{"product_id":"silver-borne-isbn-9780441019960","title":"Silver Borne","description":"\u003cb\u003eMercy Thompson, car mechanic and shapeshifter, never knows what the day—or night—may bring. But in the fifth novel in the #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling series, she's about to learn that while some secrets are dangerous—those who seek them are just plain deadly…  \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Mercy is smart enough to realize that when it comes to the magical Fae, the less you know, the better. But you can’t always get what you want. When she attempts to return a powerful Fae book she’d previously borrowed in an act of desperation, she finds the bookstore locked up and closed down. \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e It seems the book contains secret knowledge—and the Fae will do just about anything to keep it out of the wrong hands. And if that doesn’t take enough of Mercy’s attention, her friend Samuel is struggling with his wolf side—leaving Mercy to cover for him, lest his own father declare Sam’s life forfeit.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e All in all, Mercy has had better days. And if she isn’t careful, she might not have many more to live...\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eSilver Borne\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“If the term ‘ass-kicking chick’ has ever found a more apt heroine I—well, I can’t think of who. These are fantastic adventures and Mercy reigns.”—SFRevu \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Filled with action, romance, and fae intrigue...another entertaining entry in a strong saga. However, it is Patricia Briggs’ world-building skills on a par with early Laurell K. Hamilton that make \u003ci\u003eSilver Borne\u003c\/i\u003e a winner.”—Midwest Book Review\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Exciting...Briggs creates both well-rounded characters and a complex mythology, resulting in a rich read that’s far more than a series of action adventures strung together.”—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e “Mesmerizing...Always an astonishing storyteller, Briggs keeps adding layers of rich complexity to her characters and their world.”—\u003ci\u003eRT Book Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e (Top Pick, 4 ½ stars)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eMore Praise for the Mercy Thompson Novels\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I love these books.”—Charlaine Harris, #1\u003ci\u003e New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“An excellent read with plenty of twists and turns...It left me wanting more.”—Kim Harrison, #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The best new urban fantasy series I’ve read in years.”—Kelley Armstrong, #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“In the increasingly crowded field of kick-ass supernatural heroines, Mercy stands out as one of the best.”—\u003ci\u003eLocus\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Action-packed and with more than a few satisfying emotional payoffs...Patricia Briggs at the top of her game.”—The Speculative Herald\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The characters are all realistic and vibrant.”—\u003ci\u003eThe Independent\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“These are fantastic adventures, and Mercy reigns.”—SFRevu\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The world building is incredibly lush and subsuming...a fantastic urban fantasy adventure.”—Fresh Fiction\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Outstanding.”—Charles de Lint, \u003ci\u003eFantasy \u0026amp; Science Fiction\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003ePatricia Briggs\u003c\/b\u003e is the #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of the Mercy Thompson urban fantasy series and the Alpha and Omega novels.\u003cp\u003eTable of Contents\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTitle Page\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCopyright Page\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDedication\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAcknowledgements\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 1\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 2\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 3\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 4\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 5\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 6\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 7\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 8\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 9\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 10\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 11\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 12\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 13\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 14\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 15\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eTitles by Patricia Briggs\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Mercy Thompson Novels\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMOON CALLED \u003cbr\u003eBLOOD BOUND \u003cbr\u003eIRON KISSED \u003cbr\u003eBONE CROSSED \u003cbr\u003eSILVER BORNE\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Alpha and Omega Novels\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eON THE PROWL\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e(with Eileen Wilks, Karen Chance, and Sunny)\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCRY WOLF \u003cbr\u003eHUNTING GROUND\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMASQUES \u003cbr\u003eSTEAL THE DRAGON \u003cbr\u003eWHEN DEMONS WALK\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTHE HOB’S BARGAIN\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDRAGON BONES \u003cbr\u003eDRAGON BLOOD\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRAVEN’S SHADOW \u003cbr\u003eRAVEN’S STRIKE\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eTHE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP\u003cbr\u003e Published by the Penguin Group\u003cbr\u003e Penguin Group (USA) Inc.