by Anne Bishop
“She gets tired quickly,” she called after them.
“She’ll be fine,” Tolya said, coming up beside Jesse.
“I know.” As she looked at him, her right hand closed over her left wrist. Couldn’t stop it.
He closed his hand over her arm. “Let’s go up to my office.”
“We need to help,” she whispered. “If we help, we won’t die.”
“Come with me.”
As they reached Tolya’s office, he released her arm in order to rush to answer the phone.
“Tolya Sanguinati.”
Jesse watched his face, watched the veneer of humanity fall away until there was nothing but a predator who could pass for human long enough to get within striking distance of prey.
“I understand,” Tolya said. “I’ll stay right here until I receive it.” He hung up the phone and turned on his computer.
“What is it?” Jesse asked.
He fiddled with the mouse, with other objects on his desk, instead of looking at her. “Hope Wolfsong just finished one of her prophecy drawings.”
There was more. She waited because she had a feeling he would tell her. Needed to tell her.
“Something about the drawing upsets you,” Jesse said.
Tolya shook his head. “I haven’t seen it yet. But Jackson Wolfgard has seen it.” He finally looked at her. “And Jackson is afraid.”
* * *
* * *
“Slow down,” Yuri snapped.
“Why?” Jana snapped back. “Are you afraid I’ll crash the car and we’ll die?”
“I won’t die. I’ll shift to smoke in the moment before the crash and flow out of the hole you make in the windshield.”
It wasn’t that visual that made her take her foot off the accelerator. It was wondering if the Sanguinati knew the human saying about waste not, want not, and would consider it a waste of a fresh meal to let the remaining blood of a seriously injured human leak out onto the road.
“It will take time to scan the picture and send the e-mail,” Yuri said. “And then it will take more time for the picture to download once Tolya receives it.”
And if Tolya and Jackson Wolfgard hadn’t received special permission from the Elders to have a phone line connecting Bennett and Sweetwater, a warning like a prophet drawing might come several hours too late.
“Besides,” Yuri added, “we’re not supposed to scare the humans until we know what’s going on.”
What am I, chopped liver? Jana thought. Another human saying best left unspoken in case it prompted questions about why livers should be chopped instead of just ripped out of a body and chewed.
It took every ounce of self-control to park the vehicle properly and walk up to Tolya’s office. People stopped to watch her, then continued with their own business, satisfied by her behavior that they didn’t need to be in emergency mode—yet.
Tolya’s office felt crowded, stifling, even though there weren’t that many bodies in the room. Still, two Wolves in human form took up more space than regular humans, if for no other reason than humans didn’t want to get within biting distance of them.
Yuri shifted to smoke and drifted along the ceiling, shifting back to human form when he reached the rest of the Sanguinati, who were standing around Tolya’s desk, effectively blocking anyone else’s attempt to see the picture as it downloaded.
“Jesse.” Jana nodded at the other woman.
“Deputy.” Jesse eyed the Sanguinati, then looked at Jana. “I gather our puppies are having a playdate.”
“Are they?” Jana focused on Virgil. “I hope Cowboy Bob didn’t forget the rule—and the consequences—when it comes to giving out unauthorized treats.”
“Cowboy Bob?” Jesse looked from human to Wolf. “Tobias used to watch a TV show about a doll named Cowboy Bob that could—”
“That’s the one,” Jana said, her attention still focused on Virgil.
He showed his fangs before looking away.
Busted, she thought. Virgil wouldn’t have looked away first if he hadn’t broken the rule.
“John.” Tolya stared at the computer screen. The Sanguinati made room for the Wolf to slip around the desk and stand behind Tolya’s chair.
“Blessed Thaisia,” John whined. “That’s Meg Corbyn.”
Jana leaped toward the desk. Virgil hauled her back and growled, “Wait.”
The printer began chugging, printing out a copy of Hope Wolfsong’s prophecy drawing. As soon as it finished, Virgil snatched it out of the printer and held it so that Jana and Jesse could see it.
