Iron Kissed mt-3

by Patricia Briggs

  "I do mostly VWs," I told her, taking a card out of my purse and handing it to her. "You'd be better off taking it to a Ford mechanic, but you can bring it by my shop if you want. I can't do it for free. My hourly rates are better than most places, but since I don't work on a lot of Fords, it'll probably take me longer to fix."

  I heard the front door open. A moment later Tim and Austin arrived with a case of beer and a couple of white plastic grocery bags filled with chips. They were greeted with cheers and mobbed for food and beer.

  Tim set his burdens down on a small table next to the door and escaped being buried by foraging young men. He looked at me for a moment without smiling. "I thought you might bring your boyfriend."

  "He's not my boyfriend anymore," I said—and the relief of that made me smile.

  Courtney saw my relief and misread it. "Oh, honey," she said. "One of those, eh? Better off without them. Here, have a beer."

  I shook my head, softening my refusal with a smile. "I never learned to like the stuff." And I intended to keep my wits about me to catch any clues that came my way, though my already-not-high hopes of that had been falling by the minute. I'd thought I was going to infiltrate an organized hate group, not a bunch of beer-swilling college kids and their teacher.

  I was willing to swear there wasn't a murdering bastard among them.

  "How about a Diet Coke," Tim said in a friendly voice. "I used to have a six-pack of ginger ale and another of root beer in the fridge, but I bet these turkeys have already finished them off."

  He got a bunch of denying catcalls back that seemed to please him. Good for you, I thought, and quit feeling sorry for him because he didn't have a purple wall or a statue wearing a hat. Find your own group to fit in with.

  "Diet Coke would be great," I told him. "Your house is pretty impressive."

  That pleased him even more than the catcalls had. "I had it built after my parents died. I couldn't stand to stay in that old empty place alone."

  Since Tim stayed to talk, Courtney was actually the one who got the pop for me. She handed it over and then patted Tim on the head. "What Tim isn't telling you is that his parents were rich. They died in a freak car accident a few years back and gave Tim an estate and life insurance that left him set for life."

  His face tightened in embarrassment at her rather bold announcement in front of a relative stranger. "I'd rather have had my parents," he said stiffly, though he must have gotten over whatever grief he'd felt, because all he smelled of was irritation.

  She laughed. "I knew your father, honey. No one would rather have had him than money. Your mother was a sweetie, though."

  He thought about getting mad, then shrugged it off. "Courtney and I are kissing cousins," he told me. "It makes her pushy—and I've learned to tolerate her."

  She grinned at me and took a long pull of her beer.

  Over her shoulder I could see that the others had pulled the chairs around into a loose semicircle and were starting to get settled down with munchies propped on a couple of small, strategically placed tables.

  Tim took a seat that someone else had moved and motioned to me to sit beside him, while Courtney went to scrounge her own chair.

  Since it was his house, I'd kind of expected him to take the lead, but it was Austin Summers who stood in front and let out a loud whistle.

  I wish he'd warned me. My ears were still ringing when he began talking.

  "Let's get started. Who has business to address?"

  It only took a very few minutes to discern that Austin was the leader. I'd seen the possibilities of his dominance at the pizza party, but I'd been talking to Tim instead of watching Austin. Here his role was as established as Adam's was in his pack.

  Aiden Fideal, the fae teacher, was either second in line or third behind Courtney. I had a hard time deciding—because so did they. From the uncertainness of their placement, I was pretty sure that O'Donnell had occupied that spot previously. A petty tyrant like O'Donnell wouldn't have accepted Austin's leadership easily. If Austin had been fae, I'd have put him on the top of my suspect list—but he was more human than I.

  Tim faded into the background as the meeting continued. Not because he didn't say anything, but because no one listened to him unless his remarks were repeated by either Courtney or Austin.

  After a while I started to put some things together from chance remarks.

