Written In Red: A Novel of the Others

by Anne Bishop

  She tore open the package and ate two cookies so quickly, she barely tasted them. Taking one more cookie, she ate it slowly, savoring the flavor. Then she put the package back in the cupboard and firmly shut the door.

  Training image. Bugs crawling over open packages of food left in a cupboard.

  Meg opened the cupboard and pulled out the package of cookies. It wouldn’t seal properly, so she rummaged through the other cupboards until she found small, glass-covered dishes in the storage unit under the wave-cooker. But none of them were big enough to fit the package—unless she ate more cookies.

  She reached for another cookie, then shook her head and went back to searching the cupboards. She found a pot that was big enough and had a lid. A glance at the clock above the cooker warned her that she’d used up her time, so the pot would have to do.

  She pulled on the boots, then tucked her shoes in one of the large zippered bags Tess had left. She’d have to see about getting a purse for any small personal things she needed to carry with her.

  What things did women carry with them?

  She walked toward the door, completely focused on recalling every training image of purses and their contents. A quiet knock made her squeak as she stumbled away from the door, her heart pounding. The second knock, louder and impatient, sounded more reassuring, in a scary way.

  She turned the lock and pulled the door open enough to look out.

  Simon Wolfgard stared back at her.

  “Mr. Wolfgard.” She pulled the door open. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “Weren’t you?” He stepped over the threshold, forcing her to back up. “Since you hadn’t done this kind of work before, I thought you’d like an explanation of your duties. And I thought you’d like to see the shortcut to the Liaison’s Office instead of walking on the street.”

  How did he know she wanted to avoid being outside their territory as much as possible? Did he know who she really was? What she was?

  He watched her. The wire-rimmed glasses he wore didn’t hide the amber predator eyes the way they did last night. But he wasn’t doing anything except watching her . . . because he was waiting for her to get her coat so he could show her to the Liaison’s Office before he went on to his own work.

  In some movie clips she’d seen, people said “Duh” or smacked a hand against their foreheads to indicate a brainless moment. She had a feeling he already thought she was pretty brainless, and she didn’t want to confirm it.

  She fetched the red coat from the closet.

  “Hat, gloves, and scarf,” he said, looking around the room as if checking for differences between what he’d seen last night and now.

  She found those items on the stacked shelves built into one side of the closet. She wrapped the scarf around her neck and pulled on the hat as she hurried toward him.

  “Keys,” he said.

  She spotted the keys on the table. She looked around much as he had and wondered if there was anything else a normal person would remember to do before leaving their domicile.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  Was that a trick question? She had so many questions. There were so many things she didn’t know. But he was her employer, so it didn’t seem smart to ask him about anything that didn’t involve her job.

  He stepped into the hallway and watched her fumble through locking her door. She put the ring of keys in the coat pocket, relieved when she realized the pocket had a zipper. People were always losing keys. She had scars on her toes to prove it.

  Just a few steps away from her door was another hallway that went to the back of the building and ended at a glass and wood door.

  Simon turned the lock. “This is the third key on the ring. You don’t need a key to get out, but you do need one to get back in.”

  “Third key,” she repeated. She followed him outside and felt her lungs freeze. “It’s cold.”

  “You’re in the northeast and it’s winter. It’s supposed to be cold. Be careful on these steps. They were swept this morning, but they can be slippery.”

  In contrast to his own warning, he bounded down the stairs. Meg kept a firm grip on the handrail with one hand while she clutched the zippered bag in the other.

  Simon pointed to a building catercorner from where they stood. “That’s the back of the Liaison’s Office. We’ll go there in a minute. First . . .” He strode past a one-story building with large doors. “Garages. A couple of them hold vehicles; the others are used for storage.”

  “Garages,” she muttered, struggling to keep up with his longer stride.

  He turned left, and they walked past an empty space enclosed by walls on three sides.

