Etched in Bone

CHAPTER 10

Watersday, Messis 11

“I know, I know.” Eve hauled more art supplies out of the carry sacks she’d brought into the sorting room. “I got carried away. But I wasn’t sure what you wanted, and I can return anything that hasn’t been opened or used.”

Meg stared at all the items piled on the table. She’d asked Eve to look for a how-to-draw book and a set of pencils for Hope’s friend Amy Wolfgard. It looked like Eve had done that, but what was she supposed to do with the rest of the supplies?

Eve studied Meg, then returned a couple of items to the carry sacks. “Too much?”

“How did you pay for all this?” Meg asked.

Eve winced. “I used my house money. It didn’t occur to me that I wouldn’t be reimbursed for the supplies you wanted to keep.”

“You have the receipt?” Meg studied the itemized list Eve provided. Did the Others already know about drawing and painting? They knew about telling stories and making music. Since Hope’s friend was interested in drawing, maybe there were Courtyard residents who would be interested in the art supplies. Something to ask Henry.

Meg selected a book of basic drawing instructions and a book about drawing the natural world—animals and landscapes. She added two sketchbooks, a box of colored pencils, graphite pencils, a sharpener, and an eraser.

Eve set a wood box on the table. It had a simple hook lock and a handle. “Figured you would want something to hold the pencils and other supplies. This was the least expensive artist box available.”

Meg put it with the rest of her selections and added it to the tally. “I’ll go to the bank in the Market Square during my midday break and get the money to pay for these items. And I’ll talk to Simon about how to pay you for the rest.”

“You’re paying for these?” Eve sounded surprised—and a little unhappy. “If I’d known that, I would have asked how much you wanted to spend before I started buying things.”

“I hadn’t thought about setting a purchase limit,” Meg replied. “I’m doing this for Hope, so I should pay for it.” She paused to savor the feeling of buying something for a friend, the excitement of spending money this way, the anticipation of Hope’s pleasure when the box of supplies arrived.

Eve returned everything else to the carry sacks and set them to one side. “Okay to leave them here?”

Meg tensed, anticipating the anxiety that came from a change in the room. Then she realized that this was just another kind of delivery, and she coped with deliveries all the time. “That’s fine.”

Eve rummaged in the sacks and put one last item on the table. “Catalog from the art store in the Bird Park Plaza. I’m happy to go to the store for you when I’m out shopping, but this way you could order supplies and ask Harry to pick them up when he makes his deliveries.”

Harry had worked for Everywhere Delivery until the company changed its name to Everywhere Human Delivery. Now he worked for the Courtyard, picking up anything the terra indigene ordered from businesses in Lakeside. There weren’t a lot of things to be picked up, and there weren’t a lot of other deliveries being made. Some of that was simply because the Business Association had ordered and stored everything they could before the Elementals and Elders shook the continent. And some of that was because everyone, humans and Others, was trying to figure out what businesses still existed and had merchandise to sell. You couldn’t phone a company outside of the region where you lived, and not receiving a reply to a letter could mean a sack of mail was sitting in a railway station somewhere and a response would come eventually—or it could mean there was no one left in that town to send a reply.

“I’ll find out what to do with the rest of the supplies,” Meg promised, tucking the receipt under the new geode paperweight she’d purchased from Jenni Crowgard.

Eve smiled. “Then I’ll leave them with you and get to work.”

Meg called Henry, figuring that, as a sculptor, he would be the most interested member of the Business Association when it came to art supplies. And he was interested. She just hadn’t expected him to walk out of the Liaison’s Office with charcoal sticks, graphite pencils, the other sharpener and eraser, and a sketchbook—and a slip of paper that told him what he owed Eve Denby.

Before she had a chance to call, not only had word reached Simon and Vlad that she had something new and interesting, but Jake Crowgard had spread the news to the rest of the terra indigene in the Courtyard, and a steady stream of Crows, Hawks, Owls, and Wolves showed up to look at what was available.

