Written In Red: A Novel of the Others

by Anne Bishop

  And there were the other images, the ones that swam under the surface of memory and rose without warning or context. The ones that came from prophecies. They looked different, felt different. Sometimes felt too alive, were experienced too much. But they were veiled by the euphoria, and the Walking Names didn’t know the girls never forgot anything that was seen or heard during the visions. No, nothing was really forgotten, but those rememories, as Jean called them, couldn’t be deliberately recalled like the training images.

  Meg shook her head, pushed those thoughts away, and went back to sorting mail. Thinking about the compound wouldn’t do anything but give her bad dreams tonight. She needed to remember something that would help her deal with Sam. Had she seen anything in all those binders filled with images that would be helpful now?

  “Meg?”

  She heard the voice a moment before Merri Lee poked her head in from the back room.

  “Would you like to split a pizza with Heather and me?” Merri Lee asked. “Hot Crust is in the plaza a few blocks from here, and today is one of the days a Courtyard bus takes terra indigene for a shopping trip. Henry said he would pick up the pizza for us as long as I ordered a couple of party-size pizzas for the Green Complex.”

  Meg frowned. “Doesn’t Hot Crust make deliveries?”

  “They used to, but there was an . . . incident . . . and they won’t come to the Courtyard anymore.” Merri Lee brightened. “But maybe they’ll start delivering again now that you’re the Liaison.”

  Meg searched her memory for images of different kinds of pizza. Images of people eating pizza. She had been given a piece once in order to know taste, texture, and smell.

  “I don’t like the little salty fish,” she said. She wasn’t sure that was true, but she hadn’t liked the look of them.

  “Neither do we,” Merri Lee said. “We usually get half with pepperoni and mushrooms and half with sweet peppers. Is that good for you?”

  “That’s fine. But I don’t have any money.”

  “This one is on us—a welcome to the Courtyard. The last Liaison made Heather and me uneasy, so we are really glad you’re here. And speaking of money.” Merri Lee handed an envelope to Meg. “Your first pay envelope. It covers the three days you worked last week.”

  Meg opened the envelope and stared at the bills in various denominations.

  “I know,” Merri Lee said. “Most companies write paychecks. In the Courtyard, you get cash, and it’s up to you to set enough aside to pay your income taxes, because they don’t bother with anything like that either. You can open an account at the Market Square bank so you could write checks for expenses outside the Courtyard. Or there’s a bank in the plaza that the Business Association uses when they write checks for outside vendors.”

  “I don’t think this is the right amount,” Meg said, riffling through the bills. “It’s too much for the hours I worked last week.”

  “That’s the other thing about working for the Others. You will never get less than what they agreed to pay you, but sometimes they give you more without explanation. We figure it’s their way of saying ‘Good job—don’t quit’ without actually having to say it. They don’t do it every week, but Lorne says if you don’t get a bumped-up pay at least once in a month, you should take it as a warning that you’re doing something the Business Association doesn’t like.” Merri Lee headed for the back door, saying over her shoulder, “They’re predicting more snow tonight. I hope it misses the city. If it piles up any more, we’ll have to climb snowbanks and go into our houses through second-story windows.”

  Training image. Snow and barren, vertical rock. Men clinging to the rock, tied together with ropes.

  Ropes. Safety lines. Buddies.

  Meg hurried to the back room, catching Merri Lee on the doorstep. “When does the bus leave for the plaza?” she asked, feeling her skin almost buzz in response to her excitement.

  “Eleven thirty. It returns from the plaza at one thirty.”

  “Thanks.”

  As soon as Merri Lee left, Meg went back to the sorting room and pulled out the Lakeside phone book. Ropes wouldn’t work, but . . . Yes! The plaza had a pet store. She should be able to find something there that would be comfortable for Sam and keep them together.

