Iron Kissed by Patricia Briggs

Author:Patricia Briggs
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780441015665
Publisher: Ace
Published: 2008-01-01T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

My bedroom was dark, but I didn’t bother to turn on the light. I had worse things to worry about than the dark.

I headed for the bathroom and took a hot shower. By the time the water had cooled and I got out, I knew a couple of things. First, I was going to have just a little time before I had to face Adam. Otherwise he’d already have been waiting for me and my bedroom was empty. Second, I couldn’t do anything about Adam or Zee until tomorrow, so I might as well go to sleep.

I combed out my hair and blow-dried it until it was only damp. Then I braided it so I could comb it out in the morning.

I pulled back my covers, knocking the stick that had been resting on top of them to the ground. Before Samuel moved in, I used to sleep without covers in the summer. But he kept the air-conditioning turned down until there was a real chill in the air, especially at night.

I climbed into bed, pulled the covers up under my chin, and closed my eyes.

Why was there a stick on my bed?

I sat up and looked at the walking stick lying on the floor. Even in the dark I knew it was the same stick I’d found at O’Donnell’s. Careful not to step on it, I got out of bed and turned on the light.

The gray twisty wood lay innocuously on the floor on top of a gray sock and a dirty Tshirt. I crouched down and touched it gingerly. The wood lay hard and cool under my fingertips, without the wash of magic it had held in O’Donnell’s house. For a moment it felt like any other stick, then a faint trace of magic pulsed and disappeared.

I searched out my cell phone and called the number Uncle Mike had been calling me from. It rang a long time before someone picked it up.

“Uncle Mike’s,” a not so cheerful stranger’s voice answered, barely understandable amid a cacophony of heavy metal music, voices, and a sudden loud crash, as if someone had dropped a stack of dishes. “Merde. Clean that up. What do you want?” I assumed that only the last sentence was directed at me.

“Is Uncle Mike there?” I asked. “Tell him it’s Mercy and that I have something he might be interested in.”

“Hold on.”

Someone barked out a few sharp words in French and then yelled, “Uncle Mike, phone!” Someone shouted, “Get the troll out of here.”

Followed by someone with a very deep voice muttering, “I’d like to see you try to get this troll out of here. I’ll eat your face and spit out your teeth.” Then Uncle Mike’s cheerful Irish voice said, “This is Uncle Mike. May I help you?”

“I don’t know,” I answered. “I’ve got a certain walking stick that someone left on my bed tonight.”

“Do you now?” he said very quietly. “Do you?”

“What should I do with it?” I asked.

“Whatever it will allow you to do,” he said in an odd tone.

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