"I think that was the point someone was aiming for," I said dryly, and he laughed.
"Yeah. I didn't stop and consider how unlikely a tactic that was from you," he agreed. "Sneak attacks, guerilla warfare, but not silence."
"Not your fault," I told him, before I bit my lip. If I didn't need to keep him away from Sam, I'd have said more. A lot more, but I needed time for Samuel to fix himself. "I didn't figure it out until we were almost home."
"If I'd realized something was up while it was still happening, I could have found out who it was," said Adam, a growl in his voice. He took a deep breath and let it out. When he spoke again, his voice was calmer. "Samuel will know how to stop them, too. While he's escorting you around, why don't you ask him to teach you how to protect yourself? Even when it's not deliberate - " He had to stop again. "The needs and desires of the pack can influence you quite a bit. It's not too hard to block if you know how. Samuel can show you."
I looked at the white wolf sprawled out on the kitchen floor with Medea cleaning his face. Sam looked back at me with pale eyes ringed in black.
"I'll ask him," I promised.
"See you," he said, but continued in a rush. "Is Tuesday too soon?"
It was Saturday. If Samuel wasn't better by Tuesday, I could cancel. "Tuesday would be really good."
He hung up, and I asked Sam, "Can you teach me how to keep the pack out of my head?"
He made a sad noise.
"Not without being able to talk," I agreed. "But I promised Adam I'd ask." So I had three days to fix Samuel. And I felt like a traitor for . . . I hadn't really lied to Adam, had I? Raised among werewolves, who are living lie detectors, I'd long ago learned to lie with the truth nearly as well as a fae.
Maybe I had time to make brownies, too.
My cell phone rang, and I almost just answered it, assuming it was Adam. Some instinct of self-preservation had me hesitate and glance at the number: Bran's.
"The Marrok is calling," I told Samuel. "Think he'll wait three days? Me either." But I could delay him a little by not answering the phone. "Let's go work on some cars."
* * *
SAM SAT IN THE PASSENGER SEAT AND GAVE ME A sour look. He'd been mad at me since I put his collar on - but the collar was camouflage. It made him look more like a dog. Something domesticated enough for a collar, not a wild animal. Fear brings violence out in the wolves, so the fewer people who are scared of them, the better.
"I'm not going to roll the window down," I told him. "This car doesn't have automatic windows. I'd have to pull over and go around and lower it manually. Besides, it's cold outside, and unlike you, I don't have a fur coat."
He lifted his lip in a mock snarl and put his nose down on the dashboard with a thump.
"You're smearing the windshield," I told him.
He looked at me and deliberately ran his nose across his side of the glass.
I rolled my eyes. "Oh, that was mature. The last time I saw someone do something that grown-up was when my little sister was twelve."
* * *
AT THE GARAGE, I PARKED NEXT TO ZEE'S TRUCK, AND as soon as I got out of the car, I could hear the distinctive beat of salsa music. I have sensitive ears, so it was probably not loud enough to bother anyone in the little houses scattered among the warehouses and storage units that surrounded the garage. A little figure at the window waved at me.
I'd forgotten.
How could I have forgotten that Sylvia and her kids were going to be cleaning the office? Under normal circumstances, it wouldn't have been a problem - Samuel would never hurt a child, but we weren't dealing with Samuel anymore.
I realized that I'd gotten used to him, that I was still thinking of him as though he was only Samuel with a problem. I'd let myself forget how dangerous he was. Then again, he hadn't killedme yet.
Maybe if he stayed with me in the garage . . .
I couldn't risk it.
"Sam," I told the wolf, who'd followed me out of the car, "there are too many people here. Let's - "
I'm not sure what I was going to suggest, maybe a run out somewhere no one would see us. But it was too late.
"Mercy," said a high-pitched voice as the office door popped open with a roar of bongos and guitars, and Gabriel's littlest sister, Maia, bounced down the short run of steps and sprinted toward us. "Mercy, Mercy, guess what? Guess what? I am all grown-up. I am going to pretty school, and I - "
And that was when she caught a glimpse of Sam.
"Ooo," she said, still running.
Samuel is not bad-looking in his human form - but his wolf is pure white and fluffy. All he needed was a unicorn's horn to be the perfect pet for a little girl.
"Pretty school?" I asked, stepping forward and to the side, so I was between the werewolf and Maia. Maia stopped instead of bumping into me, but her eyes were on the wolf.
The next-oldest girl, Sissy, who was six, had emerged from the office a few seconds after her sister. "Mama says you can't run out of the office, Maia. There might be cars who wouldn't see you. Hi, Mercy. She means preschool. I'm in first grade this year - and she is still just a baby. Is that a dog? When did you get a dog?"
"Pretty school," repeated Maia. "And I'm not a baby." She gave me a hug and launched herself at Sam.
I would have caught her if Sam hadn't bounded forward, too.
"Pony," she said, attacking him as if he weren't a scarily huge wolf. She grabbed a handful of fur and climbed on top of him. "Pony, pony."
I reached for her, but froze when Sam gave me a look.
"My pony," Maia said happily, oblivious to my terror. She thumped her heels into his ribs hard enough I could hear the noise. "Go, pony."
Maia's sister seemed to understand the danger as well as I did. "Mama," she shrieked. "Mama, Maia's being stupid again."
Well, maybe not as well.
She frowned at her sister and - while I stood frozen, afraid that whatever action I took would be the one that sent Sam over the edge - told me, "We took her to the fair and she saw the horses - now she climbs on every dog she sees. She almost got bitten by the last one."
Sam, for his part, grunted the fourth or fifth time Maia's heels hit his side, gave me another look - one that might have been exasperation - and started toward the office, for all the world as if he were a pony instead of a werewolf.
"Mercy?" Sissy said.
I suppose she'd expected me to say something - or at least move. Panic left me with cold fingers and a pounding heart - but as it faded, something else took its place.