Murder of Crows: A Novel of the Others

by Anne Bishop

  One moment Lorenzo was kneeling on the other side of Meg, staring at an angry human male. The next moment, there was a man with a Wolf’s head holding Meg and snarling at the doctor.

  “Let me help,” Lorenzo said. “That’s why you agreed to let me have some office space in the Courtyard, isn’t it? So I can help?”

  Blair put a hand on Simon’s shoulder. “He’ll let you help.”

  Monty applauded the doctor’s courage. He wasn’t sure he’d have enough nerve to put his hands that close to a Wolf’s teeth.

  “She fainted,” Lorenzo said. “Her body’s way of protecting her from what she was seeing. Which explains some things about the euphoria these girls experience.” He eased back. “Is there someplace nearby where she can rest?”

  “There’s a Wolf bed in the office,” Vlad said. “It’s just across the hall.”

  “She’s coming around, but someone should stay with her,” Lorenzo said.

  “I’ll stay with our Meg,” Winter said.

  Blair squeezed Simon’s shoulder. “Simon.” A warning.

  Wolfgard looked almost human by the time Meg opened her eyes.

  “Your ears are furry,” she said.

  Simon whined.

  “Let’s get her settled,” Lorenzo said, getting to his feet. “Then I have some thoughts I’d like to share with all of you.”

  Simon rose with Meg in his arms. Vlad led the way to the office, followed by Simon, Lorenzo, Winter, and the female vampire.

  Monty sagged in his chair, exhausted by the adrenaline rush of the past few minutes. He didn’t meet their eyes, but he noticed the terra indigene were all trying to regain their balance. Erebus now looked fully human again, as did Henry. The black receded from Tess’s hair, and Blair and Elliot had resumed their place against the wall.

  Do any of them realize that Simon Wolfgard is falling in love with Meg Corbyn? Monty wondered. Does Wolfgard understand his own response to the girl? What about Meg? How does she feel? What would the rest of the Others do if one of their kind did fall in love with a human?

  Another complication, but what Meg described just before she fainted was more disturbing and, most likely, more immediate.

  Simon, Vlad, and Lorenzo returned and took their seats.

  “What happened to Meg?” Tess asked. “She wasn’t dreaming and she didn’t cut. Why did she see a vision? And why didn’t it sound like the visions she’s had before?”

  They all looked at the doctor.

  “I think she moved the wrong way, and a section of yesterday’s cut reopened enough to seep fresh blood,” Lorenzo said. “And that, in turn, opened her to prophecy … or allowed her to recall the details of a dream.”

  “But Vladimir told me our Meg was in season and the blood scent should be politely ignored,” Erebus said, staring at Vlad.

  “She is in season and testy about it,” Simon said.

  Monty looked at all the males in the room and knew that a discussion of the human female’s reproductive cycle wasn’t something he wanted to have with any of them today—or any day. “Does a second source of blood explain the dreamlike vision?”

  “No,” Simon replied. “Meg says sometimes the visions look like a clip from a movie.” He looked at Lorenzo. “If she saw prophecy from a cut and could speak, why wasn’t there any euphoria?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe because it wasn’t a new cut?” Lorenzo took a deep breath before turning to address Erebus Sanguinati. “I’m not expressing an opinion about your taboos, just making an observation about shape-shifters and cassandra sangue blood.” He waited for Erebus’s nod before continuing. “I don’t think the problem was that Mr. Wolfgard consumed Ms. Corbyn’s blood. I think the problem was he suffered an overdose.”

  It was unnerving to watch a room full of predators focus on a man.

  “There is a lack of information about blood prophets, and that doesn’t make sense since these girls require so much medical care,” Lorenzo said. “But that’s a different discussion. The point is, I have no evidence to support what I say. Maybe you have something in your histories that would confirm my guesses.”

  “Guesses about what?” Simon asked.

  “The human body is a chemical stew. The body floods with different chemicals to respond to different situations. Flight or fight response. Fear, anger, aggression.” Lorenzo looked at Simon. “Ms. Corbyn had that gash on her chin when you brought her to the hospital. You were angry and aggressive that night almost beyond reason.”

