by Anne Bishop
A test, she thought. Maybe lots of other people had seen the map. Maybe it wasn’t as big a secret as she had been led to believe. Maybe this was a way for the Others to decide if they could trust a human. And maybe any human who fails this test is never seen again. I’m going to die in this Courtyard. I know that. Is it because of the map or because I fail some other kind of test?
A couple minutes later, she heard the beep beep of the BOW’s horn. Pushing aside all thoughts of tests, she put her coat on, opened the sorting room’s delivery door, and began loading the back of the vehicle.
The BOW really was a box on wheels. It had two seats in the front. The rest of it—what there was of it—was a cargo area.
Plenty of room for a Wolf in the back, Jester told her after he dropped the copy of the map on the passenger’s seat and returned the original to the sorting room. Like she wanted a Wolf breathing down her neck while she was driving—or doing anything else.
Did they all think if they kept mentioning Simon she would forget how scary he had been yesterday? Maybe fear wasn’t something the Others retained, but humans certainly did.
Even humans like her.
It was a little before noon when she locked up the office and got in the BOW, making sure she had her pass in the side pocket of her new purse, where it would be easy to reach.
When Jester tapped on the window, she rolled it down.
“You all set?” he asked.
“All set.” She hoped she sounded confident. She really wanted him to go away before she put the BOW in gear.
“I’ll tell Tess you’ll be by later for your meal.”
She wondered what else he was going to tell Tess, but she smiled and said, “Thanks.”
The laughter was back in his eyes when she made no move to shift the gear to drive. Then he walked away.
Recalling training images of car interiors, she found the lights and the windshield wipers. She found the dial that controlled the heater. Shakily confident that she would be fine—as long as she didn’t have to do anything but go forward—she headed out to make her first deliveries.
After a couple of minutes of white-knuckle driving on a road that had been plowed, more or less, Meg began wondering if the pony and sled wouldn’t have been a better idea. The pony wouldn’t be inclined to slide off the road. Not that the BOW wasn’t a game little vehicle. It growled its way up an incline, struggling to find the traction it needed to get to the next piece of level ground.
From what she could tell from the map, she was on the main road that circled the entire Courtyard, so it should be sufficiently cleared all the way around. As long as she didn’t stray off it, she should be fine. Besides, the thought of going back and running into Simon was reason enough to keep going forward. That and not knowing how to drive backward.
It wasn’t her fault she’d never driven in snow—or in anything else. A sterile, restricted life meant the girls had no other stimulation except the images, sounds, and other visuals in the lessons, and what was used as reference for the prophecies could be verified because it was assumed all of the girls saw and heard the same thing. And it had been proven by the Walking Names that that kind of life made the girls more accepting of any kind of actual stimulation because they were starved for sensation.
Would the cutting be as compelling if there were other ways to feel pleasure, other sensations?
But that sterile life was her past. Now she was gaining the experience of driving in snow, and as long as she didn’t run into another vehicle or end up in a ditch, the Wolf had no reason to criticize.
The road forked. The left fork curved toward the Owlgard Complex and the Pony Barn. The right fork was the main road and had a sign that read, TRESPASSERS WILL BE EATEN.
Meg swallowed hard and continued on the main road, passing the Green Complex. Then she passed the Ash Grove and the Utilities Complex. Finally she reached the ornate black fences that marked the Chambers, the part of the Courtyard claimed by the Sanguinati.
She tried to pull up some memory about that name, was sure she knew something about them even though the girls had been taught very little about the Others. But Jester’s warning when she was packing up the BOW was clear enough.
The fences around the Chambers aren’t decorative, Meg. They’re boundaries. You never push open a gate and step onto the Sanguinati’s land for any reason. Anyone who enters without their consent doesn’t leave—and I’ve never known them to give their consent.
What unnerved her about the words was the certainty that they applied to the rest of the terra indigene as well as humans.
But she didn’t have to break the rules to deliver the packages. When she pulled up to the first white marble building positioned in the center of its fenced-in land, she saw nine metal boxes outside the fence, painted black and secured to a stone foundation. They didn’t have individual numbers, so they must be used by everyone who lived in the . . . Was that a mausoleum? It seemed small if the handful of names with this particular address actually lived inside.
She opened the door of the first box. Roomy enough for magazines and other mail of similar size. Another box was wider and the packages she had fit well enough. She put packages in three more boxes, then got back into the BOW and went on to the next building.
Four packages for the residents of this part of the Chambers. This time, as she closed the door of the last box, she noticed the soot around the mausoleum. Or was that smoke? Was something on fire inside?
She leaned into the BOW and fumbled for the mobile phone Tess had arranged for her to have. She had dutifully put in the contact numbers for Simon, Tess, and the consulate. But whom should she call to report a fire? How did the Courtyard handle emergencies?
Then the smoke drifted away from the structure with a deliberate change of direction—toward her.
She stopped fumbling for the phone, got into the BOW, and headed for the next fenced area.
