I avoided the worst of the mess where I could and tried not to think too much about what I couldn't avoid. Gradually what my nose told me distracted me from the unpleasantness of my task. I quartered the room, while Zee waited just outside it.

As I started for the door, I caught something. Most of the blood here belonged to the fae, but on the floor, just in front of the door, were a few drops of blood that did not.

If Zee had been a police officer, I'd have shifted then and there to tell him what I'd found. But if I pointed my finger toward a suspect, I was pretty sure I knew what would happen to the person I pointed it at.

Werewolves dealt with their criminals the same way. I don't have any quarrel with killing murderers, but if I'm the one doing the accusing, I'd like to be absolutely certain, given the consequences. And the person I'd be accusing was an unlikely choice for killing this many fae.

Zee followed me up the stairs, turning off lights and closing doors as we went. I didn't bother looking further. There had only been two scents in the basement room besides Uncle Mike's. Either the selkie didn't bring guests into his library, or he had cleaned since the last time. Most damning of all was the blood.

Zee opened the front door and I stepped out into full night where the silvered moon had fully risen. How long had I sat staring at the impossible sea?

A shadow stirred on the porch and became Uncle Mike. He smelled of malt and hot wings, and I could see that he was still dressed in his tavern-keeper clothes: loose ivory-colored khakis and green T-shirt with his own name in the possessive across his chest in sparkling white letters. It wasn't egocentrism; Uncle Mike's was the name of his tavern.

"She's wet," he said, his Irish thicker than Zee's German.

"Seawater," Zee told him. "She'll be all right."

Uncle Mike's handsome face tightened. "Seawater."

"I thought you were working tonight?" There was a warning in Zee's voice as he changed the topic. I wasn't sure whether he didn't want to talk about my encounter with the sea fae, or if he was protecting me—or both.

"BFA was out patrolling looking for you two. Cobweb called me because she was worried they'd interfere. I sent the BFA off with a flea in their ear—they have no authority to tell you how long you can keep a visitor—but I'm afraid we've drawn their attention to you, Mercy. They might cause you trouble."

His words were nothing out of the ordinary, but there was something darker about his voice that had nothing to do with the night and everything to do with power.

He looked back at Zee. "Any luck?"

Zee shrugged. "We'll have to wait until she changes back." He looked at me. "I think it is time to bring this to an end. You see too much, Mercy, when it isn't safe."

The hair on the back of my neck told me something was watching us from the shadows. I drew the wind in my nose and knew it was more than two or three. I looked around and growled, letting my nose wrinkle up to display my fangs.

Uncle Mike raised his eyebrows at me, then took a look around himself. He tipped up his chin and said, his eyes on me, "You will all go home now." He waited and then said something sharp in Gaelic. I heard a crash and someone took off down the sidewalk in a clatter of hooves.

"We're alone now," he told me. "You can go ahead and change."

I gave him a look, then glanced at Zee. Satisfied I had his attention, I hopped off the porch and trotted toward the truck.

Uncle Mike's presence raised the stakes. I might have been able to talk Zee into waiting for some other evidence to confirm my suspicions—but I didn't know Uncle Mike as well.

I thought furiously, but by the time I made it to the truck, I was as certain as I could be without seeing him kill that the blood I'd found belonged to the murderer. I'd been suspicious of him even before I'd found blood. His scent had been all over the other houses, even the one that had been mostly scrubbed clean—as if he'd been searching the houses for something.

Zee followed me to the truck. He opened my door, then closed it behind me before rejoining Uncle Mike on the porch. I shifted into human form and dove into my warm clothes. The night air was warm, but my wet hair was still cold against my damp skin. I didn't bother putting my tennis shoes back on, but got out of the truck barefoot.

On the porch, they waited patiently, reminding me of my cat, who could watch a mouse's hole for hours without moving.

"Is there any reason for BFA to have sent someone into all the murder scenes?" I asked.

"The BFA can do random searches," Zee told me. "But they were not called in here."

"You mean there was a Beefa in each house?" Uncle Mike asked. "Who, and how do you know him?"

Zee's eyes narrowed suddenly. "There's only one BFA agent she would know. O'Donnell was at the gate when I brought her in."

I nodded. "His scent was in every house and his blood was on the floor in the library inside here." I tipped my head at the house. "His was the only scent in the library besides the selkie's and yours, Uncle Mike."

He smiled at me. "It wasn't me." Still with that charming smile he looked at Zee. "I'd like to talk to you alone."

"Mercy, why don't you take my truck. Just leave it at your friend's house and I'll pick it up tomorrow."

I took a step off the porch before I turned around. "The one I met in there…" I tipped my head at the selkie's house.

Zee sighed. "I did not bring you here to risk your life. The debt you owe us is not so large."

"Is she in trouble?" asked Uncle Mike.

"Bringing a walker into the reservation might not have been as good an idea as you thought," Zee said dryly. "But I think matters are settled—unless we keep talking about it."

Uncle Mike's face took on that pleasant blankness he used to conceal his thoughts.

Zee looked at me. "No more, Mercy. This one time be content with not knowing."

I wasn't, of course. But Zee had no intention of telling me more.

I started back to the truck and Zee cleared his throat very quietly. I looked at him, but he just stared back. Just as he had when he was teaching me to put together a car and I'd forgotten a step. Forgotten a step…right.

I met Uncle Mike's gaze. "This ends my debt to you and yours for killing the second vampire with your artifacts. Paid in full."

He gave me a slow, sly smile that made me glad Zee had reminded me. "Of course."

According to my wristwatch, I'd spent six hours at the reservation, assuming, of course, that a whole day hadn't passed by. Or a hundred years. Visions of Washington Irving aside, presumably if I had been there a whole day—or longer—either Uncle Mike or Zee would have told me. I must have spent more time staring at the ocean than I'd thought.

At any rate, it was very late. There were no lights on at Kyle's house when I arrived, so I decided not to knock. There was an empty spot in Kyle's driveway, but Zee's truck was old and I worried about leaving oil stains on the pristine concrete (which was why my Rabbit was parked on the blacktop). So I pulled in and parked it on the street behind my car. I must have been tired, because it wasn't until I'd already turned off the truck and gotten out that I realized any vehicle belonging to Zee would never drip anything.

I paused to pat the truck's hood gently in apology when someone put his hand on my shoulder.

I grabbed the hand and rotated it into a nice wrist lock. Using that as a convenient handle, I spun him a few degrees to the outside, and locked his elbow with my other hand. A little more rotation, and his shoulder joint was also mine. He was ready to be pulverized.

"Damn it, Mercy, that is enough!"

Or apologized to.

I let Warren go and sucked in a deep breath. "Next time, say something." I should have apologized, really. But I wouldn't have meant it. It was his own darn fault he'd surprised me.