Murder of Crows: A Novel of the Others

by Anne Bishop

  “So Ming wants a bond with the Lakeside Courtyard too?”

  Steve nodded. “We used to sell some of our specialty items at shops in Talulah Falls—things the tourists visiting the Falls love taking home with them. When our team of sales representatives drove up to the Falls to talk with the shops and write up orders for the summer tourist season, none of those businesses would place an order with us, and a few of them muttered that they wouldn’t buy anything from anyone who put humans last. Our team felt a hostility whenever a terra indigene and a human came within sight of each other.” He paused, as if considering his words carefully. “When things go wrong in Talulah Falls—and I think it’s a matter of when and not if—the terra indigene who rule the Courtyard there aren’t going to talk to the police or give the government a chance to fix things. So, if possible, I would rather do business with you.”

  Simon wasn’t sure he would be any more merciful if too much trouble stirred up the terra indigene in Lakeside, but at least, for now, he could take advantage of a business deal that would benefit both sides.

  By the time Ferryman drove off, Meg had closed the Liaison’s Office for her midday break and gone out to lunch with Heather and Merri Lee. He would have growled about Meg leaving the Courtyard with two females who didn’t have a fang between them, but when he walked into Howling Good Reads, John informed him that the girls had gone to the Saucy Plate for lunch, and Henry and Vlad had gone to Hot Crust to pick up pizzas. Since the two places were in the same plaza, the girls would be guarded. And even if the humans at Hot Crust gave Meg a hard time about delivering to the Courtyard, no one but a fool denied food to a Grizzly.

  Plenty to think about. Too much to think about and not a lot he could do about any of it right now.

  But there was one thing he could do. Picking up the phone, Simon called Dr. Lorenzo to tell him about Officer MacDonald’s cousin.

  CHAPTER 16

  Toward the end of Viridus, the Crows from the Talulah Falls Courtyard flew to the part of town where most of the tourists walked and ate and bought souvenirs at the kiosks. For three days, they watched humans toss sparkly toys into the trash cans—toys that were only a little broken in ways that, for Crows, did not diminish their appeal. They watched humans throw away half a hamburger still in the thin paper wrapping so it wasn’t soiled by other debris. They watched little treasures being dropped into the cans—and they watched while city workers emptied the cans and took away that food and those treasures.

  And there were bits of shiny nearby, coins that had fallen from pockets and caught the sun, a glittering lure.

  For three days, the Crows resisted doing more than keeping watch. But on the fourth day, a few of the adolescent Crows dared to come down from the trees to grab a shiny or snatch a morsel of food or fly off with one of the sparkly toys.

  And nothing happened. The humans, who were entranced by the water thundering into the river below, barely noticed them. So on the fifth day, more of the Crows flew down from the trees to snatch a morsel of food or make off with a shiny coin or a little treasure. On the sixth day, even more Crows gathered around the cans, enjoying the hunt for discarded items that sparkled.

  On the seventh day, the trash cans that had the choicest morsels of food and the best little treasures exploded, killing Crows and tourists alike.

  That night, one of the Sanguinati who had been hunting for the humans responsible for murdering the Crows didn’t return to the Talulah Falls Courtyard.

  And early the following morning, in Lakeside, Meg Corbyn woke up screaming.

  “Meg!” Standing in their common back hallway, Simon pounded on Meg’s kitchen door, then paused to pull on the jeans he’d grabbed when he heard her scream. “Meg!” He snarled at the door when it didn’t open, when he didn’t hear anything.

  Jamming his hand in the jeans’ pocket, he pulled out the keys to Meg’s apartment and turned the lock—and still couldn’t get in.

  Why did she have to use that slide lock as well as the regular lock? It wasn’t like anyone used the kitchen door for visiting. Except him. And Sam when the pup was with him. The common outside door was locked, and he checked it every night before turning in, so she didn’t have to worry about an intruder coming in through the back way. He knew she didn’t have company, since she’d quietly told him she wanted to sleep alone tonight.

