Smoke Bitten (Mercy Thompson, #12)(77)

She frowned at me. “I know that. It’s why I find you interesting.”

“I find you interesting, too,” I told her truthfully—and I meant it to be exactly as complimentary as she had.

She bounced up and down for a minute, then gave me a sly look. “Aren’t you going to ask me your questions?”

“Yes,” I said. “But first I wanted to tell you that it’s too bad the smoke weaver ran away. It seems to me that when someone loses a bargain, they should abide by the terms of that bargain and not scamper at the first opportunity.”

I was doing a little bit of guessing.

She scuffed her foot in the dirt. “Right? He cheated.” She sighed. “Okay, he didn’t cheat. I could do things to him if he had cheated. Our bargain was that I got to take him; I didn’t specify that he couldn’t leave.”

“Things” was not a nice word in that context.

“Is your bargain with him still in effect?” I asked.

She blinked at me, then tilted her head in thought. At last, she said, “There wasn’t a final term to it. And the whole thing was nonspecific. ‘Lose our bargain,’ I said to him—I think we were drinking mead—‘lose our bargain and I get to bring you here.’ He said, ‘What do I get in return?’”

She looked at Aiden fondly. “I thought about giving him Fire, because that’s my favorite, but I’m glad I gave it to you instead. You are a lot better friend than he was.”

“So what did you give him?” I asked.

“Body snatching,” she said with relish. “One of my favorite residents—because he was a hunter and brought me back such interesting beings to keep prisoner. He even had me help design his cells . . .” She got a faraway look in her eye. “He had a body snatcher. Those cells I never did open when I let loose the rest of the prisoners and slaves. Some of his prey might not play nicely with others.”

Aiden exchanged a look with me.

“That sounds like a smart thing,” I told her, and then kept going because I had the feeling that the world didn’t want her to keep thinking about those cells and whatever they held. “So you gave the smoke weaver the ability to take over bodies?”

She nodded. “He was primarily a transmogrifier—a shape changer.” She looked at me. “Better than you. He could change himself and others. The body snatching just made changing to new shapes easier.” Virtuously she said, “It wasn’t much of an alteration—and I gave it limits. He had to bite his prey, pilot them for a while to prime them for his use. When they were dead, their essence—their shape—was his to use until he wore them out. He wasn’t powerful enough for the magic, though.” She pouted. “He said it was a bad gift. I fixed it so that if he made his puppets kill some people, he could use that for power.”

She looked at Aiden. “If he’d known about Fire, he’d have bargained for that.” She paused. “I wouldn’t have given it to him. He didn’t need that much power. I just gave him a useful twist on his own.”

She had wanted to let him shapeshift more easily. To accomplish that she devised a method that involved taking over someone’s mind. Killing them—but not before they killed as many people as they could in order to power the magic—because the complex ability she gave the smoke weaver required more magic than he had. I thought of Ben and Stefan, Anna and Dennis, and even the poor hitchhiker who I had met only after she’d died, and I kept my mouth shut. No words that would come out of my mouth at that moment would be helpful.

“Very clever,” said Aiden, coming to my rescue.

Tilly beamed and curtsied. “I am clever,” she agreed.

“If the bargain is still in effect,” Aiden said after I remained silent, “does that mean you could recapture him?”

“Yes,” she said. “Oh, that would be lovely. I miss him.” She gave Aiden a scowl. “All of my friends leave me.”

He wisely ignored that.

“How can we help you invoke the bargain?” he asked. “What are the terms?”

“We were drinking very good mead,” she told him apologetically. “So it isn’t very complicated. He has a secret—and you have to tell him what that secret is.”

“I will do my best to see that your friend is returned,” I told her.

She looked at me, then sighed. “Your best. And you raised my hopes, too. That was silly of me. Okay, go on. Do your best.” She looked at Aiden. “The food and drink were very good. When she is dead”—she pointed her finger at me—“I hope you remember who your friends are. I shall be very lonely without you or the smoke weaver to talk to.”

She looked at me. “I’m sorry,” she told me. “I forgot who I was dealing with. I hope you die soon. Then, at least, I’ll get Aiden back.”

“No,” Aiden said. “I will always be your friend, Tilly. But I am not living in Underhill ever again.”

“Not ever,” she said, “means never. But never is a long time. I do not think it will be never.”

He bowed to her but didn’t say anything.

She pouted. “You aren’t being nice. I think I will go kill some things.”

She left, closing the door behind her with a thud.