by Anne Bishop
Meg ate one more spoonful of soup and drained the coffee mug. “Is she angry with me?”
“You? No.” With him? Sometimes it was hard to tell with Tess. Other times it was all too easy to see the warning signs.
He held up the keys. “We have rules, Meg, and we enforce them. Access to the Courtyard is restricted. You don’t bring guests to your apartment without us knowing about it first. If we smell a stranger, we’ll kill him. We aren’t interested in excuses, and we don’t give second chances. The storefront on the corner is the place where humans and Others can socialize without needing a leader’s permission. You can bring guests there. Is that understood?”
She bobbed her head.
“All right. Come on. We’ll go out through the bookstore.”
He led her back through HGR, picking up his winter coat, which John had left on the counter for him. Shrugging into it, he pushed open the door, holding it against the wind until Meg slipped out. Then he locked the door, took a grip on her arm to keep her from slipping, and walked her past A Little Bite to a glass door in the seamstress/tailor’s building.
“First key is for the street door.” He pulled out the ring of keys and slipped the first key into the lock. He opened the door, nudged her into the small entry, then locked the door behind him. Remembering that humans didn’t have the same night vision as Wolves, he flipped on the light switch, revealing the stairs that went up to the second floor.
She went up the stairs, then stopped on the landing to wait for him.
He went ahead of her, checked the apartment number on the key, and made an almost soundless grunt of surprise. Tess had given him the key for the front apartment that was farthest from the Crowfield Avenue door—and closer to the stairway that led into the Courtyard.
He opened the apartment door and flicked the switch for the overhead light, automatically toeing off his wet boots and leaving them in the hallway. While he waited for Meg to wrestle her feet out of the wet sneakers, he looked around. Clean and basic. Bathroom and closet at one end. A kitchen area that held a half fridge, a wave-cooker, a small counter and sink, and minimal cupboards for storage. A single bed and a dresser. A small rectangular table and two straight back chairs. A stuffed chair and hassock and a reading lamp next to an empty bookcase.
“There should be a set of towels in the bathroom,” he said. “You look like you need a hot shower.”
“Thank you,” Meg whispered.
“Bathroom’s over there.” Simon pointed.
She was shivering so hard, he wondered if she’d be able to get out of those wet clothes. But he had no intention of helping her.
The bathroom door closed. Couldn’t hide much from animal-sharp hearing, but he ignored the sounds. While he located the extra blankets in the dresser’s bottom drawer, the toilet flushed. A moment later, the shower turned on.
He was staring out the window, watching the still-falling snow, when Tess walked in carrying two big zippered bags.
“I put it all on your account,” she said. Her hair, usually brown and straight, now curled wildly and had green streaks—a sign that Tess wasn’t feeling calm. At least the streaks weren’t red, the indication that she was angry.
When her hair turned black, people died.
“Put what on my account?” he asked.
“Two sets of clothes, sleepwear, toiletries, a winter coat and boots, and some food.”
The coat was a bright red, which was a color that attracted a lot of the Courtyard’s residents because it usually signified downed prey. Since that was the most likely reason no one had bought it, he wondered why Tess would bring it for Meg.
“I thought we could offer the midday meal as part of her pay,” he said.
“You might want to discuss this with the rest of the Business Association before you make so many decisions, especially since you just hired a new Liaison without talking to the rest of us,” Tess replied with a bite in her voice.
“You brought me the apartment keys before I asked for them, so you must have made a decision too,” Simon countered.
She didn’t respond. She just set one of the bags on the bed, then took the other into the kitchen area. After putting the food away, she joined him by the window. “You’re not in the habit of taking in strays, Simon. Especially not stray monkeys.”
“Couldn’t leave her out in the cold.”
“Yes, you could. You’ve left other humans to fend for themselves. Why is this one different?”
He shrugged, not wanting to talk about the scarred old woman whose words had shaped so many of his choices.
“We need a Liaison, Tess.”
“A fool’s idea, if you ask me. The only humans that want the job are thieves who think they can steal from us or ones hiding from their own law. The last one you threw out for being a lazy bag of shit, and the one before that . . . the Wolves ate the one before that.”
“We weren’t the only ones who ate him,” Simon muttered.
But he had to admit that Tess had a point. Liaisons barely had time to learn the job—if they even bothered to learn the job—before a replacement needed to be found for one reason or another. Humans always had a reason for wanting the job that had nothing to do with the job. Wasn’t that one of the reasons he wouldn’t give it to Asia? Wanting the Liaison job was just her next attempt to make him notice her. He didn’t need her sniffing around him more than she already was.
“What is Meg Corbyn running from?” Tess asked. “She didn’t start out around here. Not with the clothes she was wearing.”
He didn’t respond because he didn’t disagree. Meg might as well have runaway stamped on her forehead.
The green streaks faded from Tess’s hair. She sighed. “Maybe she’ll stay long enough to clear out some of the backlog of mail and packages.”
