Author's Notes
This first chapter is more of a pilot to test the waters. Be warned, I don't use beta readers, and I have severe dyslexia, along with my neurodivergent brain. I also have a habit of not finishing things... like stories. I have more or less completed a few chapters, but no promises. This was more of a little something for me, anyway. Please don't judge too harshly.
I highly recommend reading all the Mercy Thompson books before reading this.
P.S. This was all done on a mobile, so it may look different on a desktop.
P.P.S. I'm not multilingual myself and mainly used Google Translate, though I did try for accuracy and colloquial terms/phrases and grammatical correctness.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Mercy Thompson series or any characters from it.
!UPDATE! (Mar/20/2025)
There was something wrong with the original story file and it could not update new chapters. So I'm reposting the story in a new file with revised chapters.
Also, the document manger in the app still sucks.
Glossary:
German:
Fräulein: Miss
Du wirst dir das Genick brechen, Mädchen!: You will break your neck, girl!
Du gut?: Are you alright?
Ich bin gut: I am alright.
du ungezogenes Mädchen: you naughty girl.
Mädchen: Girl
Nichts: Nothing
Icelandic:
Fjalldottír: Mountain's daughter.
Drullusokkur: Piece of shit.
Ketta: Female cat/kitten.
Kettur: Cats.
Chapter One: Home Improvement
The rhythmic thumping of my music pulsed through my headphones, a steady counterpoint to the sharp, decisive pop of the nail gun. Each shingle, driven home with a satisfying jolt, interlocked with its neighbours, forming a sturdy, renewed weather-resistant layer across the gabled roof. This was just another item on the seemingly endless list of repairs that came with owning a Victorian fixer-upper, a project I'd impulsively embraced a couple of years prior when I'd relocated to Kennewick, Washington, on a whim.
I liked the area, the atmosphere; it seemed like the place to be, and the Victorian corner house I was currently on the roof of. I spent more than I should have on it, probably twice what it was worth, transforming a forgotten relic into a home, was priceless. The past two years had been a whirlwind of renovations: replacing and refinishing the aged hardwood floors, modernizing the antiquated electrical and plumbing systems, and painstakingly restoring original architectural details, like sealed doorways and boarded-up fireplaces. Now, with the chill of mid-October settling in, my focus had shifted to the roof, a crucial project to complete before the winter.
Kneeling on the sloping surface, I carefully positioned another shingle, my gloved hand guiding it into place. The nail gun, a powerful tool in my arsenal, responded with its familiar pop, pop, securing the wood with precision.
One more down. Only a few dozen more to go, and this section will be complete. Progress! As I placed the next piece, I thought I heard something over my music and the on and off motor of the air compressor, but when I paused, nothing was amiss. Shrugging, I continued.
Pop, pop!
Just above my hand, a pinecone landed and rolled until it bumped into my fingers. Setting my nail gun down, I sat on my heels as I picked up the random seed grenade, pondering it a moment before looking up at the grey sky, thinking a bird may have dropped it.
Another one flew past me, landing with a soft plop onto the newly laid row of cedar shingles. It began its own erratic journey, rolling down the gentle slope as I watched it go before I felt another smack the back of my head, snagging in my ponytail. Dropping the one in my hand, I untangled the other from my hair as I looked around just in time to see yet another sailing towards me from below. This time, I reacted instinctively, catching it deftly in mid-flight. I shifted my kneeling position and peered over the edge of the roof. Below, I spotted the culprit: a young lad in his late teens, about to launch another with his arm pulled back like a trebuchet. That is, until he saw me and dropped his ammo of pine, grinning guiltily.
With a gentle tap on the pause button of my headset, I silenced the rhythmic drone of the music, pulling the device off to rest comfortably against the nape of my neck. I took a moment to readjust my tinted safety glasses, ensuring they sat securely atop my head, before reaching to switch off the compressor. The sudden quiet, now only punctuated by the gentle rustling of dried leaves and the distant chirping of birds.
A slow smile spread across my face as I considered the young lad's playful, albeit slightly hazardous, bombardment. Returning his grin, I gave the pinecone a casual toss back towards him. He made no attempt to dodge, seemingly accepting his fate with a cheerful shrug. The pinecone connected with his chest with a soft thump, bouncing harmlessly off his jumper.
"Jaysus Tad. I thought the squirrel revolution had begun, and I was on their hit-list! You know how vicious and bloodthirsty they are."
"Sorry," he said, not meaning it in the least.
"Uh huh. What can I do you for?" I asked.
"I'm just headed out to help Mercy at the garage. Thought I should warn you, my dad is on the warpath today, and you're on his shitlist."
