"Now, then, Fergus, you make yourself useful and tell Biddy she's to guard the door for the rest of the night. Then you are to go to Cook and tell him I want you to stay busy until you remember that killing customers isn't good for business."

"Yes, sir." Thoroughly cowed, the bouncer scuttled through the door and disappeared inside. I might have felt sorry for him, if it hadn't been for the "killing customers" part.

"Now then," Uncle Mike said, turning to me. "You'll have to excuse my help. That demon is raising all sorts of havoc for us here, keeping tempers at a killing edge as you have seen. I'm thinkin that it might not be the best night for one of your kind to join us in revelry."

It was more polite than a death curse perhaps, but even more effective at keeping me out. Damn it.

I swallowed my growl and tried to keep my voice as polite as his. "If I am not welcome, would you have someone find Marsilia and tell her to meet me out here?"

His face went blank with surprise. "And what are you doing meeting the Vampire queen? You play in waters much too deep to swim in for long, little girl."

I think it was the "little girl" that did it. Or maybe it was the shift in wind that brought the smell of garbage, wolf, and blood to my nose as well as the distinct scent that was Warren's alone-reminding me that he had been dumped here, bleeding and dying only hours ago.

"Maybe if the fae would stir their asses once in a while, I could stay in shallow water," I said, all attempts at politeness gone. "I know the old stories. I know you have power, damn it all. Why are you all just sitting around and watching the sorcerer kill people?" I was trying not to include Stefan among the dead, but part of me was already in mourning-it added a reckless edge to my tongue. "I suppose if you are afraid it might put you ‘on a killing edge, it makes better sense to wait it out." Warren could have done that, too. Then he'd be safe at home instead of bleeding in Adam's guest bedroom. "Especially since it is a vampire matter. The people who die along the way are merely effluvia and nothing to be concerned about."

He smiled, just a little, and it flamed my temper higher.

"Fine, smile away. I suppose you've killed your share. Well, this affects you, too. The humans aren't stupid, they know this is something out of the ordinary, something evil-and the only people they know who might do this are yours."

He was grinning now, but he held up a staying hand. "Sorry, love. It's just the image. One doesn't think of mechanics using words like effluvia, does one?"

I stared at him. Maybe there was something about being old, and I suspected Uncle Mike was very old, that gave him a different perspective, but…

"I'm sorry," I said, and even I could hear that my voice was thick with rage. "I'll try to keep to commonly used, very small words when discussing something that has a body count of what…" I tried to add it up in my head, though I was foiled somewhat because I didn't know how many people had died while Daniel had been under the sorcerer's control. "Fifteen?"

The smile left his face altogether, and he stopped looking like a tavern owner. "More like forty, I think, though I doubt not there are more we've yet to find. Not all of them here in the three cities, either. Demons deal in death and rot. Nothing to smile at, nor to let pass. My apologies," he bowed, a jerky motion that was over so quickly I couldn't be absolutely certain I'd really seen it. "I was amused as much at myself as at your use of the language. Even after all this time, I keep forgetting that heroes can be found in unlikely places and persons-like mechanics who can turn into coyotes." He stared at me a minute and a sly smile slid into his eyes, nothing like the expressions he usually had on his face.

"So, as you have the right, being a hero about to throw yourself on a grenade for the rest of us, I'll tell you why we're not bestirring ourselves against it." He nodded his head toward the tavern. "We fae are holding to survival by our fingertips, Mercedes Thompson. We are dying faster than we are reproducing, even counting our half bloods. It started the first time a human forged a cold-iron blade, but bullet lead kills us just as quickly as steel ever did-gremlins like Siebold Adelbertsmiter being the exception among us."

He paused, but I waited. I knew all of this, as did anyone who cared to turn on the TV or read a newspaper.

"There are beings of power here," he said. "Beings who would scare the human population into launching a genocidal wave that would wipe every fae off the face of the earth if they knew of them. If the sorcerer turns its attention to us, makes one of us kill humans in front of cameras-which it can do-there will be no more fae."

"The werewolves are under the same constraints," I said. "It hasn't stopped Adam. He could have left it all to the vampires. I bet that there are four people in that bar right now that could destroy this monster before it even knew they were looking for him."

He clenched his fists and turned away, but not before I saw something else on his face, something hungry. "No. You underestimate its power, Mercedes. Most of us have no more resistance to vampiric powers than any human-nor are there many souls pure enough to resist the demon. You don't want it controlling one of us." He swung back to me, and he looked just as he always had, that instant of something more was gone as if it had never been.

I took a step back anyway because my instincts were telling me that I wasn't the biggest predator here.

His voice was mellow and easy as he told me, "But just in case someone was overly tempted to take this sorcerer on, the Gray Lords have declared this vampire business, and we are to stay out of it. The Gray Lords do consider humans to be effluvia, Mercy. Very dangerous effluvia. They are not inclined to worry overmuch about a few human deaths."

Looking into his eyes, I knew three things. The first was that Uncle Mike was one of the few who would have gone after the sorcerer. The second was that he both hated and feared the Gray Lords. The third was that he didn't consider humans to be effluvia at all.

I wasn't certain which one surprised me the most.

"So," I said, "does this mean you'll let me come in and find Marsilia myself?"

He nodded his head slowly. "I'll not stand in the way of it." He held out his arm in an old-fashioned gesture. I put my fingers lightly on it and let him lead me back toward the bar.

Just before we reached the entrance, though, he paused. "Don't take the wolves with you when you go after the sorcerer."

"Why not?"

"That Fergus, he has served me for thrice times a score of years. In that time he ne'er once raised a violent hand to a customer of mine. That demon the sorcerer bears carries violence like a stream carries little fishies. His very presence takes away all self-control and encourages ragin and fightin . The effect of a demon on a werewolf is like vodka on a fire."

It sounded like Tony's recitation of the growing unrest the police were fighting. Bran had mentioned something like that, too, but he hadn't made it sound as dire. Come to think of it, though Adam's outburst tonight might easily be explained by a combination of hot temper and worry, Samuel had been more volatile than usual lately.

"Why didn't you tell Adam that Warren and Ben were in danger?" I asked.

"I didn't know until that poor lad of his was laid on my doorstep today that Adam had sent his boyos out a hunting-though I should have."

Had Bran known the danger when Adam sent Warren and Ben with Stefan? I thought about it. Probably. But Bran had never been one to tell his people what their limits were. Likely he'd been right, too. Worry and fear from knowing

I wouldn't tell them either, I decided. Which meant that I couldn't tell them that I was going hunting-and, whatever Marsilia had in mind, I was done with sitting around. Coyotes were good at skulking and could take down much bigger prey than most people would expect. If Marsilia could offer help, fine. If not I'd go after him on my own.