Marked in Flesh

by Anne Bishop

  Monty wasn’t sure if that was literal or a joke. “Simon Wolfgard called. A hundred bison were shot in Joe Wolfgard’s territory this morning. Simon wanted to know if we’d heard of any other incidents.”

  “Bison?” Shady asked.

  “Large grazing animals that travel in herds,” Burke said. “They’re mostly in the Midwest and parts of the Northwest Region, although I think they can also be found in the High North. Some farming and ranching organizations feel that the bison are the impediment to opening up land humans need to grow crops and graze livestock.”

  “And if the bison are eliminated?”

  “If you eliminate the bison, elk, deer, and everything else the terra indigene hunt for food now, the Others will end up eating the cattle, sheep, goats, and, most likely, the pesky humans who made a land grab.”

  “If it’s an isolated incident caused by a few troublemakers in one Midwest town, that’s one thing,” Monty said. “If there are more incidents . . .”

  “Then it could be a concerted effort by the HFL to antagonize the Others,” Burke finished for him. “Or by another group altogether, but the HFL would be my first choice. I’ll make some calls, see if I get any answers. You heading for the Courtyard?”

  “Not yet. I heard on the news that some buildings were vandalized last night, so I want to check on Nadine Fallacaro. She’s been supplying food for the Courtyard’s coffee shop. She could be a target because of that.”

  “Nothing reported in our precinct, thank the gods.” Burke leaned back in his chair. “All right, Lieutenant. You check on Ms. Fallacaro. I’ll see if I can find out anything about bison.”

  Monty turned to Shady. “I will be at the Courtyard sometime today, and I’ll ask Simon Wolfgard about human guests.”

  “Appreciate it,” Shady said.

  Of course he would be at the Courtyard sometime today. Monty was splitting his time between the one-bedroom apartment he’d rented when he’d first arrived in Lakeside and the efficiency apartment in the Courtyard that he was using as a place where Lizzy could stay while he was at work. Both places had disadvantages, but they would muddle through until he could move into one of the two-bedroom apartments on Crowfield Avenue. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about having the Others as his landlords, but he knew he wouldn’t find a safer place for Lizzy to live—or a more dangerous place if Lakeside exploded into a violent collision between the people who supported the Humans First and Last movement and those who believed that progress depended on maintaining peaceful relations with the terra indigene.

  “So what’s the deal with the bison?” Kowalski asked.

  “Could be an isolated incident. Or it could be the first volley in Cel-Romano’s war against the Others.”

  “But I thought Cel-Romano was preparing to wage war in their part of the world.”

  Monty looked out the side window. “Maybe that’s what we’re supposed to think.”

  • • •

  Vlad set a small bowl on the sorting room table and smiled at Meg. “I brought you some strawberries.”

  She reached for a berry but didn’t take it. “You’re not giving up your share of the berries, are you?”

  “No, I bought a quart of the berries that are for sale in the Market Square and decided to share them with you.”

  “Oh. Well, thank you.”

  He waited until she’d eaten a berry before broaching the real reason he was there. “Meg? What upset you this morning?”

  He watched her throat work as she swallowed. Throats, with the blood in them so easily accessed by a kiss, always drew his attention. But with Meg, it was like looking at a delicate piece of art that could be admired but not touched because the cassandra sangue were Namid’s creation, both wondrous and terrible, and their blood was not drunk by the Sanguinati.

  “I had a bad dream. Then I woke up. I guess I was loud about waking up.”

  “You screamed and threw yourself on top of Simon.” With windows open to cool the apartments, her scream woke everyone in the Green Complex. But Meg tended to scream when she saw a mouse, so they all wouldn’t have come rushing into her apartment if Simon hadn’t yelped like he was also in trouble. To the rest of them, that yelp meant physical trouble. In a way that had been true, since Meg had been clinging to Simon while he’d been trying to get out from under her without hurting her. At least, he’d put on a good show of trying to get out from under her when the rest of them came rushing into the room. “What did you dream about?”