By the time Meg closed the office for her midday break, all the art supplies were gone and she felt exhausted and overwhelmed—partly because she had ended up warning everyone away from the supplies she’d selected for Hope. She’d even leaned over them and growled a couple of times, which amused Vlad more than it did Simon.

No telling how long the interest in this kind of art would last, but for the moment, the Others were excited about exploring something new.

Monty didn’t break the silence that had filled the car ever since he and Kowalski headed out to patrol some of the streets in the Chestnut Street station’s district. Jimmy had recovered sufficiently from his inexplicable weakness and had gone off that morning “to explore his options.”

Monty knew all about his brother’s options. What he needed to know was if Jimmy’s presence was splintering his relationship with his men, his captain . . . and Simon Wolfgard.

Only one way to find out.

“Something you want to tell me?” he asked.

“Don’t want to,” Kowalski replied after a moment. “But have to, I guess. And it’s better if you’re the one who talks to Commander Gresh.”

Monty sat up straighter. “Why do I need to talk to the commander of the bomb squad?”

“He and his family are among the humans Simon Wolfgard is allowing to shop in the Market Square and buy food items as well as other goods.”

“Captain Burke is also included among those humans. Is that a problem?”

Kowalski breathed out, an audible sound. “With everyone putting in extra hours since that storm in early Sumor, shopping in the Market Square has been handy, you know? You come home from work, do some chores, buy some ground meat from the Courtyard’s butcher shop and a couple of rolls from A Little Bite, and have burgers with a salad or some of the vegetables from your share of the Green Complex garden. You buy eggs there because it’s easier than standing in line in the grocery store or butcher shop in the Bird Park Plaza and finding out the person ahead of you bought the last dozen—and then having to break up a fight between the woman who bought the last dozen and a woman trying to take them in order to bake her kid a birthday cake. And broken eggs end up on the floor, along with the women, and you, being an officer of the law, have to sort it out and arrest one or both.”

“You had to do that?”

“I broke up a fight like that a couple of days ago—after the eggs hit the floor and things really got nasty—but I was off duty at the time, so Officer Hilborn made the arrest.”

“Gods,” Monty muttered. Had his preoccupation with his own family distracted him so much that he hadn’t been aware of what was going on? “Are we going to have to quell riots?”

“If we do, it’s because people aren’t using the same sense and neighborly kindness they would have shown each other a few months ago,” Kowalski replied. “Before the Humans First and Last movement got everyone thinking that any time a shop runs out of something it’s a shortage and people are going to starve if they don’t hoard whatever they can grab off the shelves, those women might have fought over a dozen eggs. People do stupid things all the time. But more likely they would have been passing acquaintances—women who didn’t know each other outside of chatting in the shops while waiting their turn, but still people who would know a bit about each other. Instead of fighting over the eggs, they would have split the dozen so that the woman could bake a birthday cake for her kid. That’s what people would have done. That’s what most are still doing.”

“New people have run to the remaining human-controlled cities, looking for work and a place to live. They’ll be trying to buy rationed goods at the shops too, so it stands to reason that supplies won’t always match the demand for a while.”

“That concern about supply and demand isn’t limited to the human shops.”

Monty considered his partner’s body language. Kowalski was circling around something. “Just say it, Karl.”

“If we’re not careful, we may not be welcome in the Market Square stores much longer, and that’s going to make it harder on all of us.”

Monty sighed. “This is about Jimmy?”

“It’s about all of us. As for family . . .” Kowalski let out a bitter laugh. “Ruthie’s mother, the woman who loudly declared that her daughter was dead and called my Ruthie trash, rang her this morning and wanted Ruthie to buy her a ham—five or six pounds would do. After all, the freaks had plenty of meat and could just catch more if they ran out. When Ruthie said she couldn’t buy that much meat even if a ham was available . . .” He drove for a minute in silence. “I could hear her screaming at Ruthie halfway across the room, so I took the phone and hung up on the bitch.”

