Etched in Bone

by Anne Bishop

  “Yes, ma’am.” Kowalski ran to the clothing store in the Market Square.

  “Crispin, you go on in and make sure everyone gets started.”

  Montgomery’s hesitation lasted only a moment. “Yes, Mama.”

  “Miss Twyla . . . ,”Simon tried again.

  “No.”

  The word was said quietly and courteously—and made it clear that there would be no arguing and no discussing.

  Miss Twyla gave Simon a long look. “You think I don’t understand what happened here, and why? Trying takes courage. How many of you got it right the first time?”

  Most of the terra indigene who tried the form never managed to shift all the way, so they couldn’t pass for human. But they also didn’t try to sit at a table with humans and eat.

  “Anyone who has a problem with this is welcome to fix a plate and eat elsewhere,” Miss Twyla said. “And that includes you.”

  Stung, he snarled at her—and felt vaguely ashamed for doing it when she folded her skinny arms and just looked at him.

  Kowalski returned. “I guessed at sizes. Figured the T-shirt would be okay if it was a little big. It’s hot and the rest of the kids are wearing shorts, so I brought these.”

  He’d seen Kowalski and Debany wear shorts like those when they worked out at Run & Thump, the Courtyard’s fitness place.

  “Those will work fine,” Miss Twyla said. “Now I need—”

  Eve and Nadine poked their heads out the door.

  “Twyla, what’s going . . . ?” Eve began.

  Simon saw the shock and horror on the two females’ faces. Then those feelings disappeared, in the way a Wolf would disappear behind the mask of looking human. The feelings weren’t gone, just hidden.

  Had they hidden feelings that way the first time they’d seen Meg’s scars?

  “Need a seam ripper or a small pair of scissors,” Miss Twyla said.

  “I have scissors in the mini sewing kit I keep in my purse,” Eve said. “I’ll get them.”

  “You boys help him stand up and get dressed.”

  He wasn’t sure who the boys were until Kowalski moved to stand on one side of Skippy and gave Simon an expectant look. After they hauled Skippy upright, the juvenile needed a minute to find his balance—not an easy thing when standing on two differently shaped feet. Nadine helped them get the T-shirt on while Miss Twyla held the shorts to Skippy’s waist and decided where to rip the seam to provide an opening for the tail.

  When Eve returned with her sewing kit, she not only opened the seam but also added a couple of stitches to keep the seam from opening further.

  Then they took Skippy inside.

  Blair, Nathan, and Henry had guessed what had happened. The humans . . .

  Henry said.

  “Skippy, you sit next to me,” Miss Twyla said. “Ruth, you fix a plate for him. Start simple.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Ruth hurried to the tables with the food and began filling another plate while Merri Lee poured milk into a plastic cup.

  Simon and Kowalski settled Skippy in the chair. The juvenile panted, stressed from the physical change and a body that must have felt like disjointed pieces.

  Robert stared, a forkful of mashed potatoes suspended over his plate. “Is that Skippy?”

  “So what?” Sam challenged.

  “How did he do that?” Robert looked at Sam. “Can you do that?”

  “We’ll discuss this later,” Pete interrupted. “Eat your dinner.”

  Ruth brought a plate that held mashed potatoes, stuffing, turkey, and a spoonful of the broccoli and cheese casserole. “Wasn’t sure if he could handle corn on the cob.”

  Miss Twyla nodded. “This will do for now.”

  Skippy lunged for the food on the plate and got a smack on the nose.

  “You wait until I cut it up for you.” Miss Twyla cut up the turkey, then put the plate in front of Skippy. She picked up a fork and tapped her finger on the end of the tines. “This is pointy and will hurt if you poke your tongue or the inside of your mouth. I expect you’ll stab yourself a time or two—all children do—but you try to be careful.” She put the fork in his hand and guided it until he’d speared a piece of turkey, then released him. “There you go.”

  “How come you cut up Skippy’s food?” Sam asked.