  Color blazed in her cheeks. “I don’t remember.”

  Vlad studied her, wishing he could believe there had been some erotic element in the dream that she didn’t want to reveal, but that wasn’t the reason for the blush. Meg had just lied to him.

  “Why is a bad dream so important?” she asked.

  “It wouldn’t be if someone else had the dream. But you’re a cassandra sangue.”

  “I didn’t make a cut, and my skin didn’t split because of weather or anything, so it wasn’t prophecy; it was just a dream.”

  He nodded as if she’d convinced him, but he presented the one thought that troubled him, the thought that had brought him to the Liaison’s Office. “It’s just odd, don’t you think, that three significant things happened at the same time of day? You had a bad dream, something compelled Hope to make a drawing that frightened her, and bison in Joe’s territory were killed. All at daybreak.”

  “But daybreak in the Northeast Region is two hours ahead of daybreak where Hope lives.”

  “Two hours ahead of daybreak in Joe’s territory as well. But you don’t remember your dream, so we don’t know if you had some kind of vision about the bison.”

  The sorting room filled with an awkward silence until a truck pulled into the delivery area.

  “I have to get that,” Meg said.

  “And I have to get to work.” He walked out the back door of the Liaison’s Office, then stopped. He didn’t want to go to Howling Good Reads yet, didn’t want to talk to Simon.

  Meg had lied to him about not remembering the dream. It wasn’t that he’d thought she couldn’t lie. She was human after all. But he’d never thought she would lie to any of the terra indigene who had befriended her.

  Was their friendship less valued now that there were more humans around? Or was he making too much out of things that weren’t important?

  Too agitated to work, he headed for the Market Square to sit and think.

  • • •

  The moment the deliveryman walked out the front door, Meg rushed to the back room and peeked out the door to make sure no one was around. Then she opened the door all the way and leaned against the doorjamb.

  She had lied to Vlad—and had lied to Simon and Henry and Tess earlier that morning when they asked her if she remembered the dream. She remembered enough. More than enough.

  She’d dreamed about making a cut, had dreamed so vividly she could still feel the razor slicing her skin. Prior to the cut, she had run her hands down her arms, down her legs. But the buzz hadn’t been in her arms or legs; it hadn’t been on her back or her belly. In the end, she laid the razor along the right side of her jaw and pressed the blade against skin. Then her dreamself had endured the agony that came before a cassandra sangue began speaking prophecy, had continued to endure the agony by staying silent. And that dreamself had seen something so terrible that Meg had flung herself on Simon to protect him, to save him.

  She had bled in a dream and seen prophecy. Something bad was going to happen to the Wolves. Unfortunately, she hadn’t seen the prophecy, so she couldn’t tell anyone what was coming, couldn’t give a warning.

  Were any of the other cassandra sangue who were living outside the compounds having similar experiences of seeing visions without making an actual cut? Hope was making drawings that, until that morning, had been a different way to reach the visions without cutting. What about Jean, who was living with a Simple Life family on Great Island? Was she sensing things now without cutting?
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br />   The visions the three of them saw seemed to intertwine, but were they seeing the same things? She and Jean and Hope had come from the same compound, had been taught the same images, so they had that much in common when they described their visions. But now their lives were so different. Jean lived on a farm. Hope lived in a terra indigene settlement in the Northwest. And she lived in the Lakeside Courtyard. Each of them was absorbing new images every day, but not the same images. That was true of all the girls who had been freed from benevolent ownership. Would the younger girls, growing up without that rigid training, be able to communicate at all when they saw the visions of prophecy? Would it matter?

  Meg clenched her teeth as the skin over her entire head suddenly filled with that pins-and-needles feeling.

  It would matter. Maybe not here, maybe not right now, but it would matter.

  So how could girls living outside the compounds achieve the same kind of image consistency in order to communicate with one another?

  She needed to find another, already available, source for images. Wasn’t that part of her job as the Trailblazer, to help the other blood prophets find the tools they needed to survive?

