Written in Red

CHAPTER 23

With exaggerated care, Captain Burke set the phone’s receiver in its cradle. Then he looked at Monty and said, “We’re being stonewalled, Lieutenant. The lab just informed me that they have to deal with evidence that pertains to actual crimes first. Our request is for a crime that was almost committed. My guess is we’ll see summer before we see a report.”

“Humans First and Last,” Monty said, thinking about the mayor’s potential reelection platform.

Burke nodded. “That’s how I’m reading it. Now. What are you going to tell Simon Wolfgard?” He gave Monty his fierce smile. “There’s not much that goes on in this station that I don’t know about, so I know Wolfgard has called once already this morning looking for an answer.”

“I’ll tell him the truth. The lab will do the tests as soon as they can.”

“You think he’ll believe that?”

Monty didn’t bother to respond.

“Wolfgard will know the lab is trying to screw him without buying him dinner first,” Burke said quietly. “Let’s hope he continues to believe in your sincerity.”

When Vlad, Henry, and Tess came into HGR’s office, Simon didn’t waste time. “The monkeys aren’t going to help us. Montgomery gave me excuses, but the end result is we aren’t going to know if the sugar was poisoned.”

“The lieutenant had seemed honest in his dealings with us,” Henry said, sounding disappointed.

Relenting a little, Simon pushed back his own anger. “He sounded frustrated, even a little angry. The police lab doesn’t want to help us, and they aren’t interested in helping him either.”

Vlad shrugged. “A strike against the monkeys, and something that won’t be forgotten.”

“No, it won’t be forgotten.” Especially after Elliot’s report earlier this morning about the mayor’s efforts to court supporters of a humans-only policy for Lakeside.

Fools had tried that before in other parts of Thaisia. The wild country was still reclaiming the last town that had such leaders, so it wasn’t all that many years ago.

Tess stirred. Or, more to the point, Tess’s hair stirred, curling as it changed from brown to red.

“There is another way to find out if the sugar was poisoned,” she said.

“How?” Simon asked. As he studied her, he realized that Tess wouldn’t look any of them in the eyes when she was angry.

“Get Darrell Adams’s home address for me. Elliot should have it in the consulate’s employee files.”

Tess waited until evening before she walked to a bus stop a couple of blocks away from the Courtyard. As part of the agreement with Lakeside, the terra indigene could ride any public transportation in the city for free. But using that bus pass would bring attention she didn’t want, so she paid the fare, putting in her coins like the humans before taking a seat a few rows from the front. She kept her hair bundled under the wool cap, but she loosened the scarf she’d wrapped around her neck and mouth.

She transferred to another bus, finally getting off at a stop a few blocks from the apartment complex where Darrell Adams lived. She walked briskly, fighting her own nature with each step. She wanted to shift closer to her natural form, but it was important to remain recognizably human. No one who looked upon her true form could survive. Since she was here to test someone else’s weapon and send a warning to the police, an apartment building full of corpses would be overkill.

When she reached Darrell’s apartment, she heard the television through the closed door. Were the neighbors annoyed by the volume? She cocked her head as music suddenly drifted out from another apartment. Or did they all turn up the sound to hear their own choice and drown out the competition?

She knocked on Darrell’s door, then knocked again loudly enough that the door across the hall opened and an old woman peered out. Tess ignored the woman and knocked again.

Darrell finally answered, the television program now blaring into the hallway almost muting the sound of the door across the hall being vigorously shut.

“What do you want?” Darrell asked when he recognized her.

Tess let the tiniest bit of her true form show in her eyes as she looked right at him. “We have something to discuss.”

He staggered back from the door, and she followed him inside, catching him by the arm and leading him to the recliner that was clearly his preferred place to sit.

Only a momentary heart flutter, only a temporary weakening of the limbs from that brief glimpse of her. He needed to be in good health for the test.

She pulled off the wool cap. Her hair—black with threads of red—tumbled around her shoulders, coiling and moving. She removed the small jar from a zippered inner pocket of her coat, unscrewed the top, and held the jar out to Darrell.

“Take two,” she said. “Eat them.”

“Why?”

“You can choose between the sugar or this.” Looking into his eyes again, she let the human mask fade from her face a little more.

Darrell wet himself.

She shook the jar. “Two.”

He took two sugar lumps, popped them in his mouth, chewed a couple of times, and then swallowed. She brought her face back to the image her customers and the terra indigene were used to seeing, but her hair remained the death color with those few threads of red.

As she watched him, she tapped two sugar lumps onto the floor near Darrell’s chair. She didn’t have to wait long. Twice she turned up the volume on the television to drown out his screams, and twice those screams eclipsed the sound.

Someone began pounding on the door, shouting, “What’s going on in there? We’ve called the police!”

Busybody, Tess thought, annoyed. And because she was annoyed, she stuffed her wool cap in her coat pocket and walked out of the apartment, leaving the door open. She kept her eyes averted, but her true form was close to the surface and her coiling hair drew the eyes of those she passed. She savored the little bit of death that touched every person who looked at her.

She walked and walked, her hair still black but starting to relax. She still kept her eyes averted, although it was doubtful any of the people in the cars even glanced her way, and there were very few people on foot.