“I’m sorry, Karl. For you and for Ruth.”

“Yeah, well. Personally, I hope that bridge is burned for good. Not sure what that says about me, but I hope it is.”

“You love your wife and don’t want to see her hurt.” Monty studied his partner, an uneasy feeling corseting his ribs. Even before the storm and the difficulty of transporting food and other goods between the regions, it was less expensive to buy food in the Courtyard than in other stores in the city. With prices going up even more, and with some food items in short supply, would there be pressure from friends and family on those who had access to the Courtyard to supply them with food as well?

Was selling food under the table one of those options Jimmy was exploring? Gods.

“I’m piecing this together from things the girls overheard or were told by Nadine, who has more information about raw food supplies than the rest of us since her bakery is now operating within A Little Bite,” Kowalski continued. “When Simon Wolfgard made the apartment residents part of the Courtyard and, therefore, among the beings who could eat the food produced within the Courtyard or brought in from the farms that supply the Courtyard, the Others figured out they would need an extra fifty pounds of meat per week to provide for their tenants. Someone figured out that amounted to twenty-four ounces of meat for each human—roughly four good-size burgers or a small roast or meat for a stew. And that means the Wolves now have to bring down two deer each week instead of one because the quantity of beef and pork being sent to the Courtyard from earth native farms hasn’t changed.”

“And a pack isn’t successful at every hunt.”

“The deer herd has been self-sustaining because the Wolves won’t kill a fawn unless it’s already injured. But how long will that be true if more deer are killed than reproduce?”

Now Monty understood why he would have to talk to Louis Gresh. Every purchase of meat from the Market Square butcher shop was putting pressure on the Wolfgard. Regardless of whether the Wolves preferred eating deer or moose over beef, some members of their pack—mainly Meg Corbyn—preferred beef and pork. The day Meg went hungry because some other human had bought the last pound of meat or the last dozen eggs was the day there would be a significant change in the relationship between the humans in Lakeside and the terra indigene—and that change would not be good.

“You have any thoughts about this?” he asked.

“Now that the mayor has implemented the fair-distribution act so that each butcher shop receives a percentage of the meat coming in from another region, twenty-four ounces is the per-person, per-week limit a registered customer can reserve at a butcher shop,” Kowalski replied. “The kind of meat doesn’t matter. That’s the total.”

“A significant change for most households—except for the few of us who can buy that amount from two sources.”

Kowalski nodded. “The girls talked it over, and they’re going to purchase what they can from the human stores because we can buy rationed goods and the Others can’t. The terra indigene can buy pizzas at Hot Crust or eat at the Saucy Plate, but they can’t go into a butcher shop and buy a roast. So the girls are thinking that if we sell half the meat ration to the Courtyard each week—and by ‘sell’ I mean receiving a credit equal to the amount we paid for the meat—we can buy a sandwich at A Little Bite or have a meal at Meat-n-Greens without putting a squeeze on the Others. Nadine is going to float the idea to Tess.”

“I’ll talk to my mother. She may have some ideas. Even during lean times, she made sure we ate pretty well.” Monty thought for a moment, then looked at Kowalski, fighting not to smile. “Or is my mama one of the girls?”

Kowalski blushed and concentrated on his driving.

“There is the creek running through the Courtyard. Maybe a few of us should try to catch some fish.” Were there places along the shore of Lake Etu where people went to fish? He’d never been interested in the activity, but it was another source of food.

A weighted silence. Finally, Kowalski said, “We’re not going far enough into the Courtyard to reach the creeks. Won’t be for a while.”

Surprised, Monty turned toward his partner. “Why? I thought you and Michael were riding your bicycles along the Courtyard roads. Did you have a problem with the Wolfgard who are guests here?”

“Not with them, no. I’m not an Intuit, but I am a cop. Michael and I both have a feeling that there are other guests in the Courtyard right now, guests no one mentions—at least not to any of us.”

