Etched in Bone

CHAPTER 33

Windsday, Messis 29

Walking out of the Market Square Library, Monty spotted Simon standing in a bit of shade watching the medical office on the other side of the square. Then he looked at an office on the second level. There wasn’t a sign on the door—not yet anyway—but Monty was already familiar with Sally Esposito’s office.

G et some counseling, Monty, Burke had said. And take some personal time.

Sound advice, especially when he closed his eyes at night and saw Meg’s silver razor and Jimmy’s lower jaw positioned on the shredded clothes.

There was no mercy in the wild country.

But there was a kind of rough compassion. The doctor who had been found in the woods had been tortured by people who wanted to locate the cassandra sangue who were hidden in settlements throughout the wild country. But something else had piled leaves over his body, had prevented small scavengers from eating what was left of the man.

“Simon.” Monty joined the Wolf.

“Lieutenant Montgomery.”

“My friends call me Monty.”

Simon studied him, then nodded. “Monty.”

An acknowledgment of more than a name; a choice that wasn’t made lightly, not by a Wolf. “Is Meg having a session with Sally Esposito?”

Simon nodded. “She sleeps a lot, but she’s always tired. The dreams chase her at night, and during the day she sees things that aren’t there—and doesn’t always see things that are. She’s afraid.” He hesitated. “So am I.”

“I would be more concerned about her if she wasn’t afraid, at least for a while.” He studied the Wolf. “Are the cuts healing okay?”

A shrug. “There was some worry about infection, but Emily Faire gave Meg medicine to take for a few days, and I sniff the arm and her hand a couple of times a day to make sure there is no whiff of badness in the wounds.”

The smile that had begun when Monty thought about Meg’s reaction to being sniffed faded when he heard the word “wounds.”

“She’s not supposed to walk on the sprained ankle, and she’s not happy about that or about needing to use the crutches or the wheelchair or about being carried upstairs. She growls at everyone—except Miss Twyla.”

Now he did smile. “Nobody growls at Mama.”

The Courtyard’s minivan pulled up near an archway leading into the Market Square. Blair opened the side door. Sam leaped out, ran a few steps, and then waited until Blair picked up Skippy and set the juvenile on the ground.

The blow to the head hadn’t made Skippy’s brain any more skippy, although he yelped if anyone touched that part of his head. The broken foreleg would have been a death sentence in the wild country, unless the Wolf pack had a bodywalker who knew how to set bones. Even then, a Wolf with a broken leg couldn’t help with the hunting.

“Emily Faire convinced Jane Wolfgard to take Skippy to a vet in Ferryman’s Landing,” Simon said. “There wasn’t anything the vet could do that Jane hadn’t done already, but it was . . . friendly . . . of the Intuits to offer the help.”

“Yes, it was.” Monty hesitated. “Simon? What are you going to do about Meg?”

Simon stared at him, a warning flicker of red in the amber eyes. “Do about Meg?”

“You love her, and she loves you. You’re in love, Simon. Maybe that’s not how you would describe what you feel, but it’s obvious to the humans who know both of you.”

The medical office’s door opened and Meg hobbled out, supported by Sally Esposito and Theral MacDonald, who helped settle her in the wheelchair.

“Meg!” Sam ran to her. Skippy, with one leg in a cast, hobbled after the boy.

Simon watched them, then said in a rough voice, “I’m not human. I will never be human.”

“Is that so important?” Monty asked quietly.

Surprised, the Wolf looked at him.

Monty subtly pointed at Meg, Sam, and Skippy. “Do you know what I see when I see you and Meg and Sam together?”

“Two Wolves and a human?”

“No. I see a family.” Monty sighed. “I envy you, Simon Wolfgard. You and Meg aren’t the same species and you have an unconventional relationship, but you also have a better working partnership than I ever had with Elayne. She and I were both human, but we couldn’t find a way to make the differences in our backgrounds work for us.”

“What if Meg wants puppies? I’m not sure humans and terra indigene can do that.”

“Roo-roo!” Skippy hobbled toward Twyla Montgomery as she came out of Chocolates and Cream with a tray and four bowls of ice cream.

Setting the tray on one of the outdoor tables, she waved for Meg and Sam to join them and said sternly, “Sam, Miss Meg isn’t a toy. Don’t be racing with her in that chair—or taking shortcuts down the steps.”

“But the ice cream will melt if we go slow!” Sam protested.

“Samuel Wolfgard.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Monty shook his head. Could a boy move any slower?

He turned his attention back to Simon. “Maybe it’s different for Wolves, but plenty of humans who are mates don’t have children for one reason or another.”

Watching his mother sitting with Meg and the two young Wolves, Monty thought about his sister, the adopted child. In a day or two, he would make a few discreet inquiries and see if he could locate her. Knowing Jimmy was no longer a threat, hopefully Sissy would get in touch with Mama. It would be good for all of them if that much could be mended.

Thinking of Sissy, Monty said, “Even if you can’t have children of your own, you have Sam.”

“Yes,” Simon replied quietly. “We have Sam.”

Mated pairs didn’t always stay together. Sometimes the bond between them broke. But sometimes it was the surviving mate who broke if the other died. Was that what humans called love? The joy of being together and the killing sense of loss when one of them ceased?

If he hadn’t found Meg, he wouldn’t have returned to Lakeside. He would have left Sam in Elliot’s care, and he would have . . . What? Disappeared? Died? Looked for a pack deep in the wild country who had minimum contact with human things and no contact with actual humans?

Was that love?

Or was he trying to think too much like a human? Their brains were so full of confusion it was a wonder they managed to do anything at all, let alone establish a proper social order within a pack.

Simon walked into the back room of the Liaison’s Office and stopped when he heard the muffled sound.

he called to the watch Wolf, who had become extra vigilant when humans came into the office—even humans he knew. After all, none of the Wolves had liked that Cyrus, but they hadn’t thought he would steal Meg.

Nathan said.