Smoke Bitten (Mercy Thompson, #12)(43)

Zee just grunted and continued to loosen bolts with his ratchet, which had chattered at us most of the time I’d been talking. Tad had stopped working about halfway through the story, but Zee, although his expression had been getting grimmer and grimmer, had continued to work.

My phone chimed with a text—and with the way things were, I couldn’t ignore it.

“I don’t think so,” I said, getting out my phone. “There are vampires in Underhill, but I don’t know that I’d believe in skinwalkers there.” I’d never run into one of those, and I didn’t care to do so, either.

The text was from Aiden, sent to both Adam and me.

Tilly confirms smoke beast. Says no other escapees. She is sad she cannot help hunt him. Knows from me that you are good at killing monsters. Wishes you good luck. This is my fault, I am VERY sorry.

I read Aiden’s text to them out loud—everything except for the last sentence, which was nonsense.

“No,” said Zee. “It is not a skinwalker. Skinwalkers are native to this land. This is something from the Old Country.”

“You know what it is?” I asked.

“Nein,” he said. “A creature who transforms one thing into another. Who can infest someone with magic that appears as smoke. Using that magic, it turns its victims into puppets to kill for it, in order to gain power from those deaths. And then can mimic the forms of those it has used as puppets.” He frowned. “Magic has rules, Mercy. Especially for the fae. Transformation magic—that is rare and belongs to only a few types of fae—but, with the exception of several of the Gray Lords, generally those are not powerful creatures.”

I thought about what it had done and not done. “It didn’t turn George or me into concrete,” I told him. “Though maybe it can only do that with nonliving things?”

“Generally living or nonliving doesn’t matter to that kind of magic,” Zee said. “But that it didn’t transform you suggests that it had used up all of its magic.”

“Okay,” I said.

“So,” he agreed. “But this other magic that it has—this is oddly complicated for fae magic.”

He shook his head. “Bite and infest a living being with magic that manifests as smoke that allows it to take over the body. Then it has to use that body to kill in order to gain enough power to assume the shape of the person it has killed.”

“It sounds so weird when you put it like that,” Tad said.

Zee nodded. “More like something you’d find on a cursed artifact. A series of steps followed by results that allow you to take the next steps. I know of a few of the fae who have magic that is like this—it allows weaker fae to work complex magic. But their magic uses none of these steps.”

He shook his head again. “I will go tonight and speak with Uncle Mike.” He gave me a speculative look. “You might contact Beauclaire. He will talk to you before he does me.”

Aiden had suggested that, too—I raised my hands. “I am not in the personal communication circle for Lugh’s son. The Gray Lords are, one and all, above my pay grade.”

Zee eyed me suspiciously for a moment before shrugging. “All right, Liebchen. Perhaps Uncle Mike can talk to Beauclaire.”

My phone chimed again, this time from Darryl—also addressed to Adam and me.

Ogden called. Worried that there is something amiss at his house. Auriele and I are joining him and the three of us will go back to his house. Will update you as necessary.

Adam responded almost immediately.

Do you need help?

To which Darryl said: No. Might be an attempt to move resources. Auriele has sent out a general warning to pack.

Adam responded: Okay. Keep me updated.

Watching my face, Tad asked, “What’s up?”

“Auriele was right,” I said. “The invading wolves have begun their game.”

Tad grabbed my phone and read the texts. “Who is Ogden?”

“One of our wolves,” I said. “He is quiet. Keeps to himself and doesn’t cause trouble. He’s a contracts lawyer.”

Ogden was one of the less dominant wolves. He showed up for the moon hunts and enough of the pack breakfasts that Darryl or Warren didn’t appear at his door and haul him over. I had maybe spoken four words to him since I’d joined the pack. But he was well-liked and respected by the pack mates who knew him.

“Do you need an escort home?” asked Zee.

I thought about it. “Maybe a good idea—but let’s get those two cars done first. That way I might have enough money to pay you for today.”

“I am not worried,” said Zee serenely. “People always pay me one way or the other.”

He was joking—a little. But not really.



* * *



? ? ?

Adam stopped by to escort me home just as we were finishing the last of the cars for the day.

We all looked at him when he walked into the office, but it was Tad who asked, “Did you hear from Darryl? Is everyone okay?”

Adam snorted. “What do you do here all day besides gossip?” He grinned at Tad. “They’re fine. No bodies on either side.”

He seemed in a better mood than I’d seen him in for a long time. I thought of why that might be—and managed, finally, not to blush.