Patricia Briggs Mercy Thompson: Hopcross Jilly

by Patricia Briggs

  All of that was Marsilia’s problem and not mine. I needed to find out where the sorcerer was.

  I was fully engaged in fruitless speculation and it wasn’t until I was guiding the Rabbit down the twisty drop from the hills back down into the alluvial plain of east Kennewick that I realized I’d driven halfway home.

  Maybe Warren knew what had sent Adam and Samuel after Littleton. I headed for Adam’s house. It had only been a few hours but werewolves heal very fast once they’re able to change.

  The werewolf I’d had to argue with last night was back on door duty, but he dropped his eyes and opened the front door without arguing. There were a few of the pack draped over the couches in the living room, but no one I was particularly friendly with.

  “Mercy?”

  Jesse was in the kitchen, a cup of hot chocolate clutched in her hands.

  “Has your father or Samuel called?” I asked, though the answer was obvious from her face.

  She shook her head. “Darryl said you were looking for them.” Her tone asked me a whole slew of questions. What kind of danger was her father in? Why was it me looking for him and not the whole pack?

  “How is Warren?” I asked because I didn’t have any answers I wanted to tell Adam’s daughter.

  “Still bad,” she told me. “Darryl is worried he’s not going to make it because he’s not healing like he should be, and he won’t eat.

  “I need to see if I can talk with him.”

  I left Jesse to her cocoa and her worries.

  The door to the basement was shut, but I opened it without knocking. Anyone likely to be in the room, with the possible exception of Kyle, would have heard me talking to Jesse. Darryl’s dark eyes met mine from the rocking chair he sat in. I stood in the doorway and stared into his eyes.

  “Mercy?” Kyle’s voice was strained and he sounded almost as tired as I felt.

  “Just a moment,” I murmured without taking my eyes off of Darryl. I don’t know why he felt he had to challenge me right now—but I didn’t want to be taking orders from him today.

  Finally Darryl looked down. It wasn’t submissive as much as it was dismissive, but it was good enough for me. I turned away from him without a word and walked over to the barred wall that Kyle was still leaning against.

  “What’s wrong?” Kyle asked.

  “Stupid werewolf games.” I crouched in front of the cage door. Warren had changed back into human form. He was curled up with his back to us. Someone had thrown a blanket over him. “Darryl’s just a little confused right now.”

  Darryl snorted.

  I didn’t look at him but I felt my lips curl in sympathy. “Following a coyote would stick in any wolf ’s craw,” I said. “Sitting around when there’s things that need doing is worse. If Darryl were a lesser wolf, he’d have killed me when I walked into the room.”

  Darryl’s snort evolved into an honest laugh. “You’re not in any danger from me, Mercy. Confused though I might be.”

  I risked a glance and relaxed because Darryl’d lost the look of lazy readiness and appeared merely exhausted.

  I smiled at him. “Can Warren talk?”

  Darryl shook his head. “Samuel said he thought it would be a few days. Apparently there was some damage to his throat. I don’t know what effect changing had on his prognosis. He won’t eat.”

  “He talked in his sleep,” Kyle told me.

  He was watching Darryl without bothering to conceal his dislike. Darryl had always had a problem with Warren, even before he’d found out Warren wasn’t subservient to him. Dominant wolves were always prickly around each other, unless one of them was the Alpha. It meant that Darryl tended to be nastily autocratic when Warren was around.

  “What did he say?” Darryl snapped, his chair rolling abruptly forward.

  “Nothing that matters to you,” Kyle replied, uncaring of the danger of irritating a werewolf.

  I was more interested in the way Warren’s shoulders were tightening.

  “You’re going to disturb him if you start fighting,” I said. “Darryl, have you heard from Bran?”

  He nodded, his attention still focused on Kyle. “He’s coming up. He’s got some business to finish so he won’t be able to get here until late tonight.”

  “Good,” I said. “I want you to go up and eat something.”

  He looked at me, surprised.

  I smiled. “A hungry werewolf is a cranky werewolf. Go eat something before you eat somebody.”

