by Anne Bishop
She shrugged into her coat, grabbed the box of sugar lumps, then rushed to open the door, because the next chorus of neighs was now accompanied by the cawing of the Crows.
“I’m here, I’m here,” she panted as she got the door open, set the box on the sorting table, grabbed the first stack of mail, and began filling the baskets.
The ponies shifted, jostled, nipped at her coat in a way that made her think of a child tugging on an adult’s sleeve in a bid for attention.
She didn’t have enough mail sorted to fill the baskets for the eight ponies who had shown up, but she made sure they all had something to carry. Then she opened the box of sugar lumps.
“A special Moonsday treat,” she said, holding out two lumps to Thunder. He took them happily. They all did. So happily, in fact, they all tried to get in line again for another serving.
When she closed the box and waved bye-bye, they all stared at her—and the box—for a long moment before trotting off to deliver the mail.
Sighing and shivering, Meg closed the door, returned the sugar to the cupboard in the back room, and continued with her work.
* * *
The Business Association’s meeting room had a ring of wooden chairs set around a low, round sectional table. It also had a secretary desk and filing cabinets, as well as a computer on another desk that could be used for e-mail or placing orders with human companies.
Since the Business Association’s office filled the other half of HGR’s second floor, Simon was the first to arrive. He chose a seat and waited through the usual shuffling for position that took place because the bird gards wouldn’t willingly sit next to one another and none of them wanted to sit next to the Sanguinati.
Vlad and Nyx arrived a minute after he did. Everyone else came in a moment later, leaving their outer garments on the coatrack in the small waiting room and delaying their entrance long enough for the Sanguinati to choose their seats.
Vlad sat next to him and Nyx sat on Vlad’s right. From there, the chairs around the table filled in—Jester, Blair, Jenni Crowgard, Tess, Julia Hawkgard, and Henry. Allison Owlgard took the last chair.
Jenni was part of the Business Association, but Julia and Allison weren’t. Which meant the leaders of their gards had probably chosen them as representatives because they did work around or in the businesses that had contact with humans.
“We’re all here, Simon,” Henry said in a quiet rumble.
“Lieutenant Montgomery came to see me this morning,” Simon said.
“We stayed on our own land yesterday,” Blair growled. “Or on the sidewalks that butt up against it, which are considered public property. The humans have no cause for complaint about that.”
“I heard some youngsters had fun digging in the compost pile,” Jester said. “Could someone have reported that?”
Blair shook his head. “That’s technically our land, but we let the Lakeside parks and utilities people use it too. Both sides add to the compost piles and can make use of the material. The park and utility workers don’t mind us digging. Saves them some work turning the piles. Besides, the youngsters didn’t have that much fun with it. The stuff is frozen just like everything else right now.”
“He wasn’t here about our being seen or about the compost,” Simon said. Shifting his hip, he pulled out the paper and razor from a pocket. He opened the paper and set it in the center of the round table.
“Oh,” Jenni said, sounding pleased. “The Meg looks more like a Crow in that picture.”
Jester sat back, as if he wanted distance from the poster. Vlad shifted uneasily, and Nyx was unnervingly still. Tess’s hair turned green and began curling wildly.
Blair’s eyes were filled with hot anger, but his voice was quiet when he asked, “What did she steal?”
“This.” Simon set the silver razor, designation side up, on the poster.
“Shiny!”
Jenni made a grab for the razor, then jerked her hand back when Blair turned his head and snapped at her. She made a show of holding her hand protectively against her chest and leaning toward Tess.
Henry leaned forward. “What is cs759?”
“Her designation.” Simon hesitated. “Meg is a cassandra sangue.”
“A blood prophet?” Jester said. “Our Liaison is a blood prophet?”
Simon nodded. “She ran away from the place where she was kept. That’s how she ended up here.”
“It’s rare for them to be out in the world,” Henry said thoughtfully. “We know little about her kind of human because so few of them are out in the world. I wonder if Meg doesn’t smell like prey because she is a different kind of human.”
“I don’t think the Owlgard knows much about them except for a few rumors, and those always make them sound special and pampered,” Allison said.
“Caged. She said they were caged,” Simon said. After a moment he added, “She said she would rather die than go back there.”
An awkward silence. Caging a terra indigene was considered an act of war—which was why keeping Sam in a cage for the pup’s own safety was killing Simon a little more every day.
“Did you see any scars?” Nyx asked.
He nodded. “On her left arm, above and below the elbow. Evenly spaced.”
Jester blew out a breath. “Meg is the first decent Liaison we’ve ever had in this Courtyard—at least since I’ve been living here. But if the police have this poster and are showing it to you, they know she’s here. Do we want to get into a fight with them over another human? We don’t even know enough about blood prophets to know if it’s worth the fight.”
Tess suddenly shifted in her chair—a jerky, angry movement. Her hair was now bloodred with green streaks and black threads.
Jenni looked at Tess, let out a caw, and scooted her chair as close to Blair’s as she could.
“Don’t ask me how I know these things,” Tess said in a rough voice. “Just know that they are true.”