\u003cbr\u003e 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePenguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e(a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePenguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePenguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e(a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePenguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e(a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePenguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePenguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThis is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThis is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003eCopyright © 2010 by Hurog, Inc.\u003cp\u003eMap illustration by Michael Enzweiler.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAll rights reserved.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNo part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eACE and the “A” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLibrary of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBriggs, Patricia.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eISBN: 9781101186114\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e1. Thompson, Mercy (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Automobile mechanics—Fiction.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e3. Werewolves—Fiction. I. Title.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePS3602.R53165S56 2010\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e813’.6—dc22 2010001113\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eTo Long-Suffering Editors who never lose their cool, Husbands\u003cbr\u003e who feed horses, Children who drive themselves and fix their own\u003cbr\u003e meals, to Vets who take panicked phone calls at all hours, and to\u003cbr\u003e all of you who give of your time, talents, and energy to help\u003cbr\u003e others and to be there when you are needed. My thanks.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eACKNOWLEDGMENTS\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere are many people who helped with this book. Thank you to Michael and Susann Boch, my friends in Germany who fix my German and provided Zee with his magic. Thank you to the two women who work at KGH and helped me find a safe space for Samuel. My apologies for losing the scrap of paper I wrote your names down on. If you catch me again, I will include your names in the next book. Thank you to Sylvia Cornish and the ladies of the book club who answered my questions about warrants. My thanks also go to Sgt. Kim Lattin of the Kennewick Police Department, who answered a number of urgent questions for me. To my awe-some husband, who choreographed many of the fight scenes (in this and other books). To Tom Lentz, who has a Kel-Tec and with Kaye and Kyle Roberson gave me excellent gun advice. As always, a very grateful author acknowledges the editing talents of the people who read, critiqued, commented, and argued along the way: Mike Briggs, Collin Briggs, Michael Enzweiler, Debbie Lentz, Ann Peters, Kaye and Kyle Roberson, Sara and Bob Schwager, and Anne Sowards.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs always, any and all errors in this book are the responsibility of the author.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003e1\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eTHE STARTER COMPLAINED AS IT TURNED OVER THE\u003c\/b\u003e  old Buick’s heavy engine. I felt a lot of sympathy for it since fighting outside my weight class was something I was intimately familiar with. I’m a coyote shapeshifter playing in a world of werewolves and vampires—outmatched is an understatement.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“One more time,” I told Gabriel, my seventeen-year-old office manager, who was sitting in the driver’s seat of his mother’s Buick. I sniffed and dried my nose on the shoulder of my work overalls. Runny noses are part and parcel of working in the winter.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI love being a mechanic, runny nose, greasy hands, and all.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt’s a life full of frustration and barked knuckles, followed by brief moments of triumph that make all the rest worthwhile. I  find it a refuge from the chaos my life has been lately: no one is likely to die if I can’t fix his car.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNot even if it is his mother’s car. It had been a short day at school, and Gabriel had used his free time to try to fix his mother’s car. He’d taken it from running badly to not at all, then had a friend tow it to the shop to see if I could fix it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe Buick made a few more unhealthy noises. I stepped back from the open engine compartment. Fuel, fire, and air make the engine run—providing that the engine in question isn’t toast.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It’s not catching, Mercy,” said Gabriel, as if I hadn’t noticed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe gripped the steering wheel with elegant but work-roughened hands. There was a smear of grease on his cheekbone, and one eye was red because he hadn’t put on safety glasses when he’d crawled under the car. He’d been rewarded with a big chunk of crud—rusty metal and grease—in his eye.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEven though my big heaters were keeping the edge off the cold, we both wore jackets. There is no way to keep a shop truly warm when you are running garage doors up and down all day.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Mercy, my \u003ci\u003emamá\u003c\/i\u003e has to be at work in an hour.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“The good news is that I don’t think it’s anything you did.” I stepped away from the engine compartment and met his frantic eyes. “The bad news is that it’s not going to be running in an hour. Jury’s out on whether it will be back on the road at all.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe slid out of the car and leaned under the hood to stare at the Little Engine That Couldn’t as if he might find some wire I hadn’t noticed that would miraculously make it run. I left him to his brooding and went through the hall to my office.