"Me? What'd I do this time?" That man has been a thorn in my arse since I moved in, aside from the six-ish months he was away in fairyland, otherwise known as the Wala Wala fae reservation. In that time, Tad and I really bonded. We discovered a shared appreciation for the finer things in life, namely, good food. A mutual love of all things nerdy, from obscure comic books, games, television shows, and films further cemented our bond. Tad, a sweet and thoughtful lad, seemed a touch adrift without his father's constant, if often gruff, presence. I'd found myself naturally slipping into a sort of older sibling role, inviting him over for impromptu dinners, film nights, or marathon gaming sessions. Simple, easy hangouts where we'd talk at great length about nothing at all. He possessed a sharp mind and a kind heart, and if I were entirely honest, he reminded me a great deal of my own kid brothers, whom I adored.
One day, back in early spring, he showed up at my door, asking me to watch their house while he was away. I said yes, of course, but not before offering him sanctuary from the two goons that stood at the street, no doubt sent to escort him to the rez. Knowing what I do now, I wouldn't have let him go.
It wasn't until nearly summer I saw either of them again. They both appeared noticeably thinner, a little worn around the edges, and sorted all the signs of a distinct lack of proper care, looking like they could both benefit from a few hearty meals and a generous dose of tender loving care.
From that moment onwards, and continuing to this day, I made it a point to prepare extra portions whenever I cooked, which was near daily. Tad is a darling, and, as crabby as his father can be, I don't hate Siebold and don't wish him ill. Even if he seems to despised my guts for whatever reason. I don't take it too personally...usually. He's, as far as I can tell, kind of like this to everyone. While he's not particularly nasty or malicious, he can be abrasive, knit-picky, and certainly a stick-in-the-mud.
All the things Tad isn't. A testament perhaps, to the power of nurture over nature. Or, more likely, he took after his mother whom had long since passed away - another thing we had in common.
"You woke up this morning?" He suggested unhelpfully. "He's been grumpier since..." He trailed off, obviously not wanting to voice their experiences in Wala Wala. Something I was certain they both wished to forget. He hadn't given me the full story of their stay in the reservation but enough, and from what I knew of the fae, it was easy to deduce that it was pretty awful, if not worse. "and I don't think the air compressor is helping."
"That does tend to happen when one is alive and sleeps. One wakes up. And he's got a terminal case of the grumpies," I said dryly.
"That's... not untrue," he conceded.
"Your old man hates my guts."
"He doesn't hate you. He just doesn't know you."
"I doubt he'd care to get to know me, and the feeling is mutual," I scoffed. "And are you insinuating if he gets to know me, he'll hate me?" I said humorously.
Even from the roof, I could see his exaggerated eye rolling. "No -" He began to say as the door to the front of his house swung open.
"Got to run!" With that, he speed walked to his car, and just as I saw the balding head of Siebold, I pulled my earphones over my head and flipped my air compressor back on, which unfortunately caught his attention but I used the noise as a cover. So when he stopped in the middle of his pathway and directed his stormy glare at me, saying something, I beamed at him.
"what? Sorry, I can't hear you!" I yelled innocently, glancing over at Tad, who was sucking in his lips, fighting a laugh, no doubt, as he ducked into his car.
"Huh? Say again. Louder!" I yelled, not giving a damn. I couldn't help but rile him up some days. It's entertaining.
To my great satisfaction, his nibs turned away from me, and I returned to my home improvement project, lining up another shingle. But when I pressed my nail gun down, the compressor fell silent. I managed to fire a couple of nails with the remaining air pressure, then set the gun aside, a frown creasing my brow. Pulling down my headphones, I crouched to examine the squat, pancake-shaped compressor.
Following the universal troubleshooting mantra, I flicked the power switch off, then on, then back off again, hoping for a miraculous revival. But the little machine remained stubbornly dormant. I straightened up, my gaze travelling to the edge of the roof where the extension cord snaked down to the ground.
On the other end, standing in my side yard and holding the plug was my cantankerous neighbour with his perma-scowl.
"You're disturbing the peace Fräulein Fjalldottír," he always said my name beautifully, even in his harsher accent that seemed to thicken with every perceived transgression I committed.
I pasted on what I hoped was an expression of sugary-sweet contrition, a smile so wide it surely looked false. I cocked a hip, adopting a posture of exaggerated nonchalance. "Oh, terribly sorry, Mr. Adelbertsmiter," I chirped, my voice dripping with insincerity. "Didn't realise I was causing a disturbance." Pfft, I thought, rolling my eyes inwardly. "You see," I continued, gesturing vaguely towards the roof, "this old thing's seen better days," much like your face, I added silently, "and with the chill setting in, I'm trying to avoid turning into a human ice lolly." Not that the temperatures here ever plummeted to truly arctic levels, but a bit of a nip in the air certainly made itself known. The overly cheery, dry tone, I knew, would grate on him, and a small, mischievous part of me relished that.
