Fire Touched (Mercy Thompson 9)

“Meanwhile?” asked Sherwood in the same very quiet tone.

Zee smiled wickedly and snapped his hand down—where a narrow, black-bladed sword appeared. “I’ll keep the others occupied.”

“Zee?” I said. “Are you okay to fight?” He still wasn’t moving right.

Zee nodded. “Against these fools? I could fight them off if I were blindfolded and tied hand and foot.”

I let it go—though I was still worried. The fae speak the truth—as they know it. Just because Zee was an arrogant old fae didn’t make him right.

We walked up to the doors with me in front and the others flanking me. I pulled the right-hand door open, and Sherwood reached around me to pull the left so we could enter as one group.

The entryway was a twenty-by-ten room cut off from the rest of the church by a wall with a walkway on either side. There was a kitchenette to our left with a refrigerator, a sink, and a stove. The interior wall had a counter and a half wall that opened into the main room, with a curtain that could be shut or open. It was shut.

On the right was the stairway that led up to the pastor’s office, three rooms that were set up as classrooms, and the bathroom. Zee slipped around the wall and into the sanctuary that encompassed the rest of the first floor. Sherwood and I, in that order, headed up the stairs.

Below us, in the sanctuary, there was a huge crash, a wary cry, followed by the clashing sounds of weaponry engaging.

The top of the stairway led to a hall with five closed doors. The door to the immediate right of the stairs was the pastor’s office, to the left was the bathroom. Then there were the three classrooms, one left, one right, and one at the end of the hall.

My sense of smell was of limited use for finding Pastor White—his scent was everywhere. The man who’d driven the Explorer was better. He’d gone into the pastor’s office, but I caught his scent farther down the hall—where he’d have had no reason to go.

I tapped my nose and pointed at the classroom door at the end of the hall. Sherwood nodded as a huge crash below us spelled the end of one of the stained-glass windows. My fault. The fae had only come here because of me.

Sherwood took point, the ax in one hand and the big gun in the other. I reached past him to turn the knob, and he elbowed the door in.

The classroom was the largest of the five upstairs rooms. The pastor and a stranger were tied to folding chairs, gagged with duct tape. The floor of the room was covered in a dark brown carpet that showed the triple ring of salt someone had placed around them.

Between them and us stood Uncle Mike, a crossbow in his hand. He’d brought it up—but let the nose point down to the floor as soon as he saw it was me. There were three containers of Morton salt. Two of them were open, but the third still had a seal on the spout.

“Shut that door,” he said. “There’s a sprite lord out there, and I don’t want his sprites seeing what I have done until Zee’s through with them. Stupid louts.”

“What’s this about?” I asked.

“I can’t tell you,” he said. “All I can tell you is they gave me my orders—to bring these two upstairs and secure them.” He grinned fiercely. “My orders didn’t say secure them from whom. As long as those idiots”—he paused as the whole building vibrated—“don’t burn the place down, your pastor and this gentleman are safe from most of my kind. Who did you bring with you?” he asked. “Is it Zee?”

“Can’t you get across the salt?” I asked.

He shook his head. “This isn’t just salt, but salt bonded with magic. I’ve locked out most fae, including myself. Zee might manage it. One or two of the Gray Lords—but the only one of this group, the one who gave me my orders and is powerful enough to break this, isn’t here.” He stared hard at me. There was something he couldn’t tell me. He’d said he couldn’t tell me why they were here. I’d thought it was obvious—but if it were obvious, Uncle Mike wouldn’t have bothered to talk to me about it.

What did they gain from their actions so far? Two hostages—but they were human hostages, near enough to me that I’d respond. But, as Zee pointed out, if they knew anything about Adam or me, they’d never believe that we’d turn Aiden over to them. So what had they gained? They’d called me, let the pastor talk until they were sure I knew who he was, and hung up. And I’d come right over, hadn’t I?

I pulled out my cell and called Mary Jo.

“We’re on our—” she answered.

“No. Go to the pack house,” I said. “There are some fae coming for Aiden.”

Uncle Mike smiled.

I called the house, but no one picked up. I called Jesse, and it went to her voice mail. I called Warren, Darryl, Ben, and George with the same results.

I called Adam.

“Not a good time, Mercy,” he said tightly.

“Don’t hang up,” I told him. “Did you listen to my message?”

“No. I’m discussing bugs with Cantrip. We’re—” He would have said more, but I interrupted him.

“The fae are attacking our home,” I said. “Don’t listen to my message, waste of time.” Don’t worry about me—worry about Jesse, about Aiden and our wolves. “There’s a fae attack at the house,” I repeated. “And no one is answering their phones.”

“Headed home,” he said, and hung up.

Uncle Mike’s smile widened and took on a patronizing edge, as if he were a proud father, which he had no right to do.