His response told me I'd been right to believe that anyone Jesse had once liked wasn't irredeemable.
"Does it help you to know that he's dead?" he asked.
I showed him the answer in my face. "Sometimes. Most times. Sometimes not at all."
"I think…I think I believe you. Austin had too much to live for—and you have no reason to lie to me." He sniffed, then wiped his runny nose on his shoulder, trying to pretend he wasn't crying. "It does help. Thank you."
I shook my head. "Don't thank me yet. That wasn't the only reason I came. You need to know why you don't want to hurt Jesse. Ben? Could you come here a moment?"
I threw the stick and Ben tore off after it. I'd been right. He'd had a great time. Scaring teenage bullies was right down his alley.
We'd been gentle with Jacob. Ben had played it just right. Scary enough to convince Jacob that Jesse had a reason to worry that her father would kill anyone who hurt her, but just gentle enough that Jacob had asked to touch.
Ben, like Honey, was beautiful—and he was vain enough to enjoy the attention. Jacob, I thought, was entirely redeemable—and he was ashamed that he'd hurt Jesse. He wouldn't do it again.
I'd gotten the name of his friend…and his friend's girlfriend who had thought the whole thing up. We'd visited them, too. Ben made a really, really scary boogeyman—not that any werewolf wasn't scary. I don't know if they'd ever be people I'd care to know, but at least neither of them would go near Jesse ever again.
Sometimes I am not a nice person. Neither is Ben.
Sunday I went to church and tried to pretend that all the looks were directed at Warren and Kyle, who had come to church with me. But Pastor Julio stopped me at the door.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
I liked him so I didn't growl or snap or do any of the things I felt like doing. "If one more person asks me that, I'm going to drop to the floor and start foaming at the mouth," I told him.
He grinned. "Call me if you need something. I know a good counselor or two."
"Thanks, I will."
We were in the car before Kyle started laughing. "Foam at the mouth?"
"You remember," I said. "We watched The Exorcist a couple of months ago."
"I know a few good counselors, too," he said, and being smart, he continued without giving me a chance to respond. "So what are we doing this afternoon?"
"I don't know what we're doing," I told him. "I'm going to see if I can get my Rabbit running again."
The pole barn that served as my home garage was twenty degrees cooler than the sun-scorched outside air. I stood in the dark for a minute, dealing with the momentary panic that the scent of oil and grease brought on. This was the first panic attack of the day, which was exactly one third the number of panic attacks I'd had yesterday.
Warren didn't say anything; not when I was fighting for breath and not when I'd recovered—which is one of the reasons I love him.
I hit the lights as soon as the sweat began drying on my shirt.
"I'm not too optimistic about the Rabbit's chances," I told Warren. "When Gabriel and I brought it home, I checked it out a little. Looks like Fideal turned my diesel to saltwater—and it's been sitting in my tank and lines since Tuesday."
"And that's bad." Warren knew about as much about cars as I did about cows. Which is to say, not a thing. Kyle was better, but given the choice, he'd opted for the air-conditioned house and chocolate chip cookies.
I popped the hood and stared down at the old diesel engine. "It'd probably be as cheap to go find another one in a junkyard and use this for parts as it would be to fix it."
Problem was I had a lot more places to put money than I had money to put there. I owed Adam for the damage to his house and car. He hadn't said anything, but I owed him. And I hadn't been to work since Wednesday.
Tomorrow was Monday.
"Do you want to try this later?" Warren's sharp glance lingered on my face.
"No, I'm all right."
"You taste of fear." It wasn't Warren's voice.
I jerked my head out from under the hood hard enough to kink my neck. "Did you hear that?" I asked. I'd never run into a ghost at my home, but there was a first time for everything.
But even before he said anything, I saw the answer in Warren's body posture. He'd heard it all right.
"Do you smell anything unusual?" I asked.
Something laughed, but Warren ignored it. "No."
Let's see. We were in a brightly lit building with no hiding places and neither Warren nor I could see or smell anything. That left two things it could be, and since it was still daylight outside, vampires were out.
"Fae," I said.
Warren must have had the same thought because he picked up the digging bar I kept just inside the door. It was five feet long and weighed eighteen pounds and he picked it up in one hand like I'd grab a knife.
Me, I picked up the walking stick that was lying by my feet where a moment ago there had been nothing but cement. It wasn't cold iron, but it had saved my life once already. Then we waited, senses alert…and nothing happened.
"Call Adam's house," Warren told me.
"Can't. My cell phone's still dead."
Warren threw back his head and howled.
"That won't work," the intruder whispered. I cocked my head. The voice was different, bigger and had a distinct Scots accent. It was Fideal, but I couldn't tell where he was. "No one can hear you, wolf. She is my prey and so are you."
Warren shook his head at me; he couldn't tell where the voice was coming from either.
I heard a pop and saw a spark out of the corner of my eye just before the lights went out.
"Damn it," I growled. "I cannot afford an electrician."
I don't have windows in my pole barn, but it was still bright afternoon and the light leaked in around the RV-sized garage doors. I could still see just fine, but there were a lot more shadows for Fideal to hide in.
"Why are you here?" Warren growled. "She is safe from your kind now. Ask your precious Gray Lords."
Fideal emerged from hiding to hit him. For a moment I saw him, a darker form vaguely horse shaped, the size of a large donkey. His front hooves connected with Warren's chest, knocking him off his feet.
I hit the fae with the walking stick and it throbbed in my hands like a cattle prod. Fideal bugled like a stallion, twisted away from the stick's touch, and vanished into the shadows again.
Warren used the distraction to regain his feet. "I'm fine, Mercy. Get out of the way."
I couldn't see Fideal, but Warren held the digging bar like a baseball bat, took two steps to his right, then swung and connected with something.
Warren could perceive the Fideal, but I still couldn't. He was right—I needed to get out of the way before I blundered and got Warren hurt.
I put the Rabbit between me and the fight and then started looking around for something that would be a better weapon against the fae.
There were lots of aluminum fencing supplies and old copper pipes for plumbing. All my pry bars and good steel tools were on the other side of the garage.
Fideal shrieked, a nasty ear-splitting sound that echoed wildly. It was followed by a ringing clank, like a digging bar being flung across a cement floor.
Then there was no sound at all and Warren lay unmoving on the floor.
"Warren?"
Not even the sound of breathing. I ran across the garage to stand over his body, still armed with the walking stick. There was no sign of Fideal.
Something cut my face. I swiped blindly and this time the stick vibrated like a rattlesnake's tail when I connected. Fideal hissed and ran, tripping over a jack stand and into a small tool chest. I still couldn't see him, but he made a mess of my garage.
I jumped over the fallen jack stand, knowing that Fideal couldn't be too far away. As I rounded the tool chest, something big hit me.