Patricia Briggs - River Marked

“If Kyle and Warren can’t go, check with Samuel and Ariana.”

“I’ll do that,” said Darryl.

“Love you, Jesse.” I kept it casual. “See you.” Probably. Maybe. The death of eight-year-old MacKenzie in the wee small hours this morning had taken the edge off my usual optimism.

“Tell Daddy he better not spend the whole honeymoon in wolf shape,” Jesse said. “Love you both.”

Adam had been reading my letter. I finally figured out how to hang up his phone, then met his eyes.

“I’m not planning on dying,” I told him. “But, Mr. Always Prepared for Anything, there are things I’d like to tell people if I do.”

Like I loved them. Like someone needed to watch out for Stefan, who still didn’t seem to be doing too well. Warren had called with an update a couple of days ago and reported that Stefan’s people seemed to be better. Stefan had collected a couple of people in Portland, but he was still too thin. Warren and Ben would be taking turns dropping by and feeding Stefan themselves, but that was a temporary fix. And someone needed to wait about ten more years, then track down the grown-up kids who belonged to that poor trucker who’d been framed for murders committed by a vampire and tell them he hadn’t suddenly gone crazy and killed a bunch of innocent people. Those kinds of things needed to be taken care of if I wasn’t there to do it.

Adam was restless and angry, so I sent him out to hunt something. Maybe killing something would make him feel better.

I wrote his letter while he was gone. When I was through, I lay down on the bed and tried to figure out some other way out of this disaster.

Calling the werewolves for help was out. The fae . . . Zee was my friend. I could call Zee. I considered it. Was it a good idea?

Not if the river devil could mark the fae, I realized. Fae were not proof against magic. I’d seen a fairy queen force other fae to worship her—and some of those had been fairly powerful.

If the river devil could suborn Zee . . . I’ve only seen Zee without his glamour a couple of times, and it was impressive. More impressive was the way the other fae treated him: wary respect—even from the Gray Lords themselves. If he had to obey the river devil, it would not be a good thing.

So. Coyote and his kinfolk were going to get themselves eaten. And Heaven help anyone left if I didn’t kill the monster. I was going to swim over and try to take it out with a flint knife—presumably Coyote would provide that.

Scuba gear might be good.

I seemed to remember . . .

I went to the bench in the kitchen area and pulled up the cushion and set it aside. The hard top of the bench opened, revealing two complete sets of snorkeling gear. I’d noticed it when I was exploring the trailer, and now it made me wonder just how much Yo-yo Girl had seen in her vision. It wouldn’t have been Adam who put them there.

I know a couple of adrenaline-junkie werewolves who scuba, but none that snorkel. It is not, strictly speaking, necessary to be able to swim when scuba diving, where sinking and rising are controlled by weight belts and an air-filled vest.

I pulled out a pair of water socks that looked to be my size and the smaller of the sets of fins. The snorkel I left where it was. My old college roommate had spent an entire summer trying to teach me to snorkel. We proved that the fins greatly increased my speed in the water and that the snorkel greatly increased the chance of my drowning myself.

Hank Owens called as I was closing up the compartment under the bench and asked for Adam.

“He’s out running,” I told him.

“Would you give him my apologies, ma’am. First time I’ve ever shot a civilian.”

“You didn’t shoot him on purpose,” I said.

“Not to argue, ma’am,” he said gently, “but I pointed my gun at him and pulled the trigger. That’s as ‘on purpose’ as it gets.”

I sensed we could argue back and forth all day. “Fine. I don’t think you owe him an apology. He won’t think you owe him an apology, but I will tell him you offered it. How are you doing? That sand-and-drop thing Hawk did to you didn’t look very pleasant.”

“No, ma’am. But I’m fine.”

“Good.”

“Thank you for conveying my message, ma’am.”

“You’re very welcome.”

By the time Adam came back, I had decided that Coyote’s plan stood as good a chance as any and that I was as prepared as I was going to be.

“Catch anything?” I asked.

He shook his head. Then he shook everything else.

“Hank called to apologize for shooting you.”

He flattened his ears.

“That’s what I told him. But he seemed to feel the need, so I told him I’d let you know.”

I had done all I could. If we stayed here, all I was going to do was lapse into a funk that Adam was only too likely to join.

“Hey, Adam? Let’s go out to lunch.” This might be my last day on earth, and I refused to spend it moping around. Even if I’d had to let four people die this morning to preserve my life. I swallowed down my gorge.

Adam woofed in agreement to my proposal and escorted me out to the truck.

We ate takeout. Most restaurants don’t let dogs in. We drove to the first pretty place I saw and ate fast-food tacos with flowers blooming all around us. The seagulls mostly left us alone because of Adam. When we were through eating, I bundled up the garbage and lay down with my head on Adam and went to sleep, soaking up the heat of the day like a balm to my soul.

And I didn’t dream at all that I remember.

I woke with Adam licking my face—it felt a little hot. I don’t sunburn much, but falling asleep in the middle of a hot summer afternoon just might do it. I touched my face with my fingertips, but it didn’t seem sore, just warm.

“You ought to use sunscreen if you’re going to sleep outside like this. Someday you might not have a fairy godfather to come and take care of the sunburn.” Coyote sat next to us, chewing on a piece of grass. “Are you ready?”

I don’t know how long I’d been there, but the sun was nearly down. I sat up. Dinnertime had come and gone, but I wasn’t hungry. The werewolf would be another matter.

“Adam will need more food,” I said, eyeing him sideways. “But yes, I’m as ready as I’m going to get.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.

“I didn’t know that you also played fairy godfather.”

“It’s a secondary thing,” he said modestly, bouncing to his feet. “Let’s go get some food.”

COYOTE RODE IN THE BACKSEAT AND ATE TWICE WHAT Adam did—and that was saying something.

“I’ve got knives for you,” he said, licking the salt from the last french fry off his fingers.

“Knives?”

“Yes. Last time I did this, it took nine blades, so I brought you twelve. They are obsidian—be careful you don’t slice yourself while you’re at it. My sisters made the sheath and the knives, so they are as sharp as any knife I’ve seen. Remember, obsidian is brittle and doesn’t hold an edge forever, which is why I brought you so many.”

“All right,” I said. I realized that I hadn’t lied to Coyote back in the little park: I was ready. The nap in the sun with Adam’s heartbeat in my ear had steadied me, had given me courage. Succeed or fail, I would do my best to make sure that the river devil died tonight. That was all anyone could do.

THERE WERE SEVEN OF THEM WAITING FOR US AT OUR trailer. Evidently, Hawk had decided to help as well. They’d let themselves in and helped themselves to food, drink, and—from the looks of it—every sweet thing in the place. It looked like an invasion of pirates. If I’d known what they liked, I’d have brought back a couple of dozen doughnuts.