  “And that’s the last time I listen to you about who sleeps where,” he grumbled as he pounded on the door again. “Damn it, Meg. What are you doing that you don’t want me to know about?”

  The answer to that had him scratching at the door before he remembered he was in human form.

  “Meg!”

  Fur suddenly covered Simon’s shoulders and chest as he threw his weight against the door, breaking the wood and the slide lock. He rushed toward Meg’s bedroom, but the fresh scent of blood pulled him toward the bathroom. He shoved at the door and Meg cried out, so he squeezed through the narrow opening to avoid ramming her legs again.

  She was on the floor, bleeding. The cut ran all the way across her torso just under her breasts. Too long a cut. Too deep a cut. Too much blood.

  “Meg.” Barely enough room to straddle her legs when he dropped to his knees to reach her.

  “Simon,” she gasped. “You have to listen.”

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  His friend was bleeding. It didn’t matter that she was human. His friend Meg was bleeding too much.

  He lowered his head, then paused.

  It would make him so angry. Like the last time when she fell in the creek and cut her chin and he had to get her to the human bodywalker.

  I don’t care. She’s one of us now. Clean the wound. Get rid of the blood scent and hide the fact that she’s vulnerable.

  He quickly licked the blood flowing from the cut. Licked and licked to keep it from dripping on the towel Meg had put on the floor to soak it up.

  “Simon,” Meg moaned. “Simon. I see … It’s too much. I have to speak. You have to listen.”

  For a moment he’d been very angry, and now he wasn’t. He heard Meg’s voice and something changed and he wasn’t angry at all.

  Lick, lick.

  She always tasted good. But this was wonderful.

  Lick, lick.

  He liked the sound of her voice. Even when she was yelling at him. Which she wasn’t doing now. She was …

  The scent of arousal, as alluring as the scent of blood.

  He sat back on his heels to bring his face closer to this new, delightful scent. His human body responded with pleasure, responded with a willingness that was hard to ignore.

  “Simon.”

  Something not pleasing in her voice now. Something … that should bother him.

  “You have to remember,” she pleaded.

  Remember? Yes. Lick, lick. The wonderful taste of Meg. But no biting. No tearing the flesh because … Why? It would feel so good to taste flesh. So very good. But not Meg’s flesh. He wouldn’t hurt Meg. Would never hurt Meg.

  Something he was supposed to remember. Something about Meg talking when there was a cut and blood.

  “Have to write it down,” he mumbled.

  “Yes,” she said. “Hurry.”

  He tried to get up, tried to leave the bathroom and fetch paper and pencil to write down … words! Write down words. She smelled so good. Tasted even better. Even her hair, still all weird shades of orange and red, didn’t stink anymore from whatever she had done to it.

  Words. Important to write down Meg’s words.

  Using the sink for support, Simon struggled to his feet. Maybe his feet. Couldn’t feel his feet. Did he still have feet?

  “Write,” he growled. He should be angry. Why wasn’t he angry? Wasn’t sick, but wasn’t well either.

  Fear surged through him, clearing his head for a moment.

  A basket on the counter full of little brushes and pots of color. Female toys. He grabbed a pencil and wrote the words that poured out of her now.

  Someth
ing wrong with him. Something very wrong. But he wrote the words until her voice stopped. Then he dropped the pencil and slid to the floor.

  “Meg?” He licked at the blood still flowing from her wound and whined. “Meg?”

  Her eyes were glazed. When she tried to raise her hand and touch him, she couldn’t do it.

  “Your ears are furry,” she said.

  They needed help. He … needed … help.

 

 

 

  Meg bleeding. Had to do something about Meg bleeding. Im … por … tant.

  Simon stretched out on top of Meg, his face pressed into her sweet belly, where he could breathe in all those delicious scents.

  Familiar scents and sounds, but nothing that said Meg to him.

  Meg smelled good. Tasted even better.

  “I think he’s finally coming around.” That voice belonged to Blair, the Courtyard’s primary enforcer.

