Written in Red

CHAPTER 8

Timing her approach, Asia drove her car into the Liaison’s Office delivery area and parked in a way that guaranteed her vehicle would clog up the most space. Then she plucked the takeout cup out of the cup holder and hurried into the office. Seeing Meg hesitate in the doorway of the room marked PRIVATE, she widened her smile and strode up to the counter.

“I’m working an earlier shift and only have a minute,” Asia said, sounding a little breathless. “We got off on the wrong foot the other day, and it was totally my fault. I get too enthusiastic sometimes, and I really did want to get acquainted because I don’t have many friends and I think you’re someone I could talk to, you know? Anyway, here’s a little peace offering.” She set the takeout cup on the counter in front of Meg. “I wasn’t sure how you take your coffee or even if you drink it, so I brought you a cup of hot chocolate. Can’t go wrong with chocolate, I always say.”

She shifted position, her body language signaling awkward but sincere. “Anyway, I hope I didn’t cause you any trouble.”

“You didn’t cause trouble,” Meg said. “I appreciate the hot chocolate, and I’d like to chat with you sometime, but . . .”

“But right now you’ve got work and I’ve got work.” Asia looked over her shoulder when a horn beeped and the Crows perched on the stone wall responded. She rolled her eyes as she turned back to Meg. “And I am in the way of those delivery trucks and creating a roadblock on the highway of commerce.”

Meg smiled. “More like the cart path to the petty cash box.”

Waving, Asia hurried out to her car, flashed a smile at the deliveryman that wiped the sour look off his face, and drove out of the Courtyard. As she glanced in her rearview mirror before pulling out into traffic, she noticed two Crows taking off.

Score, Asia thought. Let those black-feathered gossips tell everyone she’d stopped by the office. Meg Corbyn had no social skills and couldn’t lie worth a damn with body or words. The feeb had bought the new version of Asia Crane, and that’s all Asia had been aiming for today.

A cup of coffee here, a slice of pizza there, and she would become the friend Meg couldn’t say no to. And then she would be able to get on with her assignment and make her backers happy.

A shiver went through Monty when he walked into the station’s assembly room and saw Captain Burke passing out the wanted posters of Meg Corbyn.

“Lieutenant?” Kowalski whispered behind him. “Maybe we should take a seat.”

Burke understands the danger. Why would he . . . ?

Monty looked at the faces of the other men as they glanced at the poster and then studied their captain, and their reaction to this particular assembly began to sink in.

When everyone was seated, Burke gave them all that fierce smile.

“Most wanted,” Burke said. “Grand theft. You will notice there is no mention of what was stolen or the identity of this person, despite an indication that she is, in fact, known to the person or persons who reported the theft. I’ve been told that all cities in the eastern half of Thaisia have been asked to be on the lookout for this person, and we will do our duty to our government and our city by keeping our eyes open.

“But, gentlemen, there are a couple of things I want to emphasize. First, nothing leads me to believe this person is armed or dangerous or in any way a direct threat to us or the citizens of Lakeside. So if you believe you have sighted this woman, force is not required for initial contact. Be clear about that.

“Second, it’s been said that every person has a doppelganger—someone who looks so much like you as to be mistaken for you. That can make for interesting stories of mistaken identity—unless that doppelganger happens to live in a Courtyard.”

Sudden shifting in the chairs. Nervous twitches. Nervous coughs.

“It has come to my attention that someone living in the Lakeside Courtyard bears a strong resemblance to this woman on the poster. I trust you can all appreciate the consequences to this city if we try to apprehend the wrong person. Lieutenant Montgomery and his team are assigned to handle any incidents that deal with the Others, whether the terra indigene are in the Courtyard or out amongst us in the city. If you see someone with the Others who looks like the woman in the poster, you call Lieutenant Montgomery. If he or any of his team asks for backup or assistance, the rest of you will provide it.

“The governor wants this alleged criminal apprehended and the stolen property returned to its rightful owner. He’s given his orders to the mayors of all the cities and towns in the Northeast Region. Those mayors have given their orders to the police commissioners of their cities, who have passed those orders down to the chiefs of police, who have passed them down to the captains, who are, like me, passing them down to the rest of you.”

