River Marked (Mercy Thompson #6)(32)

"No. So what do you think Gordon Seeker was?"

"You know," I told him, "there's an old Indian custom that Charles told me about once. If a visitor comes to your lodge and admires something out loud, you are supposed to give it to them. Charles says there are three reasons for the custom. The first"--I held up a finger--"is because generosity is a virtue to be encouraged. The second"--I put up another finger--"is to teach you not to be too attached to or too proud of things. Family, friends, community are important. Things are not. Can you guess the third one?"

He smiled. "Charles told me that one. Be careful who you invite into your lodge. I didn't think of it until after Seeker was already in the trailer. Maybe he was the Indian version of a witch. Medicine man."

"Charles says that medicine men and witches aren't very much alike."

My leg itched, and I pulled up my pant leg and contemplated scratching.

"River marked," said Adam, touching the mark lightly.

"He was as bad as the fae," I complained. "He didn't answer anything and just left us with more questions."

Adam kissed my knee, which should not have done anything to my pulse. I mean--the kneecap is as far from an erogenous zone as I know of. But it was Adam, so my heart rate picked up nicely.

He put my feet down. "The magic salve did its job. I don't think you'll need another application tonight. I have a funny feeling that you might need it more later. Speaking of the fae, though, when we start getting people missing and bloody, it's probably time to give Uncle Mike a call and see what he's set us into the middle of."

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Uncle Mike's number. I heard the sound of loud music, and someone answered in Cornish.

"It's Hauptman," Adam said. "Get Uncle Mike for me." He started pacing the length of the trailer as he sometimes did when he was on the phone. I pulled my feet up--resting them on the towel to keep the couch clean. Without my feet on the floor, Adam had an extra half pace to use. My eyes drooped, and I had to fight to keep them open.

There were several clicks, and the music died down abruptly, as if Uncle Mike had gotten on a quieter extension.

"Adam," he said. "Congratulations. And why would you be calling me while you're on your honeymoon?"

"Otters," said Adam. "More precisely, otters that look like they'd be more at home in the Old Country and who smell of glamour."

He'd sensed it, too, then. That little bit of magic when I was trying to get the boat out from under the tree. It hadn't been Benny or the boat. The otters were the next best thing.

There was a little silence, then Uncle Mike gave a sigh of relief. "They are there, then. Edythe told us that none of her people had seen them for a while."

"Which is why you and Edythe sent us down here?"

Uncle Mike cleared his throat. "Not exactly. Edythe gets hunches sometimes. One of them was when a Roman ex-slave named Patrick came back to Ireland. We all wish we'd killed him right off just as she advised--except probably that would have only meant the Church would have sent someone else, and there would be a Saint Aiden or Saint Conner or some such instead of Saint Patrick. Harbingers are often like that old seven-headed dragon that grew three new heads whenever you cut one off."

"Hydra," Adam said.

"That's the one. Anyway, she doesn't have those moments very often, maybe no more than once a century. Last one was right before Mount St. Helens blew. After that Patrick thing, we all listen to her. A week ago she told me that she had a premonition that it might be a good idea if you and Mercy honeymooned at her campground and took a look at what the otterkin had been up to." "What have they been up to?" Adam had stopped pacing and was looking wary. Edythe, whoever she was, had a premonition once a century or so--and had had one about us being here. That sounded a lot more serious than a man losing his foot to a bear or ghosts dancing beside the river, no matter how much they had affected me.

"Surviving, evidently." Uncle Mike's voice was suddenly grim. "Which is better than we had feared. Otterkin aren't like the selkies, who are their closest kin. There are other fae who wear otter shapes, but they aren't really related to otterkin. For one thing, otterkin don't interact with people well. We brought all that were left to the Walla Walla reservation and turned them loose in our waters."

"You don't have waters there," said Adam, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It was one of the things that the government made sure of--no running water that went into any of the reservations could come running out." He wasn't arguing. He was just telling Uncle Mike that they both knew there was something odd going on in the Walla Walla reservation.

Running water was supposed to enhance the powers of a number of fae. I was surprised anyone in the government--who wasn't fae-- knew that little gem. It had been a useless precaution, though. I've seen oceans in the reservation where they've somehow managed to open entry points into Underhill. That was one of the things I couldn't tell Adam--or anyone else. I'd promised, and the ones who'd suffer if I broke my promise included my mentor, Zee, so I kept my mouth shut.

"We have ponds," said Uncle Mike, not-lying even better than Gordon Seeker had. "But they weren't enough. So Edythe bought a scrub piece of desert and turned it into a campground."