  He stood up and stretched, the stiffness in his movement told me that he’d been in that chair for a very long time.

  I waited until he was gone then opened the door of the cell.

  “I’ve spent most of the last few hours with Darryl telling me that wasn’t a good idea,” commented Kyle.

  “Probably isn’t,” I agreed. “But Warren listened to me this morning.”

  I sat on the end of the mattress and pulled the blanket down so it covered Warren’s feet better. Then I crawled onto it between the wall and Warren.

  His face was just a few inches from mine and I saw his battered nostrils flutter a little and breathed into them so he’d know it was me. The hours since I’d last seen him hadn’t improved his appearance any, his bruises had darkened and his nose and lips were more swollen. Darryl was right: he should be healing faster than this.

  But Kyle said he had spoken.

  “It’s all right,” I told Warren. “It’s just Kyle and me here.”

  His lashes moved and one eye opened just a slit then closed.

  “Adam and Samuel are missing,” I told him. “Daniel is dead.”

  His eye opened a little and he made a soft noise.

  “Was he alive when you last saw him?” A shift that might have been a nod. I reached up and touched a place on his cheek that looked unbruised and he relaxed infinitesimally. Among the wolves, body language can tell me almost as much as words.

  “Did you tell Adam and Samuel where to find Littleton?” I asked.

  Warren’s heart rate picked up and he shifted on the bed, his eye opened again and a tear of pure frustration spilled over.

  I touched his lips. “Shh. Shh. Not you. I see. But someone told them.”

  He stared at me, tormented.

  “Do you know where they went?”

  “Samuel got a phone call last night before they left,” said Kyle.

  Dumbfounded I lifted my head to stare at Kyle who was kneeling on the floor on the other side of Warren’s bed. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

  “Darryl didn’t ask,” he said. “He assumed I was sleeping the whole time—and wasn’t in the mood to listen when I tried to talk to him. I should have told you earlier today—but to be quite honest, I was a little distracted.”

  I relaxed back on the bed. Damned werewolves. I suppose it never even occurred to Darryl to pay attention to a human. Darryl had a PhD, damn it. You’d think he’d be smart enough to pay attention to a man with the brains to be one of the top attorneys in the state, an attorney moreover with an Ivy League education.

  “If you think being a human around them is frustrating, you should try being a coyote,” I told him. “So what did Samuel say?” I didn’t have much hope of anything useful. If he’d said where they were going, for instance, Kyle wouldn’t have let pride keep him from giving Darryl the information.

  “Samuel didn’t have a chance to say anything to whoever called. They called, said a few sentences, and hung up. Samuel grabbed Adam and said, ‘Let’s go.’”

  I gave him a rueful look. “They ignored you, too.”

  He smiled at me this time, a tired smile. “I’m not used to being ignored.”

  “Irks me when they do it to me, too.” I shifted my gaze back to Warren. “Did you hear what the caller said?”

  I didn’t expect he had, so his stillness took me by surprise.

  His battered mouth tried to shape a word. I listened carefully but it was Kyle, leaning over the bed, who caught it.

  “Trap?”


  “Warren, I know the werewolves have to stay away from Littleton,” I told him. “Did he call them and get them to come to him?”

  He moved his head just enough for an affirmative.

  “Did you hear where?” He lay unmoving. “Warren, I won’t let any of the wolves go near him. Neither Kyle nor I will tell the pack where they are, not until Bran gets here. I’ll just tell the vampires—it’s their problem in the first place.”

  He tried but neither Kyle nor I could tell what he said. Finally Kyle said, “Look, it’s obviously not a yes or a no. Warren, my dear, did you hear part of it?”

  Clearly exhausted by his efforts, Warren nodded. He relaxed and said one thing more.

  “Church?” I said and saw by Warren’s face I’d gotten it right. “That’s all?” I touched his face as he relaxed. “Go back to sleep, Warren. We’ll make sure Bran knows everything.”

  He gave a shuddering sigh and relaxed fully into unconsciousness.