  “Employee parking lot,” he said. He paused a moment and pointed to a door in the back wall. “That leads to the customer parking lot. It’s locked and used only when we’re doing maintenance.” He passed the parking lot and went through an archway.

  Meg looked at the buildings that surrounded an open space. The buildings on three sides were three stories tall. The side that had two larger archways was two stories.

  “This is the Market Square,” Simon said. “There are steps leading down to the open area, but you can’t see them now, so stick close to the buildings.” He pointed at various doorways. “The Courtyard library. You can borrow books there or buy them at Howling Good Reads if there is something you want to keep. Music and Movies both loans and sells. We have a grocery store, a butcher shop, an office for the terra indigene bodywalkers—what you would call doctors—a toother, a drugstore, general store, clothing . . .”

  “Sparkles and Junk?” she asked, catching sight of a sign next to a shop door.

  “Five of the Crows run that one. You can find fake diamonds, real diamonds, or a one-armed doll. The humans who are allowed to shop at the Market Square say the Crows’ store is a cross between a stall market and a jewelry store. Mostly it’s other Crows who find it appealing, but I’m told humans find good stuff if they know what they’re looking for.”

  Sparkles and Junk sounded like an interesting place, and she caught sight of other simple signs that intrigued her, including a store that sold ice cream and chocolate. But Simon was already retracing his steps, so she hurried to catch up.

  He stopped at the back of the Liaison’s Office and pointed again. “Those are the back entrances for Howling Good Reads and A Little Bite. Tess is providing the midday meal as part of your pay, so you can go in through that door when you take your meal break.”

  Her head was spinning. So many images in such a short time. So many things to remember! But she recognized the back stairs they had come down a few minutes ago, and felt easier for it. Now if she could just figure out why he was annoyed with her. It wasn’t like she had asked for a tour. He was the one who had kept them out in the cold, despite sniffing frequently as if he had a runny nose.

  “The fourth key on the ring opens the back door,” Simon said, sounding even less friendly than he had a moment ago.

  Meg felt him bristling, taking up too much space and air as she fumbled to get the keys out of her coat pocket.

  “Whatever you did to your hair, don’t do it again,” he growled.

  His face was suddenly so close to hers, she dropped the keys. The area in front of the door had been shoveled, but she still had to use a glove to wipe off the keys after picking them up.

  “What’s wrong with my hair?” she said, hating that her voice sounded small and defensive.

  “It stinks.” Nothing small or defensive about his voice.

  “I used the shampoo that was in the apartment. It’s all I had.” And even more than hating the way her voice sounded defensive, she hated the thought that she might have to act submissive to someone else who assumed he had the right to control her life.

  “And it’s all you will use. The terra indigene make those products and sell them at our stores because they don’t stink up the air. But I wasn’t talking about the soap or shampoo. Whatever you did to make your hair look like old blood and
orange peels also makes it stink, and you’re not going to do it again!”

  Oh, gods. She’d been in a hurry to disguise herself in some way, so she must have done something wrong when she’d used that bottle of red dye on her hair. I guess the change in color that I saw this morning wasn’t bad lighting in the apartment’s bathroom.

  “Get this into your head, Meg Corbyn. We don’t let humans live in our part of the world because we like you. We let you live here because you can be useful, and you’ve invented things that we like having. If it wasn’t for that, you’d all be nothing but meat. Which is something you should remember.”

  “Being mad about my hair isn’t fair,” she muttered, trying to hide that she was starting to shiver. She didn’t think shivering would be a good idea right now.

  “I don’t have to be fair,” he snapped. “You’re in the Courtyard. Whatever rules humans have for employers aren’t my rules unless I say they’re my rules. So I can hire you even though you don’t have any idea what you’re doing, and I can fire you for having stinky hair!”

  “Unless you want me to cut it all off, there’s nothing I can do about the hair!” she snapped back. And then she felt terrified that he might want her to do exactly that.