“Bumpy dark,” Jana whispered. The picture was of Meg Corbyn in the trunk of a car. Alive? Dead? Hard to say. Definitely wounded.
They need you to think like a cop now. Think! “The license plate is clearly rendered. Would it be accurate?”
Virgil nodded.
Jana looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s a little past noon in the Northeast Region. We have to send that information to as many police departments as we can.”
“Just one,” Tolya countered. “We send this picture on to Lakeside.”
“Not to Lakeside,” Jesse said firmly. “We send it to Ferryman’s Landing.”
* * *
* * *
Tolya began writing the e-mail to Simon Wolfgard and Vlad Sanguinati when Jesse Walker evaded Virgil and flung herself on his desk, slapping a hand over his.
“Tolya, listen to me.”
Virgil yanked her off the desk with no regard to her gender or her age. Before the Wolf could throw Jesse out of the room, Tolya said, “Sending it to Ferryman’s Landing would cause a delay.”
“No,” Jesse said.
He looked at Virgil.
She returned to the desk, shaken, her right hand clamped over her left wrist. “This is why I needed to be here today. This. Right now.”
“Then, speak.” And I will listen. He didn’t complete the words usually spoken to a blood prophet, but everyone in the room would have filled in what he hadn’t said.
“By the time anyone in the Northeast receives a copy of that drawing, Lakeside will be in turmoil,” Jesse said. “No one is going to be sitting at a desk waiting for an e-mail they don’t know is coming. They’ll be out trying to find Meg Corbyn, will be coordinating with the Lakeside police. And it would be cruel to show that picture to Meg’s loved ones.”
Would Vlad consider himself a loved one? Simon?
“We have to warn them,” Virgil growled.
“Yes, we do,” Jesse agreed. “That’s why you should send it to Steve Ferryman. Someone will be answering the phone at the mayor’s office.”
Tolya looked pointedly at his own phone, a reminder that his phone wasn’t always answered.
“It’s an Intuit village. Someone will be answering the phone during business hours. And they’ll have some kind of police force who can run the license plate just as easily as the police in Lakeside and get that part of the investigation moving. And Steve has contact with all the Intuit communities in the Northeast and can send out an alert. Another source of help, Tolya.”
“They’ll be one step removed,” Jana said. “That doesn’t mean they won’t be concerned, but they won’t be in the middle of the crisis.”
Tolya started to ask John his opinion, but the Wolf who had lived in the Lakeside Courtyard and had known Meg Corbyn looked too devastated to offer anything right now—which made him realize Jesse Walker was right. Someone had to bring this information to the Lakeside Courtyard in person.
“Suggestions?”
“Let Jesse Walker call the communications cabin that sends our messages to the Northeast,” Stazia Sanguinati said. “She is Intuit; so are the humans who work at that cabin. She will know what to say to them to convey the urgency of sending this picture to Ferryman’s Landing.”
H
e wasn’t sure that Jesse Walker could express herself better than he could, but he would allow her to make the call. “Anything else?”
“The trains should be stopped,” Nicolai said. “It’s unlikely that the enemy has had time to reach the border, but I think the trains should be held at the stations and searched.”
“The railroads will be reluctant to stop the trains without an explanation,” Jana said.
Nicolai smiled, showing his fangs. It wasn’t in any way a pleasant smile. “I will e-mail them and tell them the terra indigene are hunting a human enemy, and no train will be permitted to stop at the Bennett station until the enemy is found. Then each station will have a choice.”
“That message doesn’t tell them much,” Jana protested.
“It tells them everything,” Jesse replied, looking at Nicolai. “His name alone will tell the other station masters everything they need to know.”
Tolya gave Nicolai a nod. “Send your message.”
“Maybe it hasn’t happened yet,” Jana said. “Maybe we have time to stop it. Sometimes prophecies don’t happen because they were seen and people acted on the information. Right?”
