by Anne Bishop
Infiltrating a Courtyard was her biggest and riskiest assignment to date. She had relocated to Lakeside because it was the only Courtyard in the whole of Thaisia that had any human employees beyond the Liaison. Even Toland on the East Coast and Sparkletown on the West—the financial and entertainment centers of the continent—didn’t have Courtyards with as much tolerance for humans. Her task was to get in, observe, and report anything and everything that might help with dealing with the Others or, better yet, breaking their stranglehold on the human cities in Thaisia.
With minimal information to work with, despite having friends who had friends in Lakeside’s government, Bigwig had suggested two potential targets as her ticket into the Courtyard: Elliot Wolfgard and Simon Wolfgard. With Elliot, she would have rubbed elbows with government officials and social climbers who might have provided other information of monetary value. But at the last minute, Bigwig discovered that, before relocating to Lakeside, Elliot had once told a society girl who was flirting with him that monkey fucking wasn’t any different from barnyard banging, and neither was of interest to him. No one remembered what she said in reply, but a few days later, the society girl was found partially eaten in her own bedroom. So Asia crossed Elliot Wolfgard off the list.
That left Simon, who looked to be in his mid-thirties—young enough to like a frequent rub and old enough that he wouldn’t be likely to lose control, leaving a human partner rutting with a Wolf. So she’d chosen a persona and a look that fit in with the other university and tech-college girls who hung around the store. She even signed up for a couple of classes at Lakeside University as a way to fill time. And what had she gotten for her efforts so far? Nothing. No job, no sex, no pillow talk, not even a few minutes in the stockroom for some tongue and tickle. She couldn’t even wangle a membership to the fitness center.
She needed to show some progress soon. If she didn’t, her backers might end the assignment and send in someone else. And if they did that, Bigwig wouldn’t deliver on his promises, and she could end up back in Podunk instead of being the star of her own TV show.
Cawing announced the arrival of a handful of Crows who landed on the shoulder-high brick wall that ran along the left-hand side of the delivery area. One flew down to a flat-topped wooden sculpture positioned in front of one of the Liaison Office’s windows. That one watched whatever was going on inside the office. The other four watched her.
Turning as if she had paused momentarily and had no interest in anything that concerned the Courtyard, Asia walked away.
She wasn’t getting anywhere with Simon Wolfgard. Maybe she would have better luck with the new Liaison.
* * *
Meg opened the door marked PRIVATE, then closed her eyes and pictured the Liaison’s Office as if it were drawn on paper. A rectangular building divided into three big rooms. The back room had the washroom, which contained the toilet and sink. It also served as break room and storage, and had a door that led outside and one that accessed the sorting room. The sorting room had a large outside delivery door, an inside delivery door that provided access to the front room, and the door with the PRIVATE sign that was directly behind the three-sided counter area. The front room, where she assumed most deliveries would be made since it had the counter, had the one glass door and two large windows.
She studied the sorting room again and wondered who had designed the Liaison’s Office. For a room that was supposed to be private, private, private, the sorting room had an awful lot of doors, not to mention a window that would accommodate illicit access.
Not her problem. As long as she kept the delivery doors locked when they weren’t needed, she could avoid being eaten. Maybe. Hopefully. Right now, she had to get ready for business.
Turning on the lights in the front part of the office was easy—the switches were on the wall next to the Private door. Getting to the outside door to open it was a problem because she couldn’t figure out how the short left end of the counter opened to let someone into the main part of the room. So she got the stool from the sorting room and used it to climb over the counter. She turned the simple lock to the open position and then realized the simple lock was augmented by a heavy-duty dead bolt that required a key—which might or might not be on the key ring she’d left in the sorting room.
Caw caw
Three black birds were perched outside on a flat piece of wood, maneuvering to get a better look through one of the windows. She almost dismissed their presence, then wondered if they were terra indigene Crows that had come to take a look at the new Liaison.
Trying for a happy smile, Meg waggled her fingers and mouthed the words Good morning. Then she went back to the counter and tried to boost herself up enough to swing her legs over.
The Walking Names didn’t tell the girls anything about themselves, but she had overheard some things. She was twenty-four years old. She was sixty-three inches tall. She had black hair, gray eyes, and fair skin. Her cheeks had a light rosy hue that would show scars to advantage, but her face was still unmarred by the razor. The girls in the compound were kept healthy and were walked daily, but they were not allowed to do things that would give them unnecessary stamina or make them physically strong.
Sometimes determination could make up for stamina and strength. But sometimes it couldn’t.
The fourth time she landed back on the wrong side of the counter, a voice quietly said, “While this is highly entertaining, why don’t you just use the go-through?”
Meg backed away from the counter as a lean man stepped through the Private doorway. He had light brown eyes and brown hair that was made up of a variety of shades, including gray.
“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Name’s Jester. Henry thought you could use a little help figuring out what to do, and since Simon’s chewing his own tail this morning, and I look after the ponies, I was elected to help.” He held up both hands. “No tricks. I promise.” Then he gave her a smile that was both friendly and sly. “At least, not today.”