  Funny thing for the pup to ask since he’d pushed his plate over to Meg to have her cut up the turkey for him.

  “I did that for all my children and grandchildren when they were little,” Miss Twyla replied.

  “Grandma Twyla used to cut up my food, but she doesn’t have to anymore,” Lizzy piped up.

  Henry said, sounding amused.

  Sam cocked his head and studied Miss Twyla. “If you’re cutting up his food, does that mean you’re Skippy’s grandma?”

  Montgomery choked but didn’t look surprised when Miss Twyla said, “Does he have a grandma? No? Then I guess I am.”

  No one spoke for several minutes. The Wolves and Henry kept an eye on Skippy to make sure he didn’t try for the food on anyone else’s plate. The humans kept their attention focused mostly on their own plates.

  “So,” Miss Twyla finally said, “what have you children been up to lately?”

  Silence. Then Montgomery looked at Simon before turning to his mother. “Which children are you referring to, Mama?”

  She looked at everyone around the table, including Blair and Henry. “All of you.”

  “We caught a turkey the other day,” Blair said.

  “And it’s a fine bird. Isn’t it, Eve?”

  Eve Denby swallowed. “A very fine bird. And big enough to share.”

  Merri Lee mentioned the new Crowgard cozy she was reading. Kowalski asked if Alan Wolfgard had a new book coming out. Michael Debany wondered if the Wolves had ever played a pickup game of basketball.

  Bit by bit they all relaxed, talking about books and games that involved balls of one sort or another, talking about the foods that were a new experience for Meg as well as the terra indigene.

  “Corn on the cob is wonderful,” Meg said. “We’ll have to get Jenni, Starr, and Jake to try it this way.”

  Merri Lee laughed. “Yeah. I don’t think melted butter on raw corn would have the same taste appeal.”

  They talked and laughed and asked Henry about his sculptures. Nathan growled a protest when Meg said she would dock him cookies the next time he was late for work, and that made the female pack laugh, especially when Meg confessed to looking under the Wolf bed to see if Nathan was hiding from her.

  Through it all, Skippy sat among them, welcome and accepted.

  • • •

  Padding to the kitchen as quietly as possible, Jimmy scratched his bare belly, then reached under his boxers to scratch his ass. He opened the refrigerator and swore silently when jars stored in the door’s shelves rattled. When he’d left the bedroom, Sandee had been doing her pig snuffle—a disgusting sound, unlike an honest snore—so she wasn’t likely to hear him, but the damn kids had been trying to sneak food all evening and might wake up and want to join him. Hadn’t he let them have their portion of the food that had been sent over with that damned cop? That should have been enough.

  He should have been invited to that big blowout dinner they had at Meat-n-Greens. He was living in one of these apartments, wasn’t he? Mama could have insisted that he, at least, be included. But it was that bitch, Eve, who’d had the stones to ask the freaks to bring her a big-ass turkey, so she was the one who had handed out the invites.

  Something he wasn’t going to forget. Just like he wasn’t going to forget that she was supposed to take care of things around the buildings and usually worked alone. Backed-up toilet? She’d have to deal with it, and he wouldn’t need more than
a couple of minutes alone with her to teach her why she should be nicer to him—and to persuade her to keep her fucking mouth shut.

  Jimmy pulled out the plate of turkey, the three remaining rolls, and the jar of mayonnaise. He would have preferred heating up stuffing and mashed potatoes along with the turkey, but the ding of the wave-cooker might wake the brats, so he settled for sandwiches.

  He cut the rolls, slathered them with mayonnaise, then stuffed as much turkey as he could into each one. Sitting at the small table, he bit into one sandwich, tasting resentment along with the meat.

  His stash of money was getting low, and Sandee wasn’t bringing in enough to buy food every day, let alone anything else. Wasn’t their turf, and the Stag and Hare, the only tavern within easy reach without spending money on taxis or bus fare, had cops and vampires hanging around who would recognize her—and the cops at least would know why she kept leaving with different men. Even if CJ could be persuaded not to arrest her for prostitution, that bastard Burke wouldn’t hesitate. He didn’t seem the type who would look the other way for freebies.