  O'Donnell might have started Bright Future in the Tri-Cities, but he hadn't had much luck until he'd found Austin. They had met in a class at the community college a couple of years earlier. O'Donnell was taking advantage of the BFA program that paid for continuing education for the reservation guards. Austin divided his time between Washington State University and CBC and was almost through with a computer degree.

  Tim, who had no need to find work, was older than most of them.

  "Tim has a masters in computer science from Washington State," Courtney whispered to me. "That's how he met Austin, in a computer class. Tim still takes a couple of classes from CBC or WSU every semester. It keeps him busy."

  Austin, Tim, and most of the students had belonged to a college club—which seemed to have had something to do with writing computer games. Mr. Fideal had been the faculty advisor for that club. When Austin got interested in Bright Future, he'd preempted the club. CBC had dissociated itself with the group when it became obvious the nature of their business had changed—but Mr. Fideal had kept the privilege of dropping in occasionally.

  The first bit of business for Bright Future this meeting was to send a bouquet to O'Donnell's funeral as soon as the time for it was arranged by his family. Tim accepted the assumption that he would pay for the flowers without comment.

  Business concluded, one young man got up and presented methods sure to protect you from the fae, among them salt, steel, nails in your shoes, and putting your underwear on inside out.

  In the question-and-answer session that followed, I finally couldn't keep my mouth shut anymore. "You talk as if all the fae are the same. I know that there are some fae that can handle iron and it would seem to me that the sea fae, like selkies, wouldn't have a problem with salt."

  The presenter, a shy giant of a young man, gave me a smile, and answered with far more articulation than he'd managed during his presentation. "You're right, of course. Part of the problem is that we know that some of the stories have been embellished past all recognition. And the fae aren't exactly jumping up and down to tell us just what kind of fae are left—the registration process is a joke. O'Donnell, who had access to all the paperwork on the fae in the reservation, said that he knew for a fact that at least one in three lied when answering what they were. But part of what we're trying to do is sift through the garbage for the gold."

  "I thought the fae couldn't lie," I said.

  He shrugged. "I don't know about that, exactly."

  Tim spoke up. "A lot of them made up a Gaelic-or German-sounding word and used that to fill out the form. If I said I was a Heeberskeeter, I wouldn't be lying since I just invented the word. The treaties that set up the reservation system didn't allow any questions asked about the way the registration forms were filled out."

  By the time the meeting was wrapping up, I was convinced that none of these kids had anything to do with O'Donnell's killing spree and subsequent murder. I'd never attended the meeting of any hate group—being half-Indian and not quite human, I'd have been pretty out of place. But I hadn't been expecting a meeting conducted with all the passion and violence of a chess club. Okay, less passion and violence than a chess club.

  I even agreed with most of what they said. I might like a few individual fae, but I knew enough to be afraid. Hard to blame these kids for seeing through the fae politicians and speech making. As Tim had told me, all they had to do was read the stories.

  Tim walked me to my car after the meeting.

  "Thanks for coming," he said, opening my door for me. "What did you think?"

  I smiled tightly to disguise my dislike of the
way he'd grabbed my door before I had. It felt intrusive—though Samuel and Adam, both products of an earlier era, opened doors for me, too, and they didn't bother me.

  I didn't want to hurt his feelings, though, so all I said was, "I like your friends…and I hope you aren't right about the threat the fae present."

  "You don't think we're a bunch of overeducated, under-socialized geeks running around yelling the sky is falling?"

  "That sounds like a quote."

  He smiled a little. "Directly from the Herald."

  "Ouch. And no, I don't."

  I bent to get in the car and noticed that the walking stick was back, lying across the two front seats. I had to move it so I could sit down.

  I glanced at Tim after I moved it, but he didn't seem to recognize the stick. Maybe O'Donnell had kept it out of sight during the Bright Future meetings; maybe it had kept itself out of sight. Nor did Tim seem to see anything odd about a person who had a walking stick in the front seat of their car. People tend to expect VW mechanics to be a little odd.

  "Listen," he said. "I've had a little time to brush up on my Arthurian myths—read a little de Troyes and Malory after we got through talking. I wonder if you'd like to come over for dinner tomorrow?"

