by Anne Bishop
He watched the shallow way her chest rose and fell under the short, tight sweater, watched the way her encased hips kept moving even though she was picking up books and looking at the back copy—almost like she didn’t dare stop moving because there was a good chance she wouldn’t be able to start up again. When he saw her little, self-satisfied smile, he realized she was watching him watch her. Why would she be satisfied? Considering the way she struggled to expand her chest, she didn’t even look bitable this morning.
Or maybe he was still full from the deer they’d brought down yesterday and wasn’t interested in another weak animal.
“Mr. Wolfgard?”
He focused his amber eyes and most of his attention on Heather, one of his human employees.
“If you’re going to man the register, do you want me to stock the shelves?” She gave him a hesitant smile and suddenly smelled nervous.
“You are a sensible female,” he said, raising his voice so Asia would stay at the new books display and not feel the need to slink over to hear what he was saying.
“Thanks,” Heather said. “Um . . . why? I haven’t done anything yet.”
He waved a hand at her. “Your clothes don’t lock up your body. You can take a full breath. If you were being chased, you wouldn’t fall down after a few steps from lack of air.” He was thinking of her escaping a human pursuer. A Wolf would run her down in seconds whether she could breathe or not.
Heather stared at him.
He continued to study her, understanding by the fear scent that he had taken a misstep somewhere in the past minute. He’d been indicating approval, because it was now clear to him that Asia did those exaggerated hip movements to hide the fact that she couldn’t walk quickly without being out of breath. He didn’t know what he’d said that had frightened Heather, but the look in her eyes made him think of a bunny just before it tries to run.
Even when he wasn’t hungry, he liked chasing bunnies.
“I’ll go stock some of the shelves,” Heather said, backing away from him.
“All right.” He tried to sound agreeable so that she wouldn’t quit. Vlad hated doing the paperwork as much as he did when a human employee quit, which was why they’d both made a promise not to eat quitters just to avoid the paperwork. As Tess had pointed out, eating the staff was bad for morale and made it so much harder to find new employees.
When Heather came out of the back room with a cart of books—instead of running out the back door after leaving the words I quit on a note taped to the wall, like a couple of previous employees had done—he turned his attention to Asia.
She must have been waiting for that moment. Her cheeks were a blaze of color and she looked ready to spit stone. She slammed a book back down on the display and raised her chin.
“I guess there isn’t anything of interest here this morning,” she said coldly.
“Then you should go,” he replied. “Although . . .” He vaulted over the counter, went to the other side of the display, picked up a book, and held it out. “You might find this one interesting.”
It was one of the horror books written by a terra indigene. The cover was black with the open mouth of a Wolf just before it took a bite out of its enemy. Or maybe it was the second bite, since there was a little blood on the teeth.
Asia forgot everything she knew about Wolves and bolted out the door.
He watched her run toward the parking lot and decided two things: one, she couldn’t run worth a damn in those clothes, and two, on her, he found the fear scent agreeable.
* * *
Monty adjusted the collar of his overcoat with one hand while he knocked on his captain’s doorway.
“Come in, Lieutenant,” Captain Burke said, waving him in while most of his attention remained on the sheet of paper he was studying. “Are you getting settled in all right?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you for asking.”
Yesterday he’d gone to the temple near his apartment building and had found some peace and fellowship there. Then he called Elayne in the hope of talking to Lizzy, and got stonewalled. Lizzy had never been allowed to go over to a friend’s house before the midday meal on the day of rest and meditation. He didn’t think Elayne would change that rule, but if she had, it was only to deny him some time to talk to his little girl. Until that phone call he’d still thought of himself as Elayne’s lover, despite the current estrangement, but she made it clear she was looking for someone whose social standing would erase the “stain” he’d put on all their lives.
And that told him plainly enough that his chances of talking to Lizzy, let alone having her come to visit during her summer vacation, had gone from slim to none.
“A couple of calls about Wolf sightings yesterday,” Burke said. “You can hear them howling for miles, so people are used to that, but having Wolves gather in the Courtyard parking lot during the day is unusual.”
“I’ll check it out,” Monty said.
Burke nodded, then turned the paper he’d been studying so Monty could see it. “Your priority is the Courtyard, but keep your eyes open for this individual while you’re on patrol. Somebody wants this thief caught and the stolen items returned in a hurry, and has the clout to pull strings with the Northeast Region governor. And the governor pulled our mayor’s strings, and you know how it tumbles down from there.”
Monty stared at the Most Wanted poster and felt the blood drain from his head.
May all the gods above and below have mercy on us.
“I’m going to get copies of this made and distributed, and—”
“You can’t.”
Burke folded his hands and gave Monty a smile that was full of friendly menace. “You’re telling your captain what he can or can’t do?”
Monty pointed to the face on the poster, noting the way his hand trembled. He was sure Burke noticed that too. “That’s the new Liaison at the Lakeside Courtyard. I met her the other day.” Being wanted for the theft of something that would have somebody leaning on the governor for its return could explain why Meg Corbyn had been so nervous when he’d met her. She hadn’t been worried about working with the Wolves; she’d been worried about being recognized by him.
