Storm Cursed (Mercy Thompson #11)(13)

Mary Jo gave her phone a look, started to press numbers again, but then her phone rang.

“Goblin head?” Renny said. “Did you say a goblin head?”

“I did,” she responded.

There was a long pause.

When he spoke again, his voice was all business. “If you are in the front parking lot, drive around the block to the back gate of the employee parking lot and wait for me. It’ll take me five to dress and another five to get there. I’m calling this in—so if you are screwing with me, I’ll see your supervisor.” And he clicked off without giving Mary Jo a chance to say anything.

“Give him a severed goblin head, and he forgets all about how mad and hurt he is.” There was a little tightness around her eyes that I tried not to see, because Mary Jo didn’t want me to see her pain. So instead I paid attention to the sarcasm in her voice when she said, “Obviously, it was true love on his part.”



* * *



? ? ?

Mary Jo’s ex, Deputy Alexander “Renny” Renton, turned out to be a fit man somewhere near my own age (midthirties) and a few inches over six feet tall. He had a good blank face, which he used as he gave the contents of the back section of my Jetta a thorough visual examination.

Then he turned to study Mary Jo. His blank face intensified until it became broody.

“A werewolf, huh?” he said finally.

She tilted her head at him in mild inquiry. The expression on her face caused him to laugh ruefully.

“Of course I know,” he told her. “Why else would you be escorting the Alpha’s wife around at too-early o’clock in the morning? Besides, your people talked to my people because we share information between the sheriff’s office and the fire department like that.”

She smiled at his wry tone. “You mean someone started bragging that the fire department has a werewolf and the sheriff’s office doesn’t?”

“Maybe,” he said, nodding. “Do I have anything to worry about?”

“Oh,” she said, her face suddenly concerned. “Oh, whoops. Um, have you been getting a little hairier than usual? Have to shave a little more often? I’ve heard that it starts that way for the guys.”

“Cut it out, Mary Jo,” I growled. “Be nice to the helpful deputy.” I looked at Renny. “It’s not easy to get Changed to a werewolf. I guarantee you that you’ll be in no doubt about it if ever it happens to you.”

“Good to know,” he said. He looked at Mary Jo and shook his head.

“Do we have the right to remain silent?” Mary Jo asked.

“You aren’t under arrest,” he said with a quelling look. “Not yet, anyway. As long as you didn’t kill him, you probably won’t be. But Captain Allen is coming in and asked me not to start anything until he gets here. This would have been a lot easier for you if you had called us in the first place. Before there was a dead goblin whose head is in the back of the car. You know better, Mary Jo; why didn’t you call us in?”

She looked pointedly at me.

“The farmer didn’t want to be responsible for getting people killed,” I explained. “I agreed with him. Goblins are outside your ability to deal with.”

Renny’s eyes got cold, and he studied me for a moment. “All due respect, ma’am, you don’t know what we are capable of dealing with.”

“All due respect, Renny,” said Mary Jo, “I have a pretty freaking good idea of your capabilities. And I think Mr. Traegar’s decision to bring us in first was the correct one. We don’t really know what we’re dealing with when it comes to the fae—there is no way that the sheriff’s office would. We had two werewolves, Mercy, and the goblin king out there—and if it weren’t for the goblin king, we’d have failed to bring him in ourselves.”

He gave her a look. “I am going to ignore—just for a minute—how much my geek side is loving that apparently there is a goblin king in the world. And that he is—again apparently—here in the TriCities. Even knowing that David Bowie is gone, I am giddy about this.” He said all that in a very dry, professional tone.

I was starting to really like this guy.

“What I am not ignoring is the name of your farmer,” he continued. “Mary Jo, did Keith Traegar really call in the werewolves to keep his son from fighting goblins? Traegar, who has anti-fae, anti-werewolf, and Bright Future signs all over his property?”

I had noticed the signs, actually.

Mary Jo laughed. “I thought you might enjoy that.”

Deputy Renton paused, then looked up at the sky, brightening now with true dawn. When he looked back at Mary Jo, he was grinning with pure, unadulterated joy. “I am so going to rub Jack Traegar’s nose in this for a very, very long time. His daddy called in the werewolves before he called his own son.”

He took in a deep breath, regrouped, and rubbed his hands together. “Where were we?” It seemed to be a rhetorical question because he answered it before anyone else said anything. “Ah, yes. The bloody head.”

He ducked down to take a look into the back of the Jetta again. “What we need, ladies, is a garbage sack. I will leave the body part in question with an official representative of the fire department and go find one. Wait here.”