Soul Taken (Mercy Thompson #13)(61)

“I think that we could use Mercy’s nose here,” he said, sounding utterly like himself.

In front of the others, the old fae would never say, “Mercy can smell some kinds of magic better than I can.” But Adam was sure that was what he meant.

Adam nodded. “I’ll ask her.”

Zee looked like a battered old mechanic again, hands in pockets, and thoughtful. But the air still smelled of ozone, and Adam’s skin twitched as he turned his back on the iron-kissed fae.



* * *



—

Adam found Mercy still huddled in his coat. Her face was tucked down into the fabric until only the top of her head stuck out.

He said her name before he tapped on her window to get her attention, so he wouldn’t startle her. She jumped a little anyway—a sign of how tense she still was. When he opened the door, the heat boiled out of the car, though he could hear her chattering teeth.

Since no one was watching, he unclipped her seat belt and pulled her against him, holding her the way he’d wanted to for the past hour. She snuggled against him. After a bit, her shivers died down.

He spared a thought for George and the humans trapped in the morgue with an unhappy fae. But this was more important—and he trusted Zee not to take out his temper on innocents with any more deadly weapon than a few sharp words. Probably that king’s children whose skulls had been turned into cups had not been innocents.

“I needed that,” Mercy said, her voice muffled in the folds of his coat. “Thank you.”

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” he asked.

A car turned into the parking lot, but the driver didn’t turn her head to look at them. This mostly empty corner of the lot was a fair distance from the justice center; doubtless she was looking for a closer parking place.

Against his neck, Mercy whispered, “The killer didn’t have a scent.”

She sounded thoroughly spooked.

“He’s using some sort of magic that shields his scent?” Adam speculated. “But you followed him anyway.” He wasn’t doubting her assertion—he hadn’t been able to pick up the killer’s scent himself. But he knew what a hunt looked like, and she’d been on a trail.

She nodded her head and said with obvious reluctance, “This is going to sound stupid.”

He waited.

She sighed. “So when I broke through the spider’s spell web, I told you I saw a great dark abyss, right? And it was there again in my dream with Stefan. He didn’t know where it came from.”

He kissed the top of her head.

In a small voice she said, “I think I brought it with me. I think it sunk its jaws into me when I broke through the spider-thing’s web, and it’s been with me ever since.”

“Do you think it’s connected to the spines that Zee took out of your hands and feet?” he asked.

She considered it but shook her head. “No. It was somehow connected to the second spider-thing, the one in the basement, I think.”

“Okay,” he said. “How does that tie into the fact that the killer had no scent? Just so you know, I couldn’t scent him, either. My nose isn’t as good when I’m not the wolf, but I should have been able to pick up the killer’s scent when I was standing right next to his bloody footprints.”

She hesitated. “I worked out a theory while you were in the morgue. It’s pretty far-fetched.”

“Hit me,” he said.

“I tracked that killer by feeling the abyss,” she said. “It wasn’t really a scent, but it was a trace of something sort of like magic.” She paused and said, “I really need to talk to Zee about that, because there was something weird going on with magic at that scene.”

“He wants to talk to you, too,” Adam said. “But go back to the abyss that you think has its claws sunk into you—and is also tied to the murder of that boy.”

She shrugged. “I told you it was weird. Is weird. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s something with will and power and—” Her voice tightened. She didn’t finish that thought. “What I was following, the killer’s trail, was a trace it left behind.”

“Zee told us that the sickle—the one he came here looking for—was sentient,” Adam commented. “What if what you are feeling is that sickle?”

She nodded. “Someone is using it to kill people. Someone without a scent—but because I have this tie to the abyss, the sickle, I could follow it.”

“Your instincts are pretty good,” he said.

He did not doubt for a minute she was correct. Her magic, a gift of Coyote, was exactly like any gift a trickster god might bequeath—irrational, chaotic, and only sometimes useful. But Mercy was adept at sussing out how to deal with it using instincts and intellect.

She was also good at throwing herself into danger, following where her magic led her. An image of the dead woman’s ruined body flashed in his mind. That would not happen to Mercy. He wouldn’t let it.

“You believe me?”

“I do,” he told her.

“Okay,” she said. Then her body stiffened a little as though she was forcing herself to talk. “I think that the murderer might be Stefan.”

“Why?”

Like Adam, Stefan was a killer. But there was a reason his name in the vampire world was the Soldier. Like Adam, by preference, Stefan’s kills were neat and quick. The kind of theatrics at play here didn’t feel like Stefan, even if he were wielding an artifact.