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBehind the counter was a grubby, used-to-be-white board with hooks where I put the keys of cars I was working on—and a half  dozen mystery keys that predated my tenure. I pulled a set of keys attached to a rainbow peace-sign keychain, then trotted back to the garage. Gabriel was back to sitting behind the wheel of his mother’s Buick and looking sick. I handed him the keys through the open window.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Take the Bug,” I told him. “Tell your mom that the turn signals don’t blink, so she’ll have to use hand signals. And tell her not to pull back on the steering wheel too hard or it will come off.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis face got stubborn.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Look,” I said before he could refuse, “it’s not going to cost me anything. It won’t hold all the kids”—not that the Buick did; there were a lot of kids—“and it doesn’t have much of a heater. But it runs, and I’m not using it. We’ll work on the Buick after hours until it’s done, and you can owe me that many hours.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI was pretty sure the engine had gone to the great junkyard in the sky—and I knew that Sylvia, Gabriel’s mother, couldn’t afford to buy a new engine, any more than she could buy a newer car. So I’d call upon Zee, my old mentor, to work his magic on it. Literal magic—there was not much figurative about Zee. He was a fae, a gremlin whose natural element was metal.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“The Bug’s your project car, Mercy.” Gabriel’s protest was weak.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy last project car, a Karmann Ghia, had sold. My take of the profits, shared with a terrific bodyman and an upholsterer, had purchased a ’71 Beetle and a ’65 VW Bus with a little left over. The Bus was beautiful and didn’t run; the Bug had the opposite problem.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’ll work on the Bus first. Take the keys.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe expression on his face was older than it should have been. “Only if you’ll let the girls come over and clean on Saturdays until we get the Bug back to you.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI’m not dumb. His little sisters knew how to work—I was getting the better of the bargain.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Deal,” I said before he could take it back. I shoved the keys into his hand. “Go take the car to Sylvia before she’s late.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’ll come back afterward.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It’s late. I’m going home. Just come at the usual time tomorrow.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTomorrow was Saturday. Officially, I was closed on the weekends, but recent excursions to fight vampires had cut into my bottom line. So I’d been staying open later and working on the weekend to make a little extra money.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere is no cash in battling evil: just the opposite in my experience. Hopefully, I was done with vampires—the last incident had nearly gotten me killed, and my luck was due to run out; a woman whose best talent was changing into a coyote had no business in the big leagues.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI sent Gabriel on his way and started the process of closing up. Garage doors down, heat turned to sixty, lights off. Till drawer in the safe, my purse out. Just as I reached for the final light switch, my cell phone rang.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Mercy?” It was Zee’s son, Tad, who was going to an Ivy League college back East on full scholarship. The fae were considered a minority, so his official status as half-fae and his grades had gotten him in—hard work was keeping him there.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Hey, Tad. What’s up?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I got an odd message on my cell phone last night. Did Phin give you something?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Phin?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Phineas Brewster, the guy I sent you to when the police had Dad up on murder charges and you needed some information about the fae to find out who really killed that man.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt took me a second. “The bookstore guy? He loaned me a book.” I’d been meaning to return it for a while. Just . . . how often do you get a chance to read a book about the mysterious fae, written by the fae? It was handwritten and tough to decipher, slow going—and Phin hadn’t seemed anxious to get it back when he’d loaned it to me. “Tell him I’m sorry, and I’ll return it to him tonight. I have a date later on, but I can get it to him before that.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere was a little pause. “Actually, he was a little unclear as to whether he wanted it back or not. He just said, ‘Tell Mercy to take care of that thing I gave her.’ Now I can’t get through to him; his phone is shut off. That’s why I called you instead.” He made a frustrated noise. “Thing is, Mercy, he never turns that damn phone off. He likes to make sure his grandmother can get in touch with him.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGrandmother? Maybe Phin was younger than I’d thought.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You are worried,” I said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe made a self-deprecating noise. “I know, I know. I’m paranoid.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“No trouble,” I said. “I ought to get it back to him anyway. Unless he keeps long hours, he won’t be at the store by the time I can get there. Do you have a home address for him?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe did. I wrote it down and let him go with reassurances. As I locked the door and set the security alarm, I glanced up at the hidden camera. Adam would probably not be watching—unless someone triggered an alarm, mostly the cameras ran all by themselves and simply sent pictures to be recorded. Still . . . as I started for my car, I kissed my hand and blew it to the tiny lens that watched my every move, then mouthed, “See you tonight.