  The prickling beneath her skin faded. Going to the doorway between the back room and sorting room, she hollered, “Nathan? I’m going to the Three Ps. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Arroo?”

  Yes, it was unusual for her to leave the office during her work hours, but if another delivery arrived, Nathan—and Jake Crowgard, who was perched on the wall between Henry’s yard and the delivery area—would let her know.

  She hurried out the back door and across the access way. She’d been inside the Three Ps only once and had been overwhelmed by the amount of paper products Lorne Kates managed to carry in the small shop. She kept her eyes focused on the counter and rushed toward it as Lorne came out from behind the chest-high wall panels that separated the computers and printers from the retail part of the shop.

  “Morning, Meg.”

  “Good morning.” She braced her hands on the counter.

  “You all right?”

  Meg nodded. “I’d like some postcards.”

  “Do you want to take a look at what I have in the spin rack?” Lorne asked.

  “No. I need sets of pictures, images. If I see Talulah Falls in a vision and need to convey that I’m seeing that particular waterfall, I want another cassandra sangue to pick up the same image so she knows exactly what I mean.”

  “Haven’t you been creating a binder of images to help identify things in your visions?”

  “The binders are too big.” As soon as she said it, she knew it was true. Binders would be useful for collecting images that appealed to each girl, but the blood prophets needed something else for the consistent images, something about the size of a postcard.

  Why was she so certain of that? Had she seen something during a cut, or heard about something that she couldn’t recall?

  They both turned toward the door when they heard the howl.

  “Someone is looking for you,” Lorne said. “I’ll pull one of each postcard and drop them off at the Liaison’s Office. After you look them over, you keep the ones you want and give back the rest. All right?”

  “Yes. Thanks, Lorne.” Huffing out an annoyed breath when Nathan howled again, Meg rushed across the access way but stuttered to a stop when she saw Blair Wolfgard leaning against the office’s back door, waiting for her.

  Blair was the dominant enforcer in the Courtyard and didn’t have much use for humans. To be fair, she was pretty sure she’d caused him a considerable amount of trouble since she started working, and living, among the terra indigene. So there was always the possibility that Blair would forget—or ignore—the “don’t bite Meg” rule.

  “You caused a commotion at your place this morning,” he said.

  “I had a bad dream, and I sort of fell on top of Simon.” How many times did she have to say it?

  “What was the dream?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  Blair’s amber Wolf eyes studied her. “You would tell me if I needed to keep watch for something, wouldn’t you?”

  “I would. And I will. But there’s nothing to tell you now.”

  He opened the back door and stepped aside to let her enter.

  “Meg!” Lorne hurried over to her, casting a nervous glance at Blair. “Take a look at these. And here’s a catalog from the place that prints the postcards. Keep it awhile. You can make up a list of the images you want me to order for you.”

  Meg took the postcards and catalog. “Thanks.”

  With another glance at Blair, Lorne bolted across the access way and back to the safety of his own shop.

  “I’m going back to work now,” Meg said.

  But the enforcer’s eyes were focused on the second floor of Howling Good Reads and the Wolf standing at the window. Blair walked away without saying a word.

  Shivering even though the day was turning warm, Meg went inside the office and laid out the postcards on the sorting room table.

  Common images for blood prophets living in different parts of Thaisia. But these weren’t the pictures she and Jean and Hope needed. These were scenic and pretty, and prophecy was rarely about things that were pretty. If that wasn’t true, blood prophets wouldn’t need the euphoria to veil what they saw and cloud their memories.

  She had lied about the dream because Simon, Vlad, and the rest of her friends would be upset if she told them about the part she remembered.

  There was no scar along the right side of her jaw. But there was going to be. Sometime soon she would make that cut to save Simon and the rest of the Wolves.

  • • •

  “Vladimir.”

  Looking up, Vlad forced a smile. “Grandfather. What brings you to the Market Square?”

