Vision in Silver

by Anne Bishop

  Now that he thought about it, that particular scent had been in the car when he sat down. It had been diluted by the fresh air that entered with the people going in and out, but it had been there.

  Troubled by that but not sure why, Nathan took stock of his surroundings. Except for the stinky man, no other humans had entered this car since it left the Addirondak station.

  Why was that wrong?

  He looked down at the book but moved his head enough to study the passenger on the other side of the aisle.

  Girl. Young enough that he would still consider her a puppy. Skin the color of milk chocolate. Big dark eyes. Braided black hair that was tied just under her ears and stuck out like two finger-long tails.

  She was cheek to jaw with a fuzzy brown bear, and both of them were looking in his direction.

  Why did humans give their offspring fake versions of predators that would happily eat those offspring?

  Those two faces side by side did look cute, though.

  Then he noticed the small dark hands clamped around the bear’s hips, and those thin fingers squeezing and squeezing. He looked away because that was just creepy.

  He caught the pungent cologne scent as the same human male entered the car again, walked through, then out the other door. But this time, Nathan caught something new in the scent that made him watch the human until the man left the car.

  Then he gave the girl a quick look and realized what was wrong.

  Humans and Wolves had one thing in common: they didn’t leave their young alone for long. So where were the adults who should be around the girl? She’d been alone when he’d taken his seat. Had the adults gotten off the train and left her behind? There were stories about lost children. Wolves didn’t like those stories. Maybe the girl should have gotten off at the Addirondak station?

  He looked at the two strips of heavy white paper tucked above the seats. LAK on both, meaning there was someone else sitting with the girl who was also going to Lakeside. The conductor had tucked the same kind of strip above his seat after checking his ticket.

  Okay, she hadn’t missed her stop, which brought him back to the question of the adult. If the person left the girl alone in order to use the toilet, how long did it take to pee or poop? Or, on the other end, even if the adult was buying food and there was a line in the dining car, the other human should have returned by now.

  The door at the far end opened, and the same man entered the car for the third time. As soon as the man passed the seats containing human passengers, his eyes focused on the girl in the same way Wolves would focus on an unprotected calf when they were hunting.

  Nathan stepped into the aisle and snarled loudly. His fangs lengthened to Wolf size, and his amber eyes flickered with red, the sign of anger. Fur sprang up on his chest and shoulders. Fur covered his hands. His fingers shortened, and his fingernails changed to the sharp Wolf nails that would be more useful in a fight.

  A woman sitting near the front of the car looked back at Nathan, sprang out of her seat, and ran from the car. A moment later, a conductor and security guard rushed in.

  “What’s going on?” the conductor asked.

  The security guard’s hand hovered over the gun still in its holster.

  “Keep this male away from the child,” Nathan snarled.

  “There’s just been a misunderstanding,” the man said.

  “He stinks of lust.” That had been the scent the man had been trying to hide beneath the stinky cologne. “If you won’t keep him away from her, I will.”

  No doubt in anyone’s mind how he would keep the man away.

  The conductor stepped forward. “Honey, do you know this man?”

  The girl shook her head and held the fake bear in front of her like a shield.

  “Sir, come with us,” the security guard said tightly. Ignoring the man’s protests, the guard led him away.

  Nathan didn’t know, or care, where they took the man, but the conductor and security guard knew enough about the terra indigene not to try to walk the man past him.

  He stood for a minute, struggling to shift back to looking human enough so the rest of the passengers in the car wouldn’t panic. Then, instead of resuming his own seat, he sat down next to the child.

  “I’m Nathan Wolfgard.” He waited a beat while she stared at him. “Who are you?”

  “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

  That sounded like as good a rule as “Don’t tease a skunk,” but it wasn’t helpful now. “I’m not a stranger; I’m like the Wolf police.” He was pleased he’d thought of that as a way to explain being an enforcer for a Courtyard.

