Mercy Thompson


Mercy Thompson Book 9 - Page 98

“Just a minute,” I said, turning toward him. “Let me get these cut . . .” My voice trailed off at the expression on his face. He’d left the game and gone into his office to take a call from Bran. “Something wrong?” I asked.

“Not exactly,” he said. “As we thought, Bran would like us to stay independent for a while longer, until we see how the treaty is going to work out for everyone.”

“No surprise there.”

“No,” he agreed. He looked at me steadily, and said, “Bran is the reason Baba Yaga left Russia to come here.”

I put down the knife I’d been using very carefully.

“He told me that it was a calculated risk. She owed him a favor, but she is unpredictable.” Adam put his hand on my cheek. “But he said he couldn’t just sit and hope things worked out for us. He knew that she liked you, so he took a chance.” He wiped my eyes and hugged me. “He didn’t abandon you.”

“No,” I said, my throat tight.

“So do I get a brownie?” Adam asked. I sniffed, pushed back, and cut him a brownie.

He bit into it, paused, and swallowed. “This is amazing.”

I gave him a smug smile. “I know, right?”

“Hey, Mercy?”

I looked to see that Aiden and Jesse were back. Aiden had two empty plates, and Jesse had her cell phone—which she handed to me. I glanced at it, started to look back at her, and returned my gaze to the phone.

“Darryl wanted to know where you got the essential oil, so I looked it up online,” Jesse said. “And Aiden came over to see.”

Jesse had found the Intrasity Web site and the front page had the founder of Intrasity. She wore a bright green silk suit and a great big smile.

Jesse continued, “Aiden says that Tracy LaBella is Baba Yaga.”

Adam leaned over to take a look. He laughed and handed Jesse’s phone back to her.

“I guess you don’t have to worry about talking to Elizaveta,” he said.

I gave the kids another plate of brownies to take down with them.

“Baba Yaga is a multilevel marketing guru,” Adam said, still smiling.

“I need another brownie,” I told him.

He followed me to the counter. When I cut into the last batch, he put a hand on either side of me and leaned against me. His breath was hot on the skin of my neck.

“Nudge,” he said.