Elders. Even the word made Monty shiver. Gods above and below, had they returned to the Courtyard?

Monty’s mobile phone rang. “Montgomery.” He listened for a minute, then hung up. “That was the captain. He and I are expected at the mayor’s office in thirty minutes.”

“Trouble?” Kowalski asked.

“Only the type and degree are in question.” After a moment, Monty added quietly, “Your idea of adding what we can to the communal pot is a good one. It’s better for everyone if it doesn’t look like we expect the Wolfgard to hunt for us. Better yet if we bring what meat we can to the table.”

Stopped at a red light, Kowalski looked at Monty and nodded.

They didn’t need the words. There had been no need to fill out a DLU form lately, or check the cairn where keys and wallets might be left when nothing else remained of a missing person. But if the terra indigene were squeezed out of eating their usual prey, they would go hunting outside the Courtyard for a different kind of meat.

Jimmy sat at a table in the Stag and Hare, eating a handful of chicken wings and nursing a beer as he eavesdropped on the men in a nearby booth.

“Price of everything is going up,” one man complained. “The only thing staying the same is the paycheck.”

“Price is going up, and the quantity is going down,” his companion said. He lifted half his sandwich, then dropped it on the plate, looking disgusted. “I bought this same lunch special last week, and the sandwich had twice the meat as this one.”

“Know what you mean. I went to the Saucy Plate yesterday. Piece of lasagna smaller than my hand, a few greens and a slice of tomato as the salad, one roll, and one fucking pat of butter. One. Charged me ten dollars. And a second roll with butter is now an extra item.”

“Mayor says he’s working with the governor to keep the lines of transportation open within the Northeast.”

“We need the lines open to the rest of the regions. That’s what we need.”

“They’re open for those who have the money to grease the right palms. Bet the mayor and the governor aren’t feeding their kids watery soup made out of cheap cuts of meat.”

“Bet the fucking Others aren’t going hungry either.”

A moment of uneasy silence. Then the men focused on their meals.

Jimmy looked at the chicken bones on his plate. Didn’t even begin to fill the hole in his belly. And one beer didn’t relax him the way mellow weed did—if he could find a source here in Lakeside. The freaks might growl about anyone enjoying a bit of weed on their property, but CJ wouldn’t let the freaks toss him out for a bit of weed, not when it meant tossing Sandee and the kids out too. With Mama looking on, Lieutenant Crispin James Montgomery would smooth things over, and the brats knew how to play sentimental suckers like Mama and their uncle CJ.

Finding a source of weed would have to wait. Right now, he needed to scout around the Courtyard a little bit and see if he could turn men bitching about food into a business opportunity. Dropping enough money on the table to cover the bill, Jimmy headed for the door.

As he walked out of the Stag and Hare, he realized the blond-haired man who had been sitting at the bar, also nursing a beer, had been watching him in the mirror behind the bar the whole time.

The meeting at the mayor’s office included Acting Mayor Walter Chen, Police Commissioner Raymond Alvarez, and ITF Agent Greg O’Sullivan, as well as Monty and Captain Burke.

“I received a phone call from Governor Hannigan this morning,” Chen said. “Based on the news reports, it sounds like we have some serious shortages of certain foods, and Commissioner Alvarez tells me the increase in break-ins that target butcher shops and small neighborhood grocery stores seems to reflect that. But it’s my opinion, and the governor agrees, that the terra indigene have not curtailed the transport of food to such a degree that food cannot be purchased. Could shops be attempting to create ‘luxury items’ as a way to increase prices? Your thoughts?”

Everyone looked at O’Sullivan, then at Burke, but it was Alvarez who answered. “I sent men to every human farm that supplies food to Lakeside to find out the status of the family and the farm. The savagery of the storms that slammed into the city didn’t last much beyond the city limits, so the farms dealt with minor damage to crops and buildings, but no loss of life among the people or livestock. The cluster of stores that supply the farms reported running low on things like sugar and coffee, and they’re hoping to get resupplied before they run out, but it’s pretty much business as usual for them. Same with the farmers. They’re still bringing meat, dairy, eggs, and produce to market.”