“You can’t always act fast enough.” Jesse Walker met Tolya’s eyes. The grief and regret of what had happened to Joe Wolfgard and the rest of the Prairie Gold pack was still fresh for both of them. “Do you have Steve’s e-mail address?”
“Yes,” he said. “Make the phone call, Jesse Walker. Impress upon the humans working at the cabin that this message is more than urgent. It truly is a matter of life and death—for all of you.”
If we help, we won’t die. The words she had whispered such a short time ago seemed to echo in the room. He wondered if she argued to have Steve Ferryman involved in order to save the Intuits or if she had a feeling that involving the Intuits would make the difference in preventing the death that could become the trigger for so many more.
* * *
* * *
Jesse’s hands shook as she placed the call to the communications cabin.
“Hello?” A male voice filled with tension, like he’d already seen too much. Already knew too much.
“This is Jesse Walker. I’m calling on behalf of Tolya Sanguinati, in Bennett. Your counterpart in the Northeast cabin needs to make an urgent call to Steve Ferryman at the mayor’s office in Ferryman’s Landing.” Jesse stopped. Thought. “No. Your counterpart needs to make an emergency call and inform Steve that Tolya Sanguinati is sending him a prophet drawing via e-mail. Steve needs to get it to the right people as fast as he can. He’ll know who they are.”
“When is Tolya Sanguinati sending this e-mail?”
“As I speak. But Steve needs to know it’s coming, even if he gets the phone message a minute ahead of the e-mail.”
A weighty silence. “What kind of emergency?”
“Life or death for all of us.” Her words weren’t an exaggeration; they were the painful, terrifying truth.
Some commotion suddenly in the background. Raised voices. The man said, “Hold on a minute.”
Jesse listened to the voices, then looked at Jana. “Something’s wrong there.”
“Are they under attack?” Jana asked.
“You there?” The man sounded spooked. Since he was an Intuit, that wasn’t good.
“I’m here,” Jesse replied.
“You said Steve Ferryman at Ferryman’s Landing. That’s the Intuit village on Great Island, near Lakeside and Talulah Falls. Is that right?”
“Yes.” Definitely something wrong.
“A rider from the other cabin just came in with a printout of an e-mail that was sent from Ferryman’s Landing to a long list of Intuit villages as well as the Northeast communications cabin. It’s asking everyone to be on the lookout.” He hesitated. “Does that picture you’re sending have anything to do with the Lakeside Courtyard?”
“Why?”
“Because the Lakeside Courtyard’s Human Liaison was abducted a short while ago by a man named Cyrus James Montgomery.”
Jesse felt her stomach roll. Fighting against the nausea, she said, “Then let’s all hope that what we’re sending will help them find her in time.”
* * *
* * *
Parlan had done his duty, flirting with his business partners’ wives enough to make them feel good without flirting so much that the husbands might feel a flicker of jealousy—if they could take their eyes off the prettier, younger women who were traveling on the train. Now he wanted to go back to his private car before the train left the station—and before one of the women invited herself to join him.
“If you ladies will excuse me . . .” He pushed his chair back.
“It’s outrageous,” a man said as he and a companion entered the car and took the table on the opposite side of the aisle. “And no explanation!”
“There’s a problem on the tracks?” Parlan suddenly felt uneasy in the same way he did when a game turned sour. “My apologies for intruding on your conversation, but what you just said sounds alarming.”
“Alarming?” The man huffed. “Damned inconvenient, that’s what it is. The station in Bennett is closed, so now all the trains are being held at whatever station is their nearest stop until . . . Well, that’s the point. No one will tell us why the Bennett station closed, so no one can tell us when we’ll get moving again.”
“There was that robbery at the way station the other day,” the man’s companion said. “Maybe the authorities are closing in on the robber. He shot one of the people working at that station, didn’t he?”
