Soul Taken (Mercy Thompson #13)(71)

There was a pause.

“Samuel,” I said insistently.

“Can’t fool you,” he said, sounding almost relieved.

“Ariana?”

“She’s fine. I’m fine.” Those words hung in the air for a moment.

“Liar.” I called him out on it. “Do you need something? Is there anything I can do?”

“Or I?” Adam asked. My phone wasn’t hooked up through the SUV’s sound system, but that didn’t matter. “Or the pack? Whatever you need, you know that.”

“Thank you, my friends,” Samuel said, sounding weary, but also better somehow. “I think we have it covered for now. You were my second-string but my first-string has the ball.”

“Football metaphors aren’t like you,” I tried.

“You would not believe how competitive a bunch of doctors can get,” Samuel said, sounding more like himself. “I’ve played a lot of football—proper football and not American—this past year.”

“Where are you now?” Adam asked.

Africa was a whole giant continent. I never had been able to pin down exactly where Samuel and Ariana were on it. Sometimes he talked about where they’d been last week or last month, but not where they were.

“Middle of a snowstorm,” Samuel said. “In more ways than one. I have about three minutes of battery left on my phone, Mercy. What did you need?”

“Snowstorm in Africa?” I asked. Granted it was a whole continent, but when I thought of Africa, I thought of jungles and deserts.

“What did you call me for?” Samuel said.

From the sound of his voice, he was done talking about himself.

“Sherwood’s memory came back,” I said.

“Hah!” Samuel said, and I could hear his smile. “I told Da he wasn’t faking it.”

“Did Bran think he was?” I asked.

“You know? I’m not sure. It seemed to irk Da a whole lot, though.”

He was sounding more like himself, but there was still an undercurrent of something, a little edge that told me he was in the middle of something desperate. If talking about our mysterious Sherwood gave him some amusement, some respite, then we could talk about Sherwood—for the next three minutes, anyway.

“Just who is he?” I asked.

“I’m not sure I am at liberty to tell you,” Samuel said.

“I can tell he’s one of you—a Cornick. And he’s old.”

“Did you ask him?”

“Who was it who told me never to ask old wolves about their pasts?” I asked in return. If Sherwood had intended to tell us who he was, he would have done it.

“Did I do that?” He laughed. The honest amusement made him sound tired.

I exchanged a look with Adam, who was frowning.

“Yes,” I said. “If your phone gives up before you tell me, I’m going to sell your Christmas present on eBay and donate the proceeds to—” I tried to think of somewhere he’d hate. “The John Lauren Society.” The John Lauren Society was an anti-fae, anti-werewolf, anti-supernatural hate group for the Upper Ten Thousand.

Samuel laughed. “What the hell. He’s Da’s oldest brother.”

I’d finally gotten Samuel to tell me how he and Ariana met. That had taken in a lot of history I hadn’t expected to hear about.

“All of Bran’s brothers died saving Ariana from her father,” I said. “You told me that story.”

“He left Grandmother’s pack long before that,” Samuel said. “His escape was one of the reasons Grandmother came hunting Da. She couldn’t find”—he started to say another name and changed his mind—“Sherwood.”

I exchanged a look with Adam. What had Bran been thinking to stow his brother with us? Had he been protecting us? Protecting Sherwood?

“Look,” Samuel said. “Be careful with him. Of him. You know what Charles does for Da?”

“Goes out and kills rogue wolves?” I said.

“And scares the rest into behaving,” agreed Samuel. “It’s a horrible job, but necessary. Sherwood was my da’s bogeyman before Charles was. It’s not a job that leaves someone stable and well-adjusted.”

“Bran wasn’t the Marrok before Charles was his bogeyman,” I said.

“Wasn’t he?” Samuel sounded amused.

“Sherwood is dangerous,” said Adam.

“We are all dangerous,” Samuel told him. “He’s worse than that.” I heard a faint beep. “Love you,” said Samuel. “Got to go. Bye.”

He hung up before I could say anything more.

“I don’t like that,” I said.

“If you didn’t know Sherwood was dangerous, you haven’t been paying attention,” Adam said.

“Not that.” I waved the issue of Sherwood away for later consideration. “I meant Samuel.”

“I know,” said Adam gently. “But he’s an old wolf, and not stupid. He has backup if he needs it. Sounds like he has Bran involved already.”

My phone rang again.

“Samuel?”

The person on the other end of the line didn’t say anything. I couldn’t hear breathing, but I could hear the faint sound of the wind in some trees. I disconnected.