“Tell us,” Simon said, struggling not to make any changes that would look aggressive.
“Cassandra sangue,” Tess said. “Blood prophet. A Thousand Cuts. Apparently, someone determined that was how many could be gotten out of one of these girls. The distance between cuts is precise. Too close and the prophecies . . . smudge. Too much space and skin is wasted. A precise cut with a very sharp blade to produce the euphoria and the prophecies. The girls become addicted to the euphoria, crave it beyond anything else. Which is what kills them in the end. Unsupervised, they might cut too deep or nick a vein and bleed out while their minds are within the euphoria and prophecies. Or they cut too close and the mixed prophecies drive them insane. However it happens, most of them die before they’re thirty-five years old.”
“Then the caging is done as a kindness?” Henry asked, sounding reluctant.
“You’d have to ask someone who has lived in that kind of cage,” Tess said. “While she has any skin that can be cut, Meg is a valuable asset to someone—a source of potential wealth to someone. Like every other kind of creature, the cassandra sangue have different levels of ability. A cut on a thick-skinned, thickheaded clunker is still worth a couple hundred dollars. A sensitive skin, combined with intelligence that has been educated? Depending on what part of the body is being cut for the prophecy, you’re talking about anywhere from a thousand dollars a cut to ten thousand or more.”
Blair whistled. “That raises the stakes.”
Simon looked at the people around the table. Yes, that raised the stakes. Meg could be worth thousands of dollars to the human who had controlled her.
What is she worth to us?
“I gather the reason you called us here was because of the potential fight if we allow Meg to stay,” Vlad said.
Simon nodded.
“Then Nyx and I would like to add some information that the re
st of you need before you make a decision.” Vlad looked at Nyx, who nodded. “Meg met Grandfather Erebus.”
Everyone jerked in their chairs.
“She came by delivering packages,” Nyx said, “and she fretted over one that wouldn’t fit in the boxes. It had been in the office for a while, so she didn’t want to take it back, and she wouldn’t leave it in the snow the way other humans would have done. So Grandfather gave her permission to enter the Chambers and place the box in front of his door. It turned out to be the box of old movies he’d been waiting for these past few months.”
“He has decreed that the sweet blood may enter the Chambers to deliver packages, that the Sanguinati will do nothing to harm or frighten the sweet blood within the Chambers or anywhere else in the Courtyard,” Vlad said.
“Sweet blood?” Simon said. “Does he know she’s a cassandra sangue?”
Vlad shrugged. “Does it matter? There is a sweetness about her that appeals to him, and he’s made it clear what he expects from his own as far as Meg is concerned.”
Simon didn’t comment. Meg had an annoying appeal, but he wouldn’t call her sweet. Puppylike in some ways, which would interest Wolves, but definitely not sweet.
Now Julia and Jenni shifted in their chairs.
“She met the girl at the lake,” Julia said.
Jester whined.
“Which one?” Blair asked.
“Which one would be out there skating, wearing nothing but a short-sleeved white dress and shoes?” Julia replied.
“Winter,” Simon breathed. “Meg talked to Winter?”
“The Hawks and Crows were warned off. Apparently, the Elemental didn’t want to share the conversation. We don’t know what was said, but she and the Meg chatted for a while, and then the Meg left.”
So at least one of the Elementals also had an interest in Meg. And Winter, if provoked, could be a terrifying bitch even for other terra indigene.
They looked at one another. Then they all turned to him and nodded.
“Meg stays,” Simon said in confirmation. “And we’ll make sure Meg—and the police—know we consider her one of us now.”
“How are you going to do that?” Tess asked as the black threads faded from her hair.
Simon picked up the razor and the wanted poster. “With a slight change of address.”
* * *
Meg didn’t need to see the deliveryman suddenly tense to know Simon was standing in the Private doorway. When the man left, she continued to stare out toward the street rather than look at the Wolf.
“Should I close up the office?” she asked.
“The office is closed from noon until two p.m., and it’s almost noon,” Simon said. “So, yes, you should close up until you reopen for afternoon hours.”
Now she turned to look at him. “I can stay?”
“With some changes.”
“What kind of changes?”
“Close up, Meg. Then we’ll talk.”
She closed up the office, put on her coat and boots, then followed him out the back door, which he locked before she could pull out her keys.
He led her to a BOW parked near the door and stuffed her into the passenger’s seat. By the time she got herself sorted out, he was behind the wheel and headed into the Courtyard.
She started to ask again what changes she had to make, but he was frowning more and more. Then he hit the brakes, and the BOW slid sideways before it stopped.
Those amber eyes stared at her. The frown deepened. “How were you taught things in that place where you were kept?”
She noticed he didn’t say where she had lived. At least he understood that distinction. “We were shown pictures. Sometimes drawings, sometimes photographs. We watched documentaries and training films. Sometimes scenes from movies. After we were taught to read, we were given reading assignments, or an instructor would read aloud. Or we read aloud in order to learn how to speak properly and pronounce words.” And there were things that had been done to them “for the experience,” or things they had been made to watch being done to a girl who was used-up or too deficient to earn her keep through the cutting.
