner should be happy to get it back." There was a question in his voice—I don't think Dr. Altman heard it.

  I don't know how sensitive Tony is to magic, but he was quick and his fingers lingered on the Celtic designs on the silver.

  I met his eyes and gave him a brief nod. Otherwise he'd pick at it until even the blind fae noticed he'd seen more than he ought.

  "You'd think so," I said ruefully. "But here it is."

  He smiled thoughtfully. "If Dr. Altman is through, we'll just get out of your way," he said. "I'm sorry Zee is unhappy with the way you chose to defend him. But I'll see to it he doesn't get railroaded."

  Or killed.

  "Take care," I told him seriously. Don't do anything stupid.

  He raised an eyebrow. "I'm as careful as you are."

  I smiled at him and went back to work. No matter what I'd told its owner, this car wasn't going to be done until tomorrow. I buttoned it up, then cleaned up and checked my phone. I'd actually missed two calls. The second one was from Tony, before he'd brought the department's fae consultant. The first one was a number I didn't know with a long-distance area code.

  When I dialed it, Zee's son, Tad, answered the phone.

  Tad had been my first tool rustler, but then he'd gone on to college and deserted me—just as Gabriel would do in a year or two. He'd actually been the one to hire me. He'd been working alone when I'd come needing a belt for my Rabbit (having just blown an interview at Pasco High; they wanted a coach and I thought they should be more concerned that their history teachers could teach history) and I'd helped him out with a customer. I think he'd been nine years old. His mother had just passed away and Zee wasn't dealing well with it. Tad had had to rehire me three more times in the next month before Zee resigned himself to me—a woman and, he thought at first, a human.

  "Mercy, where have you been? I've been trying to get you since Saturday morning." He didn't give me a chance to answer. "Uncle Mike told me that Dad had been arrested for murder. All I could get out of him was that it was related to the deaths on the reservation and that I was, under the Gray Lords' edict, to stay where I am."

  Tad and I share a certain disregard and distaste for authority. He probably had a plane ticket in his hand.

  "Don't come," I said after a moment's fierce thought. The Gray Lords wanted someone guilty and they didn't care who it was. They wanted a quick end to this mess and anyone who stood between them and what they wanted would be in danger.

  "What the hell happened? I can't find out anything." I heard in his voice the frustration I was feeling, too.

  I told him as much as I knew, from when Zee asked me to sniff out the murderer to the blind woman who had just come with Tony—including Zee's unhappiness with me because I had told the police and his lawyer too much. My gaze fell on the walking stick, so I added it into the mix.

  "It was a human killing the fae? Wait a minute. Wait a minute. The guard who was killed, this O'Donnell, was he a swarthy man, about five-ten or thereabouts? His first name was Thomas?"

  "That's what he looked like. I don't know what his first name was."

  "I told her that she was playing with fire," Tad said. "Damn it. She thought it was funny because he thought he was doing her such a favor and she was just stringing him along. He amused her."

  "She who?" I asked.

  "Connora…the reservation's librarian. She didn't like humans much, and O'Donnell was a real turkey. She liked playing with them."

  "He killed her because she was playing games?" I asked. "Why'd he kill the others?"

  "That's why they quit looking at him as the killer. He had no connection to the second guy murdered. Besides, Connora didn't have much magic. A human could have killed her. But Hendrick—"

  "Hendrick?"

  "The guy with the forest in his backyard. He was one of the Hunters. His death pretty much eliminated all the human suspects. He was pretty tough." There was a crashing sound. "Sorry. Stupid corded phone—I pulled it off the table. Wait a minute. Wait a minute. A walking stick, huh? It just keeps showing up?"

  "That's right."

  "Can you describe it to me?"

  "It's about four feet long, made of some sort of twisty wood with a gray finish. It's got a ring of silver on the bottom and a silver cap with Celtic designs on the top. I can't think why someone would keep bringing it back to me."

  "I don't think anyone is bringing it to you. I think it is following you around on its own."

  "What?"

  "Some of the older things develop a few quirks. Power begets power and all that. Some of the things made when our power was more than it is now, they can become a little unpredictable. Do things they weren't meant to."

  "Like follow me around. Do you think it followed O'Donnell to his house?"

  "No. Oh, no. I don't think it did that at all. The walking stick was created to be of use to humans who help the fae. It's probably following you around because you are trying to help Dad when everyone else has their fingers up their noses."

  "So O'Donnell stole it."

  "Mercy…" There was a choking sound. "Damn it. Mercy, I can't tell you. I am forbidden. A geas, Uncle Mike said, for the protection of the fae, of me, and of you."

  "It has something to do with your father's situation?" I thought. "With the walking stick? Were other things stolen? Is there anyone who can talk to me? Someone you could call and ask?"