  “Kyle, would you make sure to tell Bran this much when he gets here? He should be here late tonight or early tomorrow morning.” I got out of Warren’s bed as carefully as I could.

  “All right. What are you going to be doing?”

  I rubbed my face. It had taken a lot of willpower to crawl out of that bed when my whole body wanted to curl up with Warren and sleep. “If I can find out where Littleton is before nightfall, I might be able to kill him.” With the handy-dandy vampire-killing kit in the trunk of my car.

  “Can I help?”

  “Only by staying here with Warren. See if you can get him to eat when he stirs again.”

  Kyle looked at Warren and his face held none of its usual sardonic humor when he said, “When you find the bastard who did this, kill him and make it hurt.”

  I made him get up and come out of the cell with me. I didn’t think Warren would hurt him, but I wasn’t willing to take the chance.

  My cell phone rang. It was Tony.

  “You won’t believe this,” he said. “And I don’t know if it helps.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “The daytime incidents—with a few outliers—are in Kennewick. There’s a broad pattern that seems to be centered around the KPD.”

  “The police station?” I asked.

  “That’s right. Although I suppose it could just as easily be centered around Kennewick High or your place, for that matter. But the police station’s right in the middle.”

  “How broad’s the pattern?” I asked.

  “About three, three and a half miles. Some of the incidents are across the river in Pasco. There are outliers—our specialist tells me that there are enough to be significant. A few in Richland, Benton City and Burbank. Does this help?”

  “I don’t know,” I told him. “Maybe. Thanks, Tony. I owe you a few favors for this.”

  “Just stop this thing.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  I met Darryl at the top of the stairs.

  “You were right,” he told me. “Food helped.”

  “Mmm,” I said. “Samuel got a call last night. Warren doesn’t know where they went, though.”

  “Warren’s awake and talking?”

  I shook my head. “I wouldn’t call it talking, and he’s asleep again. It was Kyle who heard the phone call. As he apparently tried to tell you.” I watched it sink in. “You might think about listening to Kyle,” I told him gently, then to let him off the hook, I asked, “Do you know why my being able to talk to ghosts would scare the vampires?”

  He grunted a negative. “I don’t see how that would help. Last I heard, ghosts avoid evil.” He walked past me without touching me.

  I don’t think he even realized what he’d given me.

  Ghosts are not people. No matter how well Mrs. Hanna conversed, she was still just a memory of the person she had been.

  I was so stupid.

  She’d told me that she changed her routine and all I’d thought was how sad it was, because without her usual habits she’d probably fade quickly. I hadn’t wondered why she’d changed her routine. Ghosts, pattern ghosts, just don’t do that. Someone had told her to, she’d said—I couldn’t remember who, just that it was a man’s name. Her route wandered all over Kennewick. If the sorcerer was in Kennewick, she might have run into him.

  Jesse looked up from the kitchen table as I ran down the stairs. “Mercy? Did you find out something.”

  “Maybe,” I told her as I kept going to the door. “I have to find someone though.” I looked at my watch. Eight twenty-seven. I had an hour and a half before dark—if the sorcerer had to wait for full dark to awaken.

  Chapter 12

  For most of the time that I’d lived in the Tri-Cities, Mrs. Hanna had pushed her grocery cart along the same path from dawn to dusk. I’d never actually followed her, but I’d seen her any number of places so I had a pretty good idea about most of her route. I didn’t have any idea about how she’d changed it, so I had to look everywhere.

  When I passed the first church, I pulled over to the side of the road and pulled out a notebook I kept in the car and wrote down the name of the church and its address. After an hour I had a list of eleven churches, reasonably near the KPD, none of which had flaming signs that said SORCERER SLEEPING HERE. The sun was noticeably low in the sky and my stomach was tight with dread.

  If I was wrong that the reason Mrs. Hanna had to change her route was to avoid Littleton, then I’d wasted the last hour. If I was right, I was still running out of time.

  I was also running out of places to look. I pulled over by Kennewick High and tried to think. If Mrs. Hanna hadn’t changed her route it would be easier to find her. If she hadn’t been dead it would have been easier yet. I was counting on being able to see her, but ghosts quite often manifest only to some senses: disembodied voices, cold spots, or just a whiff of perfume.

