There was a little pause. “A yellow toy car?” asked Adam.
“That’s right.” I remembered something else. “Adam, Corban’s worried that the police will think he’s killed Amber—and probably Blackwood, though there won’t be any body.”
“Trust me,” said Adam. “We’ll fix it for everyone.”
“All right,” I told him. “Thank you.” And then I thought a little more. “The vampires will want Chad and Corban gone. They know too much.”
“You and Stefan and the pack are the only ones who know that,” said Adam. “The pack doesn’t care, and Stefan won’t betray them.”
“Hey,” I told him lightly—pressing the handset into my face until it almost hurt. “I love you.”
“I’ll be there.”
I LEFT CORBAN SITTING IN THE LIVING ROOM AND WALKED reluctantly down the stairs. I didn’t want to know for sure that the oakman was dead. I didn’t want to confront Catherine if she was still about ... and I thought she would have killed me if she could have. But I also didn’t want to be naked when Adam came.
The oakman was gone. I decided that it must be a good thing. The fae didn’t—as far as I knew—turn into dust and blow away when they died. So if he wasn’t here, that meant he’d left.
“Thank you,” I whispered because he wasn’t there to hear me. Then I put my clothes on and ran up the stairs to wait for rescue with Corban.
When Adam came, he had the yellow car I’d asked him for. It was a one-sixteenth scale model of a VW bug. He watched as I took it out of the package and followed me down the stairs and set it on the bed in the small room where I’d first woken up.
“It’s for you,” I said.
No one answered me.
“Are you going to tell me what that was about?” Adam asked as we went back upstairs.
“Sometime,” I told him. “When we’re telling ghost stories around a campfire, and I want to scare you.”
He smiled, and his arm tightened around my shoulders. “Let’s go home.”
I closed my hand on the lamb necklace I’d found on the table next to the phone, as if someone had left it for me to find.
13
THE FOLLOWING SATURDAY WE PAINTED THE GARAGE. True to his word, Wulfe had removed the crossed bones. The least he could have done was repaint the door, but he’d managed to remove the bones and leave the graffiti that had covered them alone. I thought he’d done it just to bug me.
Gabriel’s sisters had voted for pink as the new color and were very disappointed when I insisted on white. So I told them they could paint the door pink.
It’s a garage. What can it hurt?
“It’s a garage,” I told Adam, who was looking at the Day-Glo pink door. “What can it hurt?”
He laughed and shook his head. “It makes me squint, even in the dark, Mercy. Hey, I know what I can get you for your next birthday,” he said. “A set of open-end wrenches in pink or purple. Leopard print, maybe.”
“You have me confused with my mother,” I said with dignity. “The door was painted with cheap spray paint—as no reputable paint company had anything this gaudy in their color palette. Give it a couple weeks, and it’ll turn this sickly orangish pink color. Then I can hire them to paint it brown or green.”
“Police have searched Blackwood’s house,” Adam told me. “They haven’t found any sign of Blackwood or Amber. Officially, they believe Amber might have run off with Blackwood.” He sighed. “I know that it tarnishes Amber unfairly, but it was the best story we could come up with and still leave her husband in the clear.”
“The people who matter know,” I told him. Amber didn’t have any immediate family she cared for. In a few months, I was tentatively planning a trip to Mesa, Arizona, where Char was living. I’d tell her, because Char was the only other person Amber would care about. “No one is going to get into trouble about this, are they?”
“The people who matter know,” he answered with a faint smile. “Unofficially, Blackwood scared the bejeebers out of a lot of people who are glad to see him gone. No one will take it further.”
“Good.” I touched the bright white wall next to the door. It looked better. I hoped that it wouldn’t scare away customers. People are funny. My customers look at my run-down-appearing garage and know they are saving the money I don’t put into face-lifts.
Tim’s cousin Courtney had paid for all of the paint and labor in return for my dropping the charges against her. I figured she had been hurt enough.
“I heard you and Zee worked out something on the garage.”
I nodded. “I have to repay him immediately—he said so, and he is fae so it must be done. He’s going to loan me the money to do it at the same interest rate as the original loan.”
He grinned and opened the pink door so I could precede him inside. “So you’re paying him the same amount as before?”
“Uncle Mike came up with it, and it made Zee happy.” Amused him was more like it. All the fae have a strange sense of humor.
Stefan was sitting on my stool by the cash register. He’d spent two nights unmoving in Adam’s basement, then disappeared without a word to either Adam or me.
“Hey, Stefan,” I said.
“I came to tell you that we no longer share a bond,” he told me stiffly. “Blackwood broke it.”
“When?” I asked. “He didn’t have time. You answered my call—and it wasn’t very long after that when Blackwood died.”
“I imagine when he fed from you again,” Stefan said. “Because when Adam called me to tell me you’d disappeared, I couldn’t find you at all.”
“Then how did you manage to find me?” I asked.
“Marsilia.”
I looked at his face, but I couldn’t read how much it had cost him to ask for her help. Or what she’d demanded in return.
“You didn’t tell me,” Adam said. “I’d have gone with you.”
The vampire smiled grimly. “Then she would have told me nothing.”
“She knew where Blackwood denned?” Adam asked.
“That’s what I hoped.” Stefan picked up a pen and played with it. I must have used it last because his fingers acquired a little black grease for his trouble. “But no. What she did know was that Mercy had a message for me with a blood-and-wax seal. Her blood. She could track the message. Since it was just outside of Spokane, we were both pretty sure Mercy still had it with her.”
That reminded me. I pulled the battered missive out of my back pocket. It hadn’t gone through the wash with my jeans—but only because Samuel had a habit of checking pockets before he did laundry. Something about nuts and bolts in the dryer being irritatingly noisy—I thought that was directed at me, but I could have been paranoid.
Stefan took the letter like I was handing him a bottle of nitroglycerine. He opened it and read. When he was through, he balled it up in a fist and stared at the counter.
“She says,” he told us in a low, controlled voice, “that my people are safe. She and Wulfe took them and convinced me that they had died—so I would believe it. It was necessary that I believe they were dead, that Marsilia no longer wanted me in the seethe. She has them safe.” He paused. “She wants me to come home.”
“What are you going to do?” Adam asked.
I was pretty sure I knew. But I hoped that he made her work like hell for it. She might not have killed his people, but she’d hurt them—Stefan had felt it.
“I’m going to take the matter under advisement,” he said. But he straightened out the note and read it again.
“Hey, Stefan,” I said.
He looked up.
“You’re pretty terrific, you know? I appreciate all the chances you took for me.”