“If that was the case, you’d think they’d want the trains moving instead of being sitting targets. Might as well put up a big sign that says, ‘We’re stuck here, come rob us.’”
Spotting the conductor as the man entered the car, Parlan raised a hand, a quiet command that received more attention than the men who, also spotting the conductor, were loudly demanding answers.
“Gentlemen,” Parlan said sternly. “We’d all like to hear what the conductor has to tell us, so be quiet now.”
They wanted to argue—oh, how they wanted to argue—but they looked in his eyes and saw a hint of why he was the leader of the Blackstone Clan, why he, who seldom got his hands dirty, had influence over a man like Judd McCall.
“If you could tell us what you know,” Parlan said quietly, shifting his gaze back to the conductor.
“Station master at Bennett said the Others are hunting for a human enemy, and he was closing his station until further notice. No trains allowed in and nothing going out. Every station master who received the message is holding the trains.”
“Why? Surely a problem at one station shouldn’t put a freeze on the trains throughout the Midwest.”
The conductor gave him a strange smile. “One of the Sanguinati is the station master in Bennett. If he’s giving the warning . . . Well, you’re all free to disembark and find another way to where you’re going, but stations have been designated safe ground as long as no one starts any trouble, so you won’t find any man who works for the railroad, from engineer to porter, who is going to leave a station until we get a message that the trouble is past.”
The conductor took a step toward the next car, then looked at the two men who had been making all the ruckus. “Don’t usually tell passengers this because it would scare them too much, but there are terra indigene out there that like to chase the trains for the fun of it. And some of them can outrun a train, they’re that fast and that big. Not that you actually see anything. It’s more an impression that you’re being chased. And sometimes the fun turns into a hunt. Everyone who works on the lines has seen what happens to a train when the Others attack—and what happens to the people inside the cars. We’re not going to die today so that you can make a profit.”
The conductor walked to the next car to inform the passengers of the delay.
&nb
sp; Parlan shuffled the cards. He could try to call Judd and Lawry and find out if they’d heard anything—and if they hadn’t, he needed to warn them that the Others were hunting a human enemy. Unless Sweeney Cooke and Charlie Webb had somehow gotten far enough ahead of Judd to have reached Bennett already, they weren’t the cause of this lockdown of the trains.
If he went to his private car, he’d have the solitude he wanted but he wouldn’t hear the news as it drifted through the public cars, wouldn’t have a sense of what the Blackstone Clan’s next move should be.
“If you ladies will excuse me for a minute,” Parlan said. “I need to stretch my legs.”
Gentlemen stretched their legs. Ladies powdered their noses. Human euphemisms for needing the toilet—and not using those phrases was one of the small ways a terra indigene who could otherwise pass for human revealed what it was.
“When I return, perhaps you’d like to play another game to pass the time?” The women fluttered like schoolgirls, their sagging middle-aged bosoms encased in garments that didn’t invite a man’s fingers to touch, didn’t intrigue him into wanting to reveal what the garments hid. Parlan had a feeling their husbands’ fingers were exploring nubile flesh right now, and being discovered by hurt, outraged wives would cast a shadow on his plans. So he squelched his desire for solitude and took just enough time to step outside and place the calls, leaving messages for Judd and Lawry. Then he stretched his legs before rejoining the women and keeping them occupied until dinner.
* * *
* * *
Jana rode Mel around the business district’s side streets and up and down the residential streets, looking for any sign that the Elders were, once again, coming down from the hills to unleash their fury on the residents of Bennett—innocent people who had nothing to do with whatever was happening in the Northeast. Not that being innocent would make any difference.
Was ignorance better than knowledge? She and Jesse Walker were the only humans in Bennett who had seen the drawing of Meg Corbyn in the trunk of that car. They were the only ones who knew the name of Meg’s abductor—Cyrus James Montgomery. They were the only ones who knew the problem wasn’t something anyone here could fix, that it was happening hundreds of miles from here.