  "Look," he said slowly, as if he was waiting for the geas to stop him again, "there's an antiquarian bookstore in the Uptown Mall in Richland. You might go talk to the man who runs it. He might be able to help you find out more about that stick. Make sure you tell him that I sent you to him—but wait until he's alone in the store."

  "Thank you."

  "No, Mercy, thank you." He paused, and then for a moment sounding a bit like the nine-year-old I'd first met, he said, "I'm scared, Mercy. They mean to let him take the fall, don't they?"

  "They were," I said. "But I think it might be too late. The police are not accepting his guilt at face value and we found Zee a terrific lawyer. I'm doing a little nosing about in O'Donnell's other doings."

  "Mercy," he said quietly. "Jeez, Mercy, are you setting yourself up against the Gray Lords? You know that's what the blind woman is, right? Sent to make sure they get the outcome they want."

  "The fae don't care who did it," I told him. "Once it's been established that it was a fae who killed O'Donnell, they don't care
if they get the murderer. They need someone to take the fall quickly and then they can hunt down the real culprit out of sight of the world."

  "And even though my father has done everything he can think of to dissuade you, you're not going to back down," he said.

  Of course. Of course.

  "He's trying to keep me out of it," I whispered.

  There was a short pause. "Don't tell me you thought he was really mad at you?"

  "He's calling in his loan," I told him as a knot of pain slowly unknotted. Zee knew what the fae would do and he'd been trying to keep me out of danger.

  How had he put it? She'd better hope I don't get out. Because if I got him out, the Gray Lords would be unhappy with me.

  "Of course he is. My father is brilliant and older than dirt, but he has this unreasoning fear of the Gray Lords. He thinks they can't be stopped. Once he realized how the wind was blowing, he would do his best to keep everyone else out of it."

  "Tad, stay at school," I told him. "There's nothing you can do here except get into trouble. The Gray Lords don't have jurisdiction over me."

  He snorted. "I'd like to see you tell them that—except that I like you just as you are: alive."

  "If you come here, they will kill you—how is that going to help your father? Tear up that ticket and I'll do my best. I'm not alone. Adam knows what's up."

  Tad really respected Adam. As I hoped, it was the right touch.

  "All right, I'll stay here. For now. Let me see if I can give you a little more help—and how far this damned geas Uncle Mike set on me goes."

  There was a long pause as he worked through things.

  "Okay. I think I can talk about Nemane."

  "Who?"

  "Uncle Mike said the Carrion Crow, right? And I assume he wasn't talking about the smallish crow that lives in the British Isles, but the Carrion Crow."

  "Yes. The three white feathers on her head seemed to be important."

  "It must be Nemane then." There was satisfaction in his voice.

  "This is a good thing?"

  "Very good," he said. "There are some of the Gray Lords who would just as soon kill everyone until the problems go away. Nemane is different."

  "She doesn't like to kill."

  Tad sighed. "Sometimes you are so innocent. I don't know of any fae who doesn't enjoy spilling blood at some level—and Nemane was one of the Morrigan, the battle goddesses of the Celts. One of her jobs was delivering the killing blow to the heroes dying in the aftermath of a battle to end their suffering."

  "That doesn't sound promising," I muttered.

  Tad heard. "The thing about the old warriors is that they have a sense of honor, Mercy. Pointless death or wrongful death is an anathema to them."

  "She won't want to kill your father," I said.

  He corrected me gently. "She won't want to kill you. I'm afraid that, except to you, my father is an acceptable loss."

  "I'll see what I can do to change that."

  "Go get that book," he said, then coughed a bit. "Stupid geas." There was real rage in his voice. "If it cost me my father, I'm going to have a talk with Uncle Mike. Get that book, Mercy, and see if you can't find something that will give you some bargaining room."

  "You'll stay there?"

  "Until Friday. If nothing breaks by then, I'm coming home."

  I almost protested, but said good-bye instead. Zee was Tad's father—I was lucky he agreed to wait until Friday.

  The Uptown Mall is a conglomeration of buildings cobbled together into a strip mall. The stores range from a doughnut bakery to a thrift store, plus bars, restaurants, and even a pet store. The bookstore wasn't hard to find.

  I'd been there a time or two, but since my reading tastes run more to sleazy paperbacks than collectibles, it wasn't one of my regular haunts. I was able to park in front of the store, next to a handicapped space.

  I thought for a moment it had already closed. It was after six and the store looked deserted from the outside. But the door opened easily with a jingle of mellow cowbells.

  "A minute, a minute," someone called from the back.

  "No trouble," I said. I took in a deep breath to see what my nose could tell me, but there were too many smells to separate much out: nothing holds smells like paper. I could detect cigarettes and various pipe tobaccos, and stale perfume.

  The man who emerged from the stacks of bookcases was taller than me and somewhere between thirty-five and fifty. He had fine hair that was easing gracefully from gold to gray. His expression was cheerful and shifted smoothly into professional when he saw that I was a stranger.

