I shook my head. “I did not tell him we were coming. He’s an old friend of mine—but he doesn’t usually give me that sort of personal attention when I come here. He definitely knew who you were, and gave you the red-carpet treatment. Someone clued him in, but it wasn’t me.”

I wondered if it was Zee, but that didn’t feel like something he’d do.

“Why did he make such a fuss?” she demanded, and there was a hint of fear in the air. “I’m nobody.”

“That’s not true,” I told her. “As to why . . . for the same reason that anyone treating with the US government puts its best foot forward. They don’t want you scared. They don’t want a war. They want an agreement that everyone can live with—on both sides.”

“You like him,” she said. It was almost an accusation.

I nodded. “I do, and so do most people—fae or not.”

“You trust him.”

That was harder. “I trust him to be himself,” I told her. “I won’t say he isn’t dangerous. But I’ve seen him protect two men, humans whom he did not know, at a significant risk to himself. He knew that those men were important to me—but the chance of my finding out that he had been there and done nothing was, in my estimate and his, not very great. He did it because it was the right thing to do.”

“They are not Christians,” she said. “They are not moral people.”

She said it as if it were a mantra, something she’d been taught. I’d heard it just the other day in a JLS sound bite on Facebook. As if only Christians were moral. As if all Christians were moral.

My old pastor liked to say that church is a hospital for the sick, not a mausoleum for the saints.

“They do not lie,” I said, choosing my words with care. “Otherwise they are, morally, a great deal like us. Their morality spans the spectrum of good and evil. Like us, they have rulers—and those rulers, pragmatically, know that they have to enforce laws that keep the peace between fae and humans.”

“Okay,” she said. She stared at Uncle Mike’s for a moment. “You’ve made me think about things that I thought my mind was made up about. I’m not saying I’ve changed my mind. Just that I’m reconsidering.”

“That is very”—what could I say that didn’t sound patronizing?—“open-minded of you.”

She looked at me. “You seem so straightforward. Jake thinks that you are your husband’s minion, doing the great Alpha werewolf’s bidding, poor human that you are. But you are your own person, aren’t you? And you aren’t nearly as straightforward as you appear to be.”

“Stick with me,” I intoned lightly, “and I’ll have you thinking that Adam and I, that the werewolves, are the good guys.”

She held out her hand, so I did the same and we shook. She started to say something, shook her head, and got in her car. She gave me a wave as she drove away.

“I hope I didn’t make a mistake,” I muttered.

“That’s both of us,” said Uncle Mike, who was somehow right behind me. “But all you can do is show them your cards and hope they show you theirs. It might have been nice if you’d warned me that you were coming.”

I smiled grimly at him. “You knew.”

“Kinsey saw her in the parking lot,” Uncle Mike told me. “But I could have used more time.”

“I may trust you, Uncle Mike,” I told him, “but you have twenty or more fae in there that might owe allegiance to any one of the Gray Lords. If I’d told you we were coming, it could have compromised her safety. Isn’t her safety the real reason you joined us for lunch?”

“Well, now,” said Uncle Mike, “can’t I flirt with a pair of pretty women when they come to dine at my place without getting accused of ulterior motivation?”

I shook my head and laughed. “No.”

“That’s all right, then,” he said happily.

* * *

• • •

Tad was at the shop by himself when I got back. His hands were newly bandaged and he was reading a book.

“Hey, Mercy,” he said. He held up a hand. “Look what I did. The lady at the doc-in-a-box said they’d heal in a week or so if I gave them a chance.”

“What are you doing here?” I demanded. “I sent you home.”

“Dad had to step out for lunch,” he said. “We didn’t want to leave the garage unattended, given what happened yesterday.”

“I don’t know that it matters,” I told him. “Adam’s people watched the tapes and found when the poppet was placed in the box. Someone came through the front door without setting off the alarm. They walked into the garage, put the poppet in the box, and walked out the way they came in.”

“How did they do that?” asked Tad, putting down his book. “Did they see a face?”

I nodded. “It was one of Adam’s security people. But when Adam questioned him, the guy said with perfect honesty that he didn’t remember doing any of it. Adam gave him a leave of absence and tickets to California for him and his girlfriend—to get them out of the range of the witches.”

“If they can get one of Adam’s people,” Tad said slowly, “they can get more.”

I nodded. “That’s what we think.”

“Better find them and take care of them soon, eh?” Tad said. “Dad says that the Gray Lords told everyone hands off.” He gave me a firm look. “But he also pointed out that he and I are rogues. Cast-outs—did you have an argument with him over that term, Mercy? He said cast-outs don’t need to follow the rules. If you need help, you let us know.”

* * *

• • •

I got home after dark because cleaning the waterlogged cars had put us behind, and Tad’s necessary medical leave had put us even further behind.

There was a gaggle of people wandering around the house, children and wives, but the only pack there were Sherwood (back from work) and Joel.

I pulled Sherwood aside. “Has anyone heard from any of the other wolves?”

“You mean the pack?” he asked. “No. I thought Adam might have told you. Maybe the president showed up and they needed Adam to provide security unexpectedly.”

Funny how both of our minds went to the same place. But how else to explain the radio silence? I couldn’t help it; my mind went back to last November when the whole pack had been taken by a bunch of nutjobs taking orders, whether they knew it or not, from Frost. Who, I was pretty sure by now, was not only a vampire but a Hardesty witch.