Written in Red (33 page)

“Until the deaths at Jerzy,” Henry said quietly. “Until leaders among the
terra indigene
gathered to talk, and began to see a pattern.”

Simon nodded. “Most of the attacks hardly touched us at all, except for the police sniffing around for some way to blame us. In a few cases, the sickness started in a village of humans that is enclosed by our territory, and no one can say how it reached one village when other villages on that same road were not touched. Sickness should have spread from village to village, leaving a trail, but that hasn’t been true this time.”

Vlad sat back and crossed one leg over the other. “The leaders from the Courtyards that were affected are satisfied that this sickness begins with the humans?”

“Yes. But the human leaders believe just as strongly that we’re the cause.”

“Doesn’t matter what
they
believe,” Jester growled.

“If the humans are spreading a new sickness to us, there is a way to fix the problem,” Blair said, staring at Simon.

“That’s not the answer,” Henry said, shifting in his chair. “Not yet. First we or the humans must find the root of this sickness. Then we decide what needs to be killed.”

“Agreed,” Simon said. “Especially since there has been no sign of this sickness in the east.” He sighed. “One thing ties each of these attacks to us: some Crows were killed near each of the villages a day or two before the attack took place. I’ll talk to Jenni Crowgard. If Crows begin to die without reason, we need to take that as a warning that the sickness has reached Lakeside.”

He waited a moment. “Now. What’s been happening here?”

He wasn’t sure if it was just timing or if Vlad had sent a signal, but as soon as he asked the question, the door opened and Winter walked into the room, followed by Erebus Sanguinati. After a moment of startled silence, two chairs were added to the circle.

Elliot was sitting close enough to him that Simon could smell his sire’s fear. Bad enough to have Erebus come to this meeting, but one of the Elementals? They rarely concerned themselves with anything but their connection to Namid. And when they did, the results were unpredictable—and usually devastating.

“Meg had a prophecy while you were gone,” Henry said, his abrupt words changing the direction of the discussion before it began.

Elliot gave Simon a startled look. “Prophecy?”

“Meg is a
cassandra sangue
,” Simon replied.

Winter had no reaction. Erebus simply nodded.

“What do you know about blood prophets?” he asked Erebus.

“Very little. Meg is the first of her kind I have ever seen, so I did not know the
cassandra sangue
and the humans who have the sweet blood were the same,” Erebus replied.

“What is the sweet blood?” Henry asked, his eyes narrowing in thought.

“They have adult bodies, but they retain the sweetness of a child’s heart,” Erebus said.

Simon thought about the old woman who had cut her face to see his future. A sweetness in her eyes, in her smile, despite her age. Not a feeb, like some of the adolescents had called her. No, there was nothing wrong with her mind. But perhaps that childlike innocence provided a veil against the terrible things the prophets sometimes saw in the visions.

“Not prey,” Henry said, looking at Simon. “We’ve recognized something different about some humans without realizing what it was.”

Simon nodded. “Meg.”

“The Sanguinati do not feed on the young,” Erebus said. “And we do not feed on the sweet blood, because they are both wondrous and terrible. That forbidding was done long ago, and it is still passed down from one Sanguinati to another, even though we had forgotten the reason for it.”

“Why terrible?” Tess asked, leaning forward. Her hair was still colored, but it was relaxing into loose curls.

Erebus shrugged. “Prophecies swim in that blood. I do not think I would like to see such things if I drank from a
cassandra sangue
.”

“Our Meg
is
going to stay, isn’t she?” Winter asked, sliding a look at Elliot that chilled the air. “My sisters and I would be unhappy if someone made her leave.”

How did she know about the argument between Meg and Elliot? More to the point, what would she do with that knowledge?

He didn’t want to think about that, so he focused on Henry. “What prophecy?”

Tess, Vlad, Jester, and Blair already knew about Sam somehow being connected to men coming into the Courtyard with weapons. That explained Nathan being assigned to keep watch at the Liaison’s Office and why Blair had spent the night keeping watch on the open Utilities gate. The men Meg had seen had come in during a storm.