  Tim was a nice man. I wouldn't have to worry about him practicing undue influence via some werewolf mojo or turning control freak on me. He'd never get mad and rip out someone's throat. He wouldn't kill two innocent victims in order to protect me or anyone else from the mistress of the vampires. I hadn't seen Stefan since then, but I often went months without seeing the vampire.

  For a bare instant I thought about how nice it would be to go out with a normal person like Tim.

  Of course, there was the small problem of telling him what I was. And the little fact that I wasn't interested in getting into his bed at all.

  Mostly, though, I was more than half in love with Adam, no matter how much he scared me.

  "Sorry, no," I said, shaking my head. "I just got out of one relationship. I'm not about to start another."

  His smile widened a little and grew pained. "Funny, me, too. We'd been dating for three years and I'd just gone to Seattle to buy a ring. I took her to our favorite restaurant, the ring in my pocket, and she told me she was getting married in two weeks to her boss. She was sure I would understand."

  I hissed in sympathy. "Ouch."

  "She was married in June, so it's been a couple of months, but I don't really feel like getting involved again either." Evidently tiring of bending down, he crouched beside the car, putting his head just a little below mine. He reached out and touched me on the shoulder. He wore a plain silver ring, the once smooth surface scratched and worn. I wondered what it meant to him because he didn't seem to be the kind of man who normally wore rings.

  "So why invite me to dinner?" I asked.

  "Because I don't intend to turn into a hermit. In the spirit of 'Don't let the bastards get you down. Why shouldn't we sit down and have a nice meal and a little conversation? No strings and I don't intend us to end up in bed. Just a conversation. You, me, and Malory's Le Morte d'Arthur." He gave me a twisted smile. "As an added bonus, one of the things I've taken a lot of classes in is cooking."

  Another evening of arguing about Arthurian writers of the Middle Ages sounded like a lot of fun. I opened my mouth to accept but stopped without speaking the words. It might be fun, but it wasn't a good idea.

  "How about seven thirty," he was saying. "I know it's late, but I have a class until six and I'd like to have dinner ready when you come."

  He stood up and shut my door, giving it a pat before he strolled back to his house.

  Had I just accepted a date with him?

  Dazed, I started the Rabbit and headed for the highway home. I thought of all the things I should have said. I'd call him as soon as I got home and could look up his number. I'd tell him thanks but no thanks.

  My refusal would hurt his feelings—but going might hurt him more: Adam would not like me having dinner with Tim. Not at all.

  I'd just passed the exit for the Columbia Center Mall when I realized that Aiden Fideal was behind me. He'd pulled out of Tim's house at the same time as I—and about three other people. I'd only noticed him because he was driving the Porsche, a 911 wide-body like the ones I'd always lusted after—though I preferred black or red (clichéd as that was) to bright yellow. Someone around town drove a purple one that was just mouthwatering.

  A Buick passed me and my headlights caught his bumper sticker: Some people are like Slinkies. They aren't really good for anything, but they still bring a smile to my face when I push them down a flight of stairs.

  It made me laugh and broke the odd worry that seeing the Porsche just behind me had caused. Fideal probably lived in Kennewick and was just driving home.

  But it wasn't long before the nagging feeling that I was being hunted came back to settle on the nerves in the back of my neck. He was still behind me.

  Fideal was a fae—but Dr. Altman was the fae's hit man and she knew they couldn't attack me without retaliation. There was no reason for me to be nervous.

  Calling Adam for help would be overkill. If Zee hadn't been in jail and if we'd been on speaking terms, I'd have called him, though. He wouldn't overreact like Adam might.

  I could call Uncle Mike—assuming he didn't share Zee's reaction and that he would take my phone call.

  Uncle Mike might know if I was being stupid to let Fideal panic me unnecessarily. I took out my phone and flipped it open, but there was no welcoming light. The screen on the phone was blank. I must have forgotten to charge it.