Simon’s frown deepened a little more. “You took the BOW out the other day. How did you learn to drive?”
“It’s not that hard,” she muttered. Then she added defensively, “At least I didn’t slide like you just did.”
He straightened the BOW and continued down the road. “You weren’t taught to drive. Were you taught to do anything except speak prophecies?”
“You aren’t dependent on your keepers if you can do for yourself,” she replied quietly.
The sounds he was making were terrible and frightening. When he glanced at her, he stopped the sounds, but in the moment when his eyes met hers, she saw a queer red flicker in the amber.
“Where are we going?” she asked. It looked like they were headed for the Green Complex. A minute later, he pulled into a parking space across the road from the complex.
“This is guest parking or temporary parking,” Simon said as he got out of the BOW. When she joined him, he pointed to a lane that ran alongside the U-shaped building. “That leads to the garages and resident parking. The morning bus wouldn’t get you to work on time, so you need to use the Liaison’s BOW—once you learn to drive.”
“I can drive,” she protested. “At least, going forward.”
He stared at her. “You can’t back up?”
She didn’t answer.
“Right. We’ll drive to work together for a few days.”
“But . . .”
“You can’t stay in that efficiency apartment over the shops, Meg. You’re too vulnerable there. So if you’re going to stay and be our Liaison, you’re going to live here.”
“Here? But this is inside the Courtyard. Humans don’t live here.”
“You do.”
There was a finality to the way he said the words, the way he took her arm and led her across the road. She’d seen some of the Green Complex when Tess brought her here to wash her clothes.
Out of sight. Out of reach. Safe.
“Second floor,” he said, leading her to a stairway. The porch had latticework on both sides and along half the front. She guessed it would provide shade, shelter, and some privacy in the summertime. And some shelter from the snow now.
He pulled a set of keys out of his coat pocket, opened the door, and stepped aside.
She stepped on a welcome mat, toed off her boots, and placed them on a cracked boot mat. Then she looked around.
Big living room. Natural wood and earth tones. Some furniture that didn’t fill the space, but was as much as she had in the efficiency. She glanced back at Simon. He stayed near the door, an unreadable look on his face. Hesitantly, she explored.
Two bedrooms. One was empty; the other had a double bed that had been stripped and a dresser. The bathroom looked modestly clean, and the kitchen had a pleasant, airy feel and included a dining area. It also had a door that led to an interior landing and a back staircase that went down to an outer door—both of which were shared with the apartment next to hers.
“Acceptable?” he asked when she returned to the living room.
“Yes. Thank you.”
He turned his head toward the door, listening for a moment before nodding. “Some females will help you make your den human clean. I’ll drive you back to the office in time for the afternoon deliveries.”
When he opened the door, she heard Merri Lee and Jenni Crowgard talking as they came up the stairs.
“Mr. Wolfgard?” she said before he stepped out the door. “I noticed the kitchen door shares a landing. Who lives in the other apartment?”
He gave her a long look. “I do.”
Then he was gone, and Merri Lee, Jenni, Allison Owlgard, an
d a young woman who introduced herself as Heather Houghton were piling in with food and cleaning supplies. By the time they all piled out again to go back to their usual jobs, the only thing left for her to do was bring over her clothes and the bits and pieces she had acquired.
Simon was waiting at the bottom of the steps. As the women passed him, Jenni said, “The Meg didn’t want to ask you, but there’s no television or movie player here. Could she bring the one from the little apartment?”
Simon stared at them, then at Meg. “Anything else?”
“Meg likes books,” Merri Lee replied cheerfully. “If there’s a spare bookcase at the efficiency apartment, you could bring that too.”
“I didn’t say . . . I wasn’t asking . . .” Meg stammered.
He took her arm and led her to the BOW. The other women piled into the one parked beside his, Merri Lee in the driver’s seat, Heather beside her, and Jenni and Allison curled in the back. They took off while Simon watched them.
Shaking his head, he opened the passenger’s door and, once again, stuffed Meg inside. Getting in the driver’s side, he said, “Merri Lee doesn’t drive any better than you do.”
“I drive just fine,” Meg snapped.
“Considering you don’t know how.” He pulled out of the parking space and sent the BOW flying down the road at a speed she wouldn’t have considered.
Folding her arms, she stared out the side window and muttered, “Bad Wolf.”
His only response was to burst out laughing.
* * *
Monty followed the man named John up the stairs and down a hallway to the door that had OFFICE painted in black letters on frosted glass. John knocked, swung open the door, and retreated.
“Come in, Lieutenant,” Simon said, rising from the chair behind an executive’s desk made of a dark wood.
The quick glance he allowed himself before giving the Wolf his complete attention gave him the impression of a typical office—desk with phone, computer, trays for paperwork; a large calendar that also served as a blotter and a protection for the wood. There were filing cabinets along one wall, and a lack of anything personal—no photographs or even framed prints—but some men preferred an austere work environment, so that wasn’t altogether out of the ordinary. The only thing in the room that wasn’t typical of a human businessman’s office was the pile of pillows and blankets in one corner.