  There were bars closer to the bus station that had the sort of customers he was used to rubbing elbows with. Like everything else these days, drugs trickled into the city in small quantities, and the price of a little mellow weed was almost triple what he’d paid in Toland. A middleman could sample the product and still make a hefty profit. But he was a newcomer, and the middlemen already in Lakeside had staked out their territories and weren’t interested in making room for a competitor.

  Which meant he had to be able to sell something else, something those other men didn’t have.

  Jimmy stared at the turkey sandwich for a long moment before taking another big bite.

  Even in the grimiest bars, the talk was the same: you usually could buy some kind of food at the stores where your ration books were registered, but butcher shops still ran out of meat before the next shipment arrived from the slaughterhouses. You couldn’t always buy a loaf of bread, and even when you could, how much you could buy was strictly enforced. Canned goods? Foods in jars? The canning factories and food-processing companies were operating again, if not in the same capacity because some of those places had a shortage of workers. Grocery stores stocked those foods whenever possible, but just as often there were empty shelves in those stores too. Women who had a fruit tree on their property and knew how to preserve fruits and make jams and jellies were selling whatever extra their family wouldn’t need during the coming year, but it was more like a neighborhood market day, and unfamiliar faces were watched by everyone—and police officers on horseback or on foot tended to patrol those streets during the market hours to discourage misbehavior or outright attempts to steal food.

  The patsies made do with what was available, but the real men wanted something better. How were they supposed to do business eating nothing but fucking greens and a few measly ounces of meat each day?

  The freaking Others ate rats and mice and all kinds of shit not fit for humans, and their butcher shop always had plenty of pork and beef. The good dogs even went out and brought back a fucking turkey for that bitch Eve just because she wanted one. If the meat in the butcher shop disappeared one night, they could just hunt up some more. At least then they would be good for something.

  He couldn’t take the meat himself. He’d overheard one of the freaks telling the brats that everyone had a different smell, and the Others could tell where each human had been in the Courtyard. So he couldn’t be obviously connected to the disappearance of the meat.

  But he’d met some men who could do the job and would be smart enough to give him his share of the haul.

  His commission. Yeah. Businessmen received a commission for their part of a job.

  Smiling, Jimmy ate the last sandwich and put the remaining turkey and mayonnaise in the refrigerator. Enough left for one person. Sandee would gobble up the turkey for breakfast before the brats could shovel it into their greedy faces. They could eat that broccoli shit or go hungry.

  He needed to shake himself free of Sandee and the brats and get out of Lakeside. Nothing for him here. Unlike Toland, it was too small a city for him and his preferred kind of business to escape notice. He had to figure that CJ or, more likely, that bastard Burke had already told the police in other precincts who he was. With things the way they were right now, he didn’t think anyone could be persuaded to look the other way—especially if a theft involved food or some other essential goods.

  So he needed a big score, something that would give him the means to get out of Lakeside and set up elsewhere. Had to think about where that would be.

  He’d find his ticket out of here. Yes, he would. But he would have to wait until Moonsday. Then he’d approach a few men and make a business deal.

  CHAPTER 17

  Moonsday, Messis 20

  Having finished his lunch at Meat-n-Greens, Simon put the plate, silverware, and glass in their respective bins. No food except an apple core to dump into the food-recycling container.

  His hand paused over the container. How many apples were left in their little apple house? How many would they need to set aside for the treats Meg gave the ponies? Henry would know. He knew apples ripened at different times, but he hadn’t paid much attention. Ripe apples were picked and eaten. But according to the female pack, some kinds of apples were better for eating while others were better for cooking and baking.

  Who knew human females could be so fussy? A Wolf would munch on a ripe apple and be happy. Of course, making distinctions between apples was just one of many things that were different this year.