  "What can I help you with?" he asked.

  "Tad Adelbertsmiter, a friend of mine, told me you could help me with a problem I have," I told him and showed him the stick I was carrying.

  He took a good look at it and paled, losing the amiable expression. "Just a moment," he said. He locked the front door, changing the old-fashioned paper sign to CLOSED and pulling down the shades over the window.

  "Who are you?" he asked.

  "Mercedes Thompson."

  He gave me a sharp-eyed look. "You're not fae."

  I shook my head. "I'm a VW mechanic."

  Comprehension lit his face. "You're Zee's protégé?"

  "That's right."

  "May I see it?" he asked, holding out his hand for the stick.

  I didn't give it to him. "Are you fae?"

  His expression went blank and cold—which was an answer in itself, wasn't it?

  "The fae don't consider me one of them," he said in an abrupt voice. "But my mother's grandfather was. I've just enough fae in me to do a little touch magic."

  "Touch magic?"

  "You know, I can touch something and have a pretty good idea how old it is, and who it belonged to. That kind of thing."

  I held up the staff to him.

  He took it and examined it for a long time. At last he shook his head and gave it back. "I've never seen it before—though I've heard of it. One of the fairy treasures."

  "If you're a sheep farmer, maybe," I said dryly.

  He laughed. "That's the one, all right—though sometimes those old things can do unexpected things. Anyway, it's a magic they can't work anymore, enchanting objects permanently, and they hold those things precious."

  "What did Tad think you could tell me about it?"

  He shook his head. "If you already know the story about it, I suppose you know as much as I do."

  "So what did touching it tell you?"

  He laughed. "Not a darn thing. My magic only works on mundane things. I just wanted to hold it for a bit." He paused. "He told you I could find you information on it?" He looked me over keenly. "Now this wouldn't have any bearing on that trouble his father is in, could it? No, of course not." His eyes smiled slyly. "Oh, I expect that I know just exactly what Tad wants me to find for you, clever boy. Come back here with me."

  He led me to a small alcove where the books were all in locking barrister's bookcases. "This is where I keep the more valuable stuff—signed books and older oddities." He pulled up a bench and climbed on it to unlock the topmost shelf, which was mostly empty—probably because it was difficult to reach.

  He pulled out a book bound in pale leather and embossed in gold. "I don't suppose you have fourteen hundred dollars you'd like to pay for this with?"

  I swallowed. "Not at the moment—I might be able to scrape it up in a few days."

  He shook his head as he handed the book down to me. "Don't bother. Just take care of it and give it back when you're finished. It's been here for five or six years. I don't expect that I'll have a buyer for it this week."

  I took it gingerly, not being used to handling books that were worth more than my car (not that that was saying very much). The title was embossed on front and spine: Magic Made.

  "I'm loaning this to you," he said slowly, considering his words carefully, "because it talks a little about that walking stick…" He paused and added in a "pay attention to this part" voice, "And
a few other interesting things."

  If the walking stick had been stolen, maybe more things had disappeared, too. I clutched the book tighter.

  "Zee is a friend of mine." He locked the bookcase again and then got off the bench and put it back where it had been. Then in an apparent non sequitur he said casually, "You know, of course, that there are things that we are forbidden to discuss. But I know that the story of the walking stick is in there. You might start with that story. I believe it is in Chapter Five."

  "I understand." He was giving me all the help he could without breaking the rules.

  He led the way back through the store. "Take care of that staff."

  "I keep trying to give it back," I said.

  He turned and walked backward a few steps, his eyes on the staff. "Do you now?" Then he gave a small laugh, shook his head, and continued to the front door. "Those old things sometimes have a mind of their own."

  He opened the door for me and I hesitated on the threshold. If he hadn't told me that he was part fae, I'd have thanked him. But acknowledging a debt to a fae could have unexpected consequences. Instead I took out one of the cards that Gabriel had printed up for me and gave it to him. "If you ever have trouble with your car, why don't you stop by? I work mostly on German cars, but I can usually make the others purr pretty well, too."

  He smiled. "I might do that. Good luck."

  Samuel was gone when I got back, but he'd left a note to tell me he had gone to work—and there was food in the fridge.

  I opened it and found a foil-covered glass pan with a couple of enchiladas in it. I ate dinner, fed Medea, then washed my hands and took the book into the living room to read.

  I hadn't expected a page that said, "This is who killed O'Donnell," but it might have been nice if each page of the six-hundred-page book hadn't been covered with tiny, handwritten words in old faded ink. At least it was in English.

  An hour and a half later I had to stop because my eyes wouldn't focus anymore.

  I'd turned to Chapter Five and gotten through maybe ten pages of the impossible text and three stories. The first story had been about the walking stick, a little more complete than the story I'd read off the Internet. It also had a detailed description of the stick. The author was obviously fae, which made it the first book I'd ever knowingly read from a fae viewpoint.