  If I didn’t find her soon it would be dark and I’d have to face Littleton during the height of his power—both as a demon and a vampire.

  I stopped at the light on Garfield and Tenth. It was one of those lights that stayed red for a long time even when there was no oncoming traffic. “At least I wouldn’t have to face Littleton alone after dark because I can call Andre.” I pounded my hands on the steering wheel, impatient with the red light. “But if I don’t find Mrs. Hanna before night, I won’t find her at all.” Mrs. Hanna went home at night.

  I said it out loud because I couldn’t believe how stupid I’d been. “Mrs. Hanna goes home at night.”

  There was still no traffic coming so I put my foot down, and for the first time in my adult life I ran a red light. Mrs. Hanna had lived in a little trailer park along the river, just east of the Blue Bridge and it took me five minutes and three red lights to get down to that area. I ran those lights, too.

  I found her pushing her cart on the sidewalk next to the VW dealership. Parking my car on the wrong side of the street, I jumped out, biting back the urge to shout her name. Startled ghosts tend to disappear.

  With that in mind I didn’t say anything at all when I caught up to her. Instead I walked along beside her for a quarter of a block.

  “What a nice evening,” she said at last. “I do think we’re due for a break in the weather.”

  “I hope so.” I took two deep breaths. “Mrs. Hanna, pardon my rudeness, but I was wondering about that change in your usual walk.”

  “Of course, dear,” she said absently. “How is that young man of yours?”

  “That’s the problem,” I told her. “I think that he’s run into some trouble. Could you tell me again why you came by my shop at a different time?”

  “Oh, yes. Very sad. Joe told me the way I usually walk wasn’t safe. Our poor Kennewick is getting to be such a big city, isn’t it? Terrible when it’s not safe for a woman to walk in the daytime anymore.”

  “Terrible,” I agreed. “Who is Joe and where is it he doesn’t want you walking.”

  She stopped her cart and smiled at me gently. “Oh, you know
Joe, dear. He’s been the janitor at the old Congregational church forever. He’s very upset at what’s happened to his building, but then who consults the janitor?”

  “Where is it?” I asked.

  She looked over at me with a puzzled look on her face. “Do I know you, dear? You look familiar.” Before I could form a suitable reply she glanced up at the setting sun, “I’m afraid I must be going. It’s not safe after dark you know.”

  She left me standing alone in front of the trailer court.

  “Congregational church,” I said sprinting for my car. I knew that none of the churches I’d written down had the word Congregational in it, but I also had a phone book I kept in the car.

  There were no listings for a Congregational church in the yellow pages so I turned to the white pages and found a single listing in Pasco, which was not helpful. Mrs. Hanna’s route didn’t take her across the river.

  I pulled out my cell phone and called Gabriel’s phone number. One of his little sisters had a thing about ghosts. If her mother wasn’t there, and you let her get started, she’d tell ghost stories the whole time she worked cleaning the office.

  “Hi, Mercy,” he answered. “What’s up?”

  “I need to talk to Rosalinda about some local ghost stories.” I told him. “Is she there?”

  There was a little pause.

  “Are you having trouble with ghosts?”

  “No, I need to find one.”

  He pulled his mouth away from the phone. “Rosalinda, come over here.”

  “I’m watching TV, can’t Tia do it? She hasn’t done anything today.”

  “It’s not work. Mercy wants to pick your brains.”

  There were a few small noises as Gabriel handed over the phone.

  “Hello?” Her voice was much more hesitant when she was talking to me than it had been when she was talking to her brother.

  “Didn’t you tell me you did a report on local ghosts for school last year.”

  “Yes,” she said with a little more enthusiasm. “I got an A.”

  “I need to know if you’ve heard anything about the ghost of a janitor named Joe who used to work at a church.” He didn’t have to be a ghost, I thought. After all, I talked to Mrs. Hanna, and I wasn’t a ghost. And even if he was a ghost, that didn’t mean there were stories about him.