“My impression is animals from the Midwest Region are slower to arrive at cities like Shikago, whose meatpacking plants supply much of the meat for the Northeast Region,” Burke said. “Grain is also arriving in smaller quantities, but those things are crossing regional boundaries. Same with the foods grown in the Southeast Region. The farmers may not be exporting as much out of their region because they’re being encouraged to sell within their region first.”

“One difference in supply and demand may be the number of people who have temporarily swelled the population of Lakeside and other human-controlled cities in the Northeast,” O’Sullivan said. “A lot of people fled from Toland before and after the storm. Some went back to their homes, either permanently or to salvage what they could. Many are looking to find work and settle someplace else. Problem is, there are significantly fewer human-controlled places than there were a month ago. There are two college towns in the Finger Lakes area. Around them are small towns, farms, vineyards and wineries, and wild country. All those places, including the college towns, are semi-isolated now—even more so than they used to be. People can come and go, and goods are delivered to stores. The phones don’t always work beyond the local area—and phone lines that would connect the Finger Lakes area with Toland are brought down with such regularity, the phone company has stopped trying to repair them. But people who have skills that would benefit one of those small towns, or can work at the colleges, would be able to relocate there.” He smiled tightly. “I don’t think there are many people who have tried to resettle in an area controlled by the terra indigene—especially people who aren’t used to such sharp scrutiny.”

“What about the Others in the Courtyard?” Chen asked. “Are they experiencing shortages?”

Monty held himself still, but no one else spoke—because they were waiting for him. “Not everything is as plentiful as it was,” he said carefully. “But that’s because the Lakeside Courtyard has allowed some police officers to purchase goods, including food, at their stores. And the tenants in the apartment buildings the Business Association purchased are also permitted to buy food in the Courtyard.”

“They are trying to feed more people from the same bowl of rice?” Chen said.

“Yes, sir. That was brought to my attention a short while ago.” The lack of criticism for his failure to spot the potential trouble earlier was its own form of censure. “A suggestion has been made that if the humans want to continue eating in the Courtyard in order to interact with the terra indigene, then all the tenants in the apartments should offer part of their weekly meat ration to be used at the coffee shop or the restaurant in the Market Square. That way the humans are helping the Wolves feed all the residents.”

“Do you think they’ll agree to this?”

Monty smiled. “I don’t think the Business Association will argue with the female pack.”

“Which brings up a point Elliot Wolfgard asked to be addressed.” O’Sullivan took a folded piece of paper out of his inside jacket pocket and handed it to Walter Chen. “To sign up for a ration book, a person needs to go to the government office that is handling the distribution and show a place of residence and employment, as well as provide a list of the people to be included if it’s a ration book for a family—and to show proof so that someone can’t claim to have four children when they really have two.”

“Or they can receive the books at their place of employment,” Chen said. “For example, all police officers and staff working at the Chestnut Street station will receive their ration books at the station.”

“The accounting department at each station will be responsible for distribution,” Alvarez said, looking at Burke and Monty.

O’Sullivan pointed to the paper he’d given to Chen. “These people are employed by the Courtyard. Being human, they’re entitled to receive a ration book. Mr. Wolfgard did not want them penalized for not working for a human employer.”

“The consul is very thorough,” Chen said with approval. “I’ll personally make sure these names are correctly recorded. They will receive their books at the Courtyard?”

“Yes. The consulate will distribute the ration books.”

Chen stared at one name before looking at O’Sullivan.

“She’s human,” O’Sullivan said quietly. “She’s entitled to rationed goods, same as anyone else.”

Monty tensed. Elliot had added Meg’s name to a list that would become a record in the mayor’s office?