Burke paused and looked at all of them. He was still smiling, but his blue eyes were bright with anger. “So now you know what His Honor wants you to do. I hope you all understand what I want you to do.”

Monty walked out of the assembly, saying nothing. He stopped at his desk long enough to grab his coat, then left the station. Kowalski caught up to him at the patrol car.

“Where to, Lieutenant?” Kowalski asked as he started the car.

Monty released his breath in a sigh. Burke had walked a verbal tightrope to warn the men of a potential conflict with the Others. He hoped his own careful talk would be as successful. “Howling Good Reads.”

Kowalski drove away from the station. “I don’t think HGR is open this early, but A Little Bite should be open by now.”

Monty glanced at the other man before staring out the passenger’s window. “Karl, coffee on the house is one thing, but we can’t accept breakfast sandwiches and pastries every morning. And MacDonald and Debany shouldn’t be going in for free soup every afternoon.”

A quick smile, there and gone. “I don’t think Officer Debany is stopping by for the soup.”

“Oh?” He thought of the human woman who worked for Tess and understood Debany’s interest. “Nevertheless, this constant largesse could be misunderstood, and we might be creating a tab we don’t want to pay.”

“The last time I offered to pay for the food, the owner seemed insulted, and, frankly, Lieutenant, I’m a lot more scared of her than I am of you.”

Tess. Definitely not someone he wanted to insult. “All right. But . . . restraint.” Monty sighed again. “Besides, if I keep eating like this, I’ll have to find a gym.”

Kowalski was suddenly paying the roads an excessive amount of attention. “Ruthie has been making noises about joining a gym or fitness center—specifically, joining Run and Thump, since it’s the closest place to the apartment we’re moving into. All the residents and employees of the Courtyard can use R and T, but there are also a few memberships open for humans who don’t work for them.”

“This might not be the best time for such a membership,” Monty said. “If anything goes wrong . . .”

“I know, but Ruthie thinks giving the Others positive exposure to humans might help us in the long run. She goes into HGR all the time and says she never feels threatened. If she’s polite, the Others are polite.”

“Help who? The police?”

“Help all of us. Isn’t mutual exposure the whole reason Simon Wolfgard opened a few stores to humans?”

Maybe, Monty thought. After a few days of contact with the Others, he didn’t think Wolfgard wanted to be friends with humans any more than the Wolf wanted to be friends with deer, but having a better understanding of one’s prey was useful for all kinds of reasons.

“Just be careful, both of you,” Monty said.

“Count on it.”

When they reached the Courtyard, HGR still had a Closed sign on the door, but A Little Bite was open. Kowalski pulled into the parking lot.

“Wait here.” Monty reached for the door handle, then stopped. Something about the way Burke had worded things when talking about the Courtyard. Something about the way the men suddenly got twitchy.

He sat back. “Karl? Has a shield ever shown up at that cairn in the park?”

“There wasn’t a specific place to look for identification on a DLU until Daphne Wolfgard was murdered two years ago.” Kowalski stared straight ahead. “It hasn’t happened since Captain Burke took over as patrol captain at the Chestnut Street station, but there have been times in the past when an officer was reported missing and the abandoned patrol car and a blood-smeared badge were the only things that were found. There’s some speculation that the chief and the captain have an . . . understanding . . . because if Captain Burke wants anyone transferred out of the Chestnut Street station, that person is gone the next day, no arguments made or questions asked.” A hesitation. “There’s a saying among the officers: it’s better to get transferred than be a DLU.”

“Is the hazard pay for being on this team worth the risk?” Monty asked.

“Lieutenant, if things go really wrong between us and the Others, no amount of pay will be worth the risk. But there also won’t be any place in Lakeside that is safe, so maybe taking those risks is what will make the difference for everyone.”

Since Kowalski didn’t seem inclined to add anything else, Monty got out of the car and went into A Little Bite.

Tess was behind the counter. The smile she gave him made him feel as if someone had sliced his back open, leaving him weak and trembling.

