by Anne Bishop
Sam was all wagging tail and happy-puppy greeting—until Simon opened the cage door. Then the youngster huddled in the back of the cage, whimpering.
Simon held out his hand. “Come on, Sam. It’s still light outside. We’ll be safe. Come outside for a pee and a poop.”
When the pup continued to shake and whimper, Simon reached in and hauled him out, ignoring Sam’s attempts to bite him and escape. They did this several times a day—had been doing it since Daphne was killed and Simon became Sam’s guardian. Sam was terrified of outside because outside was where his mother had died right in front of him.
Sam had stopped growing that night, hadn’t continued his development the way pups should. They had no way of knowing what had happened to his human form because he hadn’t shifted in two years.
Simon couldn’t imagine being stuck in one skin his whole life, unable to shift. And he didn’t want to imagine what it felt like to be so afraid that he could no longer make that choice.
He took the struggling pup outside and firmly closed the apartment door.
“A pee and a poop,” he said, walking over to a potted tree that was part of a central garden area. He put Sam down and placed himself between the pup and the apartment. They weren’t going in until Sam obeyed, but it broke his heart a little more every time they did this, and the fangs of his hatred for the men responsible grew a little longer.
Someday, he promised himself as Sam took care of business.
Sam was trembling and on the verge of panic from being outside for so long when the shiny black sedan pulled up in front of the complex. The back door opened and Elliot Wolfgard stepped out. Like Daphne and Sam, Elliot had gray eyes instead of amber, but it was a cold gray that suited the stern expression that was usually worn on the human face.
Now the stern expression shifted into a warm smile as Elliot came forward with open arms. “Hello, Sam.” He crouched in the snow to rub the pup’s ears and ruffle his fur. “How’s our boy?” He looked up at Simon when he asked the question.
Simon shrugged to say same as always.
Elliot’s smile dimmed as he rose. “You should tell the Liaison to wear a watch if she can’t get back to work on time without one.”
“Actually, she was making deliveries in the Courtyard, not dawdling for her own amusement,” Simon replied with just enough tooth to remind Elliot who was dominant.
“I stand corrected,” Elliot said after a moment. “I should have known that she was attending to her duties. The Crows are such gossips and find her entertaining, if the number of them gathering to watch the office is any indication. I prefer not to deal with them, but my staff would have heard if we had cause to complain about her.”
“She doesn’t like mice for snacks. That makes her peculiar—at least according to the Owls.”
“All right, Simon, you made your point,” Elliot said. “If we finally have a Liaison who will do the work we pay for, I’ll try to show more tolerance.”
“Appreciate it.”
“Has Blair met her yet?”
Simon nodded. “And didn’t bite her.”
“That’s something. I’ll be out tonight for a dinner—a guest of the mayor. I’ll have my mobile phone if you need me.”
“Enjoy your evening.”
“That will depend on the menu. If it’s beef, it will be a tolerable meal. If it’s chicken . . .” Elliot shuddered. “What is the point of chicken?”
“Eggs?”
Elliot waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As soon as Elliot drove away, Sam began pawing at Simon’s leg, trying to jump into his arms.
“You need to work your legs,” Simon told the pup, making him walk back to the apartment. But he picked up Sam before opening the door, grabbed a towel from the basket in the entryway, and dried off feet and fur.
As soon as he was free, Sam raced to the safety of his cage.
Determined not to let his disappointment show, Simon went into the kitchen, hung up the towel on a peg near the back door, and made dinner for himself and Sam. Then he turned on one of the movies Sam used to love watching, settled in the living room with food and a book, and gave his nephew as much comfort and company as the pup would accept.
* * *
Meg opened the journal she had found at the General Store. She labeled the first page Books, skipped a page, then labeled the next one Music. She skipped another page, put the date at the top of the page, and stopped.
What was she supposed to write? Dear Diary, I didn’t get eaten today. That was true, but it didn’t really say much. Or maybe it said everything that needed to be said.
She still wasn’t sure if humans didn’t stay long in jobs at the Courtyard because they quit or because they didn’t survive dealing with the Others. Except for Lorne, who ran the Three Ps, and Elizabeth Bennefeld, the therapist who was available at the Good Hands Massage Parlor a couple afternoons each week, Merri Lee was the longest-employed human in the Courtyard, and she had been working at A Little Bite for just over a year. Sure, employees were considered not edible, but that didn’t mean anything if the person did something the Others considered a betrayal.
What would the Others consider a betrayal? Certainly a physical act against them would count, but what about a lie that didn’t have anything to do with them? Would that be seen as betrayal?
In the end, afraid that privacy was still an illusion, she avoided mentioning names or what parts of the Courtyard she had visited while making deliveries, but she did mention attending the Quiet Mind exercise class, which was held on the second floor of Run & Thump, and visiting the Courtyard library.
She had found three of the books Winter had requested and two for herself before running into Merri Lee, who had talked her into trying the Quiet Mind class, then went with her to a couple of stores to select an exercise mat and workout clothes.
