Then there was the need I had to bury my nose in Adam's neck and inhale the exotic scent of his skin. I looked away from him and found myself gazing into Samuel's white eyes. He was so close to turning that the distinctive black ring around the outside of his pupils was clearly visible. It should have scared me.

Samuel's nostrils flared-I smelled it, too. Arousal.

"I've got to go," I said, properly panicked.

I gave them a hasty wave as I scuttled out of the house, hastily pulling the door shut behind me. The relief of having a door between me and both men was intense. I was breathing hard, as if I'd run a race, adrenaline pushing the pain of the sorcerer's attack away. I took a deep breath of the morning air, trying to clear my lungs of werewolf, before heading out to my car.

I opened the Rabbit's door and the sudden smell of blood made me step abruptly back. The car had been parked where I always left it: I'd forgotten that Stefan must have used it to bring me back home. There were stains on both front seat covers-both of us must have been pretty bloody. But the most impressive thing was the fist-shaped dent on my dash, just above the radio.

Stefan had been upset.

I pulled into my garage and parked at the far end of the lot next to Zee's old truck. Never trust a mechanic who drives new cars. They're either charging too much money for their work, or they can't keep an old car running-maybe both.

VWs are good cars. They used to be cheap good cars; now they're expensive good cars. But every make has a few lemons. VW had the Thing (which at least looked cool), the Fox, and the Rabbit. I figured in another couple of years, my Rabbit would be the only one still running in the greater Tri-Cities.

I let the Rabbit idle for a moment and debated going in. I'd stopped at the nearest auto-parts store and picked up seat covers to replace the ones I'd had to throw away. Judging from the sick looks I'd gotten from the clerk, my battered face wasn't going to be drumming up business for me anytime soon.

But there were four cars parked in the lot, which meant we were busy. If I stayed in the garage, no one would see my face.

I got out of the car, slowly. The dry heat of late morning wrapped around me and I closed my eyes for a moment to enjoy it.

"Good morning, Mercedes," said a sweet old voice. "Beautiful day."

I opened my eyes and smiled. "Yes, Mrs. Hanna, it is."

The Tri-Cities, unlike Portland and Seattle, doesn't have much of a permanent homeless population. Our temperatures get up well over a hundred in the summers and below zero in the winters, so most of our homeless people are only traveling through.

Mrs. Hanna looked homeless, with her battered shopping cart full of plastic bags of cans and other useful items, but someone once told me she lived in a small trailer in the park by the river and had taught piano lessons until her arthritis made it impossible. After that she walked the streets of downtown Kennewick collecting aluminum cans and selling pictures she colored out of coloring books so she could buy food for her cats.

Her white-gray hair was braided and tucked under the battered old baseball cap that kept the sun out of her face. She wore a woolen A-line skirt with bobby socks and tennis shoes, a size too large. Her T-shirt celebrated some long past Spokane Lilac Festival, and its lavender color was an interesting contrast to the black and red plaid flannel shirt that hung loosely over her shoulders.

Age had bent her over until she was barely as tall as the cart she pushed. Her tanned, big-knuckled hands sported chipped red nail polish that matched her lipstick. She smelled of roses and her cats.

She frowned at me and squinted. "Boys don't want girls who have more muscles than they do, Mercedes. Boys like girls who can dance and play piano. Mr. Hanna, God rest his soul, used to tell me that I floated over a dance floor."

This was an old argument. She'd grown up in a time when the only proper place for a woman was next to her man.

"It wasn't the karate this time," I told her, touching my face lightly.

"Put some frozen peas on that, dear," she said. "That'll keep the swelling down."

"Thank you," I said.

She nodded her head briskly and set off down the road, her cart squeaking. It was too hot for flannel and wool, but then it had been a cool spring evening when she'd died a few months ago.

Most ghosts fade after a while, so probably in a few months we wouldn't be able to converse anymore. I don't know why she came by to talk to me, maybe she was still worried about my unmarried state.

I was still smiling when I walked into the office.

Gabriel, my part-time tool rustler/receptionist was working full time in the summer. He looked up when I walked in and took a startled double take.

"Karate," I lied, inspired by Mrs. Hanna's assumption, and saw him relax.

He was a good kid and as human as it got. He knew that Zee was fae, of course, because Zee had been forced to come out a few years ago by the Gray Lords who rule the fae (like the werewolves, the fae had come out a little at a time to avoid alarming the public).

Gabriel knew about Adam because that was also a matter of public record. I had no intention of opening his eyes further, though-it was too dangerous. So no stories of vampires or sorcerers for him if I could manage it-especially since there were a few customers around.

" Geez," he said. "I hope the other guy looks worse."

I shook my head. "Stupid white belt."

There were a couple of men sitting on the battered-but-comfortable chairs in the corner of the office. At my words, one of them leaned forward and said, "I'd rather fight a dozen black belts at the same time than one white belt."

He was so well-groomed that he was handsome, despite a nose that was a little too broad and deep set eyes.

I brightened my smile like any good businesswomen, and said, "Me, too," with feeling.

"I'm guessing you'd be Mercedes Thompson?" he asked, coming to his feet and walking up to the counter with his hand outstretched.

"That's right," I took his hand, and he shook mine with a firm grip that would have done credit to a politician.

"Tom Black." He smiled, showing pearly white teeth. "I've heard a lot about you. Mercedes the Volkswagen mechanic."

Like I hadn't heard that one before. Still, he didn't sound obnoxious, just mildly flirtatious.

"Nice to meet you." I wasn't interested in flirtation so I turned my attention back to Gabriel. "Any problems this morning?"

He smiled. "With Zee here? Listen, Mercy, my mother asked me to ask if you want the girls here this weekend to clean again."

Gabriel had a generous handful of siblings, all girls-the youngest in preschool and the oldest just entering high school-and all supported by their widowed mother who worked as a dispatcher for the Kennewick Police Department, not a high paying career. The two oldest girls had been coming in on a semi-regular basis and cleaning the office.

They did a good job, too. I hadn't realized that the film on my front window had been grease-I thought Zee had had some sort of treatment done to it to block out the sun.

"Sounds fine to me," I told him. "If I'm not here, they can use your key."

"I'll tell her."

"Good. I'm going to head into the garage and stay out of sight today-don't want to scare away customers."

I gave Tom Black a brisk nod, that was friendly but aloof. Then stopped to say a few words to the other man who was waiting. He was an old customer who liked to chat. Then I slipped into the garage before someone new could come in.

I found Zee lying on his back under a car, so all I could see of him was from the belly down.

Siebold Adelbertsmiter, my former boss, is an old fae, a metalworker, which is unusual for the fae who mostly can't handle cold iron. He calls himself a gremlin, though he is a lot older than the name, coined by flyboys in WWI. I have a degree in history, so I know useless things like that.