“Lieutenant. Coffee is fresh; the pastries are from yesterday. Everyone seems to be getting a slow start this morning.”

“Coffee would be appreciated,” Monty replied. “But I stopped by to see if I could have a word with Mr. Wolfgard. I noticed Howling Good Reads isn’t open yet, so I wondered if you had a way of getting in touch with him.”

“Regarding?”

“A discussion we had yesterday.”

Black threads suddenly appeared in Tess’s brown hair as it began to coil.

“This way.” Her voice hadn’t been warm before. Now it was brutally chilling.

He followed her to the lattice door that separated the two shops. She opened the door, went into HGR, and said, “Vladimir. Lieutenant Montgomery wants a word.” Turning to Monty, she added, “The members of the Business Association know all about your discussion. Simon isn’t available right now, so you can talk to Vlad.”

She walked back into her shop and closed the lattice door, leaving him with one of the Sanguinati.

Vladimir’s smile was as brutally chilling as Tess’s voice had been a moment before. It took all the courage Monty could gather to approach the book display the vampire was rearranging.

He did not want to tell the Others anything about Meg Corbyn they didn’t already know, but not telling them enough could lead to a slaughter. And maybe—maybe—there was one bit of information that might persuade the terra indigene to let humans deal with humans.

“I wanted Mr. Wolfgard to be aware that the poster I showed him yesterday has been distributed to all the police stations in Lakeside—to all police stations throughout the eastern part of Thaisia, in fact.”

“Is that significant?”

Vlad sounded like he was making an effort to show polite interest, but Monty wondered how long it would take for that tidbit to reach the farthest Courtyard on the eastern seaboard—and what it would mean to the police in those other cities. “I also wanted to make him aware of some details I came across while checking the information on the poster.” He paused to consider his words. “There is a small segment of the human population that is considered at risk. Their deaths are mostly caused by self-inflicted wounds, so a provision was made in human law to allow another person to have a ‘benevolent ownership’ of such an individual.”

“Wouldn’t this benevolence be called slavery if it was forced on any other kind of human?” Vlad asked, now sounding a little puzzled. Before Monty could respond, the vampire continued. “What about the segment of your population that chooses suicide by Wolf? As a defender of your people, you know it happens. Does your law insist on this benevolent ownership for them if they’re stopped before they throw themselves in front of a pack?”

Suicide by Wolf. The phrase chilled Monty—and the vampire noticed.

“No,” Monty said. “Our law has no provision for that.” He didn’t think explaining about the mental wards in city hospitals was a good idea, since he wasn’t sure Vlad would understand—or care—about the difference between being held in such a ward and benevolent ownership.

Vlad looked more and more coldly delighted. “There are always the stronger and the weaker, the leaders and the followers. Don’t you force the weaker among you to accept the scraps that are left when the stronger have eaten their fill? Don’t they wear the worn-out rags instead of warm clothes? Stronger and weaker exist in any group, but you’ve clearly decided some kinds of humans are more important than others. Some kinds of humans are human and other kinds are . . . property? Is that how it works? I didn’t realize you monkeys had such savagery in you. Next you’ll be eating your weak in order to keep the strong healthy.”

“No.”

Monty knew the look Vlad gave him would haunt his dreams for years to come.

“How long will that attitude last if there is no other food?” Vlad asked softly.

For a moment, Monty couldn’t breathe. Was this a real threat to cut off food as an experiment in cannibalism or just the peculiar intellectual workings of a terra indigene mind?

“Was there anything else you wanted Simon to know?” Vlad asked.

This, at least, was a piece of what he was here to say. “Yes. There is concern that with so many police officers looking for the individual on that wanted poster, mistakes in identification could be made.”

“You’re referring to that person who looks similar to our Liaison?”

Monty nodded. “I would appreciate being informed whenever Ms. Corbyn leaves the Courtyard. My men and I won’t interfere with her, but I would feel more comfortable being present. To avoid any misunderstandings.”

“That’s an excellent suggestion, Lieutenant Montgomery.” Vlad smiled. “Misunderstandings have been so costly in the past.”