She was making friends, developing a routine that could become a satisfying life for however long it lasted. If she just remembered to stop at the grocery store to pick up food for the evening meals, she would be all set. As it was, she scrounged what was left of the food Tess had brought, too tired to go back out once she staggered up to her apartment.
Now, muscles loosened from a hot shower and adequately fed, she tucked herself into bed with one of the books, content to read while cars rolled by and people’s voices carried in the still air as they headed home.
She heard Wolves howling, but she wasn’t sure how close they were to this part of the Courtyard. How far did the sound travel? The library had computers that could access information through the telephone lines. Maybe she could find information about the animal wolf that would help her understand the terra indigene Wolf.
She tensed when she heard a heavy footfall near her door, but she let out a sigh of relief when that was followed by the rattle of keys in the door across from hers. She had passed Henry in the Market Square that afternoon, and he had mentioned that he would be staying in one of the other efficiency apartments tonight because he wanted to remain close to his studio.
Picking up her journal, she made a note to herself to look up sculpture and totems when she had a chance to use the computer at the library.
Henry’s door opened and closed. Cars crunched by. Meg got up to make a cup of chamomile tea, then went back to bed and kept reading, slightly scandalized by the story—and more scandalized by the fact that no one had stopped her from taking out the book.
Then there were no sounds of cars, no people heading home.
Meg looked at the clock and reluctantly closed the book. She got up long enough to put her mug in the sink and go to the bathroom. Tomorrow was a rest day, and the Liaison’s Office and most of the Courtyard stores were closed. Hopefully that didn’t include the grocery store. Apples for the ponies on Moonsday? She would need to cut th
em just before the ponies arrived. Otherwise the chunks would turn brown from the air. She knew that from training images. The girls had spent an entire week one year looking at captioned pictures of different kinds of fruit, from fresh to rotted. In a prophecy, seeing fruit that had been rotting for a specific number of days could indicate the time a person had been missing . . . or dead.
Meg let out a gusty sigh. Maybe her kind always saw the world as images that could be recalled to create a whole picture for someone else. Or maybe it was the way she had been trained to think and learn. Jean hadn’t used the standard images all the time, but she had been unusual, difficult. Different.
You’ll have a chance to escape this life, Meg. You’ll have a chance to be someone for yourself. When the chance comes, take it and run—and don’t come back. Don’t ever let them bring you back here.
What about you?
The Walking Names made sure I can’t run, but I’ll be free someday. I saw that too.
The prickling under Meg’s skin started in her feet and ran up both legs. She stifled a cry, not wanting Henry to hear her and come pounding on the door, demanding an explanation.
She walked toward the bathroom, hoping to find something in the medicine chest that would ease the feeling.
She knew what would make the prickling go away, but it was too soon to cut again. Besides, she also knew how much it hurt to hold in a prophecy, and speaking without a listener would relieve the pressure but it wouldn’t do her any good otherwise.
As she tried to talk herself out of making another cut, the prickling faded on its own.
Meg splashed some water on her face, then returned to the living area of her apartment, determined to focus on the present and not the past because, most likely, her present could be measured in days or weeks.
The Moonsday treat. How many apples for how many ponies? She’d better bring extra in case more ponies showed up. How many lived in the Courtyard anyway? She’d have to ask Jester, since he was the one who looked after them.
Her mind on ponies and apples and what she might do on her day off, Meg pulled aside the drape and looked down at the street—and forgot all about sleeping.
The man was there again. She couldn’t make out his features, but he was wearing the same dark coat and watch cap as the man she’d seen the other night. She was sure of it.
As she watched, he crossed Crowfield Avenue, heading straight for the glass door that provided street access to the apartments. But that door was locked. She was still safe because that door was locked.
Training image. Hands manipulating slim metal instruments to open a lock.
A locked door wouldn’t keep her safe. Panic held her frozen at the window. Then the prickling returned in her legs as she heard a sound she couldn’t identify. Her hands and arms began to tingle as she remembered the last time she and Jean had spoken.
Don’t ever let them bring you back here.
Meg bolted across the room, certain now that the man had been sent by the Controller.
Couldn’t get out. Locked in, just like before when she lived in the compound! No, not like before. Now she had the keys. The dead bolt just needed a key.
She scrambled for the keys in her purse, panting as her shaking hands tried to fit the key in the lock.
Was the man coming up the stairs? Creeping down the hallway? If she opened the door, would he be right there, waiting to grab her?
The tingling in her hands became a buzz that was so painful she dropped the keys. Unable to escape, she pounded on the door and screamed, “Henry! Henry!” Could he hear her? Please, gods, let him hear me!
She felt as well as heard the roar that filled the hallway, followed by a startled cry and the clatter of boots.
Racing to the window, Meg saw the man running across the street, angling for the corner and disappearing from sight. Retracing her steps, she picked up the keys with shaking hands and finally managed to open the door.