“Maybe,” he said. He didn’t think Meg Corbyn, or whoever she really was, would stay beyond receiving her first paycheck. But she had said she wanted to learn, and none of the other humans had said that. Not even Asia.
An awkward silence.
“You should go,” Tess said. “Naked girl in the shower. Strange man. I read these kinds of stories in books the humans write.”
Simon hesitated, but Tess was right. “Tell Meg I’ll meet her at the Liaison’s Office at eight thirty tomorrow morning. That will give me time to go over a few things with her before deliveries start at nine.”
“You’re the boss.”
Setting the keys on the table, he left the apartment—and wondered if, by leaving Meg alone with Tess, he’d just murdered the girl.
* * *
The hot water pouring over her hurt, and it felt wonderful. She used the shampoo and soap that was in the shower rack, then just stood there with one hand braced on the wall.
Safe for now. The wind and snow would have scoured her tracks away. She would be seen by humans, and that was a danger, but as long as she stayed within the boundaries of the Courtyard, no one could touch her. Not even . . .
Shaking, she held out both arms. Thin, straight scars marched down the tops of both arms from shoulder to elbow, one-quarter inch apart. The same kind of scars marched down the top of her left thigh and on the outside of her right thigh. There was a line of them down the left side of her back—precise in their execution. They had to be precise or the cut was worth less—or even worthless. Except for punishment.
Ignoring the crosshatch of scars on the upper part of her left arm, she studied the three scabbed lines on that forearm. Those scars she wouldn’t regret. The visions she’d seen when she made those cuts had bought her freedom. And had shown her a vision of her death.
A white room. A narrow bed with metal railings. She was trapped in that room, in that bed, feeling so cold her lungs couldn’t draw in a breath. And Simon Wolfgard, the dark-haired man she’d seen in the
prophecy, was there, pacing and snarling.
She turned off the water and opened the shower stall door.
A moment later, someone tapped on the bathroom door.
“Meg? It’s Tess. I’m going to open the door and leave some pajamas for you. Okay?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Meg grabbed a towel and held it in front of her, glad the mirror had steamed up so that no one would see the scars the towel didn’t hide.
When Tess closed the door again, Meg got out of the shower, dried off as quickly as she could, and dove into the pajamas. Wiping the condensation off the mirror, she double-checked to be sure she wasn’t showing any scars, then opened the door and stepped into the rest of the apartment.
“Give me your wet clothes,” Tess said. “I’ll get them dry for you.”
Nodding, Meg fetched the clothes she’d left in the bathroom and handed them to Tess.
“There’s a bit of food in the cupboards and fridge,” Tess said. “And two sets of clothes. I guessed at the sizes, so you can exchange them at the shop if they don’t fit. Simon will meet you at the Liaison’s Office at eight thirty tomorrow morning to go over your duties.”
“All right,” Meg said. Now that she was warm, staying awake was almost painful.
“Keys are on the table.” Tess headed for the door.
“You’ve been very kind. Thank you.”
Tess turned and stared at her. “Get some sleep.”
Meg counted to ten before she hurried to the door. She wasn’t sure it was possible to hear anything by pressing her ear against the wood like people did in movies, but she did it anyway. Hearing nothing, she locked the door and switched off the overhead light. The streetlights on Crowfield Avenue provided enough light for her to make her way to the windows. She pulled the heavy drapes over one window, then hesitated and left the second window uncovered. Feeling her way to the bed, she got in and lay shivering until the sheets warmed from her own heat.
Death waited for her somewhere in the Courtyard. But it wasn’t coming for her tonight. No one was coming for her tonight.
Breathing out a sigh of relief, Meg closed her eyes and fell asleep.
* * *
Simon shook himself to fluff out his fur. Wouldn’t want to be out here in his human skin, but the snow had stopped falling and, as a Wolf, he didn’t mind the cold—especially when some of the Wolves were heading out for a romp and run through the Courtyard.
Spending too much time in human form made him edgy. Yes, he had volunteered to run this Courtyard and had been the one to push for opening up a few stores to humans as another way of keeping an eye on them. But that didn’t make him less edgy about being around them or wearing that skin for so many hours when he was in Howling Good Reads. He needed time in this skin, needed to run.
Elliot trotted up to him. Simon was the dominant Wolf at Lakeside, but his sire was the Courtyard’s official face. Elliot had no interest in running businesses and wasn’t comfortable dealing with the other terra indigene, especially the Elementals and the Sanguinati, but he had a knack for dealing with human government and was the one among them who could talk for hours with the city mayor or other officials and not bite anyone.
So Simon was often thought of as the business leader, while the more social and sophisticated Elliot was mistaken for being the leader of the Lakeside Courtyard. And that suited Simon just fine. His sire could shake hands and attend dinners and have his photograph taken. And if the mayor and his buddies were very lucky, they would never discover that Elliot’s sophistication really was only skin deep.
