Soul Taken (Mercy Thompson #13)(27)

“Izzy’s tougher than she looks,” I said confidently. “She’ll be okay.”

“I hope so.” Jesse turned her attention back to Adam. “And you are really okay?”

“He’s really okay,” I said. “And the only reason I’m not saying that, like Izzy, Adam is tougher than he looks is because—”

“He looks pretty tough,” Jesse agreed, finishing the old joke. She stepped away from her dad again. “So the situation worked itself out?”

“Sherwood didn’t want to kill Adam,” I said. “I told you that would save the day.” I had not been as sure of it as I’d tried to sound.

“Good.” Then she frowned. “Did you find out who he is? Was he Rasputin?”

“There are photos of Rasputin,” I told her. “And Rasputin doesn’t look like Sherwood at all.” Except a little around the eyes. “We still don’t know who Sherwood is. Was.”

“You didn’t find out?” Jesse asked. “Really? Weren’t you curious at all?”

“He’s related to Bran,” Adam told her. “Closely. Brother, son, father, uncle—something really close.”

She blinked at him. “To the Marrok? There’s a werewolf related to the Marrok that’s not Charles or Samuel? I haven’t heard of any. Have you?”

For some reason, both of them looked at me.

“No?” I said.

“You were raised in the Marrok’s pack,” Jesse insisted. “Surely someone said something?”

“Not that I recall,” I said. “I’ll call Samuel and bug him.”

“Why not ask Sherwood?” Adam said.

“Did he sound like someone who was going to spill the beans to you?” I queried. “He talks more, but he doesn’t say more. He hasn’t changed that much.” I found that reassuring. “We’ll get it out of him one story at a time.” I thought a moment. “Though I might make him go through the betting book and say yes or no, because apparently the Great Beast of Northumberland is a yes. Still, Samuel is an easier nut to crack.”

“And we haven’t heard from him in a while,” Jesse added.

Jesse had had a bit of a crush on Samuel when she was younger, and the effects lingered. But instead of pursuing the subject of Samuel or Sherwood, she asked, “So what is the new situation that might end in death and destruction?”

“Marsilia gave us a puzzle,” I told her. “We aren’t sure exactly what it means. Nothing horrible tonight.” I paused. “Probably.”

Adam leaned over and kissed Jesse on the forehead. “Bed,” he said firmly, for all the world as if she were still a child.

She smiled at us both. “I’m asleep standing,” she confessed. “Night, you two.”

I waited until she was upstairs in the bathroom brushing her teeth before taking out my phone.

“I’m calling Stefan,” I said quietly. “I got the impression that we might want to get on finding Wulfe or following Marsilia’s clues as soon as possible.”

“Good time to call,” Adam said neutrally.

It was two in the morning, but Stefan was a vampire. He wasn’t one of Marsilia’s vampires anymore—but they had ties that went back all the way to the Italian Renaissance, when they had both been human. He’d also been keeping an eye on Wulfe once the other vampire had decided to start stalking me.

Stefan would know what was going on. I was a little surprised he hadn’t contacted me about Wulfe’s disappearance before Marsilia had.

Stefan’s cell phone clicked immediately to voice mail. I didn’t leave a message.

“Maybe he’s talking to someone,” Adam said.

“I’ll try the house,” I said. I didn’t like that he hadn’t answered.

The house phone was picked up after four rings.

“Hello?”

I knew most of Stefan’s people—neither he nor I called them sheep (unless Stefan was feeling particularly bitter). To Stefan they were more than a collection of easy meals and prospective fledglings, and whatever else vampires did with their toys. To Stefan, they were family.

When Marsilia had killed some of his people, as a way of making a show for the spies of Bonarata, Stefan had never forgiven her for it. And he had loved Marsilia—not in a romantic way, I didn’t think, but love nonetheless.

The voice at the other end of the line was husky and hesitant, making it unfamiliar. It might have been Rachel, who was Stefan’s usual spokesperson with the mundane world. Rachel was the one who typically answered the phone if Stefan wasn’t there. It didn’t sound like Rachel, but it could have been. If she’d had a bad cold.

“This is Mercy,” I said, and was treated to a dial tone humming in my ear. I quit trying to pretend there wasn’t something wrong.

I looked at Adam.

“I’ll call Tad back,” Adam said. “As soon as he gets here, we’re headed over to Stefan’s.” He frowned at me. “And you take some more aspirin. No sense being exhausted and in pain.”



* * *



—

I didn’t take aspirin, of course; it was ibuprofen. Adam was of a generation that used “aspirin” to refer to any painkiller. The NSAID knocked the edge off my headache, but I suspected I’d need sleep to really deal with it. Too bad it was growing doubtful that sleep was in my near future.