Written in Red

by Anne Bishop

  “Is there something else I could do to be helpful?”

  “What do you want to do?”

  Good question. One that deserved some thought.

  “Your suggestion about reading is a good one. I’ll start with that.” She could study anything she wanted, could read about a subject from beginning to end if she wanted. She could learn how to do things instead of having a head full of disconnected images.

  “Good,” Jester said. “Fine. I’ll talk to the ponies. From now on, they’ll be happy with whatever treats you give them.”

  Then he was gone, slipping out the door so fast she almost wondered if he’d been there at all.

  Meg shook her head. She wasn’t sure humans could—or should—understand how the Others thought. But Jester’s suggestion was a good one, so during her lunch break she would pick up a book to study and a book to read for fun, and ponder what else she could do to earn her keep.

  Then it occurred to her that if the Others had no suggestions about what she should do with her time, she could adjust her job to include whatever she wanted. Hadn’t she already done that by making deliveries?

  Putting a music disc into the player, Meg filled the room with a lively tune and went back to sorting.

  * * *

  Hearing the crunch of tires behind him, Simon shifted over to the side of the road. But the shiny black sedan slowed to keep pace with him, and the rear window rolled down.

  “Want a ride home?” Elliot asked.

  Simon shook his head. “Need to walk.”

  “Stop the car,” Elliot said to his driver.

  Simon waited for Elliot to exchange the expensive leather shoes for practical boots and get out of the car. The sedan drove off, leaving the two Wolves walking toward the Green Complex.

  “What’s wrong?” Elliot asked. “Has your Liaison caused another problem? Isn’t one a day sufficient?”

  “Could have been worse,” