“We have a number of werewolves who live in Richland near the school,” I said. “That way if there was trouble, someone could get to her over there pretty darn quickly. The question is, would Jesse want to do that?”

“Let’s see,” said Adam, and he texted her, his mouth quirked up, knowing that whatever her decision on the matter, Jesse would be excited to consider it.

He liked making Jesse happy. I wanted him to be happy, too.

“Have you thought about talking to Bran or Charles about what Elizaveta did?” I asked very quietly so no one else would hear.

This was neither the time nor place for that question, but I was so worried about him. He stopped texting and the small smile left his face. He didn’t look at me. “I called Charles yesterday. I was going to tell you about it last night, but …”

He smiled ruefully, his eyes carefully on a cormorant on the river. If he’d had good news, he’d have been looking at me.

“Charles,” Adam continued, “told me that witchcrafted spells usually dissipate when the witch dies, which we all know already. Death curses are a lot more difficult to deal with. He’ll look into it and get back to me.”

“Okay,” I said. I’d been hopeful that Charles would know what to do. Tonight I’d call Bran—assuming he was taking my calls again—lay everything on the table, and see what he said. Maybe he’d have more useful advice than “blow up the bond” if he knew what was really going on.

I wasn’t sure I’d tell Adam before I called Bran. Better, maybe, in this case, to ask forgiveness than permission. I was already feeling guilty in advance because of Adam’s weird reaction to the last call I’d made to Bran—and wasn’t that interesting.

Adam had gone back to his texting, so he didn’t see my assessing gaze. Maybe I was only feeling like this was a private, hush-hush matter because Adam was treating it that way. As if getting whammied by a scary and powerful witch was something to be ashamed of. He knew better than that. It must be something the curse was doing to him.

An e-mail came through on my phone. I checked it—it was from Ariana. Short and sweet, it read:

I agree with your conclusions. Bargaining is a thing of rules, especially for the lesser fae, with balance being the most important part. Bargains, properly made, are complicated things. Above all else, a proper bargain is balanced. Each party gets something they want that is of equal value. I save your life—you give me your firstborn child. That is a balance. You give me your bubble gum, I give you my balloon. That is also balanced. Unbalanced bargains have no power—and you need a bargain with power. Good luck, my friend.

Adam finished his text to Jesse, glanced casually around, then said, “Let’s save other important things for the car. We are getting a lot of surreptitious attention.”

“Sounds like a smart thing to do,” I said agreeably, and watched his shoulders ease down.

Don’t worry, my love, I won’t peel open your pain until after I talk to Bran about how to do it most efficiently, I thought. But better to do that than to find out that Adam had given in to despair sometime when I wasn’t around to stop him.

Elizaveta had broken open something inside him, and I wasn’t sure that just getting rid of the spell was going to fix him.

“You are healing remarkably quickly from the car wreck,” he said. Apparently picking at my wounds was a good subject change.

Fair enough, mine weren’t as deep, and they were getting better.

“Right?” I said. “I’m still achy here and there—and my nose still hurts. But I’m a lot better than I expected to be at this point. I’m pretty sure it’s Hannah’s fault.”

I told him about Hannah’s granny’s bourbon and what Underhill had said about it. I’d told him the gist of the conversation with Underhill yesterday, but I’d forgotten about Hannah’s bourbon.

“It’s not going to bring anyone back from death’s door,” I told him judiciously. “But it beats any over-the-counter painkiller all to heck.”

“I wonder if Hannah’s granny’s fae blood is the reason that Kelly and Hannah have so many kids,” Adam mused. “Though it seems like the fae blood should work against them, because the fae have more trouble reproducing than werewolves do.”

“Maybe it’s Hannah’s granny’s secret ingredient,” I told him. “Take one sip before bedtime as needed for conception.”

He rewarded me with a laugh.

My cell phone rang. I dug it out of my purse and looked at the caller ID. Palsic. I turned it toward Adam so he could see.

His smile fled, and he nodded.

I answered it warily. “This is Mercy.”

“This is Nonnie Palsic.” She sounded rattled down to her bones. “Could you help us? I don’t know … I don’t know what to do. He’s … like the trolls in The Hobbit.”

I had to think a moment—and then realized what she was saying. “You mean when they turned to stone?”

Adam had already taken out his wallet and was counting out bills on the table, paying for the food that hadn’t come yet. There were protein bars in the SUV. I would feed him on the way.

“Sort of,” she said. “But like that. Yes. Can you help?”

“We’re coming,” I told her. “Who did the smoke weaver get?”

“Smoke weaver?” she said.

“Fae,” I told her. “He bites people and makes them kill. And he can change one thing into another—like the old alchemists tried to change lead into gold. That kind of thing.”

“God help us,” she said, and then she took a shaky breath. When she spoke again, her voice was steadier. “Your smoke weaver has changed my mate into stone.”

“Where are you?” I asked her as we hurried through the restaurant toward the parking lot. Adam paused briefly to talk to our waitress and then caught up as Nonnie rattled off an address.

Adam took out his phone and keyed in the location. As soon as we were outside, we both broke into a jog. I wasn’t sure there was a reason to hurry, though. James Palsic had been turned to stone. Even Tolkien’s trolls hadn’t come back from that.

________

“IS FIONA THERE WITH YOU?” I ASKED, BELTING IN.

“No, I—wait.” She took another deep breath. And again, it seemed to help. When she started talking, she was calmer. “Things you need to know. Fiona and Sven are on their way to kill Warren Smith’s boyfriend, the one who shot Sven.”

I glanced at Adam.

“Kyle’s at work,” he said. “Both Warren and Zack are on guard duty at his work, too.”

“Fiona likes to shoot people,” Nonnie told us in a weary voice. “She hits what she aims at.” Almost to herself she muttered, “I told James that she was bad news—but, as he pointed out, we didn’t have a lot of options at the time.”

“Who is with you?” I asked, as Adam pulled out his phone and called Warren.

“Li Qiang and Kent,” she said. “James said you told him to call Bran yesterday.” She hesitated, then said, “We’ve been trying to fly under Bran’s radar. Fiona said that our defection from the Galveston pack would be a capital offense—that he’d send Charles out to hunt us. He would kill us all. Fiona said that once Harolford was Alpha here, we’d be safe from retaliation because your pack isn’t one of the Marrok’s.”