  Simon nodded. “I licked the blood from the gash, trying to clean the wound.”

  “But yesterday morning, I think she began to speak prophecy shortly after you found her, and as soon as she began speaking, her body flooded with all the chemicals that create the euphoria. When you licked that blood, basically you were consuming a potent tranquilizer.”

  “So Wolves react to Meg’s blood in different ways depending on whether she’s happy or scared?” Henry asked, studying Simon.

  “Not just Wolves,” Lorenzo said. “Whoever is using these girls to create the drugs known as gone over wolf and feel-good have targeted humans as well. I think the prophet’s blood is, in a way, a wonder drug and a curse.”

  “Namid’s creation is wondrous and terrible,” Erebus said.

  “Poison frogs,” Monty said, thinking about a program he’d watched with Lizzy. “Not harmful if left alone, but the poison that exudes through their skin will kill anything that tries to eat them.” After a look around the room, he added hastily, “Not that I think Ms. Corbyn is like a frog.”

  “But she is,” Lorenzo said. “Attack a blood prophet, frighten her or hurt her, and her body becomes a weapon against the attacker. I imagine if any of you consumed the quantity of blood you usually would from a kill, you’d all overdose to the point of turning on each other. The girl dies, but so do the attackers. Good reason to cross cassandra sangue off the list of edibles. On the other hand, you have bodywalkers, which means taking care of injuries. We use opiates to relieve pain in our hospitals. But early in our mutual history, when humans and Others first crossed paths, a girl whose blood could render someone passive to the point where a bone could be set or a wound stitched up would be, I think, a valuable asset. Something you wouldn’t waste. But too much of that blood, like too much of an opiate, could be deadly. Impossible not to overdose if you’re feeding while she was lost in the euphoria.”

  “The prophet who was found in the basement,” Erebus said. “Any Sanguinati would know she is not prey and could not be touched.”

  “We all sensed that Meg is not prey,” Simon said.

  “What does all this mean?” Tess asked. “And what do we do about Meg’s need to cut?”

  Lorenzo sighed. “I don’t know. As I said, there is very little information available about blood prophets. Maybe a girl with less ability could be weaned away from the razor. I’m not sure Ms. Corbyn can stop cutting at this point. If what I saw here is typical, cutting, and the euphoria that comes with it, might be the only safety valve her sanity has. I do feel, if she’s going to stay here with you—”

  “Of course she’s staying with us,” Simon snapped.

  “Then you need to work out a schedule, or come to some agreement with her. She can’t be alone when she cuts. This time the cut was deeper than it should have been, but it still wasn’t a serious wound. If she’s alone and slices through a vein or artery, you might not be able to get help in time to save her.”

  “She spent her life in a cage,” Henry said. “We will not put her back in one. Not even to save her.”

  “But we’ll take what you’ve said under advisement,” Tess added.

  A dismissal. Meeting adjourned.

  Monty let out a sigh of relief when Vladimir and Erebus left the room, along with the Elementals. Lorenzo went across the hall to check on Meg. Blair, Elliot, and Tess left a minute later, leaving Monty with Henry and Simon.

  “Warn your people about the shark,” Simon said, sounding exhausted. �
��I’ll warn Steve Ferryman.”

  “I think Captain Burke would appreciate talking to Officer Czerneda about this new information. Lakeside police can set up roadblocks if necessary.”

  Simon nodded. “The Intuits will know if trouble is coming.”

  Feeling battered, Monty excused himself and went downstairs to wait for Lorenzo. He called Kowalski, who was visiting with Debany and Merri Lee, and arranged to leave in five minutes.

  Lorenzo came downstairs in four, so they walked out together.

  “Quite a meeting,” Monty said.

  “A lot more information than I expected,” Lorenzo replied.

  Hearing a grim undertone, Monty stopped walking toward the patrol car. “After what you saw today, what chance do you think Meg Corbyn has?”