This mausoleum didn’t look any different from the other two, except there was a smaller one built close to the fence separating the two structures. The walkway from the gate to the elaborately carved wooden door was clear of snow, as was the marble stoop.
Smoke drifted close to the fences.
Jester didn’t say she wouldn’t be harmed if she was on this side of the fence. He just said being harmed was a certainty if she went inside the fenced area.
Maybe they would appreciate someone finally delivering their packages?
Tucking her pass inside the coat pocket, she got out of the BOW, raised the back door, pulled out the packages, and filled several of the boxes.
Then she pulled out a package for Mr. Erebus Sanguinati. It was one of the packages shoved farthest back in that corner of the sorting room, so it had been there for weeks, maybe even months.
It wasn’t a heavy package, but it was square rather than a rectangle, making it too high to fit into the metal boxes. She chewed on her lower lip, wondering what she should do.
“Something wrong?”
She stumbled back a step. She hadn’t seen anyone approach, hadn’t heard anyone, but a beautiful woman with dark eyes and black hair that flowed to the waist of her black velvet gown now stood near the fence that separated the two mausoleums.
“I have a package for Mr. Erebus Sanguinati, but it won’t fit into the boxes.”
“You’re the new Liaison?”
“Yes. I’m Meg Corbyn.”
The woman didn’t offer her name. Instead, she looked toward the larger mausoleum—whose door was now open just enough for someone to peek out.
“You could leave a form saying there is a package being held at the Liaison’s Office,” the woman said.
“It’s been at the office for a while,” Meg replied. “That’s why I thought I should deliver it in person.”
The woman’s smile was more lethal than encouraging. “You could leave it in the snow. The previous Liaisons would have—if they had been brave enough to come at all.”
Meg shook
her head. “Whatever is inside might get damaged if it got wet.”
A sound like dry leaves skittering over a sidewalk came from the larger mausoleum.
The woman looked startled, then studied Meg with unnerving interest. “Grandfather Erebus says you may enter the Chambers and set the package before the door. Stay on the walkway, and you will come to no harm.”
“I was told I wasn’t allowed to enter the Chambers,” Meg said.
The woman’s smile sharpened. “Even the Wolfgard accommodates the Grandfather.”
Which meant Mr. Erebus was a very important person in the Courtyard.
Smoke flowed swiftly over the snow, gathering to one side of the gate. Part of it condensed, becoming an arm and a hand that pulled open the gate before changing back to smoke that moved away.
Something about smoke and the name Sanguinati that she needed to remember.
Pushing open the gate a little more, Meg walked up to the mausoleum. A hand curled around the edge of the door—an old hand with knobby joints, big veins, and yellowed, horny fingernails. A dark eye in a lined face peered out at her.
Not quite looking him in the eye, in case that was offensive to him, Meg carefully set the package down on the dry marble stoop.
“I’m sorry it took so long for you to receive your package, Mr. Erebus. I’ll watch for them from now on and get them to you as soon as I can.”
“Sweet child,” he whispered in that dry-leaves voice. “So considerate of an old man.”
“I hope nothing spoiled,” Meg said, stepping back. “Good day, sir.” She turned and walked back to the BOW, aware of all the smoke gathering just inside the fences. The gate closed behind her. The woman continued to watch her as she got into the BOW and drove off.
She had another set of packages for another address in the Chambers, but she was feeling shaky and wanted to get away from that part of the Courtyard. She continued driving until she passed the last of those ornate black fences and was heading for the Hawkgard Complex.
Then she remembered. Smoke. Sanguinati.
She hit the brakes and almost slid into a snowbank. She managed to put the BOW in park and crank up the heater before she started shaking.
Vampire. In one of their hurried, forbidden conversations, Jean had told her vampire was the street name for the Sanguinati. Smoke was another form they could take when they were hunting.
And when they are killing?
Now she understood why it was so dangerous to set foot on their land—and why no one who did left the Sanguinati’s piece of the Courtyard.
But an old, powerful vampire had given permission for her to enter the Chambers and deliver a package.
“Oh, I feel woozy.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. A moment later, she opened them, too uneasy about not being able to see what might be approaching.
How many of them had been out there, watching her?
That didn’t make her feel any less woozy, so she put the BOW in gear and trundled the rest of the way to the Hawkgard Complex, which consisted of three U-shape buildings, two stories tall, that were separated by driveways that led to garages and a parking area.
Every apartment had a patio or balcony with its own entrance. What she didn’t see were mailboxes or the nest of large boxes for packages. Which meant there had to be a room somewhere for those things.
Pulling up in front of the middle building, Meg got out of the BOW.
“What do you want?”
She squeaked and grabbed for the door handle before she regained control enough to look over her shoulder. The brown-haired, brown-eyed man who stared at her didn’t look the least bit friendly.
“Hello,” she said, trying out a smile. “I’m Meg, the new Liaison. I have some packages for the Hawkgard Complex, but I don’t know where I should leave them. Can you help me?”
He didn’t answer for so long, she didn’t know what to do. Finally, he pointed to the center room on the ground floor. “There.”
“Does each building have a mail room?” she asked, wondering how she could figure out what package went to which building.