“I have to get the door open before the deliveries start arriving,” she said, wishing she didn’t sound so anxious. “The keys I was given are on that ring in the sorting room, but I’m not even sure there’s a key on it for this door.”
“There isn’t,” Jester replied, disappearing into the sorting room. “You have a key to the back door,” he continued when he walked into the front room and vaulted over the counter. “I’ll show you where the office keys are kept.”
He unlocked the dead bolt, studied the Crows for a moment, then grinned as he walked back to the counter. “You’ve been on the job for less than an hour and you’re already the most entertaining Liaison we’ve had.”
“Thanks,” she said, trying not to sound sour. She could imagine what Simon Wolfgard would say if he heard about this. “You won’t tell anyone about the counter, will you?”
“Me? No. Them?” Jester tipped his head toward the windows. There were Crows vying for a spot on the wooden sculpture, and a couple were standing in front of the door, looking in. “Most of the Courtyard will hear about this within an hour.”
She sighed.
“Come on. I’ll show you the trick with the go-through.” He pointed to the slide bolt that connected the go-through with the long counter.
“I tried that,” she said.
“That one keeps it closed during the day when you might be going in and out a lot.” He reached under the wide top. A moment later, Meg heard a bolt drawing back, then another. “There are two bigger slide bolts that keep the go-through closed the rest of the time. Those are locked when you leave the office for a meal break or at the end of the day.”
Jester pushed the go-through open, then stood aside to let her enter. He followed her in, closed the go-through, and used the visible slide bolt to secure it. After showing her where the other bolts were located, he pointed out the supplies and other items that were on the shelves under the counter.
A clipboard with a pad of paper. A round ceramic h
older full of different color pens. Paperclips and rubber bands. A telephone at the other short end of the counter and its directory on the shelf underneath. And catalogs. Lots of merchandise catalogs from various stores, as well as menus from local eateries.
“We have a little bit of most everything in the Market Square, but not a lot of anything,” Jester said. “There is a plaza a few blocks from here that serves the humans who live in this part of Lakeside. It has all sorts of stores and more variety in terms of merchandise. A Courtyard bus provides transportation twice a week for anyone who wants to shop there.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?” she asked, remembering training images of fighting, blood, and slashed bodies.
He gave her an odd look. “It’s always dangerous when there are only a few of us among the humans.” He waved a hand to indicate the Crows, then touched his fingers to his chest. “Remember this, Meg Corbyn. We’re the ones you can see, but we’re not the only ones who are here. Which is why we have so many catalogs,” he continued in a lighter tone. “Our shops order things directly from manufacturers, just like human stores do. Some of it stays here; some is sent on to our kin who enjoy the things but want no contact with humans. But there are plenty of other bits of shiny that are ordered from a human store and delivered here, which is where you come in.”
Meg nodded, not sure what to say. So many warnings layered in his words. So many things to think about.
“Ready to start?” Jester asked.
“Yes.”
They went into the sorting room. Jester took the top bag from a pile of bags, opened it, and dumped the contents on the sorting table.
“The mail truck comes in the morning,” he said. “Give them back their bags as you empty them. You’ll get used to sorting the mail more specifically, but to start, sort by gard or location. Then . . .”
Caw caw
Jester smiled. “Sounds like your first delivery.”
Meg went out to the front room, closing the door partway. She put the clipboard and pad on the counter, tested a pen to make sure it worked, and carefully noted the date at the top of the page—and hoped the calendar under the counter had the days crossed out accurately.
The Crows scattered, most heading out while a few settled again on the brick wall and the sculpture sticking out of the snow.
As a man got out of the green van and opened its back door, Meg wrote down the time, the color of the truck, and the name Everywhere Delivery.
He was an older man whose face had been lined by weather and years, but his movements looked efficient as well as energetic. He elbowed the van door closed, glancing at the Crows as he pulled the office door open. Balancing four packages, he hesitated at the doorway.
“Good morning,” Meg said, hoping she sounded friendly but businesslike.
He relaxed and hurried to the counter. “Good morning. Got some packages for you.”
Suddenly remembering that every face could belong to an enemy, she fought to hold on to the businesslike demeanor. “It’s my first day. Do you mind if I write down some information?”
He gave her a smile wide enough for her to think his teeth weren’t the ones he’d been born with.
“That is a very good idea, Miz . . .”
“Meg.”
“Miz Meg. I’m Harry. That’s H-A-double-R-Y. I’m with Everywhere Delivery. Not a fancy name, but a true one. I’m usually here closer to nine on Moonsday and Thaisday, but the plows are still clearing the streets and the driving is slow this morning. Four packages today. Need to have you sign for them.”
She wrote down his name, the days and time he usually made deliveries, and the number of packages she signed for.