Seven more Wolves joined them. Pleased with the company, Simon headed up the snowy road. Each species of terra indigene that lived in the Courtyard had a section that was respected as its home territory, but the rest of the land was shared by all of them. Once Simon and his friends crossed the Courtyard Creek Bridge, they would be in the Hawkgard area, so they would take the first road that led into the interior for their romp and run.
Wolf, he thought as they all settled into an easy trot to warm up their muscles. Maybe wolves had looked like them when the world was young, but the terra indigene— swift, strong, and lethal—had kept the larger, more primal form. Now the animal humans called wolf was to the terra indigene Wolf what a bobcat was to a tiger.
They trotted over a couple of inches of snow on the road; the rest of this evening’s snowfall was artfully drifted on either side. He’d have to remember to thank the girls at the lake for that.
Muscles warmed up, Simon stretched into a run, leading the pack over the bridge. Good to run. Good to feel the clean bite of weather. Good to taste . . .
The wind shifted. An Owl, one of the Courtyard’s nighttime sentinels, flew overhead, calling a warning.
There shouldn’t be anyone out on the road that wound between Lakeside Park and the Courtyard except for the snowplows that would rumble through the night to clear the roads for all the humans heading to work the next day. If a city worker had to come into the Courtyard, especially at night, a government official would have called Elliot beforehand. So no human had a reason to be here tonight.
Catching the scent, Simon turned onto a narrow service road that ran close to the Courtyard’s fence, pushing for all the speed he could get.
No howl, no sound, no warning. Just black, white, and gray shapes blending with the snow and the night as they raced toward the enemy.
A danger if the humans brought weapons, since the deeper snow on the service road was slowing the Wolves down enough that the intruders might get off a shot or two. But the humans had to break a trail through that snow too, so even if they wounded a couple of Wolves, they still wouldn’t get away.
Three humans slogging through the snow, heading away from the black wrought-iron fence that served as the Courtyard’s boundary.
Simon replied. Only one coming into their land with a weapon? Not likely. Just because he couldn’t see other weapons didn’t mean they weren’t there.
He caught sight of the black smoke moving just above the snow, rushing toward the intruders. Ignoring the smoke, he focused on the man with the rifle. The fool wasn’t paying attention and didn’t see him or the other Wolves coming until the third man looked around and shouted a warning.
The rifle swung in Simon’s direction.
They wouldn’t reach the enemy fast enough. The shot was going to hit one of them.
The black smoke suddenly surrounded the man with the rifle. Some of the smoke changed into hands that jerked the rifle skyward just as the man pulled the trigger.
Simon raced past the smoke and leaped, hitting the second man so hard they both lifted out of the broken trail and landed in fresh snow. His teeth closed over the thick scarf wrapped around the man’s neck, and the crushing power of Wolf jaws slowly strangled the prey while other Wolves clamped down on the man’s wrists, preventing him from fighting back.
The man engulfed in the smoke screamed.
Simon held on to his prey until it stopped struggling. Releasing the throat, he raised his head and sniffed the man’s face. Just unconscious.
Perfect.
Blood spread on the snow from the throat of the third man as the Wolves ripped open the clothes to get at the meat.
The smoke around the first man condensed until it became a black-haired man dressed in a black turtleneck and jeans. His arms were around the human; his hands were still clamped over the hands holding the rifle.
In their smoke form, the Sanguinati engulfed their prey and drew blood out through the skin. Not much skin was exposed in this weather, but the man’s face was sweating beads of blood that froze almost instantly.
Vladimir smiled, revealing elongated can
ines. “I’ll take this one back to the Chambers. Grandfather is watching some of his old movies and will appreciate a fresh snack.”
Simon dipped his head in acknowledgment.
“Nyx and I will come by later to sort out whatever might be useful and dispose of the rest.” Still smiling, Vlad ripped the rifle out of the man’s grip, got a good hold of the heavy winter coat, and headed back to the Sanguinati’s part of the Courtyard, running easily as he dragged his prey.
Following the trail the humans left, Simon studied the broken junipers that had been planted as a screen to keep the Courtyard private from cars driving by—and from unwelcome eyes that might be watching from the park on the other side of the road. Standing on his hind legs, he shouldered between two bushes.
The trail led from a car parked on the shoulder of Parkside Avenue, its flashers blinking. The car would be reported when the next snowplow went by, but no one would come asking questions until morning—if anyone came by at all.
He trotted back to his prey.
Several Wolves were happily ripping the other body apart. Elliot waited near the unconscious man. When Simon approached, Elliot looked in the direction Vlad had gone.
A change in the man’s breathing indicated a return to consciousness. Now it was time to eat.
Front toes elongated into strong, furry fingers with heavy claws. Simon and Elliot tore open the winter coat, ripped off the scarf, flannel shirt, and T-shirt, and shredded the jeans and long johns from thighs to ankles.
A gasping breath. The man opened his eyes.
Baring his teeth, Simon bit into the belly while Elliot tore out the throat, cutting off the man’s scream.