  Her hand hovered over the telephone while she went through the list of Others she knew. Vlad and Tess would be working in their own stores. So would Jenni. And Henry would be on the bus. Julia or Allison? Maybe. Blair? Remembering what he said about deliverymen and Wolves, definitely not. Which left . . .

  The phone was answered on the second ring. “Pony Barn. Jester speaking.”

  “This is Meg.”

  A pause. “Is there a problem, Meg?”

  Did her name automatically mean trouble? “No, but I wanted to ask you for a favor.”

  “Ask.”

  “There’s something I want to get at the plaza, and the bus leaves at eleven thirty. I need someone to watch the office in case a delivery comes in before we close for the afternoon break.”

  “I’ll come up with the ponies and stay until you get back.”

  “Thanks, Jester.”

  After hanging up, she stared at the phone and thought about what she was about to do. It was safe in the Courtyard. No one could touch her in the Courtyard. But in a human plaza where human law did apply?

  Risky.

  She turned her right hand palm up and studied the scars on the back of each finger. Didn’t usually get much from a finger cut. A few disjointed images at the most.

  Get on a bus full of terra indigene with a fresh cut on her hand? Did she really want to take the chance of setting off an attack? Besides, she was pretty sure Henry knew she was a cassandra sangue, so how would she explain the cut if he noticed it?

  “You don’t need to cut to go to the store,” she told herself. “Jester is the only one who knows for sure that you’re leaving the Courtyard. You’ll be fine. Just buy the things for Sam, then go back to the bus and wait for the rest of them.”

  She briskly rubbed both arms and tried to ignore the pins and needles under her skin by focusing on the mail she had to get ready for the ponies.

  * * *

  It’s a good thing Captain Burke expects each of his lieutenants to report at least once per shift, Monty thought as he stepped into Burke’s office. Otherwise, the other men would start wondering if he was screwing up big-time.

  “Something to report, Lieutenant?” Burke asked.

  “Someone named Jester called to tell me Meg Corbyn was on the Courtyard’s shopping bus, along with about fifteen Others, including Henry Beargard and Vladimir Sanguinati.”

  Burke stared at him, and Monty couldn’t read anything in those blue eyes that gave him a clue as to what the man was thinking.

  “Give me a minute, and then I’ll buy you lunch,” Burke finally said. “We’ll take my car, so tell Officer Kowalski to meet you at the plaza. Maybe he’d like to pick up some lunch or stretch his legs.”

  Leaving Burke, Monty waited at his own desk for Kowalski. No messages. No reports. And thank the gods, no DLUs to fill out. He hoped that would still be true after the terra indigenes’ shopping trip.

  When Kowalski joined him, he told Karl about the call and that he and Captain Burke would be at the plaza.

  “But he wants a patrol car parked nearby,” Kowalski said, nodding. “I probably won’t be the only one. The Courtyard bus brings Others to that plaza every Sunsday and Firesday at the same time. Patrol cars tend to drive through the parking lot or park for a while to pick up lunch. Helps to keep everyone honest.”

  “I’ll see you there,” Monty said as Burke walked out of his office, adjusting the collar of his winter coat.

  He wasn’t sure if Burke expected small talk from his officers or wanted silence in order to concentrate on driving. A thin layer of snow covered the streets, and after seeing a couple of cars fishtail while trying to stop at a light, he decided not to pull Burke’s attention from the road.

&
nbsp; * * *

  Asia followed the Courtyard bus to the plaza, parking where she could see the dark green vehicle but wouldn’t be noticed by the Others. Scanning the lot, she noticed a white van pull in from the other direction.

  Not a good place for a snatch unless Meg walked so close to the van that the driver could grab her and be gone before the terra indigene realized there was trouble.

  Then a patrol car pulled into the lot and parked a few spaces down from the bus, and another one pulled in from the opposite direction and also parked a few spaces away.

  “Damn,” Asia whispered. Wasn’t unusual to see cop cars in the plaza on the Others’ shopping days, but they weren’t even trying to be subtle this time. Which meant they were more worried than usual and were going to shut down trouble before it started.

