Blood Bound (Mercy Thompson #2)(27)

"Come," he said. "I've cleaned them so that you will suffer no taint."

The wood was cool and the seat a little too big, like my foster father's favorite chair had been. After he'd died, I'd spent hours in that chair, smelling his scent, ingrained into the polished wood by years of use. The thought of him steadied me, and I needed all the nerve I could get.

The thorns were longer and sharper than they'd looked when I wasn't about to push them into my flesh. Better to do it quickly than to stew about it. I closed my hands over the ends of the arms and pulled them tight.

It didn't hurt at first. Then hot tendrils of magic snaked in through the break in my skin, streaking up the veins in my arms and closing around my heart like a fiery fist.

"Are you all right, Mercy?" Warren asked, his voice rumbling with the first hint of challenge.

"Wolves have no tongues in our court," snapped Bernard. "If you cannot be silent you will leave."

I was glad that Bernard said something. He bought me time to understand that the magic wasn't hurting me. It was uncomfortable, but not painful. Not worth causing the fight Warren was ready to begin. Adam had sent him to guard me, not to start a war over a little discomfort.

"I'm fine," I said.

The teenager stirred. "Not true," he said.

Truth, huh? Fine. "My face hurts, my shoulder hurts, my neck hurts where the freaking demon-riding vampire bit me, and the magic of this chair is about as gentle as a lightning strike, but I'm not suffering from anything that will do irreparable harm."

The boy, Wulfe, resumed his catatonic rocking. "Yes," he said. "Truth."

"What happened last night?" Stefan asked. "Please begin with my phone call."

I found myself telling the story with far more detail than I'd intended to. Certainly they didn't need to know that Stefan's driving had scared me, or the smells of the woman's death. But I was unable to edit, the memories coming out of my mouth as they rushed through my head. It would seem that there was some of the vampire's magic that had no trouble dealing with my walker blood.

That didn't stop Bernard from claiming that it did. "You cannot have it both ways," he said when I was through. "We cannot believe that the seat has power over her and at the same time that she was able to resist a vampire who was able to feed memories into Stefan. Stefan, who of all of us, is able to resist the Mistress's, his maker 's, commands."

"The seat isn't dependant upon our power," Stefan said. "It functions by blood, but it was a witch who worked the magic. And I don't know if the sorcerer could have done the same to Mercedes as he did to me. He didn't know what she was, so he didn't try."

Bernard started to say something, but Marsilia held up her hand. "Enough."

"Even five hundred years ago, sorcerers were rare," she told Stefan. "I have not seen one since we came to this desert. The seat has shown us that you believe that there is a sorcerer, a sorcerer that some vampire turned. But you will have to forgive me for not believing along with you."

Bernard almost smiled. I wished I knew more of how justice worked in the seethe. I didn't know what I could say that would keep Stefan safe.

"The walker's testimony is compelling, but like Bernard, I have to question how well the seat works on her. I have seen walkers ignore far more dangerous magics."

"I can feel her truths," whispered the boy as he rocked. "Clearer than the others. Sharp and pungent. If you kill Stefan tonight, you'd better kill her, too. Coyotes sing in the daylight as well as the night. These are the truths she carries."

Marsilia stood up and strode to where I was still held captive in the chair. "Would you do that? Hunt us while we sleep?"

I opened my mouth to deny it, like any sane person faced with an angry vampire, then closed it again. The seat held me to the truth.

"That would be a stupid thing for me to do," I said finally, meaning it. "I don't hunt for trouble."

" Wulfe?" She glanced at the boy, but he merely rocked.

"It doesn't matter," she said at last, dismissing me with a wave of her hand as she turned to survey her people. " Wulfe believes what she says. False or true, we cannot have vampires, any vampires," she glanced briefly at Stefan to make her point, "running around killing without permission. We cannot afford the risk." She stared at the seated vampires for a moment, then turned back to Stefan. "Very well. I believe that this vampire did the killing-not you. I give you four sennights to find this sorcerer of yours and present him-or his body-to us. If you cannot do it, we will assume it is because he does not exist-and we will hold you responsible for endangering the seethe."

"Agreed," Stefan bowed while I was trying to remember what a sennight was. Seven nights, I thought, four weeks.

"You may pick someone to help you."

Stefan's eyes traveled over the seated vampires without stopping. "Daniel," he said at last.

Andre was surprised into protest. "Daniel's hardly fit to walk."

"It is done," Marsilia said. She brushed her hands together, as if to rid herself of the whole matter, and then stood up and walked out of the room.

I started to get off the chair, but I couldn't pull my hands away: they were stuck fast, and wiggling hurt. I couldn't make myself pull hard enough to get free. Stefan noticed my problem and gently pried my hands up as he had for Daniel. The sudden warmth as the spell disengaged made me gasp.