Fire Touched (Mercy Thompson #9)(50)

Aiden drew himself up and plastered on a vaguely patronizing smile that made me want to slap him. “Never mind.”

“He’d like to be safe for a day more,” Tad said. He was getting a coffee cup out of the cupboard, so his back was toward us.

Aiden stiffened.

Tad filled his cup with coffee and turned to face Aiden. “I slept in front of your door,” he said softly.

I’d thought the boy-who-wasn’t couldn’t hold himself any stiffer, but he did. If he were a glass, he would have shattered.

“Safe,” said Tad heavily, “isn’t something that Underhill is full of anymore, I think. How long were you there?”

Aiden shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Underhill was mostly closed down by the ninth century,” said Zee conversationally. “There were a few bolt-holes until the fifteenth century.”

“What would you do for one more night of safety?” Tad asked softly.

And Aiden broke. Completely. And he did it without moving or saying anything. Tears welled and slid down his face while he breathed as if it hurt.

Children don’t cry that way. Silently. Without expression. His face was a stony blank, and only the tears betrayed him.

It was the first time I’d seen him look his age.

Adam moved first. He approached him and put a hand on the top of the boy’s head. When no objection followed, he drew him against his chest and let him rest in the shelter of Adam’s arms. It had nothing to do with Aiden’s childlike appearance; I’d seen Adam do the same for any of his wolves who was in distress. That’s the base component of what an Alpha does for his pack: he provides a safe place to be. Touch is better than any word.

The boy’s feet drew up and he curled into a fetal ball, still crying soundlessly. Babies make noise when they cry, trusting that an adult will hear them and make things better. As children, we learn that tears have power to move the people who care for us. We make noise when we cry in a bid for attention, for help, for support.


Aiden was silent and tried silently to disappear into the safety of Adam. My husband looked at me with troubled eyes.

I said, “Look what followed me home. Can we keep him?”

Adam’s eyes warmed, and he smiled. “I think we have to, don’t you? Until we can find a better home.”

Tad raised his coffee cup to Adam—and his father grunted sourly.

“Aiden?” I said.

Adam shook his head, “Not now. He isn’t even hearing us right now.”

He picked Aiden up, as if he were the child he looked to be. He started to sit on the kitchen chair, but Joel had fallen asleep against it last week, leaving a leg half–burned through. Seeing what he was looking at, Tad retrieved a chair from the dining-room table. Adam sat in that and held the boy as if it were something that he was used to doing.

I grabbed a dining-room chair, too, and sat opposite Adam, next to Zee.

“So the fae who wrote the note could want the walking stick, Zee, or Aiden,” Adam said. “Or some combination thereof.”

“Or Tad,” said Zee.

“Right,” Tad said, sounding exhausted. “Let’s not forget about me.” He took the chair that Adam had rejected, spun it around, and sat between Zee and me.

Zee said, “That note is not signed—it is probably not a coordinated effort of the Gray Lords.”

“So we don’t have to worry?” I asked.

“I didn’t say that,” said the old fae. “If they say they can destroy this city . . . these cities—then they can. But even if you bargain with them, you still might not be safe.”

“‘Always look on the bright side of life,’” I quoted, though I didn’t try singing it. My British accent is terrible enough without music. “Okay. We do have some options, even if they suck. First, we can call the number—they can’t zap us through the ether, right?”

Zee raised an eyebrow, so I continued blithely, “And if they can, they don’t need a cell phone connection to do it. Second, we can ignore them. Maybe we could send a message to the Gray Lords in residence—Zee should know who they are, and if not, Uncle Mike will—and request a face-to-face meeting. Get the reaction of the governing body”—Zee snorted—“to our rescue of Aiden, killing of the troll, and protection for Zee and Tad straight from the horse’s mouth.”

“If you request a meeting,” said Tad, “it puts them in the driver’s seat.”

“They win the dominance fight,” Adam agreed. “But it is the only way we know we are dealing with the people in charge.”

Zee grunted.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Wait a minute.” I looked at Adam. “Thomas Hao is meeting with the Gray Lords tonight in Walla Walla. We might be able to finagle the definition of some guesting laws so that we could attend that meeting. Since we are in the process of defining what our duties for our territory are right now, they’re pretty fluid.”

Adam laughed, but quietly because Aiden had fallen into an exhausted sleep. I’d seen things like that happen with the wolves sometimes, mostly while I’d lived with the Marrok. He took in the wolves who needed help, whatever the reason. Some of them arrived in really bad shape—mentally and physically. In Bran’s touch, they found safety. Sleep would come and just knock them off their feet.