  Were they antsy because of what happened in Jerzy, or was there a more immediate concern?

  Asia figured she had an answer of sorts when Meg Corbyn stepped off the bus.

  * * *

  Burke parked a couple of spots from the small, dark green bus with LAKESIDE COURTYARD painted on the side.

  “I wouldn’t think they would want to advertise which vehicle was theirs,” Monty said. He looked around at the rapidly filling parking lot. “Especially since they’ve parked the bus to take up four spaces.”

  “It’s advertised so that the relatives of anyone who starts trouble can’t claim the meat didn’t know they were messing with the Courtyard’s vehicle. Besides, the plaza blocks off those four spaces to give the terra indigene plenty of room. Safer for everyone that way.”

  Absorbing the significance of the word meat, Monty felt his stomach twitch and suddenly wasn’t sure he wanted lunch.

  Burke got out of the car and moved toward the bus. Hurrying after him, Monty saw the reason. Meg looked at both of them as she stepped off the bus, her face turning pale. Moving to one side to let the rest of the terra indigene exit, she stayed close to the bus. A big man whom Monty recognized as the sculptor and assumed was Henry Beargard stepped down, looked at them, and growled—and the rest of the Others, who had been heading toward the stores, all turned back to stare at him and Burke.

  Beargard took a step to the right. Vladimir Sanguinati stepped down and, somehow, slid between Meg and the bus to stand on her left.

  Feeling the tension, Monty wasn’t sure what to do. They had called him, so why this hostility?

  Because she’s afraid, he realized as he looked at Meg. She’s afraid, and the Others are waiting to see what we do where human law could apply.

  “Ms. Corbyn,” Monty said, forcing his lips into a smile. “May I introduce my captain, Douglas Burke?”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Corbyn,” Burke said, extending his hand.

  She hesitated, and Monty didn’t dare breathe until she shook Burke’s hand.

  “Thank you, Captain Burke,” she said. “If you’ll excuse me?” The rest of the terra indigene except Vlad and Henry scattered to take care of their own concerns while Meg hurried to the stores on the other side of the parking lot.

  “When we called Lieutenant Montgomery, we weren’t expecting to see an officer of such high rank,” Vlad said, looking at Burke.

  Burke’s smile might have passed for genial if you didn’t know the man. “I’m taking the lieutenant to the Saucy Plate for lunch to introduce him to some of the best red sauce in the city.”

  “An excellent choice for dining. I, too, enjoy a good red sauce,” Vlad said.

  Burke’s smile froze.

  “Captain?” Monty said. “We should get a seat before the lunch crowd arrives.”

  With a nod at Vlad and Henry, Burke turned and led the way to the Saucy Plate. Monty said nothing until they were seated and the waitress handed out menus and took their orders for coffee.

  “Captain, I don’t think he meant it to sound . . .” Monty trailed off, unwilling to lie to the man.

  “To sound threatening?” Burke asked. “Oh, I’m sure he did. They floated that phone call to see what we would do, but they don’t trust us—not in general and, specifically, not where Meg Corbyn is concerned.” He smiled at the waitress when she brought the coffee and took their orders. “You’ve met Vladimir Sanguinati before. Any reason why you didn’t introduce me?”

  Monty shivered and rubbed the palm of his right hand. “I didn’t want to put you in the position of having to shake his hand.”

  Burke gave Monty’s hand a long look, then turned the conversation to small talk and stories about Lakeside.

  * * *

  When Meg reached the Pet Palace on the other side of the plaza, she glanced around. The Others who had been on the bus with her weren’t in sight, but there were birds on most of the parking-lot lights. She couldn’t tell if they were crows or Crows. Not that it mattered. If this worked, everyone in the Green Complex would know about her purchases.

  Hopefully the Others would realize she was just trying to help Sam and not eat her for doing it.

  “Can I help you?” the clerk asked as soon as she walked in the door.