  I risked a speeding ticket and took the Rabbit up a notch. The speed limit was fifty-five here, and the police patrolled this stretch of highway often, so most of the traffic was actually traveling only sixty or thereabouts. I did a little weaving and breathed a sigh of relief when Fideal's distinctive headlights slipped out of sight behind a minivan.

  The highway dropped me off on Canal Street, and I slowed to city speeds. This must be my night to be stupid, I thought.

  First, I'd accepted an invitation to eat with Tim—or at least I hadn't refused—and then I'd panicked when I saw Fideal's car. Dumb.

  I knew better than to accept an offer to dinner from Tim. No matter how good the conversation might be, it wasn't worth dealing with Adam about it. I should just have said no right then. Now it was going to be harder.

  Oddly enough, it wasn't the thought of Adam's temper that dismayed me—knowing he was going to be angry if I did something usually just encouraged me to do it. I provoked him on a regular basis if I could. There was something about that man when he was all angry and dangerous that got my blood up. Sometimes my survival instincts are not what they should be.

  If I went to Tim's house for a dinner for two—and whatever Tim had said, dinner alone with a man was a date—Adam would be hurt. Angry was fine, but I didn't want Adam hurt, ever.

  The Washington Street light was red. I stopped next to a semi. His big diesel shook the Rabbit as we waited for a flood of nonexistent traffic. I passed him as we started up again and glanced in my rearview mirror to make sure he was far enough behind me before I pulled into the right-hand lane in preparation for my turn onto Chemical Drive. He was far enough back—and right next to him was the Porsche, which gleamed like a buttercup in the streetlights.

  Sudden, unreasoning fear clenched my stomach until I regretted the Diet Coke. That I had no real reason for the fear didn't lessen its impact. The coyote had decided I was ignoring her and insisted that he was a threat.

  I breathed through my teeth as the reaction settled down to an alert readiness.

  I'd been willing to believe that we might have the same path home. That little stretch of highway was the fastest way to the eastern half of Kennewick—and you could get to Pasco and Burbank that way, too, though the interstate on the other side of the river was faster.

  But as I turned onto Chemical Drive, which led only to Finley, he followed me—an
d I'd have noticed if there were a 911 yellow wide-body in Finley. He was following me.

  Instinctively I reached for the cell phone again—and when I grabbed it out of the passenger seat, it dripped water all over my hand. I realized then that the smell of brine had been getting stronger and stronger for a while. I dropped the useless phone and brought my hand to my mouth. It tasted of swamp and salt, like a salt marsh rather than seawater.

  Although Adam's house and my house share a back fence, his street turns off a quarter mile before mine does. I couldn't remember if Samuel was at work tonight or not—but even if Adam wasn't at his house, there was bound to be someone there. Someone who was a werewolf.

  Of course, Jesse was likely to be there, too, and Jesse could protect herself even less than I could.

  I took the turn onto Finley Road to give myself a chance to think. It was the long way around and I'd have to get back onto Chemical before I went home, but I'd made so many stupid moves tonight, I had to take time to make sure bringing this fae, whatever his intentions were, to Adam's house was a smart idea.

  I shouldn't have worried. Just as I was passing Two Rivers Park, where the road was nice and deserted and the houses far away, the Rabbit coughed, sputtered, and choked before it died.

  There was no shoulder to the road, so I guided the car off the blacktop and hoped for the best. If I left it on the road, some poor person, coming home late, could hit it and kill himself. The Rabbit bounced over some rocks, which didn't do my undercarriage any good, and came to rest in a relatively flat spot.

  The car felt like a trap, so I got out as soon as the wheels quit turning. The Porsche had stopped on the highway and sat growling its throaty song.

  Full dark had fallen while I was driving back, and the lights were hard on my sensitive eyes, one of the downsides of good night vision. I turned my head away from the headlights so when Fideal got out of his car, I heard it rather than saw it.

  "Odd seeing a fae drive a Porsche," I told him coolly. "They might have an aluminum block, but the body is steel."