  Why did hearing Blair’s voice make him feel afraid?

  “Simon?” That was Vlad, sounding angry. Why angry? Did Vlad also lick …?

  “Meg!” Simon tried to move, to sit up, but his body seemed tangled and nothing worked quite right.

  Until Vlad grabbed his arms and hauled him up enough so that all he could see was the fury in the Sanguinati’s dark eyes.

  “What. Did. You. Do?” Vlad snarled.

  Do? He … remembered.

  “Meg was bleeding,” Simon said. His voice didn’t sound right. His jaw didn’t move the right way for human speech. What …?

  Tess stepped into view next to Vlad. The hair that framed her face was black, black, black, but the rest was the red of anger. And all of it coiled and moved in a way that was mesmerizing—and terrifying.

  “We know about Meg,” she said. “We’re asking about you.”

  To avoid her eyes and Vlad’s, he looked at his surroundings. The living room in his apartment. How did he get there? Then he looked at his naked body—and the jolt of what he saw cleared the rest of the fuzziness from his mind.

  One leg was human, the other was a Wolf’s hind leg starting from midthigh all the way down to the foot. As he processed the scents in the room and realized how many Others were looking at him, his tail curled protectively over his human genitalia. Fur on most of his torso. Hands that weren’t quite hands. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what his head and face looked like.

  Between was a form that wasn’t Wolf and wasn’t human. Many of the terra indigene who lived in the wild country could take the rough shape of a human but could never pass for human, could never achieve a form that wasn’t somewhat between. The Wolfman in horror stories. The Others who lived in a Courtyard made an effort not to take a between form around humans, but they all shifted pieces when they needed some aspect of their other form. Like ears that could hear better. Or claws and fangs. There was a symmetry to that kind of shifting, even when it was more instinct than deliberate choice. But this? This was a body out of control.

  He looked up at Blair, who watched him with sympathy laced with anger.

  Then Henry stepped up beside Blair. There wasn’t any sympathy in the Grizzly’s eyes, but there was plenty of anger.

  Surrounded by Sanguinati, Wolf, Grizzly, and Tess.

  Have to choose a form. He wanted to shift to full Wolf and curl up somewhere until he had time to think it through, sort it out. But he was the Courtyard’s leader, and the leader couldn’t hide.

  It took effort to shift all the way to human, and that surprised him. It felt like he’d tumbled into something sticky, something that slowed his reflexes and hampered his ability to shift.

  So hard not to show fear. Impossible not to feel fear.

  He must have shifted sufficiently to human because Vlad released him and Tess tossed a blanket in his lap.

  “Where is Meg?” Simon asked. He needed water. He wanted food. More than either of those things, he wanted answers.

  “Meg is staying at my place,” Henry said. “She’s been there since this morning. Nathan, Jester, and Jake are with her now, watching movies.”

  “This morning?” He couldn’t see the windows—too many bodies in his way—but the light wasn’t much different from when he’d broken Meg’s kitchen door.

  “Sun’s down,” Henry said. “I found you and Meg in her bathroom this morning. Do you remember that?”

  “Don’t remember you coming in, but I asked you …” Simon struggled to remember. “Meg, bleeding. Long cut. Too deep. Too much blood. Words. Had to write the words.”

  “When Henry found you, he called Blair and me,” Vlad said. “We hauled you out of the bathroom so Henry could deal with Meg.” He bent over so his eyes were on a level with Simon’s. “You were awake. For hours you were awake, but you didn’t care. About anything. We could have cut off your hands and feet, and you wouldn’t have done a thing to stop us. Couldn’t have done a thing to stop us. We could have carved you into pieces or cut you until you bled out, and you would have done nothing but watch us. The drug that laced the food the humans had used as bait for the Crows got into the Courtyard, got into you. We need to know how that happened.”

  He kept his eyes on Vlad’s. “It’s not Meg’s fault. I thought it would make me angry, like the last time. I thought it would make me stronger so I could help her.”

  Vlad studied him. “What isn’t Meg’s fault?”