“We have been vigilant,” Henry said. “The pup has not been alone. Meg has not been alone. They have both grown stronger in the past few days.”

Despite the potential threat seen in the prophecy, Simon relaxed a little as each member of the Business Association gave him a report. He even laughed during Blair’s account of Boone’s dealings with the Liaison and her request for special meat. There had been no clashes with humans in general or the police in particular while he’d been gone, no clashes among the
terra indigene
except for the misstep Elliot had made that angered the Sanguinati. But that wouldn’t happen again. He’d banish Elliot from the Lakeside Courtyard before he let the other Wolf
—
or anyone else—harm Meg in any way.

And Meg. Making deliveries, making friends, making a life among them in such a short time.

Meg. One of Namid’s creations, both terrible and wondrous.

That was something he was going to have to think about.

Dear Ms. Know-It-All,

The other night, I had a friend over for dinner and a walk on the wild side (if you know what I mean). Everything was going fine until the kissing and petting part. I got a little excited when he began to play push-away after I nipped him and, well, I ended up biting him on the thigh. It wasn’t a big bite—didn’t even need stitching—and despite what he claimed, it really wasn’t all that close to his chew toy. Now he won’t return my calls. What should I do?

Signed,

Puzzled

Dear Puzzled,

First, young
terra indigene
often get confused when food provides more than one kind of stimulation. But when you invite a human over for dinner, he expects to be served dinner, not
be
dinner. Second, even though humans claim to enjoy biting as foreplay, they only mean it when their partners don’t have teeth of any significance. Third, no male, human or Other, feels easy when teeth get too close to the chew toy. So chalk this up to experience, and the next time you invite a human to take a walk on the wild side, stick to a jog in the park.

Trying to breathe and swallow at the same time, Meg spit peppermint tea all over the counter.

Ms. Know-It-All. The newsletter’s dispenser of advice for interactions between humans and the
terra indigene.

Gods above and below.

She wondered whether Lorne found the column humorous, or if knowing the Others thought this was sound advice for dealing with humans was the reason he preferred to keep a counter between himself and most of his customers at the Three Ps.

She was still wiping the tea off her counter when she spotted Harry walking up the narrow path from the street. She opened the go-through and reached the door at the same time he did. Pushing it open until he could brace it with his shoulder, she grabbed the top package and hurried back to the counter.

On second thought . . .

Putting the package on the handcart, she waited for him.

“Had a spill, Miz Meg?” Harry asked as he set the rest of the packages on the cart. There was an odd tone in his voice.

“Enough of one that the counter is still wet,” she replied, looking over her shoulder, then back at him. “You go ahead. I’ll fill out my notes as soon as I finish wiping the counter. I’ve seen cars slipping and sliding out there this morning, and you don’t want your truck to get hit.”

“That I don’t. You keep warm now, you hear? And watch out for those spills.”

“I will. Drive safe. See you Moonsday.”

Harry waved at the Crows as he pushed open the door and headed for his truck. Meg finished wiping the counter, folded the newsletters, and put them in the paper-recycling bin in the back room.

When she went into the bathroom to wash her hands, she looked in the little mirror over the sink. Then she stood there, stunned.

Harry hadn’t been commenting about the wet counter. He’d been staring at her face when he’d asked about a spill.

She’d forgotten about the bruise. She’d been so rushed to get ready for work, with Simon and Sam showing up and disrupting her routine, she hadn’t looked in a mirror that morning, not even when she dragged a comb through her hair.

If Harry or one of the other deliverymen called the police and told them about the bruise . . .

She had to tell someone. Had to tell Simon. Just in case.

As she passed through the sorting room on her way to use the phone at the front counter, she glanced at Sam, who was still happily gnawing on his stag stick.

Meg’s stomach did a funny little flip. While she waited for someone to answer HGR’s phone, she promised herself that, from now on, she would make sure the stag sticks Boone was leaving for Sam really were made from deer.

Monty stood outside the Chestnut Street station, waiting for Kowalski to bring the patrol car around. Last night’s storm provided a good excuse to make a courtesy call at the Courtyard without being too obvious that they were checking up on the Courtyard’s leader—and hoping for some information about what happened in Jerzy.