A vein pulsed visibly in his temple, a testament to the simmering rage beneath his carefully cultivated composure. He held the plug aloft, a silent accusation. "And I," he stated, his voice a low, gravelly growl, each word clipped and precise, "don't want to go deaf."
"Deaf? It does tend to happen as one ages. Maybe you should see an otolaryngologist if you're having hearing problems. If it is my compressor, well, I am working to get it done as soon as possible. However, I do keep getting interrupted..." I eyed him, smiling wider with a little too many teeth.
I knew he was fae, and that his son was a half-blood. Tad was aware of my own mixed heritage, the mongrel blend of human and something… else. But I wasn't certain Siebold shared that knowledge. There were moments, like this one, when my more primal instincts surged, urging me to assert my supernatural dominance, to intimidate him into submission. It was a part of my nature, a deep-seated urge. Yet, as I so often did, I suppressed that instinct, biting back the sharp retort that threatened to spill out. Instead, I forced a smile, stretching my cheeks until they ached, a brittle mask over the simmering frustration within.
"Do it while I'm not here to listen to it!" He all but snapped, his German accent thickening with his irritation, as per usual.
"Might I suggest you vacate the area between the hours of 6am and 10pm, as that's the noise ordinance time during the weekdays and the hours in which I plan to work so I don't freeze my tits off next month, old man. " So much for biting my tongue.
He squinted, his silence a frustrating delay as I waited for him to speak or restore power to my compressor. Beneath my boot, the fascia gave a sharp crack, a sudden shift in the roof's pitch. The board didn't break, but the unexpected movement sent me reeling. I flailed, struggling for purchase on the incline, my balance lost. "Shit!"
Below, Siebold's German curses mingled with the rustle of dry grass. I steadied myself, glancing down.
"Phew!" I breathed, wiping imaginary sweat from my brow. "That would have been a right mess."
"You've no tether?! Du wirst dir das Genick brechen, Mädchen!" He barked, something about getting my neck broke.
I noticed he stood precisely where I'd have landed had I fallen.Had he intended to catch me? That was... almost sweet. Shame my arse would have flattened him. I'm short and fit, but possess more booty than a pirate's treasure hoard. Though, he's fae... perhaps he'd have been alright? I'm never quite certain of anything with those buggers.
"Don't worry." I wave his concern and his mild insult away, not being the first time I was called a fool. I doubt it'd be the last. "I'd bounce!" I say, chuckling at my self deprecation. Sure, it'd hurt, but I'm tough.
"Get down from there, du ungezogenes Mädchen." Yes, I was a touch of a pip. He'd often resort to German, knowing perfectly well I understood and could return the favour. He also understood my Icelandic, though we generally stuck to English. When in Rome, and all that.
"I will, when I'm finished."
Another brief stand-off ensued. Siebold harrumphed, then stomped back into his house, naturally neglecting to reconnect my compressor. I scrambled down the ladder, plugged it in myself, then paused. Reaching into the back pocket of my jeans, I pulled out my phone and snapped a photo of the fractured fascia. I'd need to source the correct timber and attempt to replicate the design for a replacement.
A couple of music-filled, uninterrupted hours later, with only a handful of shingles left to lay, I straddled the ridged peak of the roof, ready to finish this side. Then, I noticed Siebold standing just behind the iron gate of his property, another figure keeping a respectful distance on the other side.
The distance between the figure and the gate suggested a possible aversion to iron, a trait many fae are known for. Well, most fae. Tad and Siebold, however, seemed unaffected. I'd asked Tad once, but he could be surprisingly tight-lipped when he deemed it necessary, much to my chagrin. I'd tasted their magic – metallic, earthy, with a hint of fire, and undeniably potent. It wasn't difficult to piece things together, but for now, it remained speculation until I could get confirmation from either of them.
From my perch, I watched the scene unfold. With my compressor still running, I couldn't make out their words. However, their body language spoke volumes. Siebold stood, arms loosely at his sides rather than crossed, suggesting a near-confrontational stance. The other person, a suited male, not quite middle-aged and undeniably handsome, held out a business card. Yet, when I sent thin tendrils of my power to brush the air around them, I tasted the coiled energies of both. Like serpents poised to strike.
Truth be told, I didn't much like the idea of someone else riling Siebold. That was my prerogative. Nor did I appreciate a stranger so close to my little nest, bothering my neighbours.
I tried, I truly did, to mind my own business. But something else set my teeth on edge when the other fae spoke, causing Siebold to tense while pointedly refusing the offered card.
Pop!
I may or may not have accidentally-on-purpose fired a nail near the tire of the stranger's ride.
Pop!
It happened a second time when both men eyed the first bit of metalic fodder that lay on the ground, the second not far away. When both sets of eyes turned to squint up at me, I played the bimbo card. "Oh my goodness! I am so sorry!" I yelled, waveing the nail gun around like an idiot. "This thing is heavy, and I can be so clumsy!"
Pop!