He huffed. She could have sworn his hair rose like feathers being fluffed in annoyance.
“There.” He went to the back of the BOW and opened the door. He sniffed, then began rummaging happily through her ordered stacks.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Mouse,” he replied, picking up each package and sniffing it.
“There aren’t any mice in the packages.” At least, she hoped there weren’t. “But there were mice around where the packages were stored.”
He stopped rummaging, apparently losing all interest. But he did help her carry the packages to the mail room. Judging by the cubbyholes built into one wall and the large table at a right angle to them, this was where all the mail for the Hawkgard Complex was delivered. The cubbyholes had numbers but no names, and most of the packages were addressed as Hawkgard with a number.
Come to think of it, a lot of the mail she had sorted for all the complexes was the same way. The gard and maybe an initial was the most identification shown. Hard to know how many of each race was living in a Courtyard if only a few, like Erebus Sanguinati and Simon Wolfgard, provided a full name.
Were they that uncaring about such things or that cautious about how much humans knew about them?
What did that say about Erebus that he used his full name? Was it a way of indicating his lack of concern about who knew he was residing at the Lakeside Courtyard or was it a warning?
She thanked the Hawk for his help, and had the impression he had to dig into his knowledge of humans for the “You are welcome” reply.
When she reached the bridge that spanned Courtyard Creek, she pulled over and studied the map. If she kept going straight, she would be at the Wolfgard area of the Courtyard, and she didn’t want to go there and take the chance of running into him. Besides, she needed to head back to the office. But she had time to look at one place that made her curious. So she drove over the bridge and turned left on the road that ran along the small lake.
When she spotted the girl skating on the lake, she stopped the BOW and got out. The air was so clean and cold it hurt to breathe it in, and yet the girl, wearing a white, calf-length dress with short sleeves, didn’t seem to notice.
Meg made her way to the edge of the ice and waited. The girl looked at her, circled away, then skated over to where she stood.
A girl in shape, but not human. The face, especially the eyes, passed for human only from a distance.
“I’m Meg,” she said quietly, not sure why she thought this girl was more of a threat than the Sanguinati.
“You stopped,” the girl said. “Why?”
“I wanted to introduce myself.” She hesitated. “Are you alone here? Where are your parents?”
The girl laughed. “The Mother is everywhere. The Father doesn’t spurt his seed in this season.” She laughed again. “You don’t like the spurting? Never mind. My sisters and cousins are with me, and that is enough. Our homes are over there.” She pointed to a cluster of small buildings that were made of stone and wood.
“I’m glad you’re not alone.”
An odd look. “That matters to you?”
“I know how it feels to be alone.” She shook her head, determined to shake off the memories of being isolated in a cell—or watching a movie clip in a room full of girls and feeling even more alone. “Anyway, I’m planning to make regular deliveries from now on, so I wondered if there was anything you wanted from the Market Square. It’s a long walk for you and your sisters. I could give one or two of you a ride up to the shops.”
“Kindness. How unexpected,” the girl murmured. “There is a Courtyard bus that comes through twice a day that any terra indigene can take up to the shops, and the ponies are always willing to give me a ride. But . . .”
“But . . . ?”
The girl shrugged. “I put in a request for some books from our library. They weren’t dropped
off.”
“Wait a moment.” Meg went back to the BOW, retrieved the notepad and pen from her purse, and retraced her steps back to the lake. She held them out. “If you write down the titles, I’ll go to the library after work and see if any of them are available.”
The girl took the pad and pen, wrote several titles, then handed the pad and pen back to Meg.
“If your sisters are out when I return, whom should I ask for?”
Another odd look that was frightening because there was amusement in it.
“My sisters mostly sleep in this season, so only my cousins might be around,” the girl replied. Then she added, “I am Winter.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Winter,” Meg said. Her teeth began to chatter.
Winter laughed. “Yes. But you’ve had enough pleasure, I think.”
“I guess so. I’ll look for those books.” She hurried back to the BOW, but once inside with the heater doing its best to thaw her out, she waved to the girl.
The girl waved back, then turned to stare at the Crows and Hawks gathered in trees on the other side of the lake. They all took off in a flurry of wings, as if they were nervous about drawing the girl’s attention.
But Meg noticed at least some of them followed her all the way back to the office.
She and the BOW crawled into the garage, one turn of the wheels at a time. The opening was almost twice as wide as the vehicle, but Meg’s nerves still danced until she got the BOW inside and turned off.
Her nerves did more than dance when she got out of the BOW and saw the man standing there. Dressed in a mechanic’s blue jumpsuit, his only concession to the biting cold was a thin turtleneck sweater under the jumpsuit. He had brown hair, the amber eyes of a Wolf, and an annoyed expression that said plainly enough she had already messed with his day and he didn’t like it.
“I’m Meg, the new Liaison,” she said.
“The Wolfgard says I’m to take care of charging up the BOW for you this time.”
“Oh.” She looked at the cord and buttons on the garage’s back wall. “I suppose I should learn how to do that.”