A man lounging in a doorway spotted her and stepped in her path. She didn’t know if he intended to rob her or rape her. She didn’t care. With him, she could slake her hunger.

She looked him in the eyes and held his gaze while he collapsed. She stepped around him and kept going. Eventually, when the cold had more bite than her anger, she tucked her hair under the wool cap, walked to the nearest bus stop, and took the next bus home.

On Firesday afternoon, Monty was at his desk, enjoying a cup of hot tea while he chipped away at reports. By yesterday evening, the egging had stopped—mostly because the grocery stores were out of eggs and the little neighborhood markets were keeping the eggs in the stockroom and only bringing them out for known adult customers. The firecrackers were still going off here and there, and someone had set fire to a section of junipers that the Others had planted as a privacy screen between the Courtyard and Parkside Avenue. A handful of men riding snowmobiles in Lakeside Park claimed they saw two people drive off in a pickup truck just before one of the riders spotted flames.

Fire engulfed the bushes, mostly because none of the snowmobilers had remembered to bring a mobile phone with them, and no one in the passing cars had thought to report seeing flames. By the time the fire department arrived, there was nothing for them to do because something had ripped up the bushes and dumped them, a section of the Courtyard’s wrought-iron fence, and more than two feet of snow across the northbound lanes of Parkside Avenue, bringing traffic to a skidding halt.

The damage was consistent with a tornado, although every meteorologist Monty called that morning swore there had been no indication of a weather pattern like that, and even if they had seen something, a selective strike was simply not natural.

He thought using a tornado to put out a fire was over the top, but it was a grim reminder that the humans didn’t know half of what lived in the Courtyard and watched them.

The break in the fence bothered him because it was another point of entry, along with the hole caused by a pickup jumping the curb late last night and punching a hole in the fence that ran along Main Street. Two different pickups and two random acts? Or the same people?

Monty shivered. There had been too many random acts lately. And that made him wonder whether someone was trying to cause trouble.

I guess I’m not the only one thinking along those lines, he thought when Captain Burke, dressed for the outdoors, approached his desk. Burke stopped, not looking at Monty while he pulled on his gloves.

“Get your coat, Lieutenant,” Burke said so quietly that Monty was sure no one else could hear. “We’re going for a walk. I’ll meet you outside.”

Even more uneasy now, Monty complied and met Burke outside the station.

“Let’s walk a bit,” Burke said, heading up the block.

“Anywhere particular?” Monty asked.

“Just away. Do you have your mobile phone?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now turn it off.”

Oh, gods.

They walked two blocks, then three blocks before Burke spoke again.

“I got a call from Captain Zajac a few minutes ago. You remember Darrell Adams?”

Monty nodded. “He worked for the consulate and was fired a few days ago.”

“He died last night. It appears he ate some poisoned sugar, since two sugar lumps were found near the chair where he collapsed.”

They walked another block before Monty was able to speak. “We didn’t help them, so the Others did their own test on the person they believed responsible?”

“I don’t think Mr. Adams would have gotten out of the Courtyard alive if the Others had believed he was the one who attempted to poison some of them. But he wasn’t chosen at random either.”

“Will the lab put a rush on the results for this death?” Monty asked.

“Now, now, Lieutenant. Don’t sound bitter,” Burke said lightly. “They have good reason to put a rush on it. The officers who responded walked in thinking they were confirming a suspicious death. After what else was found, Zajac is scared down to his toes, because he doesn’t know how many more deaths may follow.”

Monty frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“We’re assuming Adams ate some of the sugar. He’s dead. But there’s one of the neighbors who says he pounded on the door, and when he looked at the woman who walked out of Adams’s apartment, his left arm and shoulder went numb. He was taken to the hospital. No injury, no wound, but the muscles in the arm and shoulder are dead. Another neighbor, an old lady who claimed to see the woman arrive and peered out her door in time to see the woman leave, has a dead eye. No sign of injury, no explanation. Shortly after that, people began showing up at hospital emergency rooms, claiming shortness of breath or dizzy spells or chest pains or a sudden weakness in their limbs. By this morning, most of them have recovered without any explanation for what caused the physical symptoms. The only thing they have in common is they were near Adams’s apartment last night, all around the same time.”

“How are the officers who responded?” Despite the cold, Monty realized he was sweating.

“They’re fine.” Burke paused while they waited for a traffic light to change. Once they crossed the street, he continued. “So are the man and boy who came in just as the woman was leaving. The man says he caught a glimpse of her and immediately turned his back, putting himself between her and his son. He also held a hand over the boy’s eyes. He told the officers, ‘We didn’t look at her. I remembered the myths, and we didn’t look.’ The man wouldn’t tell the officers anything more, and Zajac is understandably reluctant to do more probing.”

“Wouldn’t he want to know?” Myths? Would the university have someone on the faculty who could find the source of the myth?

“No, he doesn’t want to know. And neither do we.” Burke’s stare warned Monty that he meant it.

“You know how some people say ‘If looks could kill’?” Burke asked after a moment. “Well, it seems there is something among the terra indigene that has the ability to do exactly that.”