“Are you sure, Lieutenant?” Burke asked quietly.
Monty nodded. “The hair looks darker here . . .” A bad dye job would explain the weird orange color. “But that’s her.”
“You’ve met Simon Wolfgard. Do you think he’d hand her over to you?”
Human law didn’t apply in the Courtyards—or anywhere beyond the land the humans had been allowed to lease from the terra indigene in order to have farms and cities—and it never applied to the Others. But Simon Wolfgard ran a business and had no tolerance for thieves. Would that make a difference?
“I can stall putting out copies of this poster,” Burke said, “but I’m sure every police station received it and every other captain is going to be handing out copies to his men. So if I’m going to be the only captain defying a direct order from the mayor to apprehend this woman, you’d better give me a reason I can take to His Honor.”
“I’d like to make a copy of this and take it to Mr. Wolfgard,” Monty said. “I’ll show it to him and let him decide.”
“Just remember, that woman is the only one who knows where the stolen property is hidden. We need a live person, not a DLU. Make sure he understands that.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get your copy made and keep me informed.”
Monty took the poster, made his copy, and returned the original to Burke. When he finished, he found Kowalski leaning a hip against his desk.
“We’re going to the bookstore,” Monty said.
“Going to ask about the Wolf sightings?” Kowalski asked.
Monty carefully folded the Most Wanted poster into quarters and tucked it in the pocket of his sports jacket. “Something like that.”
As they drove to Howling Good Reads, Monty considered various ways to approach Simon Wolfgard with this information. He didn�
�t know if there was a way to get the result the mayor and governor wanted, but he did know one thing: if the Others chose not to cooperate, that Most Wanted poster could be as dangerous to the humans in Lakeside as barrels of poison were to another city a couple generations ago.
* * *
Simon pulled all the slips of paper out of the envelope and arranged them on the counter according to gard. Most were book orders from the terra indigene settlements that were serviced by the Lakeside Courtyard. A few were orders that he’d pass along to other stores in the Market Square.
Like telephones, electronic mail through the computers was a useful way to communicate when information had to travel from one Courtyard to another quickly or when dealing with humans. But terra indigene who didn’t have to deal with the monkeys had only a passing interest in electrical things, so a territory that covered three times the area of the city of Lakeside might have a dozen buildings that had phone lines and the electricity for computers. Except in emergencies, most Others still used paper when sending an order or request to a Courtyard.
A Little Bite always did a brisk business on Moonsday mornings, but HGR was usually quiet until lunchtime, which was why he set aside this time for filling orders. Retrieving a cart from the back room—and taking a moment to make sure Heather was actually working and not curled up somewhere in an effort to hide from him—Simon returned to the front of the store. After a quick scan of titles, he rolled the cart to the new-books display and filled the top shelf with a handful of each book. Then he rolled the cart back to the counter, picked up the first slip of paper, and began filling the order.
“Rubber bands,” he muttered. Rubber bands were small, useful items and were a perk that came with placing an order. Even if only one book was ordered, he sent it out with a rubber band around it.
Before he could vault back over the counter to get the bag of rubber bands, the door opened and Lieutenant Montgomery walked in.
The lieutenant and his men had been very much in sight since that first meeting last Thaisday. Not a dominance challenge or anything foolish like that. More like a quiet version of a Wolf howl—a way to say we are here. Kowalski had come in and bought a couple of the horror books the day after the arguments had closed HGR and A Little Bite.
Simon wasn’t sure Kowalski or his female was interested in those kinds of books or if it had been an excuse to look around. He had a feeling the police officer had been as relieved not to see any fresh bloodstains as the other customers were disappointed by that lack of excitement.
The lieutenant approached the counter. “Mr. Wolfgard.”
“Lieutenant Montgomery.” Simon absorbed the look on the face, the expression in the dark eyes, and the smell of nerves that wasn’t quite fear. “You aren’t here to buy a book.”
“No, sir, I’m not.” Montgomery pulled a piece of paper out of his sports coat pocket, unfolded it, and set it on the counter between them. “I came to show you this.”
His mind took in the words most wanted and grand theft, but what he saw was the picture of Meg.
He didn’t realize he was snarling until Montgomery eased away from him, a hand brushing the overcoat and sports jacket out of the way in order to reach the gun. Knowing what he would do if the hand touched the gun, he stared hard into Montgomery’s eyes. The man instinctively froze, not even daring to breathe.
Satisfied that Montgomery wouldn’t do anything foolish—at least not right now—Simon looked at the poster again.
“It’s not a fuzzy picture,” he said after a moment. “So why is there no name?”
Montgomery shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“I watch your news shows sometimes. When you catch a picture of someone stealing in a store or bank and don’t know them, the picture is fuzzy. When you have a picture like that”—he pointed at the poster—“the police always know the name of their prey.”
He’d known she was running from someone. He’d known Meg Corbyn wasn’t her name. He should have let her freeze in the snow instead of taking her in. But now that she was in, what happened to her was his decision.