“Knowing where she is doesn’t mean being able to reach her,” Burke said so softly his voice barely carried. “Her being included sets a precedent for the other girls. They all face enough challenges without being forced to depend on someone else for food.”

Monty wasn’t sure how Steve Ferryman listed the five young cassandra sangue who lived in the Intuit village, or Jean, who lived with a Simple Life family. Were Intuits and Simple Life folk even included to receive ration books? Did they need them? Something to ask, but not here and not now.

“I’ll speak with all the station chiefs and make sure they’re aware that price gouging should be reported,” Alvarez said. “Since people have to register at shops, the owners shouldn’t be allowed to take advantage of what, hopefully, will be a temporary situation.”

“One last thing, Lieutenant.” Chen picked up a carry bag from the floor beside his chair and set it in front of Monty with a gentle smile. “Rice. It’s a staple food in my neighborhood. I offer it as a small token of goodwill to our neighbors in the Lakeside Courtyard.”

“I’ll make sure they receive it,” Monty said.

He, Burke, and O’Sullivan walked out together. O’Sullivan stopped the other men before they reached their cars.

“Lieutenant, you should know that Elliot Wolfgard included your mother and sister as employees and tenants of the Courtyard. He was precise about saying your brother was neither an employee nor a tenant, that his position in Lakeside was that of a temporary visitor and he couldn’t claim the apartment as a place of residence.”

“Is Cyrus looking for work or another place to live?” Burke asked.

Monty shook his head. “As far as I know, his official residence is still listed as somewhere in Toland.”

“Then you, and he, should be aware that the ration book for him and his family will be issued out of Toland,” O’Sullivan said. “If he wants rationed goods, he’ll have to return to Toland and pick up the ration book in person or provide the proper authorities with his new permanent address.”

Jimmy wasn’t going to do without. Jimmy never did. Not for long, anyway. But Monty couldn’t see his brother going back to Toland just for a ration book.

“You need a lift back to the Courtyard?” Burke asked O’Sullivan.

“No, but thanks. I still have some work to do at the office here. I just wanted a private moment to let you know about Cyrus.”

“I appreciate that,” Monty said.

After asking Kowalski to deliver the rice to the Courtyard and continue patrolling, Monty went back to the station with Burke.

“Do the Others think there are shortages?” Burke asked. “Or do they just enjoy what’s available?”

“They tend to eat what is in season,” Monty replied. “And the supplies that come in from the earth native farms differ from week to week.”

“You let me know what the women want to do about sharing the meat ration. I’ll participate.”

Monty studied his captain. “But you don’t usually eat in the Courtyard.”

Burke said nothing until they pulled into the station’s lot. “I think I should for a while, don’t you?”

“I’ll take one of those lasagnas,” Jimmy said. He wasn’t sure what kind of freak ran the Market Square butcher shop. Wasn’t one of the Wolves, because the freak had brown feathers in its hair.

“Four pieces of lasagna is ten dollars. The dish is an extra five. You bring back the dish, we refund the five.” The freak pulled out a ledger, opened it to a flagged page, and made a notation.

“What’s that?” Jimmy asked.

The freak didn’t answer. He set aside the ledger and sealed the package of lasagna just as Sierra walked into the shop.

Jimmy smiled, pleased that she hesitated when she saw him. Bitch should hesitate. Bitch had a lot to make up for.

“Hey there, Sissy,” he said pleasantly. “Did you have a good day at work?”

“Yes, I did.” She approached the counter, still watching him, trying to assess his mood. As she should. Then she turned to the freak. “Hi, Boone. I’d like a package of lasagna.”

Brown eyes stared at her. “That’s four pieces.”

“My mama is having dinner with me and the girls.”

More marks on the ledger. Shit. The freaks were keeping tabs on what was bought and how much? Well, he’d just have to figure out how to get around that in order to assure his customers that he could deliver a steady supply and quantity of meat.

Jimmy slanted a glance at Sissy. Wouldn’t be that hard, with a little help from someone who owed him.