Thinking of the Drowned City, Monty shivered. “Yes, Mr. Sanguinati, they have.” When silence was the only response, Monty took a step back. “I’ll leave you to your work. I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.”

Vlad took a step forward and held out his hand. “Anytime, Lieutenant.”

Not daring to give offense, Monty took the vampire’s hand—and instantly felt a prickling that was gone a moment later. And in that same moment, he felt the odd sensation of Vlad’s strong grip being less substantial.

“You can go out through A Little Bite,” Vlad said, releasing Monty’s hand and turning back to the display of books.

Glad to leave, Monty went to the lattice door. As he reached out to open it, he noticed the pinpricks of blood on his palm.

He swayed as understanding replaced puzzlement. He didn’t dare turn around and look at the vampire.

How much blood had Vlad taken from him in the few seconds their hands had touched? Was that a feeding, a warning, or a threat?

He hurried into the coffee shop and turned toward the door, wanting to escape. But Tess’s voice saying, “Don’t forget your coffee,” made him turn back.

The threads of black were gone, but the hair was still unnaturally curly.

She handed him some paper napkins first—and smiled.

It took effort not to run, but he walked out of A Little Bite and joined Kowalski, who was leaning against the patrol car, watching the roofs of the buildings.

“They sure are keeping close watch,” Kowalski said as Monty handed him one of the coffees. “A dozen Crows and a couple of Hawks have come and gone while you were inside. You all right, Lieutenant?”

“Let’s get in the car,” Monty replied.

When they were inside and partially sheltered from feathered observers, Monty pulled the napkins away from his hand.

“Gods above and below,” Kowalski said, whistling softly. “What happened?”

“I shook hands with Vladimir Sanguinati.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t have a good alternative, and considering the conversation prior to it, it didn’t seem smart to insult him.”

Kowalski paled. “They can take blood just by touching you?”

“Apparently. You had mentioned there was some evidence that they could take blood without biting a person. Looks like we’ve just been given a demonstration of what that other method is.”

Monty raised the cup to his lips, then lowered it without drinking. “Let’s get out of here, Karl. I need something to eat, and I need to get away from the Courtyard for a while.”

Kowalski secured his cup in a holder and drove out of the parking lot.

Warning signs everywhere, Monty thought. The mayor wanted the dangerous criminal caught and the stolen property returned to its rightful owner. Except the property wasn’t a thing; it was a person. Meg Corbyn had stolen her own body, had run away from someone’s “benevolent ownership.”

Considering what the cassandra sangues could do, how much of that benevolence was about profit?

Monty closed his eyes, letting Kowalski choose the place for a light meal.

Now that Vladimir Sanguinati had put the thought on the table, Monty wasn’t sure that, in this case, benevolence wasn’t another word for “slavery.” He also wasn’t sure if leaving a blood prophet on her own wasn’t a passive form of murder.

But he was sure that any intervention with regard to Meg Corbyn and her addiction to cutting would have to come from Simon Wolfgard now and not him.

The phone rang as Meg was pulling on her coat. “Hello?”

“Meg? It’s Jester. Listen, old Hurricane is coming up with the other ponies. He’s retired now—that’s why he’s living at Lakeside—but it would be good for him to feel useful. Could you give him the mail for the Owlgard or the Pony Barn?”

“Sure. How will I know which one he is?”

“White mane and tail, and a gray coat with a hint of blue. Can’t mistake him for any of the others.”

“Have to go,” Meg said when she heard the chorus of neighs.

She opened the delivery door and then stared.

There were twelve ponies waiting for her. Meg didn’t recognize four of them, but she figured out which one was Hurricane based on the description Jester gave her. Instead of forming their usual line, the ponies were all jostling for first position at the door, pushing and crowding until Thunder stamped a foot.

The boom shook the building and had Meg grabbing for the doorway to keep her balance.

She looked at the pony. Oh, he couldn’t have . . .

Suddenly a voice yelled, “Blessed Thaisia! What is going on?”

She’d never heard that voice before, but she was willing to bet it was Elliot Wolfgard yelling out a window in the consulate.

In the absolute silence that followed, she heard a window slam shut.

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” she told Thunder in a loud whisper.