  In his human form, Erebus Sanguinati looked like an old man with a lined face. His hands had knobby joints and big veins, but the fingernails were not as yellowed or horny as they used to be—a slight adjustment in appearance that had been made after Meg began delivering packages to the Chambers, the Sanguinati’s part of the Courtyard. His voice had a slight accent and belied the lethal nature of the vampire who commanded all the Sanguinati in Thaisia.

  Erebus sat beside him on the bench. “Our Meg saw a couple of movies at the store here that she thought I might enjoy. So I have come to look. Then I saw you.” He smiled gently. “You are troubled?”

  Meg lied to me. Not something he would say to Erebus now or ever. Grandfather doted on Meg.

  “Yes, I’m troubled,” Vlad admitted. “I keep coming back to what happened this morning and how prophecy usually works.”

  “Prophecy is about the future, about something that is going to happen. Is that not so?”

  “Yes. And sometimes that future possibility is just minutes away, leaving a person with very little time to act.” Vlad blew out a breath. “Daybreak. That’s what is bothering me. A mound of bison is bothering me. They must be connected with the dream Meg had and the drawing Hope made, but Joe Wolfgard said the bison fell where they died. They weren’t mounded.”

  “You think the sweet blood saw something else, something that hasn’t happened yet?”

  Vlad nodded. “And whatever Meg and Hope saw, each in her own way, is connected to something that will happen around a place called Prairie Gold.”

  Erebus said nothing in a way that kept Vlad silent. A minute passed. Then two.

  “We are more suited to hunting around larger human cities than other forms of terra indigene,” Erebus finally said. “Not so well suited for small human places, like so many of the towns in the Midwest Region.”

  “I’m aware of that, Grandfather.”

  “But now the leader of the Lakeside Courtyard and our sweet blood are connected to two places that have no Sanguinati among the terra indigene who are keeping watch over the humans. You are concerned that the Wolves will not relay information?”

  “No, it’s not th
at. I trust Simon, and he trusts Jackson and Joe. But Wolves and Sanguinati have different strengths. I’m just wondering if our not being present in so much of the Midwest makes other kinds of terra indigene more vulnerable to an attack.”

  Erebus’s laugh sounded like skittering dry leaves. “You would tell the Bear and the Panther that they are not capable of defending their land? You would say such a thing to the Wolves?”

  “We’ve fought well together here. We can fight well together in other places.”

  Another silence. Then, “This place where the bison died. Could the Sanguinati shelter there?”

  Vlad nodded. “There is a motel, so there are a few rooms that can be rented. I asked when I was speaking with Jesse Walker, the woman who runs the general store.”

  Erebus smiled. “Very well, Vladimir. Perhaps it is time to reassess our presence in the Midwest Region. I will ask two of our kin to visit this Prairie Gold.”

  “We could supply them with a legitimate reason to visit. The terra indigene collect the gold that is found in the streams that flow in the Elder Hills. Sanguinati could trade human money for the gold and bring the gold back here or take it on to Toland. Also, Jesse Walker didn’t sound like she trusted the humans in Bennett, the railway town where the Intuits buy many of their supplies. We may be able to supply some merchandise directly.”

  “All right. But, Vladimir, you will inform the Wolf there that the Sanguinati will be arriving. As a courtesy.”

  “Of course, Grandfather.”

  Erebus stood. After giving Vlad’s shoulder a pat, he walked over to Music and Movies to consider the movies Meg thought he would like.

  Vlad sat for a moment longer before returning to Howling Good Reads. The Sanguinati who were heading for Prairie Gold could take the first order of books with them.

  • • •

  One window of Nadine’s Bakery & Café was fitted with a piece of plywood, replacing the broken glass. Painted across the door and other window were the words Wolf fukker.

  “I guess the vandals do need a dictionary if they can’t spell that right,” Kowalski said.

  Guilt produced a queasy burn in Monty’s stomach. He’d talked Nadine into providing baked goods and sandwiches for A Little Bite. The Others had come to her place early two or three times a week to pick up an order. They’d come quietly, in a minivan that looked no different from a thousand others in the city. But someone must have figured it out, must have said something.