Another nail shot out only to ricochet off the iron fence. "Oh dear!"
The stranger spoke, but his words were lost to me, and frankly, I couldn't have cared less. "What?!" I yelled. When his mouth moved again, a grin spread across my face. "What?! I can't hear you!"
After a moment of glaring daggers in my direction, the stranger spoke to Siebold, who glanced up at me, gave a telltale upward twitch of his lips, and then turned back to the man. A moment later, the stranger climbed into his car and sped off down the residential street, but not before delivering a parting shot.
I felt it just before it struck: a surge of magic hurled towards me from the departing vehicle. It was simple enough to deflect it from myself, but alas, not from my poor roof!
Beams snapped, wood groaned, warping and shifting under the assaulting invisible force. My shingles were ripped loose, my hard work ruined, and my compressor, along with a scattering of tools, was launched. I stood on the ridge, frozen like a bloody idiot, scrambling to… what? Catch my compressor? Do something? Underfoot, the wooden tiles slid, my legs splaying out, my knee buckling to avoid a full-blown split. My feet skidded along with the freed shingles, straight off the edge of the roof.
"Motherfucker!" I bellowed as I went arse over tit, feet first. That was fine, I could land on them. The impact would sting like a right bitch, but it was preferable, frankly, to landing on my hip or back.
Tuck and roll!
I'm tough, but I'm not a masochist. I don't like pain in the slightest bit, and I was pretty sure I was about to hate having a nervous system in the next couple of seconds.
However, I needn't have worried about the landing, though, because I never reached the ground. Instead, my face collided with the plaid-covered chest of Siebold's lean frame as his steel-like arms locked around me. We both grunted with the impact. He was tall enough that my feet dangled until he set me down a moment later, his eyes scanning my face. While this landing was softer, it was far from painless, but certainly preferable to the anticipated splat.
"Du gut? Are you hurt?" And, for perhaps the first time, I saw something other than the usual cold fire in his gaze. I'd almost dare to say he was concerned.
"Ich bin gut," I mumbled in German, confirming I was alright, as I craned my neck to look up at him. "Just my pride and… maybe my ribs. Ugh, and my bloody nose." I touched the throbbing appendage, then turned to survey the wreckage: pieces of my roof scattered, tools strewn about us. "And my house!"
The revving of an engine snapped my attention away as I pushed out of Siebold's hold, scrambling towards the street. The stranger's car sat idling at the end of the row of houses opposite. The bloody arsehole had stopped to watch me fall!
"Drullusokkur!" I spat, dashing out onto the road, ready to sprint after the piece of shit fae. But again, hard arms wrapped around me, reaffirming the growing ache in my ribs from his catch.
"Calm yourself, Ketta. You won't catch him that way, and it would be foolish to try." His voice rumbled over my shoulder.
I didn't struggle, because he was likely right. I was fast, but not car-fast. But, boy, oh boy, did I want to try. I had enough pent-up adrenaline and pure rage to fuel a small war.
"He needs his comeuppance!" I snarled.
Siebold snorted, loosening his hold as the driver revved again, clearly baiting me. If I wasn't pissed off, and if I had less faith in my ability to kick his teeth in, it wouldn't have worked. But I was both, and I launched myself again, making it only a few yards before I was grabbed, turned, and flung over his shoulder, knocking the remaining air from my lungs in a sharp "oof!"
"Nein, Ketta." He admonished calmly, with a hint of something suspiciously like amusement. He carried me back into my yard, setting me on my feet as the bastard drove off. Grumbling, I dug out my phone to check the time.
A little after one in the afternoon.
"Did he really have to go after my house like that?" I say, pulling up Google to do some research on the structure of Vitorian rooves.
"You started it. Do you often attempt to cause bodily harm to people you don't know?" I didn't deem to answer him because, yes, I have been known to do that. But I didn't want to admit it or explain how they were usually jerks who deserved it. Instead, I ask, "Who was he?"
"All you need to know is he could have done worse." Came Siebold's reply, his gaze weighing heavily on me. "Especially when nosy little Kettur don't mind their own business." He clearly intended to dodge my question.
I snort, tapping away on the screen. "My territory, my business. Besides, Tad is my friend. I wasn't about to let a showdown happen between you - his dear father - and that twat-waffle of a fae. Especially not after you two just escaped from their clutches."
I heard a sharp intake of breath, as if he were about to speak, then silence. I glanced up at him, surprised to see a faint smile playing on his lips, his expression thoughtful.
"What?" I asked, my brow furrowed.
He shook his head slightly. "Nichts," he murmured, his voice softer than usual.
"Right... Anyway, I need to check out the damage. Hopefully, I can figure out what I need and go rob the hardware store before it closes." I sigh and make my way towards the ladder. "You might want to invest in some ear protection. I'm about to make a hell of a lot more noise this week."
And it was only Monday.