  Growl. Roar. Shout. She couldn’t begin to describe the sound that came out of him.

  She shook. She couldn’t help it. He still looked human, but he also looked wild and savage.

  “Is this a bad time for an introduction?” a voice rumbled.

  Big man with a shaggy mane of medium-brown hair that tumbled to his shoulders. Jeans and a flannel shirt, with an open coat, as if the cold didn’t bother him.

  “You going to keep her shivering in the cold or show her where she works?” he asked, looking at Simon. “Or should I—”

  Simon snarled.

  The big man just waited.

  Pulling a set of keys out of his pocket, Simon opened the door. Then he tipped his head toward her. “She’s Meg Corbyn.” He gave the man a narrow-eyed stare. “And that’s Henry Beargard.” Without another word, he shoved her inside and closed the door.

  Even through the closed door, Meg heard Henry’s booming laugh.

  “Pegs on the wall are for coats,” Simon said, sounding snappish. “The mats are for wet boots and shoes. Floor can be slippery when it’s wet. Our bodywalkers don’t know anything about mending actual humans, so if you slip and break a leg, we’ll eat you same as we would a deer.” He took off his boots and put on a pair of loafers that were on the mat. “Toilet and sink behind that door. Storage area is next to it. The bins that have clothes are for the terra indigene. Don’t touch them. Under-the-counter fridge. A wave-cooker and an electric kettle to heat water. Cups, plates, and utensils are stored in the cupboards below. You’re responsible for cleaning what you use.” He gave her a slashing look. “Well? Are you just going to stand there?”

  She took off her coat and boots, put on the shoes she’d brought with her, and remembered to take the keys when he growled at her.

  He was not a nice man, and she was going to learn this job as fast as she could so she wouldn’t have to deal with him too much.

  He opened another wooden door that led into another big room.

  “Sorting room,” he said as he moved to a panel in the wall and flipped a switch. “This panel unlocks the delivery doors. They stay locked unless you’re accepting an approved shipment or handing out mail.”

  “How will I know if it’s appro—”

  “The pigeonholes on this wall hold mail for the Market Square stores. The larger partitions hold packages and anything that needs to stay flat. Parcels can also be stored under the sorting table or in those cupboards.” Simon gave her a hostile look as he opened another door and pointed to the sign screwed into the wood. “See that? It says PRIVATE. No one who isn’t terra indigene comes into the sorting room except you. Is that clear?”

  “It’s clear but . . . why?” she asked.

  “Because I said so. Because what goes on inside the Courtyard is no one’s business except ours.” Simon looked at the clock on the wall and growled. “I have other things to take care of, so you’ll have to figure out the next steps on your own.”

  “But—”

  “Deliveries are accepted from nine a.m. to noon. Afternoon deliveries usually arrive from two to four in the afternoon. Terra indigene delivery trucks come at other times, but those aren’t your concern. There’s a list of phone numbers in that drawer. If you have questions, you can call Howling Good Reads or A Little Bite. All those bags of mail and those packages have to be sorted for delivery. We did what we could while we were looking for a Liaison, but we all have our own work and don’t have time to do yours.”

  “But—”

  “The door opens at nine,” he said as he headed out of the room.

  Meg stared at the door leading to the back room, then jumped when the outer door slammed shut.

  She held her breath until she was sure she was alone. Then she let it out with a muttered “Bad Wolf,” and hoped she could figure out how to start her workday.

  * * *

  Simon wanted to bite someone, but the person leaning against the wall next to HGR’s back door was Henry, and a lone Wolf didn’t mess with a Grizzly, especially when that Bear acted as the Courtyard’s spirit guide and was one of the few beings Simon could talk to without guarding his thoughts or words.

  “You sure have your tail in a knot this morning,” Henry said easily. “Might not want to scare off our new Liaison before she gets some of that mail sorted for us.”