  A Little Bite and Meat-n-Greens had gone through some changes over the past few weeks, especially now, when most of the humans who were allowed access to the Market Square ate at least one meal per day at one place or the other. That made sense for the humans employed in the stores or working at the consulate. And to be fair, the humans who had a share of the Green Complex’s garden made food that they passed around as a side dish, and they always gave some of the prepared food to Meg and showed her how to make the dishes she really liked.

  All in all, considering the number of humans who were allowed to eat or purchase foods that came from the Courtyard’s land or from the terra indigene farms that supplied the things that weren’t grown, gathered, or caught right here, no one felt a real lack. Sure, some foods weren’t always available, depending on the success of a hunt or when the supply of flour reached Lakeside, but there was always something to eat.

  That was part of the change at Meat-n-Greens and A Little Bite. Nadine’s Bakery & Café made foods for breakfast and lunch, and Tess would sell those foods in the coffee shop until she ran out. Then it was just coffee and other drinks. Meat-n-Greens had changed to providing food for lunch and throughout the afternoon, but patrons were expected to pick up their order when it was ready and clean up after themselves. In the evening, the place still acted more like a human restaurant with servers. In that way, terra indigene guests had a chance to experience several ways of eating in a human establishment.

  All good things, when thinking of the Lakeside Courtyard as a place for advanced training in human interactions. But every day, humans still did things that were just peculiar. Like today. Having heard that there were no more turkey leftovers, he went into the kitchen area and offered to dump the turkey carcass where critters would find it so that it wouldn’t go to waste. Eve and Nadine had told him they were making turkey soup and he should keep his paws off the carcass until they were done with it.

  He should have reminded them that he was their employer and they shouldn’t speak to him that way, but he’d been hungry and outnumbered and there had been too many sharp knives and pointy utensils within their reach.

  He would talk to them later—or send a memo.

  Making his way to the door, Simon noticed Lieutenant Montgomery, who had also stopped in for lunch. Something must have caught t
he human’s attention, because he took a step back from the door in order to remain unseen. Simon hurried to join him.

  “You do not want to go out there right now,” Montgomery said. He held out an arm to block the door.

  “Why? What’s going on?” Simon scanned the open area of the Market Square but saw nothing alarming. In fact, when Simon considered voice rather than actions, Montgomery seemed amused.

  “Negotiations.” Montgomery pointed a finger at Miss Twyla, who was sitting on a bench eating an ice cream cone, and Skippy, who was chasing a bowl of ice cream until he finally pushed the bowl against one of Miss Twyla’s feet. Since her legs were crossed at the knee, the other foot dangled.

  “Roo-roo.” Skippy planted a paw on Miss Twyla’s dangling foot and tried to pull it down so he could wedge the bowl between her feet instead of chasing it.

  “No,” Miss Twyla said mildly.

  “Roo-roo!” Skippy batted at her foot, more insistent.

  “You can ‘Grandma’ me all you want. Doesn’t change the fact that you can hold that bowl by yourself. Miss Meg showed you how.”

  “Roo?” Skippy looked around.

  “She’s not here.” Miss Twyla licked her ice cream. “You just sit yourself down and put your own paws around the bowl.”

  “Oh,” Montgomery breathed. “He’s going to try the ‘I’m too helpless to do this’ routine.”

  Skippy did look pathetic, pushing at the bowl with one paw while the ice cream rapidly melted.

  “We could go out and help him,” Simon said.

  “You could do that. Of course, you’ll have to get around Mama now that she’s decided Skippy can do it himself.”

  “But when we all had dinner the other night, she cut up his food, helped him eat.”

  “The other night he needed help. This he can do by himself.” Montgomery studied him, openly curious. “Do you continue to feed your young once they’re old enough to do for themselves?”

  “Of course not. They have to learn to hunt, as well as learn to protect their share of the food.” Simon considered what Montgomery was asking. “Doesn’t mean juveniles won’t act like puppies sometimes and try to coax an adult into giving them an easy meal.”