The pony wouldn’t look at her, which confirmed he had been responsible for that roll of thunder.

“Now,” she said firmly. “Lakeside mail carriers are good-mannered ponies. Anyone who can’t behave will have to go home.”

She couldn’t actually make them go back to the Pony Barn if they weren’t good mannered, but she just stood in the doorway of the sorting room. The ponies stared at her as if trying to decide if she was bluffing. Then they sorted themselves out in a neat line, with Thunder in his usual first position.

“Thank you.” Giddily triumphant, Meg went to the table and picked up the stacks of mail for Thunder’s baskets. As each pony shifted in the line, she filled baskets for Lightning, Tornado, Earthshaker, and Fog. Going back to the table for the last three batches of mail, she wondered about the ponies’ names. If Thunder could make so much sound by stamping his foot, what could Tornado and Earthshaker do if they pitched a fit?

Couldn’t think about that. Just like she wouldn’t think about having Wolves and vampires living in the same apartment complex that she did—or why she felt safer being around them than the humans she had lived with in the compound.

Just like she wouldn’t admit to being curious about seeing a Wolf in Wolf form. She didn’t have a training image of a terra indigene Wolf, just images of the animal. Even her Controller, with all the money he acquired from the use of his property, hadn’t been able to buy a photograph of a Wolf to use as reference.

Shaking off those thoughts, Meg fetched the treat bowl and held out two carrot chunks for Thunder.

He looked at her, looked at the carrots, and shook his head.

“Carrots,” Meg said. “You liked carrots last week.”

Another head shake. Thunder lifted a hoof, looked toward the consulate, and put the hoof down carefully.

Meg studied the ponies and felt her stomach flutter. Oh no.

Retreating—and becoming aware of just how cold the room was because she’d already had the door open too long—she hustled into the front room, grabbed the calendar and a marker, then hustled back to the ponies.

“Look.” She made a big S on Moonsday, then turned the calendar around for the ponies to see. Not that she thought they could read, but they seemed to understand words. “We had sugar lumps on Moonsday as a special treat. We don’t get sugar lumps again as a treat until next Moonsday, which is here.” She made another S on the calendar. “Today we have carrots as our treat.”

She put the calendar and marker down, picked up the treat bowl, and returned to the doorway. “Carrots today.” She held out two carrot chunks.

Managing to convey disappointment and resignation, Thunder ate his carrot chunks and headed out to deliver his mail.

All the ponies ate their carrots, including the ones who must have shown up today because they expected sugar.

Meg closed the outside door, checked the front room to make sure no delivery trucks were pulling in, then went into the back room to make herself a cup of peppermint tea. If they were going to have a treat discussion every day, she was going to put on her boots and stand outside from now on. At least that way she could warm up afterward.

Simon hung up the office phone and sat back in his chair. That was the third West Coast Courtyard leader to call him this morning, asking if there had been any peculiar attacks in the Lakeside Courtyard’s territory.

Something new had found its way among the humans. Something that was absorbed by the terra indigene when they ate the meat. Humans were turning savagely aggressive, and not just among their own kind. They were attacking some of the Others. Mostly Crows were being attacked, were being ripped apart in both forms, by packs of humans that were so aggressive, they had no survival instincts. The top predators in those Courtyards had taken down the monkeys, then began to fight among themselves soon after consuming the meat.

Just as disturbing were the Wolves and Grizzlies and Cats that were suddenly so passive, they couldn’t defend themselves against an attack by a gang of humans.

The bodywalkers, the healers among the terra indigene, could find no evidence of poison or drugs, but something was making humans behave strangely and was also affecting the Others.

More humans in the bigger cities took drugs that not only damaged their lives but also spoiled them as meat. But none of the incidents being reported were in the big cities. This new danger was happening in small farming hamlets or industrial centers that had a few hundred citizens. The kinds of places where the Others had minimal contact with humans and wouldn’t know there could be reasons not to eat a kill.

The kinds of places that, if the Others felt threatened and decided to eliminate those humans, the number that were killed would be howled at as tragic on the television or in the newspapers, but in truth would be no more than an inconvenience. Another group of humans would be selected to work the farms or run the machines, would scrub off the blood and move into the houses—if the Others didn’t get there first and simply reclaim the land and property for themselves.

