Frost Burned (Mercy Thompson 7)

"Yeah," I agreed with feeling. "But the silver? I think that was more about what I am than any weird werewolf magic."

"Being Native American made you toss up silver?" asked Kyle skeptically, but Ben gave me a look of sudden comprehension. The pack knew about Coyote.

The mess on the floor was definitely becoming solid. I was pretty sure it wasn't going to come off with a little soap and elbow grease - and heard Coyote laugh in my ear. A silver dollar, when they were still silver, was a troy ounce of .90 pure silver. I have a host of trivia in my head.

"How many troy ounces in a pound?" I asked because that wasn't some of the trivia I knew.

"I don't know," said Kyle soberly. "That looks like a lot of troy ounces to me."

Coyote magic, I thought, breaks rules. I looked at Kyle and decided that he could be trusted, just like the rest of the pack. "It's not Indian magic - or not just Indian magic anyway. It's Coyote magic."

"Coyote?" asked Kyle. "Are you talking about your other form or the Coyote?"

Ben just narrowed his gaze.

"My father was a Blackfeet bull rider from Browning, Montana, named Joe Old Coyote," I told Kyle. "But before he was Joe Old Coyote, he was the Coyote of song and story. After Joe Old Coyote died in a car wreck, he was Coyote again."

I understand from people who have seen him in court that Kyle is mostly unflappable until he chooses to be otherwise. Being in love with a werewolf had raised his ability to nearly supernatural levels.

He didn't blink, didn't pause, just said, "So the silver slime is because you are Coyote's daughter?"

"I'm not Coyote's daughter," I said firmly. I glanced at the floor. "And it's not slime, anymore. Joe Old Coyote wasn't Coyote." Because if he had been, my father hadn't just died, he had abandoned me, abandoned my mother, and I would have to hunt him down and hurt him.

"Okay," Kyle said. "You're rambling." He reached out and touched me. "Are you okay? You look flushed, but you're cold."

As he spoke, a shiver rolled up my spine. I crouched down and held my hand over the silver slab that covered a couple of squares of stone tile.

"That is the freakiest thing that ever happened to me." I nodded toward the mess. "And if you knew my life, you'd realize just how freaky that is. While I was sleeping, I drank the silver out of Adam, woke up, and threw it up on your floor - sorry for that, by the way - and now my lips are black."

Kyle took in a breath. "While you were doing freaky stuff with Adam - as fine as he is - did you figure out where he is?"

I shook my head, and he sighed. "That's good."

I raised my eyebrow. He grinned, tiredly. "That would have been useful, Mercy. And having something freaky and useful would have been too good and sent the spirits of evil gods on our tail."

I stared at him.

His grin grew less tired. "You might have been raised by werewolves, Mercy, but I was raised by a Scottish granny while my parents were out earning their millions. When the fae came out, she just harrumpfed, and said, 'There'll be trouble now.' And she was right about it, just as every doom-filled prediction she ever made was right."

I let myself fall down onto my butt because my knee was remembering I'd been in a car accident, and it had had enough of my kneeling. Ben steadied me briefly, then jerked away.

"Thanks," I told Kyle. "I'll keep the wrath of the dark gods in mind. Any more cheery thoughts?"

"Not until Warren is standing right here chipping up the mess you made," he said soberly.

I reached over and wrapped my hand around his ankle to comfort him just as the doorbell rang.

"What time is it?" I asked.

Kyle glanced at the watch on his wrist. "Too early for company. Four thirty in the morning."

His cell rang, and he picked it up.

"Mr. Brooks. There are two men on your doorstep. A white male, mid-forties, about six feet tall, in better than average shape who looks very comfortable in the suit he's wearing and extremely uncomfortable about his companion. The second man is shorter, younger, mixed-race, and in very good shape. Might mean he likes to work out - might mean he's a werewolf. Do you want us to intercept and send them away?"

"No," said Kyle. "We have backup in the house, right?"

"That's right, sir. And someone watching the porch."

"Then let me go see if these are allies or enemies. I'll give you a peace sign if they're okay."

Kyle hung up and changed his clothes to slacks and a polo he had folded up on the lone chest of drawers in the room. I had the choice of wearing his clothes that I wore all yesterday, or mine that I had worn the day and night before. Since the latter were still bloodstained, I pulled on his sweats, their pleasant teal color doing a fine job of emphasizing the bruises on my skin, and followed him down the stairs, Ben at our heels like a well-behaved guard wolf. He wasn't limping - which made one of us - so he must finally have started healing.

As soon as we were on the stairs, the doorbell quit ringing. Either they had given up, or they could hear us on the carpeted stairs through the door.

Ben and I hung back as Kyle opened the door to a pair of men, one of them unsurprisingly around six feet tall wearing a black wool coat that emphasized rather than concealed the expensive fit of the dark gray suit he wore. His face was slightly homely in the likeable way of a good character actor.

Next to him was a smaller man who looked vaguely Middle Eastern but darker-skinned. He wore jeans, scuffed hiking boots, and a long-sleeved gray silk button-up shirt. It was cold enough to bite, but he had no coat or jacket.

"What brings you to my door at this time of the morning?" Kyle asked shortly.

"Kyle Brooks?" said the taller man. "My name is Lin Armstrong. Agent Armstrong. I work for CNTRP - Cantrip, if you prefer - and I was wondering if you would mind if I and my associate come in to ask you a few questions about the men who broke into your house yesterday."

I sucked in my breath - Cantrip was the agency I suspected our villains belonged to. I don't know what I would have said except that when I inhaled, I caught their scents. I could smell dry cleaning fluid, wool, and some dog breed that clung to the complex scent of Agent Armstrong. I also smelled an unfamiliar werewolf.

Ben's posture changed. His ears flattened, and he crouched a little, but slid between me and the door anyway.

"What pack are you from?" I asked, stepping around Ben, so I stood next to Kyle. "Excuse me?" said Agent Armstrong.