Fire Touched (Mercy Thompson, #9)(72)

“Where did you come from?” I asked him.

He frowned at me. “Where your enemy might be next time.”

“Nah,” said Sherwood. “He was waiting around the corner of the building, Mercy. Downwind, but I caught a glimpse of him when you parked. I figured he’d been waiting for us. If he’d been the enemy, I’d have said something. I didn’t see him approach, though.”

“Do you know who they are?” I asked Zee. “What do they want?”

“Nine or ten idiots who follow a greater one,” Zee answered. “These are the ones who left a letter on Christy’s front door. According to my source—and Adam’s telephone conversation—they want Aiden.”

I frowned. “I can scent at least three.” One of whom I knew.

“Four,” said Sherwood. “One of them is flying, but I caught something where it landed on the top of the car.”

Zee considered the church. The lights in the upstairs rooms were on, but the windows had all been replaced with stained glass. It was impossible to see inside.

“The humans are upstairs with Uncle Mike,” Zee said, confirming my nose. “I heard them set him to watch.”

“Is he the one who told you about this?” I asked.

“Probably,” Zee said. “I can’t imagine that he’d be this stupid unless he’s working as a spy for the Council.”

“What’s stupid about it?” asked Sherwood. “They take hostages Mercy cares about to get an unlikeable ancient in the shape of a boy who is doing his best to burn down Mercy’s home. Trade the hostages for the boy—and it’s a win-win for all.”

The dry dislike in Sherwood’s voice told me that he’d had an unpleasant encounter with our Aiden. Aiden was prickly and very good at getting under people’s skin when he wanted to. If I hadn’t seen him vulnerable, hadn’t heard his nightmares, maybe I would be more ambivalent about him, too.

Zee snorted. “Only if you don’t know Mercy or Adam. Or anyone else involved. As if either of our idiot-heroes would ever turn someone who looks as helpless as Aiden over to the fae.”

“Hey,” I protested softly. I’m not an idiot or a hero. But he had the last part right.

By mutual consent, we left the Explorer and headed into the church. The front porch had been modified with a wheelchair ramp next to the stairs, and both led to a double-door entryway that wasn’t original to the house. The changes had been made with an eye to economy rather than harmony.

We could wait for reinforcements, but if the fae thought themselves outgunned, they were likely to kill and run. We had a better chance going in now and hoping the cavalry made it in time to help with the cleanup.

“Mercy,” said Zee in a nearly soundless voice that was hard for me to hear even with my ears, and I stood two feet away. “You go upstairs with your werewolf. Wolf?” Zee met Sherwood’s eyes and didn’t look away. “You keep her alive. I think that it’s only Uncle Mike up there with the human hostages, and I think that he’ll let you get them free.”

“Meanwhile?” asked Sherwood in the same very quiet tone.

Zee smiled wickedly and snapped his hand down—where a narrow, black-bladed sword appeared. “I’ll keep the others occupied.”

“Zee?” I said. “Are you okay to fight?” He still wasn’t moving right.

Zee nodded. “Against these fools? I could fight them off if I were blindfolded and tied hand and foot.”

I let it go—though I was still worried. The fae speak the truth—as they know it. Just because Zee was an arrogant old fae didn’t make him right.

We walked up to the doors with me in front and the others flanking me. I pulled the right-hand door open, and Sherwood reached around me to pull the left so we could enter as one group.

The entryway was a twenty-by-ten room cut off from the rest of the church by a wall with a walkway on either side. There was a kitchenette to our left with a refrigerator, a sink, and a stove. The interior wall had a counter and a half wall that opened into the main room, with a curtain that could be shut or open. It was shut.

On the right was the stairway that led up to the pastor’s office, three rooms that were set up as classrooms, and the bathroom. Zee slipped around the wall and into the sanctuary that encompassed the rest of the first floor. Sherwood and I, in that order, headed up the stairs.

Below us, in the sanctuary, there was a huge crash, a wary cry, followed by the clashing sounds of weaponry engaging.

The top of the stairway led to a hall with five closed doors. The door to the immediate right of the stairs was the pastor’s office, to the left was the bathroom. Then there were the three classrooms, one left, one right, and one at the end of the hall.

My sense of smell was of limited use for finding Pastor White—his scent was everywhere. The man who’d driven the Explorer was better. He’d gone into the pastor’s office, but I caught his scent farther down the hall—where he’d have had no reason to go.

I tapped my nose and pointed at the classroom door at the end of the hall. Sherwood nodded as a huge crash below us spelled the end of one of the stained-glass windows. My fault. The fae had only come here because of me.

Sherwood took point, the ax in one hand and the big gun in the other. I reached past him to turn the knob, and he elbowed the door in.