Didn’t humans understand how expendable they were? The terra indigene were as old as the world, as old as the land and the seas. They learned from the top predators and became more than those predators. Always adapting, always changing as Namid changed. They would be forever.

The terra indigene in Thaisia didn’t need humans anymore in order to have the material things they wanted. If the monkeys became a real threat, they no longer had enough to offer to make their presence endurable. If that day came, humans would follow the same path as other creatures before them and become an extinct meat.

Meg wasn’t surprised when Jester showed up an hour after the ponies trotted off. She put down the stack of mail she’d been sorting and held out the treat bowl. “Have a carrot.”

Jester leaned over the bowl, sniffed, then leaned back. “I prefer meat.”

“Set a good example,” Meg growled. “Eat a carrot.”

Jester took a step back and eyed her. “You’re sounding rather Wolfish. Was there a problem with the ponies this morning?”

Meg set the bowl on the table. “Only that they didn’t get sugar lumps today, but sugar is a special treat and isn’t something they should have every day, so today the treat was carrots, and Thunder . . . thundered . . . which upset Elliot Wolfgard, who sent some stuffy Owl to remind me that the consulate dealt with human government and shouldn’t be embarrassed by the Courtyard help’s shenanigans!”

She hadn’t realized how much the reprimand had upset her. After all, she hadn’t done anything to deserve it.

No. She wasn’t upset. She was mad.

It felt good to be mad. It felt invigorating to be able to feel emotions without fearing punishment. It felt alive.

She stared at Jester.

“You gave sugar to the ponies?” he asked.

“So what? An occasional lump of sugar won’t hurt them.”

“No. Of course it won’t.” He took another step away from the table. “I’d tuck my tail between my legs, but it’s very uncomfortable growing one while wearing trousers, and I think we’d both prefer that I remain dressed.”

She picked up the bowl and held it out. “Eat a carrot instead. It won’t hurt you either.”

Sighing, he took a carrot chunk and nibbled on it. “Will there be sugar again?”

The calendar was now sitting next to the music player. She held it up and tapped the big black S. “Moonsday is sugar day.”

“Right. I’ll explain it to them.”

Her anger fizzled out. “I’m not upset with you, Jester. It’s just that I want to do a good job. I really do. But I haven’t been here a week yet, and I keep getting into trouble.”

Smiling, Jester held thumb and forefinger close together. “A little bit of trouble, which is amply compensated for by the entertainment you’ve been providing.”

“Thanks a lot.” She hesitated. She didn’t know much about anything, but she didn’t have to know much to figure out she was going to have time on her hands. “Jester? When they were caught up with their work, what did the other Liaisons do while they waited for deliveries?”

He looked around the room. “You cleared out all the old mail and packages?”

“Yes.”

He looked a little bewildered. “I don’t know, Meg. I don’t remember seeing this room so clean. Maybe . . . read books?”

“Is there something else I could do to be helpful?”

“What do you want to do?”

Good question. One that deserved some thought.

“Your suggestion about reading is a good one. I’ll start with that.” She could study anything she wanted, could read about a subject from beginning to end if she wanted. She could learn how to do things instead of having a head full of disconnected images.

“Good,” Jester said. “Fine. I’ll talk to the ponies. From now on, they’ll be happy with whatever treats you give them.”

Then he was gone, slipping out the door so fast she almost wondered if he’d been there at all.

Meg shook her head. She wasn’t sure humans could—or should—understand how the Others thought. But Jester’s suggestion was a good one, so during her lunch break she would pick up a book to study and a book to read for fun, and ponder what else she could do to earn her keep.

Then it occurred to her that if the Others had no suggestions about what she should do with her time, she could adjust her job to include whatever she wanted. Hadn’t she already done that by making deliveries?

Putting a music disc into the player, Meg filled the room with a lively tune and went back to sorting.

Hearing the crunch of tires behind him, Simon shifted over to the side of the road. But the shiny black sedan slowed to keep pace with him, and the rear window rolled down.