  Of course, human police didn’t tend to eat wrongdoers.

  “Oh.” She thought for a moment. “I’m Lizzy. And this is Boo Bear. He’s my bestest friend.” She thrust the fake bear close to Nathan’s face.

  He jerked his head back and took shallow breaths through his mouth.

  Boo Bear needed a bath.

  But . . .

  Nathan leaned forward and sniffed the bear. Smears of old food around the nose. Peanut butter? Something human smelling that had dried crusty around the ears, as if she’d used the bear to wipe her nose. And then, on the bear’s haunch . . .

  Blood. Dried now, but the matted fur smelled of blood. If it hadn’t been for the man’s stinky cologne masking other smells, he would have caught the scent of blood before now.

  Nathan took another delicate sniff. Not the girl’s blood. The crusty around Boo Bear’s ears smelled like her, but the blood didn’t.

  Nathan eased back, watching her as intensely as she watched him.

  “Where’s your . . . mother?” Took him a moment to remember the human word.

  Lizzy lifted her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug and pulled Boo Bear close again.

  “Did she come on the train with you?”

  Head shake.

  He didn’t like that answer. He didn’t like it at all. A pup shouldn’t be traveling alone. But she had a ticket. In fact, she must have had two tickets. Otherwise, the conductor wouldn’t have put two LAK strips over the seats.

  So. No mother on the train. “Where’s your father?” Nathan asked.

  Now she perked up. “My daddy is a policeman. He lives in Lakeside.”

  Nathan studied her. “What is your daddy’s name?”

  “Crispin James Montgomery. If you’re Wolf police, do you know my daddy?”

  Nathan watched the conductor enter the car and slowly walk its length. The man didn’t stop when he reached their seats, didn’t ask any questions, but Nathan had a feeling the conductor and security guard would be walking through the cars a lot during this trip. He’d flushed out one human predator for them, but there could be more, and the guard’s presence would keep the young protected.

  Boo Bear’s nose poked Nathan in the arm.

  “Do you know my daddy?” Lizzy asked.

  “Yeah. I do.” And I have a feeling he’s not expecting you.

  CHAPTER 11

  Firesday, Maius 11

  Simon stared at the two stinky children who stood between Pete and Eve Denby. Not an unclean kind of stinky; more that there were so many smells covering them he couldn’t identify them. Not without a closer, and more thorough, sniff that would have the parents snarling at him.

  Not that he would blame Pete and Eve for snarling. All the humans who had returned to work this morning were pretending he hadn’t been “bite all humans” angry yesterday, but they were as wary of him as they’d been before Meg started working in the Courtyard.

  He wondered if there was a way human males said they were sorry about something without saying they were sorry. Because he wasn’t sorry about being angry. All the terra indigene were angry about the blood prophet pups being killed. But he was sorry that he’d tried to bite Ruthie and Merri Lee, who weren’t the kind
of humans who would drown puppies or kittens . . . or babies.

  Neither were Pete and Eve Denby, who had shown courage by coming here—and a confidence that their pups would be safe with the Others.

  Which brought him back to the children, who looked as if they were waiting for him to sprout fur and grow fangs.

  Irritating whelps. As soon as Pete and Eve were gone, he’d chuck them outside.

  Caw, caw.

  And having them outside would make it easier for curious terra indigene to observe them.

  “This is our son, Robert, and our daughter, Sarah,” Pete said. “Children, this is Mr. Wolfgard. He runs the bookstore.”

  “Can you really turn into a wolf?” Robert asked.

  “I’m always a Wolf,” Simon replied. “Sometimes I shift to look human.”

  “Can you, like, get furry and stuff?”

  Before he could decide if he wanted to answer that—and what did a young human mean by “stuff”?—there was a thump and a yelp at the back of the store. Then Ruthie hurried toward him, looking mussed and agitated, which was odd because she was usually a well-groomed female.