Harry looked at her clipboard and let out a happy sigh. “Warms the heart to see someone behind the counter doing the job proper. The last one they had here?” He shook his head. “I’m not surprised they gave him the boot. I’m surprised they kept him as long as they did. Couldn’t be bothered to care about anything, and that’s just not right. No, that’s not right. Say, it can get pretty chilly out here with that door opening and closing all the time. You might want to get a pair of those fingerless gloves. The wife wears them around the house and swears they help her stay warm. You should look into getting a pair.”
“I’ll do that.”
“You take care, Miz Meg.”
“I will. See you on Moonsday, Harry.”
He gave the Crows a friendly wave as he walked to his van.
Meg put the ceramic pen holder on the counter but put the clipboard on a shelf out of sight. Then she returned to the sorting room.
Jester grinned at her. “He’s not peculiar, if that’s what you were wondering. He’s just relieved to be dealing with someone safe. So being concerned about you catching a chill is as much for his sake as yours.” He eyed her. “Besides, he’s got a point.”
“Does he?” She didn’t like the way he was eyeing her, especially when he grabbed her arm and gave it a squeeze, letting go before she had a chance to protest.
“You’re not fat, but you don’t have much muscle. You need to work on that. Run and Thump has treadmills and—”
“I don’t like treadmills.” She heard panic rising in her voice. Don’t think about the compound. Don’t think about the Controller or the treadmills or anything else about that place.
“Plenty of places here for you to walk.” His voice was mild, but something sharp filled his eyes as he watched her. “But you couldn’t get over the counter, so I’d say you could use some exercise to strengthen muscle. And the second floor of Run and Thump has classes for dancing or bending or some such thing.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Sort by gard, then by individuals,” Jester said after an uncomfortable pause. “I’ll be back with some of the ponies in a couple of hours.”
“Ponies?”
“They act as couriers around the Courtyard when they feel like it.”
He left her—and she wondered if she had already said too much.
* * *
Jester quietly closed the back door and looked around. The Crows were on the move, spreading out to watch and listen—and to hear what the regular crows had to tell them. The Hawks were soaring high above, also watching.
And inside the Human Liaison’s Office?
Secrets. Fear.
He wanted to poke his nose into the reasons for both.
Couldn’t talk to Simon. Not today. Henry had already warned him about that. But Tess? Yes, Tess might know how they had acquired their new Liaison. And she kept a supply of long-grass tea for him. A Little Bite wasn’t open to human customers yet, so she might have time to gossip—if he phrased his comments and questions in the right way.
He was glad Henry had told him that Meg didn’t have the prey scent that was typical of humans. He would have felt a lot more wary of their Liaison if the Grizzly hadn’t already known there was something peculiar about her.
He wanted to know how and why Simon hired Meg Corbyn. And, most of all, he wanted to know what it was about her that made him feel she could be a danger to them all.
CHAPTER 3
Monty paid the cab driver and got out at the corner of Whitetail Road and Chestnut Street. Taking a cab wasn’t a luxury he could afford every morning, but he didn’t want to be late on his first day. He’d have to check out bus routes and schedules until he had time to consider if he needed to purchase some kind of car.
He looked at his watch and hesitated. The Chestnut Street Police Station was in sight, and he had half an hour before his meeting with Captain Burke. Across the street from the station was a diner, the kind of place that served hearty meat-and-potatoes meals and coffee strong enough to help a man stay upright when he was too tired to stand on his own. In the middle of the block was a small Universal Temple.
Checking his watch once more, Monty crossed the street and walked to the temple. Whether it was true or not, it eased his heart to think there was something beyond the physical plane, som
ething that felt benevolent toward humans, because the gods knew there wasn’t much on the physical plane that felt benevolent toward them.
He opened the door to the entranceway, stomped the snow off his boots, then went into the temple itself.
Soft natural light filtered through snow-dusted windows. Vanilla candles delicately scented the air. The random tones of meditation bells drifted through the temple from the hidden sound system. The padded benches could be arranged in various patterns. Today they were scattered to provide seating at each of the alcoves that held representations of guardian spirits.
Mikhos, guardian of police, firefighters, and medical personnel, was in an alcove nearest the door, which made sense with the temple being so close to a police station.
Taking a match from the holder, he lit a candle in front of the alcove, then settled on the bench and practiced the controlled breathing that would clear his mind of busy thoughts in order to hear the quiet voice of wisdom.
It wasn’t wisdom but memory that filled his mind.
You shot a human to protect a Wolf.
I shot a pedophile who had a girl imprisoned in his house. He had a knife and threatened to kill her.
You left a wounded human with one of the terra indigene.
I didn’t feel a pulse. I didn’t realize he was still alive when I went to check out the rest of the house.
He hadn’t known the girl was a terra indigene Wolf. He hadn’t known the bastard he shot was still technically alive when he called for help and a medical unit and then left the girl so he could quickly check the rest of the house. He hadn’t known how much destruction a starving young Wolf could do to a human body in so short a time.