“I could use some coffee this morning,” Monty said after he got in the car. “Do you think the Courtyard stores will be open?”

“Hard to say,” Kowalski replied, pulling into traffic. “The Others don’t run their stores for profit. It’s more of a hobby and experiment for them, and it’s a way to get merchandise and services without going to human-run businesses.”

No, they wouldn’t need to be concerned about profit. When you were the landlord and an entire city was your rental property, any other business run by a Courtyard was an accommodation.

But when they reached the Courtyard, Monty saw the Others busily removing the snow from their parking lot, using a small bucket loader to scoop up the snow and dump it in the bed of a pickup truck. There were some lights on in A Little Bite and Howling Good Reads, but not enough to give an impression that the stores were open.

“Let’s check the Liaison’s Office,” Monty said.

Meg Corbyn was open for business. Judging by the lights in the windows, so was the consulate. And this access to the Courtyard was already plowed.

“Wait here.”

Entering the office, he walked up to the counter. The Wolf pup stood in the Private
doorway, watching him.

“Good morning,” Monty said. “Is Ms. Corbyn around?”

Since he didn’t expect an answer, he stepped back, startled, when the pup suddenly shifted into a naked boy who shouted, “Meg! The police human is here!”

“Who . . . ?” Meg came into view and stared at the boy. “Ah . . . Sam? It’s cold. You should put on some clothes.”

The boy looked down at himself. Then he looked at Meg and grinned. “Don’t need clothes. I have fur!”

And he did. He also had four legs and a tail when he darted past her and out of sight.

Meg looked a little wobbly when she approached the counter.

“A new development?” Monty asked, staring at the doorway. He’d seen one of them change from Wolf to child once before. Then, like now, seeing how fast they could shift made his heart race.

“Very new,” Meg said. “I haven’t sorted out the rules yet. Or even figured out if there are rules.”

He looked at her face and felt a hard anger, but he kept his voice soft. “And that? Is that also a new development?”

She sighed. “It was a misunderstanding. It won’t happen again.”

“Are you sure?”

Simon Wolfgard stepped into the Private
doorway. “
I’m
sure.”

He didn’t touch Meg, but he used his hips and shoulders to crowd her into stepping aside, ensuring he was the one standing directly in front of Monty.

“Mr. Wolfgard,” Monty said. “I was hoping to have a word with you if you have a minute.”

A long look. What did Wolfgard see? An enemy? A rival? Maybe an ally?

Noises coming from the next room, like someone jumping and huffing with the effort.

Meg started to turn to see what was going on, but Simon shook his head.

“HGR isn’t open yet,” Simon said. “But Tess just made some coffee.” He looked at Meg. “Yours is on the sorting table, along with a cup of hot chocolate and some muffins.” He raised his voice. “The muffins and hot chocolate can only be eaten by a boy wearing clothes.”

A yip followed by the click of toenails on floor.

“Is there some kind of rule for when Sam should be a boy and when he’s a Wolf?” Meg asked.

“A Wolf lifts his leg and yellows up snow. A boy has to use the toilet,” Simon replied.

“And that will work?”

“Only if he needs to pee.”

Monty coughed loudly to cover up the chuckle.

“Have your officer bring the car around to the back,” Simon said. “We cleared a lot of the snow, but not having the car parked in front of Meg’s office will make it easier for the delivery trucks. I’ll wait for you at the back entrance to A Little Bite.”

“Ms. Corbyn.” Monty tipped his head and left. When he pushed the door open and looked back, Simon Wolfgard was staring at him—and there was nothing friendly in those amber eyes.

Hurrying to the patrol car, he instructed Kowalski to drive around back.

Thinking of that stare, he wondered if there would be another “misunderstanding” that would end with Meg Corbyn carrying another bruise.

As soon as Montgomery was out of sight, Simon turned on Meg. “Has that monkey been bothering you?”

Bunny eyes, all startled by the unexpected.

“No,” Meg stammered.

“He makes you nervous.” He smelled that on her.

“I—” She hesitated. “When I see the police, it’s hard to remember that I can’t be taken away, that they won’t make me go back. . . .”