“Want a ride home?” Elliot asked.

Simon shook his head. “Need to walk.”

“Stop the car,” Elliot said to his driver.

Simon waited for Elliot to exchange the expensive leather shoes for practical boots and get out of the car. The sedan drove off, leaving the two Wolves walking toward the Green Complex.

“What’s wrong?” Elliot asked. “Has your Liaison caused another problem? Isn’t one a day sufficient?”

“Could have been worse,” Simon replied, a low growl under the words. “At least it was Thunder expressing an opinion. And if he hadn’t been showing off or trying to scare her or whatever it was he was trying to do, his stamping a hoof wouldn’t have done that.”

“And if it had been Twister or Earthshaker expressing an opinion around so many buildings?”

“It wasn’t.” If it had been, he would have had an unpleasant conversation with the girl at the lake, since the ponies were the Elementals’ steeds. Instead he’d had a baffling talk with Jester. The Coyote was delighted that Meg was able to pull Elliot’s tail with so little effort, but Jester was also wary of their weird-haired Liaison. She didn’t behave like other humans, so none of the Others were quite sure how to deal with her—which made her the most interesting and frustrating thing to cross their paths in quite some time.

“There’s trouble in the western Courtyards,” Simon said. As they walked, he told Elliot about the phone calls, the attacks, and the deaths. “Select Courtyard leaders might be meeting in the Midwest Region to discuss this new threat.”

Elliot frowned. “This . . . disease. It’s contagious?”

Simon shook his head. “It’s not a disease. It wears off like a drug in a few hours. There are two pieces of foulness trickling into small human settlements, and our bodywalkers can’t find the source of either of them.”

“You’re going to represent the Northeast Region?”

“If the meeting is called, I’ll be the one to go for the Courtyards in this part of Thaisia.”

A brief, uncomfortable silence. Then Elliot said, “What about Sam? I’ll take care of him. You know that. But I will not have him in a cage.”

“The cage is for his protection.” An old argument. In his terror and grief after seeing his mother killed, Sam had gone on a binge of self-destructive behavior no amount of pack discipline could stop. After the second time the pup had come too close to killing himself, Simon had gotten the cage, intending to get rid of it as soon as the pup settled down. But by the time he could trust Sam to be alone, the pup had decided the cage was the only safe place, and getting him to come out for even a few minutes at a time had become a daily battle.

As much as Elliot loved Sam and still mourned the loss of Daphne, it was a battle the older Wolf refused to endure. And the sight of Sam in a cage upset everyone in the Wolfgard complex, especially the other pups.

“Henry will look after him. Or Vlad.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“A few days. Maybe a week.” He didn’t want to consider what could happen in a week—or who might not be in the Courtyard when he returned. “Try to get along with Meg, all right? She’s the first Liaison we’ve had in a long time who actually does the work, and that includes making deliveries to the Chambers.”

Elliot looked uncomfortable at the reminder that Erebus Sanguinati approved of their new Liaison. “Well, I will say this for her. She’s the first monkey who bothered to walk the few steps between buildings and deliver the consulate’s mail personally so that I receive correspondence in a timely manner.”

Having that much settled, they finished the walk to the Green Complex in easy silence. The black sedan was waiting in a visitor’s parking space.

Elliot opened the door, then paused. “By the way, the mayor called me to whine about a dangerous thief and about a rumor that she may be hiding in the Courtyard, even posing as our Liaison, and it was vitally important that the property that was taken be returned to its owner.”

Simon twitched. Should he tell Elliot about Meg? The decision the Business Association had made not to tell anyone that Meg was a blood prophet was sound—and it had taken a threat from Tess to get Jenni Crowgard’s promise not to share that information with anyone, including the other Crows. But maybe knowing would help Elliot deal with the monkeys who chattered in his ear?

“What did you tell him?” Simon asked, knowing his hesitation had given Elliot a clue that he had reasons for wanting to hold on to their new Liaison besides her ability to sort mail and deliver packages.

Elliot bared his teeth in a smile. “I told him our Liaison didn’t have the backbone to be dangerous or the intelligence to be a successful thief.”

