Being a werewolf wasn't like being a human with a hot temper—it was a balance: a human soul against a predator's instinctive drives. Push it too hard, and it was the animal in control—and the wolf didn't care who it hurt.

Samuel was the more dominant, but he wasn't an Alpha. If it came to a fight, neither of them would fare well. In a few breaths, the pause before battle would stretch too long, and someone would die.

I grabbed my full glass of juice and tossed it on them, putting out a forest fire with a thimbleful of cranberry juice. They were standing almost nose to nose, so I got them both. The rage in their eyes as they turned to me would have caused a lesser person to run. I knew better.

I ate a bite of pancake from Adam's plate that attached itself like glue to the back of my throat. I reached across the table and took Samuel's coffee cup and rinsed the sticky knot down my throat.

You can't pretend not to be scared by werewolves. They know. But you can meet their eyes, if you're tough enough. And if they let you.

Adam's eyes closed, and he took a couple of steps until his back rested against the wall. Samuel nodded at me—but I saw more than he'd have wanted me to. He was better than he'd been, but he wasn't the happy wolf I'd grown up knowing. Maybe he hadn't been as easygoing as I'd once thought—but he'd been better than this.

"Sorry," he told Adam. "Bad day at the office."

Adam nodded, but didn't open his eyes. "I shouldn't have pushed."

Samuel took a towel out of a drawer and wet it down in the sink. He cleaned cranberry juice off his face and rubbed his hair with it—which made it stick straight up in the air. If you couldn't see his eyes, you might have thought he was just a kid.

He grabbed a second towel and soaked it, too. Then said, "Heads up," and threw it at Adam. Who caught it in one hand without looking. It might have been more impressive if one wet end hadn't slapped him in the face.

"Thanks," he said… dryly, while water slid down his face after the cranberry juice. I ate another piece of pancake.

By the time Adam cleaned up, his eyes were clear and dark and I'd finished all of his pancakes and used Samuel's towel to mop up the mess on the floor. I thought Samuel would have done it—but not in front of Adam. Besides, I'd made the mess.

"So," he said to Samuel without looking directly at him. "Do you know anything about Blackwood other than that he's a nasty piece of work and to stay out of Spokane?"

"No," Samuel said. "I don't think my father does either." He waved a hand. "Oh, I'll ask. He'll have data—how much he's worth, what his business interests are. Where he stays and the names of all the people he's been bribing to keep everyone from suspecting what he is. But he doesn't know Blackwood. I'd say it is safe to say that he's big and bad—otherwise, he wouldn't have held Spokane for the past sixty years."

"He is active during the day," I said. "When he took Amber, it was daytime."

Both of them stared at me, and, mindful of their recent dominance issues, I dropped my eyes.

"What do you think?" asked Adam, his voice still a little hoarser than normal. He had a hotter temper than Samuel at the best of times. "Does he know what Mercy is?"

"He had his minion call her into his territory, and he staked his claim on her—I'd say that would make it a big affirmative." Samuel growled.

"Now wait a minute," I said. "What would a vampire want with me?"

Samuel raised his eyebrows. "Marsilia wants to kill you. Stefan wants to" — he put on a Romanian accent for the next three words—"suck your blood. And Blackwood apparently wanted you for the same reason."

"You think he set this whole thing up just to get me to Spokane?" I asked incredulously. "First of all, there was a ghost. I saw it myself. Not silly vampire tricks or any other kind of tricks. This was a ghost. Ghosts don't like vampires." Although this one had stuck around for longer than I'd expected. "Second, why me?"

"I don't know about the ghost," Samuel said. "But the second question has a multitude of possible answers."

"The first one that occurs to me" — Adam was still keeping his eyes down—"is Marsilia. Suppose she knew immediately what had happened to Andre. She knows she can't go after you, so she trades favors with Blackwood. He turns Amber into his go-to girl, and when the opportunity presents itself, he sends her to get you—just as Marsilia dumps Stefan in the middle of your living room. And once you didn't die—Amber comes and summons you to Spokane. A few wolves get hurt—"

"Mary Jo almost died," I said. "And it could have been worse." I thought of the snow elf, and said, "A lot worse."

"Would Marsilia have cared? Worried about your friends here—and informed that the crossed bones on the door of your shop means that all of your friends are at risk—you take the rope Blackwood has thrown you. And you follow his bait all the way to Spokane."

Samuel shook his head. "It doesn't quite track," he said. "Vampires don't cooperate the way the wolves do. Blackwood doesn't have the reputation of doing anyone favors."

"Hey, my pretty," said Adam in a deadpan imitation of a Disney witch, "would you like a taste of something sweet? All you have to do is lure Mercy to Spokane."

"No," I said. "It works on the surface, but not when you really look. I can ask, but I'd bet the relationship between Amber's husband and Blackwood goes back years, not months. So he knew them first. If Marsilia just called him and gave him my name, it would be unlikely that he'd know that Amber knew me—we haven't spoken since I got out of college."

I'd had my paranoid moments because of the timing of Amber's request. But there was simply no way Marsilia had sent Amber, and the likelihood of further Byzantine plots went down from there. I drew a breath. "I expect that Blackwood thought I was human, at least until he bit me the first time.

Bran says I smell like a coyote—doglike unless you know coyotes—but not magic. Stefan told me Blackwood would know I wasn't human after he tasted me."

Both of the werewolves were watching me now.

"Bad luck does just happen," I told them.

"Blackwood doesn't seem to be the kind of person to do favors for another vampire." Samuel's voice sounded almost cheery.

He didn't. Vampires were evil, territorial, and… I thought of something.

"What if he's making a play to add the Tri-Cities to his territory," I asked. "Say he read about the attack on me—and saw that I was Adam's girlfriend. Maybe he has connections and got to see the video of Adam tearing into Tim's body, so he knows our relationship isn't casual. Maybe Corban sees him read the article and mentions that his wife knew me, and the vampire sees an opportunity to make the Tri-Cities werewolves cooperate with him in preparation to move in on Marsilia. Maybe he doesn't know he can't use me to take over the pack. Maybe he would have used me as a hostage. The ghost is happenstance. Just a convenient reason to convince Amber to invite me over."

"Marsilia's just lost her two right-hand men," said Samuel. "Andre and Stefan. She's vulnerable now."

"She has three other powerful vampires," I told him. "But Bernard and Estelle don't seem pleased with Marsilia lately." I told them about the confrontation the night before. "There's Wulfe, I guess, but he's…"

I shrugged. "I wouldn't want to have to depend upon Wulfe for loyalty—he's not the type."

"Vampires are predators," Adam said. "Same as us. If Blackwood smells weakness, I suppose it makes sense that he'd try for more territory."

"I like it," Samuel said. "Blackwood isn't a team player. This fits. It doesn't mean it's right, but it fits." Adam stretched the tension out of his neck, and I heard vertebrae pop. He gave me a little smile.

"Tonight I call Marsilia and tell her what we just talked about. It's not set in stone, but it's plausible. I bet we'll find Marsilia more cooperative." He looked at Samuel. "If you're home, I'd better go to work. I'll have Jesse come here when school's out, too—if you don't mind. Aurielle's booked, Honey has work to do, and Mary Jo is… not up to snuff."