  He rammed his key into the lock and turned it, but he didn’t open the door. “She doesn’t smell like prey. She’s rested and fed and not cold. Why doesn’t she smell like prey?”

  “Not all humans do,” Henry replied quietly.

  Simon shook his head. “With some, we decide they’re not edible because it’s smart to have them around. But they still smell like prey, and she doesn’t.”

  “Not all humans do,” Henry repeated. “There aren’t many that give off that signal, but there have been some.” He paused. “Maybe you’re not picking up the prey scent because of the stinky hair?”

  Simon stared at the Grizzly. “You could smell it from where you were standing?”

  “No, the wind wasn’t in the right direction for me to smell it, but I could hear you yelling about it. So could everyone else who’s aflutter at this time of day.”

  He rested his forehead against the door. “The lack of prey scent confuses me.”

  “I can see that. But she’s not terra indigene. Of that much I’m sure.”

  “So am I. She smells human. She just doesn’t smell like prey.”

  “If she’s causing this much trouble before most of us have even seen her, maybe you should force her out of the Courtyard.”

  Simon stepped back from the door and sighed. “I’ll let the rest of the Business Association take a look at her before I decide. We need a Liaison. Might as well let her stay for a while.”

  Henry nodded. “Did you explain what she’s supposed to do?”

  He snarled, a frustrated sound.

  “Then stay away from her for the rest of the morning and let someone else explain it.”

  “Who?”

  “You know who.”

  Yes, he did know. He also knew that if he argued about it, Henry would swat him into the wall to knock some sense into him. For friendship’s sake.

  “All right. Let the Coyote deal with her for a couple of hours.”

  It wasn’t until he was inside the bookstore and hanging up his coat that he realized he was still wearing the loafers and his feet were wet. He’d been so annoyed and confused and desperate to get away from Meg before he shifted and bit her just to prove she was prey that he’d forgotten to exchange the loafers for his boots.

  Savagely angry now at all humans—and that stinky-haired one in particular—he stomped up to his second-floor office to deal with paperwork before checking out the new st
ock that had arrived yesterday. The store didn’t open for another hour. If everyone was lucky, he’d have himself under control by then and wouldn’t eat any of the customers.

  * * *

  The freaking Help Wanted sign was gone.

  Asia stared at the glass door, not daring to get closer when the shoveled delivery area was a sign that the Others were up and about.

  She wanted that damn job. Really wanted that job. She’d been in Lakeside for months now and hadn’t gotten a look at anything in the Courtyard that everyone else hadn’t seen. Her backers were getting restless, were starting to hint that they might need someone more professional for this assignment.

  Her looks had gotten her out of Podunk and the nothing future she would have had in her hometown. Her looks had carried her all the way to Sparkletown and into a few auditions. But she’d done more acting on the casting couches than she’d done in front of a camera—until she uncovered a tidbit about a Sparkletown bigwig’s wife that gave him the leverage he needed to divorce the wife without financial penalties.

  Under the guise of developing her for a starring role in a to-be-determined television show, he helped Asia refine her natural intelligence-gathering skills and then sent her off to find some information about a competitor.

  She still wasn’t sure if that first assignment had been a test, but she was given another assignment and a fat envelope of cash when she returned with the information.

  It was like being paid to research a role as an undercover cop or a corporate spy. Yes, that would be the perfect role for her: Asia Crane, Special Investigator. Sometimes she spent time in one of the bigger cities and had fancy clothes and baubles. Other times she spent a few weeks in a town that was a variation of Podunk, playing the role of shy young widow starting a new life, wearing twin sets and pumps while she ferreted out information about the selected target—or helped ruin his business career or political ambitions.

  The work was exciting, it was fun, it paid well, and now that Bigwig had brought in a few other interested parties to finance her, she was being given extended assignments with more challenging targets. It wasn’t the way most actresses built their careers, but she’d return to Sparkletown in another year or two with enough juice to get any part she wanted.