“That will do.” Not a compliment to Meg, but the kind of answer that the human government could find useful. Then something occurred to him. “How did the mayor know that Meg looked like the woman on the wanted poster? Only a handful of police have seen her, and the deliverymen would have no reason to know about the poster.”

“The mayor said he received an anonymous tip,” Elliot said.

“Male or female?”

“He didn’t say.”

How would Asia Crane have seen one of those posters? She wasn’t above causing mischief for the person who had the job she claimed she wanted. Or was it someone else? Someone who might be able to charm information out of a policeman. Or someone who worked for the Others and had earned some degree of trust.

Something else he would discuss with Henry, Vlad, and Tess, especially if he had to leave for that meeting.

Simon watched Elliot drive off to the Wolfgard Complex before crossing the road and going to his apartment. Sam’s greeting ended as soon as Simon opened the cage door and reached for the pup.

Ignoring the whimpers, he hauled Sam out of the cage and took him outside. As usual, as soon as Sam’s feet touched the ground, he tried to bolt for the apartment.

Growling, Simon turned to give chase. Having to use the damned cage scraped at him as much as it did Elliot, but what were they supposed to do—let the pup die?

What will you do if he starts growing again, if he ever matures into a full-grown Wolf and still needs a cage?

He’d taken a couple of steps after the pup when Sam slid to a stop and headed away from their door, sniffing the ground with an interest he hadn’t shown in much too long.

Intrigued, Simon joined the pup and bent low to see if he could pick up whatever scent Sam found so interesting.

Meg.

As he straightened up, he saw her coming through the archway that led to the garages and parking area behind the complex. She had carry bags in both hands and was puffing a bit.

One way or another, he was going to make sure she got more exercise—even if he had to chase her like a bunny.

“Meg,” he said, nodding.

“Mr. Wolfgard.”

Calling him Mr. Wolfgard was becoming an effective door she kept slamming in his face, and he didn’t like it. If she kept doing it, thinking of her as a two-legged bunny was going to have more and more appeal.

Then she looked down, smiled, and said, “Hello. Who are you?”

That’s when he remembered the pup, who was halfway hiding between his legs.

Sam gave her his squeaky-door howl of greeting.

When young, terra indigene Wolves didn’t look much different from wolves. As they matured, the differences in size and shape became apparent.

“This is Sam,” Simon said. He didn’t offer an explanation of who Sam was. Meg didn’t seem to notice.

“Hello, Sam.”

The pup grumbled and howled in conversational tones. Still safe between Simon’s legs, he edged forward to sniff at Meg, then jumped back to hide. And all the while, Sam’s body quivered and his tail thumped against Simon’s leg.

Not one of us, but she doesn’t smell like prey either, Simon thought. Doesn’t smell like the kind of humans who had destroyed Sam’s world. Meg was something new, and her scent made the pup forget he was afraid of being outside.

Wasn’t that interesting?

“You need any help getting those up the stairs?” Simon asked.

“No, thank you. The stairs are clear of snow, so I’ll be fine. Besides, this is my second trip. Good evening, Mr. Wolfgard. Bye, Sam.”

He watched her go up the stairs before he took the pup over to the area Sam was using as a dumping spot. The rest of the residents were tolerant because it was Sam and because it was so cold and because the Hawks and Owls didn’t object to the rats and mice that were drawn to the feces. But sooner or later he was going to have to clean up all the poop.

As soon as the pup had done his business, Sam made a dash for the stairs leading up to Meg’s apartment. Simon caught him halfway up and took him inside their own place.

“No,” he said firmly. “I don’t think she wants to play tonight.”

He could picture, too clearly, the two of them romping with Meg in the snow.

“Come on. I’ll give you a good brushing. Girls like a well-groomed Wolf.”

Meg doing the brushing, her fingers deep in his fur.

It was better not to think of that picture either.

Sam got a good brushing and remained fairly calm about having to stay out of the cage while Simon gave it a thorough cleaning—calm enough to venture to the front door by himself and sniff around the entrance.

It was easy enough to figure out what scent the pup was looking for.

And wasn’t that interesting?