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“Your ability to survive anything that gets thrown at you sometimes leaves the rest of us swallowing ulcer medication for days afterward. I don’t like the taste of Maalox.”
Bran stopped just short, pulled me back against him, and frowned at Adam—and let the weight of his authority be felt throughout the chapel.
“Pup,” he said into the sudden silence, “today, I’m giving you one of my treasures. You see that you take proper care of her.”
“Most people,” said Adam thoughtfully—and loud enough that even the audience members without preternatural gifts could hear him—“have surprise birthday parties. You get a surprise wedding.”
‘Okay. You can be Coyote. But I am a coyote.’
‘Okay. You can be a coyote, too. But you’re a silly little thing, and I am a silly old thing.’
“Coyote brings change and chaos.”
“The same thing that people with degrees in history do,” I said. “Fix cars or serve french fries and bad hamburgers.”
“Teaching her how to do it right, so she doesn’t break her fool neck,” he’d growled, while my foster mother, Evelyn, fussed, “is likely to be less fatal than forbidding her to do it, because that doesn’t work at all.”
If Bran and Coyote battled it out, I’d put my money on Bran. The thought restored my usual cheery outlook.
“Mercy? Is that a black eye?” I reached up to touch it. “She got into a fight in Wal-Mart,” Adam said. Someone who didn’t know him probably wouldn’t hear the amusement in his voice. “What?” “She was attacked in Wal-Mart.” “You should see the other woman,”
Perhaps she couldn’t make me drown my own children—and Jesse, thank goodness, was a hundred miles away.
“But not tonight,” he said. “Tonight you have me. Would you like to go for a stroll? It’s still pretty warm out. I brought over some games if you’d rather. I believe you are partial to Battleship.”
