Storm Cursed (Mercy Thompson #11)(48)

I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. Probably because he wasn’t sure, either.

“You’re welcome,” I said with dignity. “The witch last night very kindly informed us that the witches are staging a takeover. And we—Marsilia included—are expected to sit quietly and take it. But she also mentioned that she expects us to remove ourselves from helping with the meeting between the fae and the humans.”

“Yes,” said Adam.

“So maybe today”—I glanced at the clock, which read two A.M.—“yesterday, I mean, had more to do with that.”

“Okay,” Adam said. “Can I go to sleep now?”

I thought about it a minute. “Nudge,” I said.

He growled and lunged.



* * *



? ? ?

Meetings are boring.

Meetings in which my whole job was to show up and let everyone get a good look at me, then sit down and shut up while they talked, were more than boring. Okay, first they told me it would be my job to find a venue for the big meeting. But they didn’t actually ask me anything or give me a chance to talk.

We met in a hotel boardroom that looked a lot like a lot of other hotel boardrooms I’d been in. Maybe I’d have been more impressed by the people—all men—who represented so much governmental power if the last boardroom I’d been in hadn’t held five Gray Lords of the fae.

The only person who made an impression on me was Tory Abbot, the assistant of the Senate majority whip, Jake Campbell, a Republican from Minnesota. Tory was a sharp-faced man about ten years older than I was and had a decisive manner that demanded people listen when he spoke. Which he did—quite a lot. And he said not very much, which has always seemed to me to be a quality much prized in a politician.

Most of the reason he was interesting had nothing to do with the man himself. I’d been informed (by him) that he would be my liaison with the government. And the man he worked for, Senator Campbell, was the senator that the rogue Cantrip agents had tried to force Adam to assassinate.

About forty minutes into the meeting, which was mostly an endless debate about where to hold the meeting, I started playing solitaire on my phone. The other pack members—Adam, Paul, Kelly, and Luke (the latter three all clad in Hauptman Security shirts)—were more disciplined. They simply waited, seated around the conference table, while no one talked to them.

Finally, Tory Abbot looked at me. “Do you have any suggestions about where to hold this meeting?”

I looked over my shoulder as if there might be someone there whom he was talking to.

“Smart aleck,” murmured Kelly in a voice too soft for the humans to hear. Kelly’s day job was working at a plant nursery, but like a lot of the wolves, he moonlighted for Adam when needed. His bright blue eyes were looking away from me, so no one would see that he was talking to me. He was a sneaky hunter.

“Ms. Hauptman,” Abbot said, a little impatiently, though he was careful to stay on the far side of the room from me.

“None of the places you talked about will do,” I said. “The fae won’t come to the city and sit in iron and cement walls to discuss peace with the enemy.”

“We’re sure as fuck not going to go out to the reservation and talk with them,” said Abbot.

“That’s my wife you’re swearing at,” growled Adam, and the whole room came to a silent stillness. “Don’t do that again.” There was a lot more threat in his voice than there had been when he’d said the same thing to Sherwood yesterday.

“I wouldn’t suggest going to the reservation,” I said, as smoothly as if Adam hadn’t spoken. “I doubt they’d let you in anyway. Or out, if they did let you in. What you need is a place big enough to hold everyone and their entourages as well as the fae delegation, one that also has a small room nearby where the principals can talk. Somewhere in our territory, but not actually in town, where the fae feel at a disadvantage.”

I had been listening and thinking. I can do all that and play solitaire at the same time—it’s a gift.

“Okay,” said Abbot warily. “Where do you suggest?”

“How about one of the Red Mountain wineries? They are still in our territory.” With a sweeping hand I included Adam and the other wolves. “They are built to hold company meetings and retreats—and they are situated among growing things.”

I stopped speaking before I could tell them about the connections between the fae and alcoholic beverages—beer and mead more than wine, to be sure. But the wine would be something that would make the fae feel more at home.

“Security-wise that might be a good choice,” said a man. I was pretty sure he was Secret Service or something like that because they hadn’t told me what he did—and he’d been sitting on the sidelines like the rest of us while the others talked. “The wineries are pretty isolated, so we can keep nonparticipants away. I can go scout some out tonight and bring back suggestions.”

And the talks resumed.

I looked at the time on my phone for the third time in five minutes and Adam said, breaking easily into a heated argument about the appropriateness of holding a governmental meeting at a winery, “Gentlemen. We should excuse my wife, who needs to get back to her work.” He took the SUV key off his key ring (it was a diesel; diesels still had keys rather than fobs) and tossed it. “Paul, take my rig. I’ll catch a ride back with Luke and Kelly.”