He waited for her, walked out of the shop with her. Once they were outside, where there was bound to be something watching them, he closed his hand on her carry sack. “Let me carry that for you.”

“It’s all right,” she said hurriedly. “I can . . .”

Cross me on this, and you will pay.

She read the threat in his look and released her hold on the sack. “Thanks, Jimmy.”

Gods, the bitch even thanked him. Could it get any better?

They walked through the Market Square’s open area. They walked through the employee parking lot to the wooden door that opened onto what had been the customer parking lot when some of the stores had been open to the general public. And they dashed across Crowfield Avenue to the apartment building.

The building’s outside door wasn’t locked at this time of day, but the bloodsucker on guard would be nearby. While Sissy opened the door and blocked the view of anyone inside, Jimmy slipped her carry sack into his own. Nothing suspicious about consolidating packages.

He had his apartment door key in his hand and was turning toward the apartment when she started to reach for her carry sack, then stopped, confused—and a little frightened.

“Jimmy . . .”

“That’s all right, Sissy.” His smile and friendly voice were at odds with the look in his eyes. The look was a warning to Sissy. The rest was playing to the unseen audience. Here was the kindly brother bailing out his little sister again—and providing a reason for any sniffling and whining the bitch might do. “You can pay me back whenever you get the money.” Next time he squeezed her for a little cash, the dumb-ass bloodsucker would confirm that she owed him money. How good was that?

Pleased with himself, Jimmy walked into his apartment and shut the door in Sissy’s face.

Sandee met him in the kitchen, looking disheveled and pouty. Gods, what had he ever seen in her?

“Here.” He pulled one of the lasagna dishes out of the carry sack. “Dinner. I get half. You and the brats can have the rest.”

“That’s not enough,” Sandee whined. Her eyes fixed on the second lasagna when he put it in the fridge. “And you got another one.”

“That’s business,” he snapped. “If I see so much as a spoonful of it missing, you’ll end up with broken fingers and a few missing teeth.” He rounded on Clarence and Fanny, who stood in the kitchen doorway. “And that goes for you too.”

“Don’t you be talking to your children like that,” Sandee protested.

“Who says they’re mine? Got no proof they’re mine.”

“Jimmy,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears.

“If you want to do that shit, do it somewhere else,” he snapped. “If you want to eat, get this heated up.”

Sandee sniffled and brushed at her eyes, then picked up the lasagna, busying herself at the counter. The kids slunk away, which was fine with him. He settled at the kitchen table and watched Sandee struggle to remove the simple clips that held the cover to the dish. He didn’t trust her. She’d gobble up some of the food cold and then try to split the rest.

That ledger at the butcher shop was going to be a problem. But he’d find a way around it.

Heading to the grocery store in the Market Square to pick up some greens for a salad to go with the lasagna Sierra had picked up for dinner, Twyla saw her daughter dash into the butcher shop, not even having the courtesy to thank Vladimir when he opened the door for her.

Taught her better manners than that, Twyla thought. Then something about the girl’s movements made her uneasy, and she hurried to the butcher shop and stepped inside.

“. . . wasn’t paying attention and I tripped over one of the girls’ toys and dumped the lasagna on the floor. Couldn’t salvage any of it.” Sierra gave Boone Hawkgard a brittle smile. “So I need to buy another one.”

“Don’t have any more,” Boone said.

Sierra looked at the dishes of lasagna still in the case. “But . . .”

“Those are reserved.”

“But my girls and my mama won’t have anything to eat if I don’t get another one.”

“Don’t have any more,” Boone insisted. “The dishes I’ve got left are reserved.”

Twyla listened to her daughter, but she watched Vladimir—and knew by the look on his face that Sierra was lying about what had happened to the food she’d bought. Knew he’d contacted the guard at the apartment building. Could guess what had happened.

And she knew what she had to do to try to protect Bonnie and Carrie.

She slipped out of the shop and hurried to Howling Good Reads, catching Simon as he walked out the back door.