  “Mr. Wolfgard?” she said.

  First things first. Get the stinky children outside without upsetting the parents since he wanted them to look at the buildings that were for sale across the street. Then he’d deal with the thump and yelp.

  “This is Ruthie Stuart, Officer Kowalski’s mate. She will show your pups around the Market Square,” Simon said.

  Sarah giggled. Robert said, “We’re not pups; we’re kids.”

  Simon looked at Robert and Sarah, then at Ruthie.

  Kids. He’d heard Merri Lee say something about when she was a kid. But the word didn’t apply to her now because she was an adult, so it had never occurred to him that, maybe, humans had a little shifter ability that they outgrew as they matured. When she had said kid, maybe she had meant kid?

  He eyed Robert and Sarah with more interest. “Little humans can shift into young goats?” Kids were tasty. Would human-turned-goat taste different from goat-goat?

  “No,” Ruthie said firmly. “Humans can’t shift into any other form, and while human children are sometimes called kids, they are never goats.” She took a breath and looked at Robert and Sarah. “It would be better not to use the word ‘kid’ in the Courtyard because goats are edible and children are not.”

  Simon watched all the color drain out of Eve Denby’s face.

  “What time are you supposed to look at the buildings?” he asked.

  Pete hesitated, then looked at his wristwatch. “We should go now.” He pulled a five-dollar bill from his pocket and held it up as he looked at his boy. “Share that with your sister and get a treat.”

  Robert took the money.

  Another thump from the back room followed by a loud snarled curse. Then Skippy Wolfgard bolted into the front of the store and spotted the money in Robert’s hand.

 

  Before Simon could grab him, the juvenile Wolf with the skippy brain snatched the money out of Robert’s fingers, took a couple of quick chews, and swallowed.

  Shit, fuck, damn, Simon thought. Grabbing Skippy’s tail, he hauled the Wolf toward him before glancing at the boy. No blood, no screaming, no missing fingers.

  As Simon changed his grip to hold Skippy by the scruff, the juvenile’s eyes widened in surprise just before he barfed up the money and half a mouse.

  Sarah squealed and jumped away from the mess. Robert leaned forward to get a better look.

  Skippy said.

  “Sorry, sorry.” John Wolfgard rushed to the front of the store. “He got away from me.”

  “He ate a mouse,” Robert said, sounding intrigued.

  “You ate a worm once and barfed up the worm and a penny you must have swallowed along with it.” Eve sighed and looked at Simon. “Do you have any rags or something to clean that up?”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Tess said, coming through the archway from A Little Bite.

  Simon didn’t bother to swear. Tess’s hair was solid green and curling, a sign she was agitated about something.

  The Denbys stared. Ruthie stood still. Skippy tried to squirm out of Simon’s grip and eat the regurgitated mouse.

  “You. Go with her.” Tess pointed at the children, then at Ruthie. “You two go look at the apartment buildings.” She pointed at Pete and Eve, then turned to John. “You take Skippy outside. And do not tell Meg he ate a mouse or she won’t let him stay with her in the Liaison’s Office.”

  Everyone rushed to obey, leaving him facing Tess over a puddle of barf.

  “Find something to do,” she said.

  This wasn’t the time to remind her that he was the leader. He edged around her and headed for the stairs. But he looked back and saw Tess watching him. She did not look happy.

  Of course, he wouldn’t be happy either if he had to clean up the barf. It smelled worse than the Denby children.

  * * *

  Leaving Jake Crowgard perched on the front counter in the Liaison’s Office, Meg dashed over to the Three Ps, the Courtyard shop for paper, postage, and printing. When she’d opened the back door of her office a few minutes ago, she’d seen the lights go on in the shop, so she knew Lorne was getting ready for his workday.

  Just need a couple of minutes to check on Lorne and make sure he’s okay with being here today, Meg thought as she stepped into the shop. Just need a few minutes to . . .

