Soul Taken (Mercy Thompson #13)(40)

“If I sit with you in that comfy couch,” I told Adam’s raised eyebrow, “I’m going to fall asleep. I have now officially been awake for twenty-four hours and change.”

Adam frowned at me in concern—though I knew that he’d gotten up at the same time I had. But he wasn’t going to send me up to bed, or grumble at me in front of Larry, any more than I would do to him. He turned his attention to Larry.

“Why are we here instead of the seethe?” Adam asked.

Larry gave him an intense look. “The goblins have alliances. We have always had alliances. We do not have allies.”

I got what he was saying before Adam did, I think. Allies. Friends. People who actually cared about each other. That was quite an offer from the goblin king. In the long history of the fae, only parts of which I was familiar with, the goblins had been thoroughly indoctrinated in the idea that they stood alone.

Adam sat back and considered that. “Why us?”

Larry pursed his lips. “Complicated question. Werewolf packs take care of their own. Only if a situation might impact the pack’s safety—or the safety of a wolf in the pack—do they step into the business of others.”

He smiled at me with teeth in full display, but when he spoke, his voice was a whisper. “Coyote’s daughter changed your pack, Adam Hauptman. She changed you. The Columbia Basin Pack is suddenly full of heroes who take on anyone to protect the innocent, the helpless, even enemies.” He paused. “Even goblins. ‘Might for right,’ in fact.”

“Camelot,” I said involuntarily, recognizing the quote. When Adam shot me a glance, I said, “?‘Might for right’ is a quote from the musical.”

“Well, you aren’t King Arthur,” said Larry dryly. “Of course, neither was he. But that’s the point, really. What you are doing might change the way we all live together.”

He smiled at me again. “My youngest goblins love playing heroes with your wolves. Even some of the old ones have gotten into the game.”

Adam said, “Like you did at Stefan’s house. If I’d asked for help, it would have been one thing. Riding to the rescue unbidden is another altogether.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. “I would like my people and yours to be friends.”

Friends share important information.

“We were at Stefan’s today as the result of a chain of events,” I told him. And then I described Marsilia’s dramatic performance and her telling us we needed to find Wulfe and how that led us to Stefan’s house.

Larry said, “I was at Stefan’s because one of my goblins called to tell me you were there.”

“That was quick,” I said, because there had been maybe ten minutes between when we’d parked the car and when Larry had shown up.

He shrugged. “I was nearby. I had a feeling.” He paused, considering his options. Possibly organizing his thoughts. Or maybe just to make sure he had our attention. With Larry, it could be any of those.

“Should we call Beauclaire?” I asked.

Larry shrugged. “As you wish, though I wouldn’t ask for help from him myself.”

Which hadn’t been what I’d meant.

“This feels more organized than a couple of upstart fae attacking Stefan. If there is a group of fae attacking the vampires, trying to break the treaty, Beauclaire should know about it,” said Adam, to clarify what I’d meant.

“Not fae,” Larry said with a shrug.

“Oh yes they were.” I tapped my nose.

“Half-bloods?” suggested Adam, watching Larry intently.

Larry put a finger in the air to indicate Adam had the correct answer. “The Gray Lords would not consider them one of their own. Those creatures do not have the power to break any treaty.”

Larry said “the Gray Lords” with a hint of distaste. Like Schr?dinger’s cat, the goblins were both fae and not-fae at the same time. I’d found if I kept to that assumption, I seldom offended anyone.

“Half-bloods,” Adam repeated, leaning forward. “In service of whom?”

“Themselves?” I suggested. Tad, who was half-fae, did not belong to any group of half-bloods, but he’d told me that he’d been approached a few times.

Medea, my cat, emerged from the shadows to hop onto Larry’s lap. It was probably because we were so tired that all three of us stopped speaking to watch her. She turned around two times and then settled down and started to purr.

“My people eat yours,” Larry informed the cat.

Medea kneaded his thighs lightly and kicked her purr up a few notches. He gave in and started to pet her.

“She appears to be missing her tail,” Larry said, sounding very concerned for someone whose people eat cats.

“She’s a Manx,” I told him. “She never had a tail to be missing.”

“Ah,” he said, relaxing and turning back to our conversation. “I think the half-bloods are Bonarata’s.”

“Last we heard, he was still in Italy,” Adam said.

“That’s what I’ve been told, too,” agreed Larry. “But on Friday, the goblin watching the seethe reported that there was some kind of disturbance there.” He paused, then explained, “Wulfe’s presence necessitates that any observation of the seethe is done at a fair distance. Electronic devices are not useful.”