  Lorenzo looked away. Finally he sighed. “With her sensitivity to prophecy, I think Meg Corbyn was doomed after the first cut.”

  CHAPTER 18

  The following morning, Douglas Burke studied the notes Monty had made of the additional information from Meg Corbyn. Then he sat back and sighed. “Meat grinder. Gods above and below. And your impression was Ms. Corbyn was seeing another cassandra sangue being ground up alive?”

  “Yes, sir,” Monty replied. “That was Dr. Lorenzo’s impression as well.”

  “It’s a wonder these girls stay sane as long as they do.”

  Burke’s observation wasn’t unique. Monty had stared at the television last evening, taking in nothing. Seeing Meg in the full throes of a prophecy made him wonder if blood prophets really did need to be in some kind of supervised home. Oh, not as damaging as the place she’d run away from, but surely there had to be places in between a kind of prison and leaving these girls to flounder on their own.

  “Lorenzo is dropping by the Courtyard this morning,” Monty said. “He promised to call with a status report.”

  “You’re not going to stop in?”

  “Until Howling Good Reads and A Little Bite reopen to the public, dropping by is a bit more difficult. I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

  Burke nodded. “What about Kowalski? Or Debany or MacDonald? They have personal reasons to stop by.”

  “Officer Debany called a few minutes ago. The stores have Residents Only signs on the doors, but the Liaison’s Office is opening for business and so is the consulate.”

  “I doubt opening the Liaison’s Office today was Simon Wolfgard’s decision.”

  Monty smiled at the dry observation. “No, I don’t think it was.” The smile faded. “Debany also said Wolfgard and Henry Beargard left yesterday evening, taking one of the Courtyard’s small vans. They returned just before Debany called me.”

  Burke thought about that for a moment. “Well, we’ll either find out where they went and why or we won’t.”

  “No word from Talulah Falls?”

  “No. Between the fog on the river and the barricades and destroyed roads, there’s no way of knowing what’s going on there. But I keep hoping there are human survivors.” Burke pushed away from his desk. “Well. I have a meeting with the chief. Mustn’t keep him waiting.”

  Monty walked out of Burke’s office, then went to his own desk to check for messages.

  “Where to, Lieutenant?” Kowalski asked.

  Where had Simon Wolfgard gone yesterday, and was there any way to find out? “Nowhere yet.”

  Simon parked the BOW in the garage behind the Liaison’s Office, then followed Meg inside.

  “You sure you feel all right to do this today?” He opened her carry bag, took out a couple of containers of food, and put them in the under-the-counter fridge.

  “I’ll be fine,” Meg replied, sounding testy.

  If she would let him sniff her properly, he’d know if she was all right without having to keep asking.

  She turned on the lights and picked up the key to the front door as she went through the sorting room. When she returned, he stood on one side of the sorting table while she stood on the other.

  Simon took the silver folding razor out of his pocket and set it on the table. But he kept his hand over it. “This is yours.” She didn’t insist that he give the razor back before he left with Henry last night. Maybe she’d been as frightened by what had happened yesterday as the rest of them. Maybe that was why he felt he had to return it. “Meg …” What was he supposed to say?

  “Until I was punished, I never understood how much the euphoria shielded blood prophets,” Meg said, touching her left arm at the crosshatch of scars. “Maybe the cutting started as a defense against what we saw—a kind of pressure release—and over generations it became something else, something more.”

  He listened, saying nothing—an attentive silence.

  “I can’t stop cutting, Simon. I’m not sure any of us can.” Meg pointed at herself to indicate she meant the cassandra sangue.

  “I know. But … not all of you die young, Meg. Even if a thousand cuts is really the limit …” Simon shifted his feet and whined softly. “The first time I saw one of your kind, I was fifteen. I could hold the human form well enough to pass for human most of the time, so I was with a group of young terra indigene having an outing in the human world. It was actually a human settlement on the edge of one of ours, so it hardly counted, but it was a first attempt at buying food from an open stall or some small bit of merchandise from a shop.