“Mr. Simon,” Twyla said, hurrying toward him. “Could I have a word with you in private?”

Some change in him, as if he sensed that being human wasn’t going to be enough. He looked toward the Liaison’s Office and raised a hand.

Meg waved at Twyla, then smiled at Simon and pointed toward the Market Square.

“Miss Meg shouldn’t be going to the Market Square just yet. And not by herself,” Twyla said.

Nathan, who had been trotting off for home, suddenly spun around and charged at Meg, backing her up against the office door.

“Hey!” she protested.

“Wait for me,” Simon called.

Meg looked at Simon, then at Nathan, and nodded.

At least Miss Meg wouldn’t get tangled up in whatever drama was going to take place.

Simon unlocked HGR’s back door and held it open for her.

Sighing, Twyla went inside.

Simon called.

The Sanguinati had offered to pick up the dish of lasagna after Meg had invited him and Nyx to join her and Simon for dinner. Nyx didn’t usually participate in human-style meals, and Meg was excited that she had accepted the invitation.

Vlad paused.

Simon turned his attention to Miss Twyla.

“You gave Sierra a chance, and she messed up,” Miss Twyla said. “If you say that’s the end of it, then that’s the end of it.”

“What do you want me to say?” He wasn’t sure what she wanted from him.

“Among your kind, if a parent doesn’t bring home food, what happens?” she asked.

“The pups go hungry. If they’re hungry for too long, they’ll die.”

She nodded. “I know for a fact that Sierra has a little food in her apartment—some peanut butter and crackers. Maybe a bit more tucked in the cupboards. But she doesn’t have enough to make a meal, and peanut butter on crackers isn’t lasagna.”

Simon cocked his head. “You want the Sierra’s puppies to go hungry?”

“Yes. I don’t want anyone to help her this time. Not me, not you, not the neighbors who will want to help, and especially not Crispin. He’ll want to help his nieces, and Sierra knows that. As long as someone helps her girls, Sierra won’t stand up to Cyrus. I’m sure Mr. Vlad knows, as I do, that Cyrus somehow ended up with the lasagna she bought.”

“It could cause trouble if I bite Lieutenant Montgomery to stop him from helping.”

She smiled. “Hopefully Crispin is smart enough not to need a bite to see reason.” Her smile faded. “I shouldn’t have asked for help.”

“You’re part of my pack.” By accepting her choice, he’d closed that door on his own tail. Besides, this was just the kind of confrontation the Elders wanted to observe in order to see how a human like that Cyrus could cause so much trouble.

“I’ll give the lieutenant enough reasons not to help the Sierra,” he said. “You should be scarce this evening.”

“No, Mr. Simon. Sierra needs to see that not helping her isn’t your decision alone. You may dote on your young, but I bet you Wolves understand about tough love. So do I.”

Simon sighed. “The female pack will be unhappy.” And he didn’t think anyone except that Cyrus and his mate was going to enjoy the lasagna tonight.

Miss Twyla touched his arm. “I don’t think they’ll be unhappy with you.”

She walked out of Howling Good Reads. Simon waited a moment before locking up.

Vlad called.

Growling softly, Simon went into A Little Bite and heard Nadine Fallacaro on the phone. Heard the growl in her voice and hesitated.

“You did the right thing,” Nadine said. “No point spoiling a good meal. Eve Denby just got home. I’ll call her and let her know. You want someone to bring your box of cards to your apartment? No? Okay, if I see him . . . Oh, he’s here. I’ll tell him.” She hung up.

“We’re not eating lasagna tonight,” Simon said.

“Pick what you want from the display case,” Nadine said. “I have to call Eve.” She turned her back on him as she dialed the Denbys’ number.

As he chose food for himself and Meg, he listened to Nadine and felt sorry for himself and Montgomery. It sounded like the female pack was going to gather in the Market Square this evening, and he and Montgomery—and the Sierra—were going to be smack in the middle of a showdown.