Master and Apprentice Read Online Free Page B

front door flew open, and Mercy strode in clutching the shotgun. Her head turned toward the closet, where the disconcerting noise had grown louder. “You get outta there, Sister,” she said. “And you better not’ve touched that blanket.”
    A small, black, furry hand, disturbingly human looking, poked out and folded the closet door open. The rest of the animal that lumbered out after it was a damned big raccoon. I’d seen smaller pit bulls. For a crazy instant I wondered if there were any djinn raccoon clans, but it didn’t even glance at me or Ian. It went straight to Mercy and sat up on its hind legs, still making that weird chirring sound.
    The thing was wearing a pink collar.
    Mercy patted a pocket and produced what looked like a handful of dog food. She offered it to the raccoon, who took one piece in each hand, sniffed at one, and stuffed it in her mouth. “All right, Sister.” Mercy put the pellets back and scratched the animal behind its ears, like a cat. “Go find your little ones. There’s fresh fish outside.”
    Sister polished off the other nugget, dropped to all fours, and ambled away toward one of the smaller rooms.
    “You have a pet raccoon?” I said. Like an idiot.
    “Ain’t you a bright one.” Mercy racked the shotgun across two of the hooks on the board. She reached for her hat, hesitated, then pulled it off and dropped it on a peg. And stared at me.
    Her eyes were human. But it wasn’t hard to figure out why she’d hidden her face.
    Her features were split almost exactly down the middle. One half of her face was tanned and healthy—and the other was dark red, the color of wine, from her hairline, down her neck, and across her ear. The eye on that side was distorted, the lid open too wide and pulled down at the outside corner so it appeared to bulge. Blood red filled in where the white should have been. Her good eye, a pale and pretty amber, dared me to say something stupid or pathetic.
    “It must be a bitch finding the right shade of foundation,” I said.
    She struggled against a smile, and finally laughed. “Maybe you ain’t all dumb,” she said. “Donatti, you said your name was, and he’s Ian. Right?” She cast a look at the couch and frowned. “He still alive?”
    “Yeah. It looks worse than it is.”
    “Mm-hm. He gonna bug out if I check him?”
    “I will behave.” Ian smiled faintly without opening his eyes. “You have a lovely home, lady. We are indebted to your gracious care.”
    Mercy blushed a little. Most females seemed to have that reaction to Ian, even when he was bruised and bloodied. Especially then. But she shook it off fast and went back to being serious. She approached him, stopped. Frown lines furrowed her brow. “You’re burned.”
    “Campfire,” I said quickly. “That’s what he landed on. I yanked him out.” I held up my blistered hand for inspection and hoped I didn’t sound completely unconvincing.
    “Hmph. You two got no business up in these woods.” A tiny smirk said she’d humor us anyway. “You sit. I’ll be back quick. Need to get some supplies.”
    At once, sprawling in one of those cushioned chairs seemed like the best idea since the invention of room service. Even asI sat down, I thought of a dozen things I should do instead of relaxing—call and check in with Jazz, figure out why Mercy had something with djinn writing on it, come up with a better story than “We fell into a campfire.” I figured I’d just close my eyes for a few minutes and then worry myself into a good panic.
    Consciousness fell away from me almost before I leaned back.
    Eventually, a marginal awareness of someone patting my knee brought me swimming up from sleep. At first it was a dream. I was up against a wall, getting frisked—not a new experience for me, being a thief—but the cop’s hands were tiny, like doll’s hands at the end of regular-size arms. I asked him how he could hold a gun with those. He opened his mouth and chirred at me.
    I snapped