Soul Taken (Mercy Thompson #13)(38)

“Let’s not do that now,” I suggested.

Adam said, “All right. We’ll go to our house.” Adam looked at Larry. “Would you like a ride?”

There was no sign of another car.

“I have one,” Larry said, giving a whistle.

Out of the shadows on the far side of the shrouded Mystery Machine trotted a largish pony wearing neither bridle nor saddle, her hooves clopping on the driveway cement. She was one of those odd, found-only-in-ponies colors. Her body was seal brown, and her thick mane and tail were a light, almost silvery gray.

As Larry swung aboard her, she gave me a wicked look, pinning her ears and crinkling her nose. Larry soothed her in a language that was not Welsh (which I’d grown up hearing people speak) but related somehow. Cornish, maybe. I’d heard him use it before. Someday I’d ask him what it was.

He should have looked ridiculous on such a small animal—his legs dangled almost to her knees—but they suited each other. She sidled and he followed her movement with the grace of a born horseman. Bran’s son Charles rode like that.

“I will meet you at your house,” he said—and they were off at a brisk canter.

Horses make noise when they run, the impact of their weight hitting the ground and the strike of the hoof. They make more noise when they run on hard surfaces like roads and sidewalks. Larry and his pony made no noise at all.



* * *



—

Larry was sitting on our front steps when we drove in. He had taken the time to change into more usual clothing—boots, jeans, and T-shirt. Behind him, Tad leaned against the door, as if he were blocking Larry’s way in. Their body language made me think that they weren’t friendly.

“Magic ponies travel fast,” Adam observed to me, though I was pretty sure his attention was on the tableau on our porch.

“I wouldn’t have gotten on that pony if you paid me,” I said, hopping down to the ground and shutting my door as quietly as I could. We were a ways from the neighbors, but sound travels in the night. I didn’t want to wake anyone up.

Keeping the neighbors happy when your house is often filled with a pack of werewolves is both vital and difficult. Not many people are crazy about werewolves running around. Pack magic can sometimes help keep the noise down, but we weren’t fae, who could manage illusions to hide the damage when we were attacked.

I baked cookies and took them to the neighbors whenever anything happened that might worry them, but two of the eight houses on our road were for sale. And last time I brought cookies, the nice lady who lived in the big gray house did not come to the door even though I could hear that she was home. It was probably a good thing that we didn’t live in a normal city neighborhood like Stefan did.

“Larry, glad you made it,” Adam said, soft-voiced for the same reason I hadn’t slammed my car door. “Tad, thanks for helping out.”

Larry nodded without getting to his feet. Tad straightened and took a couple of steps forward, his eyebrows climbing up at the sight of Adam’s battle-torn and mucked-up clothing. Tad glanced at me, but my torn clothing was tucked in a pocket where he couldn’t see it. I imagined that the bruise on my face was fully formed by now, but I’d had that the last time he’d seen me.

I answered the question on his face with a shake of my head. We hadn’t found Stefan yet.

“Don’t get me wrong, overtime is awesome,” Tad said, not inquiring further in front of Larry. “But I was thinking it might be easier if I rent your little house, Mercy. Or at least the house that is standing where your old trailer house was before it burned.”

“Adam and I were just discussing approaching Sherwood to move into it,” I said slowly, because having Tad move in might be better than Sherwood. I glanced at Adam.

“We haven’t talked to him,” Adam said. “And having you there might be a better idea. We can include rent as part of your salary.”

“There are a couple of downsides you should be aware of,” I said.

“Underhill’s gate.” Tad tipped his head toward the back of our house. “She won’t bother me. I’m small potatoes by her measures. She both dislikes and is wary of my dad. One or the other might intrigue her, but both together keep me safe until after she decides what to do about avenging herself on the rest of the fae. Dad thinks so, too.”

Larry laughed, his wide grin showing sharp teeth. “Is that what she is doing? Well, someone is going to have a fun old time when that happens.”

Tad gave him a long look, then his shoulders relaxed a little. I don’t know what had gone on between them before we arrived, but it must not have been anything too bad.

“I think they are still surprised that she dislikes them,” said Tad in a sour tone that reminded me forcibly of his father.

“More fool they,” Larry said. “I’m looking forward to the fallout.”

Tad grinned at Larry. To me he said, “I can move in Saturday.”

If Wulfe continued his stalking of me, though that seemed to be in question, would Tad be safe from him? Probably, I realized with a hint of relief, for the same reasons he was probably safe from Underhill. And if not? Tad could handle himself, possibly even better than Sherwood.

Most of the time, the half-blooded children of fae and mortal were much less powerful than their fae parent. But once in a while, the cross produced someone with unexpected and powerful magic. I would have been very hesitant to say that Tad was more powerful than his father, but only because I had no idea of the extent of the power of either of them.