  “There was this old woman with her arms brown and bare to the sun, the scars showing white. She wore a straw hat and sat at this little table, offering to read her cards and tell our fortunes.

  “There was a group of humans at the settlement about the same age as my group. Don’t know what they were doing there. Maybe a field trip similar to ours. They walked past her table and laughed at her, called her names because of the scars. So did some of the Others as a way of imitating the humans. But when she looked at me, I stopped. She took out a razor, the silver dazzling in the sun, and cut her cheek. And she told me what I could be.”

  Simon blinked. He lifted his hand off the razor and took a step back.

  They said nothing, just stared at each other.

  “Do you know how she managed it?” Meg finally asked. “Do you think anyone would remember her who could tell you how she managed to survive the cutting long enough to grow old?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t even know if there is still a settlement there, but I can try to find out if you want.”

  “Yes. I’d like to know.” Meg pressed her hands on the table. She didn’t reach for the razor. “Buying a cut on my skin was expensive. That’s why I have so few scars compared to the other girls in the compound.”

  “You’re only twenty-four,” he said. “You have plenty of scars for someone your age.” Too many scars. Most of the girls didn’t live to see thirty-five years. “We’ll find an answer. We’ll find a way for you to live long enough to grow old.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. She blinked them away. “Until then, Mr. Wolfgard, I have work to do and so do you.”

  He heard teasing in her voice—and also a reminder of territory. This building was hers.

  “Don’t forget your appointment with Dr. Lorenzo,” he said over his shoulder as he walked toward the back room.

  “I won’t forget.”

  “And don’t forget to eat,” he called as he opened the back door.

  “I won’t! Go to work, Simon!”

  Grinning, he stepped outside. She sounded all right.

  Wishing he could shift to Wolf and run for a few minutes, he settled for a brisk walk around the Market Square. With everything that had been going on lately, he hadn’t paid attention to the stores in the Others’ business district and didn’t know if they’d received deliveries from any merchants. For that matter, he didn’t know if the bookstore had received any shipments in the past few days. He’d have to ask Vlad.

  As he entered the Market Square, he spotted a human who, while familiar, shouldn’t have been there at this time of day.

  “Arrroooo!” The sound didn�
��t have the same quality coming from a human throat, but the female stopped and waited for him.

  Ruthie Stuart. Officer Kowalski’s mate. Usually a sensible female, she should have known the Courtyard was still closed to all humans except employees. Then again, she was part of Meg’s human pack, and she could have been visiting Merri Lee, or even going to fetch something for the other woman.

  But that didn’t explain why she was here at this time of day.

  He slowed down when he saw her face. She looked wounded and angry. In his experience, a wounded, angry female was a dangerous female.

  “Why are you here?” he asked, watching for a sign she might attack him.

  “I needed a couple of things from the grocery store. I know the Courtyard is closed, but since I have a pass, I didn’t think anyone would mind.”

  Not a lie, but not the whole truth. “This is morning. You work in the mornings. Why are you here now?”

  The answer was the cause of both wound and anger.

  “I’ve been given an unpaid leave of absence,” Ruthie said.

  Simon cocked his head. “Why?” Then he considered the trouble in Talulah Falls, the trouble at Lakeside University, and the men beating up Merri Lee. And he knew. “They don’t want you because you come to the Courtyard?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why do you come?”

  “Because I think those people are shortsighted,” she replied with some bite. “Being human doesn’t entitle us to grab what doesn’t belong to us. And I’ve read some of your histories and compared them with ours.”

  Really? Maybe he should have paid more attention to what Ruthie was special ordering from HGR. Or taking out on loan from the Market Square Library? She could have done that too.

  “From what I can see, if a human shows you a product or some invention that benefits the terra indigene as much as it does humans, you’ll agree among yourselves to release the resources needed to make the product or build the invention. Since you value the world more than you value products or profit, you’re never going to release as much raw materials as humans want, and they’re always going to resent you for it. But I don’t have to blame you for human shortcomings.”