  She hadn’t been inside the Three Ps. Everything she’d needed to do her work at the Liaison’s Office had been provided, from the pens and pencils to the clipboard and pads of paper she used for it. Now she stood frozen just inside the doorway.

  No prickling. No pins-and-needles feeling. No sense of prophecy. But as she looked at the sheer number of items on display, she knew entering the shop had been a mistake.

  Then Lorne walked out of the back room and saw her. “Meg?”

  He started to hurry toward her, then stopped, and she wondered what he saw in her face that made him look so worried.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  There’s no danger here, no threat, Meg thought, feeling panic start to bubble inside her.

  “I’ll call Simon.” Lorne turned toward the counter and the phone.

  “No!” Her vehemence surprised both of them. “No,” she said again, struggling for control. “Don’t call Simon. Not yet. I just need a minute.”

  She didn’t talk to Lorne the way she talked to Merri and Ruth about images and how she and the other cassandra sangue had been trained in the compound. If she tried to explain, would he understand?

  Only one way to find out.

  “I’ve seen images of office supply stores,” she said. “If this was a lesson, I would be shown an overall picture of the inside of the store. Then there would be images of the merchandise—one image to represent a particular kind of thing.”

  “So you would be shown the outside of an appointment book and maybe an inside page that would show a date?” Lorne asked.

  Meg nodded. “We only had the images that the Walking Names wanted us to have, instead of everything.” She gestured to indicate the shelves of merchandise that filled the walls and the two chest-high units that provided more display space.

  Running out of time. She couldn’t leave Jake on his own for too long, especially when it was her job to take deliveries.

  Lorne looked around. “So without someone setting boundaries, you would try to catalog everything in the shop as different images?”

  “Yes. When I lived in the compound, I could have absorbed a whole binder of images during the course of a day. But there are so many things to see in the Courtyard, doing that now would be overwhelming.” Information overload. Blanking out because her mind had shut down for a few minutes. Had shut out the images.


  Her reaction to being inside the Three Ps was another confirmation that the cassandra sangue could absorb only so much before they shut down—or looked for a way to relieve the pressure building inside them.

  “Why did you come in?” Lorne asked.

  After going inside Sparkles and Junk, she thought she could handle going into the Three Ps, but she couldn’t get beyond the doorway. Not today. “I wrote a letter to my friend Jean. She lives on Great Island now. But it was on plain paper and sealed in an envelope.”

  Had she said anything worth saying in that letter? The act of writing it had absorbed her so much she couldn’t remember what she’d said. Had she even said anything anyone else could understand, or had she rambled, caught by the fascination of watching the pen form letters?

  Not the same as writing down information about the deliveries. That was simple. And it wasn’t the same as keeping lists of books she’d read or music she liked, or even writing a few thoughts about her day. None of those things had the same compulsion to continue just for the sake of continuing.

  Suddenly Meg understood why the Crow had cut her hair so short. Like Meg and writing a letter, she had been ensnared by a new experience and hadn’t wanted it to end.

  “You want some pretty stationary?” Lorne asked. “I have a few selections.”

  How much time would be lost filling page after page?

  “Too much.” Meg reached behind her for the door. Had to go back to the office, to the familiar.

  “Wait right there.” Lorne hurried over to a spin rack near the counter. He quickly selected a handful of items, then returned, holding them out to her. “Postcards. A picture on the front.” He turned one over. “And blank on the other side. You put a stamp in this corner, and the person’s address here.” He pointed to the two places. “The other half is where you write a message. Confined space.”

  Confined space. The words should have conjured up an image of something she should hate. Instead, she felt relief.

  Meg took the postcards. “I owe you money.”

  “Just take the cards today.” Lorne opened the door for her, a gesture she understood meant she was supposed to leave. “We’ll settle up later. Besides, it sounds like you’ve got a delivery,” he added as they both heard the sound of a van’s side door sliding open, then closing a moment later.