"Weak magical objects being considerably less frightening than powerful ones," I observed. "And Austin Summers?"
"They're going to try and keep him out of it—but his connection to both Milanovich and O'Donnell is too close to just leave the family wondering. The police will gently tell them that there is some evidence that he was involved, but no one knows exactly how—and never will since everyone is dead."
"Have you heard from Adam?"
"No, but Bran called. The policeman who sent the shortened version of the video has been reprimanded and the copy he made confiscated. Bran seems to think that Adam and Charles are making an impression. Adam should be home Monday."
I didn't want to think about what was going to happen when Adam came home. Today I was going to be very good at only thinking about what I wanted to.
I pulled the paper up and read the article about Austin. "Funeral's tomorrow morning. I think I'll go visit Austin's brother afterward. Do you want to come?"
"I have to work tomorrow—I had last weekend off." He sighed. "Do I want to know why you're going to visit Austin's brother?"
I smiled at him. "I think I'll take Ben."
Samuel's eyebrows shot up. "Ben? Adam won't like that."
I waved him off. "Adam won't care, and Ben's the only one I trust to take things just far enough. Warren may sound like a pussycat, but some things hit his hot buttons. Besides, Ben will enjoy this."
Samuel closed his eyes. "You enjoy doing this. Fine, be mysterious. Ben might be a creep, but he's Adam's creep." He may have sounded exasperated but I saw the relief in his body. He was willing to play along that everything was normal if that's what I wanted. He was even beginning to believe it. I could see it in the way his shoulder muscles were relaxing and in the fading of the scent of his protective anger.
I needed to leave before I blew it. Besides, I needed to clean up. "I think I'll just go take a shower," I said.
It wasn't until Samuel stiffened that I remembered I'd just come out of the shower. So much for playing normal.
On Saturday, I took Ben for a walk. He'd been pretty wary when I let myself into Adam's house and told him he was going to be my escort today.
Aurielle, who had been my assigned guard this morning, had tried to invite herself along, but I knew her too well. She had no soft spots for people who hurt the ones she cared about. If she knew that Jacob Summers was one of the boys who'd tried to assault Jesse, she'd have his head. Really.
Me, I believe in revenge—but I also believe in redemption.
So I told Aurielle she couldn't come—and since the pack had decided to treat me as if I had already agreed to be Adam's mate, there was nothing she could do.
At my request, Ben changed, so I went walking with a werewolf by my side.
You'd think that we'd have attracted more attention. Only recently, I'd begun to notice that mostly people don't see the werewolves when they are out and about. I used to think it was just that people didn't know about the wolves, but now they do—and they still don't see them. It's probably some sort of pack magic that keeps them unseen. Not invisible exactly, but easily overlooked.
There was no one at Jacob's rock and I went hunting with Ben for a place we could see it and still stay out of sight. We found a nice place in some bushes near the canal and settled in to wait. At least Ben did. I fell asleep. I'd been sleeping a lot more than usual. Samuel told me he thought it was a result of the forced healing, but I saw the concern in his eyes.
Yes, I'd had moments of black depression—but I treated them the way I always treated things that bothered me. My freezer was full of cookies and there were brownies in Adam's fridge. My fridge sparkled and the main bathroom would have sparkled if the years hadn't worn the shiny finish off the linoleum floor.
Someday I was going to get new fixtures for that bathroom, if Samuel didn't beat me to it. I was really tired of avocado green. My bathroom had been done in mustard yellow when I moved in. Who would put a mustard yellow toilet in a bathroom? Now it sported a boring white sink, shower, and commode—but boring is better than yellow.
Under my head, Ben moved, waking me up.
I rolled over and looked up. Sure enough, there was a young man walking down the road who looked quite a bit like Austin. He was limping a little. I guess Jesse had done some damage. The satisfaction I felt meant I wasn't as nice a person as I liked to pretend.
I stayed where I was until he'd made it all the way to his rock and sat down. Then I got up and dusted myself off until I looked relatively normal.
"You wait here until I call you," I told Ben.
"Hello, Jacob," I said when I was still a little ways off.
He rubbed his face quickly before he turned. Once his initial panic at being found crying was over, he frowned at me.
"You're the girl who was raped. The one who killed my brother's friend."
I changed my friendly approach between one breath and the next. "Mercedes Thompson. The one who was raped and the one who killed Tim Milanovich. And you are Jacob Summers, the bastard who decided to get together with his friend and see how easy it would be to beat up my good friend Jesse."
His face paled and I smelled the guilt on him. Guilt was good.
"She wouldn't tell anyone who you were because she knew her father would kill you both." I waited for fear, but had to settle for the guilt. I suppose he thought I was speaking figuratively.
"That's not why I came, though," I told him. "Or at least it's not the only reason I came. I thought you ought to know the truth of how your brother died. This is the story that is not going to get into the newspapers." And I told him what Tim had done to his brother and how.
"So this fairy thing made my brother kill himself? I thought those things were supposed to be playtoys."
"Even playtoys can be dangerous in the wrong hands," I told him. "But no. Tim murdered your brother just as he did O'Donnell. If he hadn't had the cup, he'd have used a gun."
"Why did you tell me this? Aren't you afraid I'll tell people that those artifacts are dangerous?"
It was a good question and it would require a little smooth talking interspaced with truth. "The police know the real story. The newspapers aren't going to take you seriously. How did you find out? Mercy Thompson told me. Then I can say, well, no, sir, I've never met him in my life. That's quite a story, but that's not how it happened. Your parents…" I sighed. "I think your parents would be happier thinking he committed suicide, don't you?"
I saw from his face that he agreed with his brother on that. I don't understand some people. If you've brushed up against evil, you don't mistake it for anything else, not werewolves, not teenagers dressed in black with piercings on their piercings, and not fae magic, however powerful.
"The real reason I almost didn't tell you about this is that the people who will believe you are the fae. And if they think that you are making real trouble for them, you might have a convenient accident some dark night. To their credit, they don't want to do that. None of us, not the fae, not me, and not you, want that. It would be better if you just kept it to yourself."
"So why did you tell me?"
I looked at him and then looked at Austin, who stood just behind him. Jacob had goose bumps on his arms, but he wasn't paying attention.
"Because once, when I was a kid, someone I cared about committed suicide," I told him. "I thought it was important that you knew that your brother wasn't that selfish, that he didn't desert you." I turned my face to the river. "If it helps, Tim didn't get away with it."