Henry stood at the end of the hallway, looking down the stairs. She couldn’t see his expression—the lights from his apartment and hers didn’t reach that far, and he hadn’t turned on the hallway light—but she had the impression he was very angry.
“Henry?” she said hesitantly. “Should I call someone?”
“Who would you call?” he asked, sounding more curious than angry.
“I don’t know. The police? Or someone in the Courtyard?”
He walked back to her door and studied her. Then he shook his head. “No need to call anyone. I’ll take a look around now and talk to Simon in the morning. Keep your door locked, Meg, and you’ll be all right.”
No, she wouldn’t be all right. She couldn’t explain that to Henry, so she closed the door and turned the key in the lock. Then she pressed her ear against the door, listening as she counted slowly.
She reached one hundred before Henry walked back down the hallway to the stairs. As soon as she was sure he wouldn’t hear her, she moved with controlled desperation, changing into jeans and a sweater, packing up a small bag of toiletries, tucking her book, a jar candle, and box of matches into one of the zippered carry bags. She rolled her pillow into the spare blanket from the chest at the end of her bed. Then she put her coat and boots on and held her breath while she turned the key, listening as hard as she could for Henry’s footsteps.
She slipped out of her apartment and locked up, then fled to the back entrance and down the stairs. She hurried to the Liaison’s Office, fumbled to get the door open, and let out a sob of relief when she was inside.
Just as exposed here as in her apartment. Just as alone, since the shops and the consulate wouldn’t be open tomorrow. But no one knew she was here. The low light in the front part of the office was always on and wouldn’t attract attention. Light from the candle would be visible only from the window in the sorting room, and that window looked out on the yard and sculpture garden behind Henry’s studio.
She would be safe here tonight—or as safe as she could be.
Unwilling to turn on the overhead lights, she slipped off her boots, then padded her way to the sorting room, dropping the pillow and blanket on the table before going to the counter that ran under the window. Retrieving the candle and matches from her carry bag, she lit the candle. She didn’t need to cut her skin to figure out the Controller had found her. It was just a matter of time before his man found a way to reclaim her.
Just a matter of time.
Spreading the blanket out on the sorting table, Meg climbed up and got as comfortable as she could on her hard, makeshift bed.
* * *
In the western part of the continent, where the terra indigene Grizzlies ruled as many Courtyards as the Wolves, some humans called his first form spirit bear.
Spirit bear moved through the world unseen, but some could sense his passing. Some would know he was there before he took on the tangible shape that had teeth and claws.
Now Henry followed the stranger’s trail until it ended farther up the street where the man’s vehicle had been parked.
Turning back to the Courtyard, he went to the glass door and studied the broken lock as he considered what it meant.
So much fear behind Meg’s door, so much desperation when she screamed his name.
If he hadn’t wanted to be close to the wood tonight, would she have disappeared, leaving them to think she was just another human who had used them for a few days’ shelter? Or would the broken lock on the door and the scent of a stranger stir up Simon and the rest of the terra indigene who lived here?
Turning away from the door, Henry walked up to the corner and turned left, following the boundary of the Courtyard, not sure what he was looking for but letting instinct guide him.
He prowled the delivery area, taking in the scents around the front of the Liaison’s Office and the consulate. The stranger’s scen
t wasn’t there, but moving closer to the sorting-room delivery doors, he picked up another scent that was fresher than it should be.
Moving around the office to the yard behind his studio, he saw the flicker of light in the sorting room. Taking up the full Grizzly form, Henry braced a paw on the wall and looked in the window.
Meg, sleeping on the sorting table.
Meg, who wasn’t in the apartment where someone would expect to find her at this time of night.
Moving away from the window, Henry called,
Five of them answered his call, landing on the wall that separated his studio from the delivery area.
Two of the owls flew off, taking up position on the roof of the consulate. Another flew up to the roof of his studio. Allison and a juvenile male remained on the wall.
Satisfied that he would have plenty of warning if the stranger returned, Henry ambled back to the efficiency apartment, changed to human form, and retrieved his clothes where he had left them in the stairwell. He made himself a cup of strong black tea generously laced with honey, then settled into the rocking chair near the window that gave him a view of the Liaison’s Office. As he drank his tea, he wondered about the female who had suddenly come into their lives.
Throughout the rest of the night, he wondered a lot.
And he wondered what Simon was going to say in the morning.
CHAPTER 6
Simon got out of the shower and rubbed the towel briskly over his skin. He didn’t like conforming to the way humans chopped up days into little boxes. The sun and moon and change of seasons should be enough for anyone. But if he had to conform in order to run a human-type business, he shouldn’t have to think about it on the one day each week when he could live as Wolf from one sunrise to the next.
Earthday was the day of rest, the day the Courtyard was closed to humans so that the terra indigene could run and play and be what they were: earth natives. It was the one day he didn’t have to shift into the skin that was useful but never felt like home.
