Shifting Shadows: Stories from the World of Mercy Thompson(83)

“I know a couple of reporters,” she said. “‘Boy Claims He Was Attacked by Vampire’ ought to sell enough papers to justify a headline or two.”

“All right, then.” Her father returned his attention to her. “I need you to go out and find some wood for us: a chair, a table, something we can make stakes out of.”

“Holy water?” asked Devonte. “They might have a chapel here.”

“Smart,” said her father. “But from what I’ve heard, it doesn’t do enough damage to be worth running it down. Go now, Stella—and be careful.”

She almost saluted him, but she didn’t trust him enough to tease. He saw it, almost smiled, and then turned back to Devonte. “And you’re going to tell me everything you know about this vampire.”

Stella glanced in the room next to Devonte’s, but, like his, it was decorated in early Naugahyde and metal: no wood to be found. She didn’t bother checking any more but hurried to the security door—and read the note taped to it.

“No, sir. She lived with them—they told me she was Linnford’s sister.” Devonte stopped talking when she came back.

“Jorge’s been called away, he’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Her father considered that. “I think the show’s on. No wooden chairs?”

“All the rooms in this wing are like this one.”

“Without an effective weapon, I’ll get a better chance at her as a wolf than as a human. It means I can’t talk to you, though—and it will take a while to change back, maybe a couple of hours.” He looked away, and in an adult version of Devonte’s earlier gesture, rubbed his face tiredly. She heard the rasp of whisker on skin. “I control the wolf now—and have for a long time.”

He was worried about her.

“It’s all right,” she told him. He gave her the same kind of keen examination he’d given Devonte earlier and she wondered what information he was drawing from it. Could he tell how scared she was?

His face softened. “You’ll do, my star.”

She’d forgotten that he used to call her that—hated the way it tightened her throat. “Should I call Clive and Steve?”

“Not for a vampire,” he told her. “All that will do is up the body count. To that end, we’ll stay here and wait—an isolation ward is as good a place to face her as any. If I’m wrong, and the guard’s leaving isn’t the beginning of her attack—if she doesn’t come tonight, we get all of us into the safety of someone’s home, where the vampire can’t just waltz in without invitation. Then I’ll call in a few favors and my friends and I can take care of her somewhere there aren’t any civilians to be hurt.”

He looked around with evident dissatisfaction.

“What are you looking for?” Devonte asked so she didn’t have to.

“A place to hide.” Then he looked up and smiled at the dropped ceiling.

“Those panels won’t support your weight,” she warned him.

“No, but this is a hospital and this is the old wing. I bet they have a cable ladder for their computer and electric cables . . .” As he spoke, he hopped on the empty bed and pushed up a ceiling panel to take a look.

“What’s a cable ladder?” Stella asked.

“In this case, it’s a sturdy aluminum track attached to the oak beam with stout hardware.” He sounded pleased as he replaced the ceiling panel he’d taken out. “I could hide a couple of people up here if I had to.”

He was a mercenary, she remembered, and wondered how many times he’d hidden on top of cable ladders.

He moved the empty bed away from the wall and climbed on it again and removed a different panel. “Do you think you can get this panel back where it belongs after I get up here, boy?”

“Sure.” Devonte sounded thoroughly pleased. If anyone else had called him “boy,” he’d have been bristling. He was already well on the way to a big case of hero worship, just like the one she’d had.

“Stella.” Her father took off his red flannel shirt and laid it on the empty bed behind him. “When this is over, you call Clive, tell him everything, and he’ll arrange a cleanup. He knows who to call for help with it. It’s safer for everyone if people don’t believe in vampires and werewolves. Leaving bodies makes it kind of hard to deny.”

“I’ll call him.”

Without his shirt to cover him, she could see there was no softness in him. A few scars showed up gray on his dark skin. She’d forgotten how dark he was, like ebony.

As he peeled off his sky-blue undershirt, he said, with a touch of humor, “If you don’t want to see more of your father than any daughter ever should, you need to turn your back.” And she realized she’d been staring at him.

Devonte made an odd noise—he was laughing. There was a tightness to the sound and she knew he was scared and excited to see what it looked like when a man changed into a werewolf. For some reason she felt her own mouth stretch into a nervous grin she let Devonte see just before she did as her father advised her and turned her back.

•   •   •

David didn’t like changing in front of anyone. He wasn’t exactly vulnerable—but it made the wolf edgy and if someone decided to get brave and approach too closely . . . well, the wolf would feel threatened, like a snake shedding its skin.