  Meg gave the man a bright smile. “I’m looking for a dog harness and a long leash.”

  He led her to an aisle that had a bewildering assortment of leashes, harnesses, and collars.

  “What size dog?” he asked.

  She chewed on her lower lip. “Well, he’s still a puppy, but he’s a big puppy. At least, I think he would be considered a big puppy.”

  “Your first dog?” The clerk sounded delighted. “What breed is it?”

  “He’s a Wolf.”

  She thought the movie clips of someone’s skin turning a sickly green had been make-believe. Apparently not.

  “You want to put a harness on a Wolf?”

  There was something in the clerk’s voice—shock? fear?—that made her wonder how much trouble she was going to be in until she could think of some other way of getting Sam safely outside. “He’s young, and I don’t want him to get hurt if I take him for a walk.”

  She didn’t see anyone else in the store, but he leaned closer. “How did you get your hands on a Wolf pup?”

  “I’m the Courtyard Liaison. He lives in the apartment next to mine. Are you going to help me or not?”

  She wasn’t sure he would, but he finally reached for a harness. His hands shook and his voice cracked, but based on what information she could give him, he found a red harness that he thought would fit and a long red leash that would give Sam room to roam.

  “Will there be anything else?” the clerk asked.

  Meg thought about it. “What kind of toys would a puppy like?”

  She ended up with a ball and a length of knotted rope. Then she spotted dog cookies and picked up boxes of beef flavor and chicken flavor.

  The clerk looked so relieved when she handed over her big zippered shopping bag, she wondered if the store would be closed from now on when the Others usually came to the plaza.

  “Do you have a catalog?” she asked.

  He slipped two into the bag. “Orders are usually next-day delivery.”

  She paid for her purchases and sighed with relief when she was on the sidewalk. She hadn’t done anything wrong, but she wasn’t sure how the Others felt about pet stores. She started to walk between two parked cars, then stopped, unable to take another step.

  Rememory. A car door suddenly opening as a young woman walked past. Strong hands reaching, grabbing. Dark hood. Hard to breathe. Impossible to see. And those hands touching and . . .

  “Are you all right?”

  Meg jerked back and almost slipped, then almost slipped again trying to avoid the hand reaching for her.

  Crows cawed, sounding a warning.

  She focused on the man, who now stood very still. Police officer. Not one of the two who had introduced themselves, but not unfamiliar.

  “Officer Kowalski, ma’am. I work with Lieutenant Montgomery.”

  She let her breath out slowly. She’d seen him in the car the day the lieutenant sto
pped in.

  “My thoughts wandered,” she said. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.” That wouldn’t explain whatever he’d seen in her face when he reached for her, but the way he looked at her told her plainly enough her explanation, while true in its way, wasn’t quite good enough to be believed.

  “Let me give you a hand back to the bus. The parking lot is a little slick today.”

  Feeling unsteady and understanding that making an excuse to refuse his help would cause trouble, she accepted his arm—and noticed, even across the parking lot, the way Vlad stiffened as he watched them. She also noticed the way two more police officers got out of a patrol car and began looking around.

  “Was anyone abducted from this plaza recently?” Meg asked, only noticing the prickling in her legs when the sensation began to fade.

  “Ma’am?” Kowalski gave her a sharp look.

  Rememories and images didn’t use to flood her mind like this when she wasn’t focused on a particular question, wasn’t strapped in for a cutting and prophecy. When other people talked about recalling memories and information, was this what they experienced—this immediate association of one thing to another?

  Did that mean she was starting to process the information around her like other people did, or was this the first stage of madness in a cassandra sangue? The Walking Names told the girls they would go mad if they tried to live outside the compound. Only Jean insisted that they wouldn’t, but she really was half mad.

  “It’s nothing,” Meg lied. “Overactive imagination. I have to stop reading scary stories before bedtime.”

  He nodded. “My fiancée says the same thing. Doesn’t stop her from reading them.”