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy lover was worried about how well a coyote could play with the wolves, too. Being an Alpha werewolf made him a little overbearing about his concern—and being the CEO of a security contracting firm for various government agencies gave him access to lots of tools to indulge his protective instincts. I’d been mad about the cameras when he’d first had them installed, but I found them reassuring now. A coyote adapts; that’s how she survives.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePHINEAS BREWSTER LIVED ON THE THIRD FLOOR OF one of the new condo complexes in West Pasco. It didn’t seem like the sort of place where a collector of old books would live—but maybe he got his fill of dust, mold, and mildew at work and didn’t need it in his home.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI was halfway between my car and the building when I realized that I hadn’t brought the book when I got out of the car. I hesitated, but decided to leave it where it was, wrapped in a towel on the backseat of the Rabbit. The towel was to protect the book—in case I hadn’t gotten all the grease off my hands—but it worked okay to disguise it from would-be thieves, which seemed unlikely here anyway.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI climbed up two sets of stairs and knocked on the door marked  3B. After a count of ten, I rang the doorbell. Nothing. I rang the doorbell one more time, and the door at 3A opened up.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“He’s not there,” said a gruff voice.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI turned to see a skinny old man, neatly dressed in old boots, new jeans, a button-down Western shirt, and a bolo tie. All he was missing was a cowboy hat. Something—I think it was the boots—smelled faintly of horse. And fae.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“He isn’t?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOfficially, all the fae are out to the public and have been for a long time. But the truth is that the Gray Lords who rule the fae have been very selective about which of them the public gets to know about and which ones might upset the public—or are more useful posing as human. There are, for instance, a few senators who are fae in hiding. There is nothing in the Constitution that makes it illegal for a fae to be a senator, and the Gray Lords want to keep it that way.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThis fae was working pretty hard at passing for human; he wouldn’t appreciate me pointing out that he wasn’t. So I kept my discovery to myself.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere was a twinkle in the faded eyes as he shook his head. “Nope, he hasn’t been home all day.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Do you know where he is?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Phin?” The old man laughed, displaying teeth so even and white they looked false. Maybe they were. “Well, now. He spends most of his time at his store. Nights, too, sometimes.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Was he here last night?” I asked.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe looked at me and grinned. “Nope. Not him. Maybe he bought up some estate’s library and is staying at the store while he catalogs it. He does that sometimes.” Phin’s neighbor glanced  up at the sky, judging the time. “He won’t answer the door after hours. Closes himself in the basement and can’t hear anyone. Best wait and go check at the shop in the morning.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI looked at my watch. I needed to get home and get ready for my date with Adam.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“If you have something for him,” the old man said, his eyes clear as the sky, “you can leave it with me.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFae don’t lie. I used to think it was \u003ci\u003ecan’t\u003c\/i\u003e lie, but the book I’d borrowed made it pretty clear that there were other factors involved. Phin’s neighbor hadn’t said he was working at the store. He said maybe. He didn’t say he didn’t know where Phin was, either. My instincts were chiming pretty hard, and I had to work to appear casual.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’m here to check up on him,” I told him, which was the truth. “His phone is off, and I was worried about him.” And then I took a chance. “He hasn’t mentioned any of his neighbors—are you new?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe said, “Moved in not long ago,” then changed the subject. “Maybe he left the charger at home. Did you try the store phone?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I only have one number for him,” I told him. “I think that was his cell.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“If you leave your name, I’ll tell him you stopped in.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI let my friendly smile widen. “No worries. I’ll run him down myself. Good to know he has neighbors who are watching over him.” I didn’t thank him—thanking a fae implies that you feel indebted, and being indebted to a fae is a very bad thing. I just gave him a cheerful wave from the bottom of the stairs.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe didn’t try to stop me, but he watched me all the way out to my car. I drove out of sight before pulling over and calling Tad.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Hello,” his voice said. “This is my answering machine. Maybe I’m studying; maybe I’m out having a good time. Leave your name and number, and maybe I’ll call you back.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Hey,” I told Tad’s answering machine. “This is Mercy. Phin wasn’t home.” I hesitated. Safely back in my car, I thought that I might have overreacted about his neighbor. The better I know the fae, the scarier they seem. But it was probable that he was harmless. Or that he was indeed really scary—but it had nothing to do with Phin.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSo I said, “Met Phin’s neighbor—who is fae. He suggested calling the store. Do you have the store’s number? Have you tried calling him there? I’ll keep looking for him.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI hung up and put the Rabbit in gear with every intention of going home. But somehow I ended up on the interstate headed for Richland instead of Finley.