  “The Sanguinati don’t drink the sweet blood of the cassandra sangue. Not because of the prophecies that swim in their blood. Erebus was wrong about that. It’s because the blood prophets are Namid’s creation, both wondrous and terrible.”

  Vlad straightened up and took a step back. “What are you talking about?”

  “The drug. It’s the blood of the cassandra sangue.”

  “Which drug?” Henry asked. “There are two of them affecting terra indigene and humans.”

  Simon swallowed. He really wanted some water. “Both of them.”

  Turning into the Bird Park Plaza’s lot, Captain Burke glanced at Monty. “You hear anything more from Dr. Lorenzo about Meg Corbyn’s condition?”

  “No, sir. Nothing since this morning.” Monty had already reported his conversation with Dominic Lorenzo. Meg Corbyn had an atypical cut—too long and too deep—but there was no indication it wasn’t self-inflicted. After closing up the wound, Lorenzo’s recommendation had been rest and plenty of iron-rich foods to help replenish the blood that Meg had lost. “He’s planning to look in on Ms. Corbyn tomorrow morning after his shift at the hospital.”

  Burke made a sound between a grunt and a growl as he pulled into a parking space. “Then let’s take care of this problem.”

  Monty got out of the black sedan, relieved that the drive to the plaza from the Chestnut Street station was a short one. Burke was a big man, and being stuck with him in a small space when his blue eyes were lit with controlled fury wasn’t pleasant.

  Of course, there was good reason for Burke’s fury. As information trickled in from Talulah Falls, the Lakeside government and police force began to realize they were looking at a situation that could sweep away more than one human town if everyone wasn’t very, very careful.

  The town of Talulah Falls was the powder keg. It was no longer a question of if the humans would lose another piece of Thaisia; it was a question of how much they were going to lose.

  The residents and tourists trapped in the Falls could be just the beginning of what was lost.

  And that was the reason Captain Douglas Burke and Lieutenant Crispin James Montgomery were standing in the plaza’s parking lot at sundown, waiting as patrol car after patrol car found a parking spot and the officers got out to meet them.

  Burke must have summoned every officer under his command, Monty thought. Then he spotted Louis Gresh and wondered if the commander of the bomb squad had been summoned or if Gresh understood something about Burke’s meeting with the station’s chief that afternoon and decided to bring his sq
uad to this gathering.

  “Gentlemen …” Burke began when the men gathered around him.

  Just then Michael Debany’s mobile phone rang.

  “Beg your pardon, Captain,” Debany said. Instead of turning off the phone, he moved away and spoke to someone for a couple of minutes. When he returned to his original spot next to his partner, Lawrence MacDonald, he was sheet white.

  “Debany?” Monty asked.

  “That was Ms. Lee, who works at A Little Bite.”

  Monty nodded. He didn’t need that clarification, but some of the other men might. “And?”

  “She’s been attacked. University students. She made it back to her apartment, but she doesn’t feel safe there.”

  “You know where she lives?” Burke asked. When Debany said he did, Burke pointed at MacDonald. “Go with him. Pick her up. Get her to the emergency room. Use Lakeside Hospital, where Dr. Lorenzo works, unless the situation is too critical for that much delay. Go.”

  Debany and MacDonald ran for their vehicle.

  “The rest of you.” Burke looked even fiercer than he had a moment ago. He swept a hand to indicate the whole plaza. “I want the owner or manager of every one of these stores brought to Hot Crust in five minutes. Anyone gives you any lip, arrest him and take him down to the station.”

  Monty blinked. “On what charge, sir?”

  “On the charge of being a pain in my ass,” Burke growled. “And right now, that is good enough for an overnight stay in our facility.”

  Gods above and below, Monty thought. He means that.

  No one questioned the order. The men simply headed for the stores.

  “Mind if I tag along?” Gresh asked, approaching Monty and Burke.

  “No, I don’t mind,” Burke replied. “Give me a minute.” He pulled out his mobile phone and took a few steps away from them.