“Why is there no name?” Simon asked again.
He watched Montgomery study the poster and smelled the man’s uneasiness.
“Looks like an ID photo, doesn’t it?” Montgomery said softly. “Like a driver’s license photo or . . .” He reached into a pocket, pulled out the leather holder, and flipped it open to show his own ID. Then he put the holder back in his pocket. “If someone could supply that kind of photo, why wouldn’t they be able to supply the name?”
Simon was going to get an answer to that question. He’d decide later if that answer was something he would share with humans.
Taking the poster, he refolded it and slipped it into his trouser pocket. “I’ll talk to the members of our Business Association. If we have any information about this person, we’ll let you know.”
“I must emphasize that we’re looking to apprehend and question this person about the theft.”
Simon smiled, deliberately showing his teeth—especially the canines that he hadn’t been able to get all the way back to human size. “I understand. Thank you for bringing this to our attention, Lieutenant Montgomery. We’ll be in touch.”
Dismay. Worry. But Montgomery had sense enough to walk out of the store without further argument. There was nothing the police could do about whatever happened in the Courtyard.
He waited a few moments, then called Vlad.
“Simon,” Vlad said. “Nyx and I need to talk to you.”
“Later,” Simon replied, trying not to snap. “The Business Association has something to discuss. I need you to call them. I want everyone who’s available in the meeting room in an hour. And call Blair and Jester. I want them there too. And a representative from the Owlgard, Hawkgard, and Crowgard.”
“Anyone else?” Vlad asked quietly.
He knew why Vlad asked the question, just like he knew which group of terra indigene was being left out of this discussion. But they were never interested in such things.
“No, that should be sufficient,” Simon said.
“In an hour, then. But, Simon, we still need to talk. It’s important.”
Simon hung up. Then he shouted for Heather, passing her on his way to the stockroom. “Man the register and work on filling the orders. Call John. Tell him to come in.”
He put on his coat and boots for the walk to the Liaison’s Office. That was acting civilized and controlled. If he didn’t stay in control . . .
She lied to him.
. . . he was going to shift to Wolf, and they would never be able to clean up the blood well enough to hire someone else after he tore her throat out so she couldn’t lie to him anymore.
The office’s back door wasn’t locked, so he slipped inside, removed his boots, and padded across the back room in his socks. He could hear low music even through the closed door that connected to the sorting room. As he entered the room, he saw Meg take a CD out of the player and say, “I don’t like that music.”
“Then why listen to it?” he asked.
She whirled around, wobbling to keep her balance. She put the CD back in its case and made a notation on a notebook sitting next to the player before answering him. “I’m listening to a variety of music to discover what I like.”
Why don’t you know what you like?
“Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Wolfgard? Today’s mailbag hasn’t arrived yet, but there are a few pieces of old mail. I put them in HGR’s spot.” She indicated the cubbyholes in the sorting room’s back wall. “Also, I’m still not clear if the ponies deliver mail to the Market Square businesses or if someone from the businesses is supposed to stop in for that mail.”
Right now he didn’t care about the mail or packages or any other damn monkey thing.
He took the poster out of his pocket, opened it, and set it on the table. “No more lies,” he said, his voice a growl of restrained menace. “What happens next will dep
end on whether you answer two questions honestly.”
She stared at the poster. Her face paled. She swayed, and he told himself to let the bitch fall if she fainted.
“He found me,” she whispered. “I wondered after the other night, but I thought . . . hoped . . .” She swallowed, then looked at him. “What do you want to know?”
The bleakness in her eyes made him just as angry as her lies.
“What was your name, and what did you steal?” Couldn’t have been a small thing. They wouldn’t be hunting for her like this if it was a small thing.
“My name is Meg Corbyn.”
“That’s the name you took when you came here,” he snapped. “What was it before?”
Her expression was an odd blend of anger and pride. It made him wary because it reminded him that she was inexplicably not prey.
“My designation was cs759,” she said.
“That’s not a name!”
“No, it isn’t. But it’s all they gave me. All they gave any of us. A designation. People give names to their pets, but property isn’t deserving of a name. If you give them designations instead of names, then you don’t have to think about what you’re doing to them, don’t have to consider if property has feelings when you . . .”
Her eyes stayed locked on his, despite her sudden effort to breathe.
Simon stayed perfectly still. If he moved, fangs and fury would break loose. What did they do to you, Meg?
“As for what I stole, I took this.” She pulled something out of her pocket and set it on the wanted poster.
He picked it up. Silver. One side was decorated with pretty leaves and flowers. The other side had cs759 engraved into it in plain lettering. He found the spot that accommodated a fingernail and opened the thing to reveal the shining blade of a thin razor.
He had seen one of these twenty years ago. Seeing another one now made him shiver.
“It’s pretty, but it can’t be worth all that much.” His voice sounded rough, uncertain. He felt as if he’d been chasing a rabbit that suddenly turned into a Grizzly. Something wasn’t right about this. So many things weren’t right about this.