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePhin’s mysterious call to Tad and the suspicion I felt toward Phin’s neighbor made me nervous. It was a short trip to Phin’s bookstore, I told myself. It wouldn’t hurt to just stop by. Tad was stuck on the other side of the country, and he was worried.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe Uptown is a strip mall, Richland’s oldest shopping center. Unlike its newer, upscale counterparts, the Uptown looks as though someone took a couple dozen stores of various styles and sizes, stuck them all together, and surrounded them with a parking lot.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt houses the sorts of businesses that wouldn’t thrive in the bigger mall in Kennewick: nonchain restaurants, several antiques  (junk) stores, a couple of resale clothing boutiques, a music store, a doughnut shop, a bar or two, and several shops best described as eclectic.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePhin’s bookstore was near the south end of the mall, its large picture windows tinted dark to protect the books from sun damage. Gilt lettering on the biggest window labeled it: BREWSTER’S LIBRARY, USED AND COLLECTIBLE BOOKS.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere were no lights behind the shades in the windows, and the door was locked. I put my ear against the glass and listened.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn my human shape, I still have great hearing, not quite as sharp as the coyote’s, but good enough to tell that there was no one moving around in the store. I knocked, but there was no response.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOn the window to the right of the door was a sign with the hours the shop was open: ten to six Tuesday through Saturday. Sunday and Monday hours by appointment. The number listed was the one I already had. Six had come and gone.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI knocked on the door one last time, then glanced at my watch again. If I skirted the speed limit, I’d have ten minutes before the wolf was at my door.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMY ROOMMATE’S CAR WAS IN THE DRIVEWAY, LOOKING right at home next to the ’78 single-wide trailer where I lived. Very expensive cars, like true works of art, shape the environment to suit themselves. Just by virtue of being there, his car made my home upper-class—no matter what the house itself looked like.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSamuel had the same gift of never being out of place, always fitting in, while at the same time he conveyed the sense that here  was someone special, someone important. People liked him instinctively, and trusted him. It served him well as a doctor, but I was inclined to think it served him a little too well as a man. He was too used to getting his way. When charm didn’t cut it, he used a tactical brain that would have done credit to Rommel.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThus, his presence as my roommate.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt had taken me a while to figure out the real reason he’d moved in with me: Samuel needed a pack. Werewolves don’t do well on their own, especially not old wolves, and Samuel was a very old wolf. Old and dominant. In any pack except his father’s, he would be Alpha. His father was Bran, the Marrok, the most überwerewolf of them all.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSamuel was a doctor, and that was more than enough responsibility for him. He didn’t want to be Alpha; he didn’t want to stay in his father’s pack.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe was lone wolfing it, living with me in the territory of the Columbia Basin Pack, but not part of it. I wasn’t a werewolf, but I wasn’t a helpless human, either. I’d been raised in his father’s pack, and that was close to being family. So far he and Adam, the local pack’s Alpha—and my lover—hadn’t killed each other. I was moderately hopeful that would continue to be the case.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Samuel?” I called as I rushed into the house. “Samuel?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe didn’t answer, but I could smell him. The distinctive odor of werewolf was too strong to be just a leftover trace. I jogged down the narrow hall to his room and knocked softly at the closed door.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt was unlike him not to acknowledge me when I got home.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI worried about Samuel enough to make myself paranoid. He wasn’t quite right. Broken, but functional, I thought, with an underlying  depression that seemed to be getting neither better nor worse as the months passed. His father suspected something was wrong, and I was pretty sure the reason Samuel was living with me and not in his own house in Montana was because he didn’t want his father to know for certain how badly broken Samuel really was.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSamuel opened his door, looking his usual self, tall and rangy: attractive, as most werewolves are, regardless of bone structure. Perfect health, permanent youth, and lots of muscle are a pretty surefire formula for good looks.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You rang?” he said in an expressionless imitation of Lurch, dropping his voice further into the bass register than I’d ever heard him manage. We’d been watching a marathon of \u003ci\u003eThe Addams Family\u003c\/i\u003e on TV last night. If he was being funny, he was all right. Even if he wasn’t quite meeting my eyes, as if he might be worried about what I’d see.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA purring Medea was stretched across one shoulder. My little Manx cat gave me a pleased look out of half-slitted eyes as he stroked her. As his hand moved along her back, she dug in her hind claws and arched her tailless butt into the air.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Ace","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301953720549,"sku":"NP9780441019960","price":8.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780441019960.jpg?v=1767736632","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/silver-borne-isbn-9780441019960","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}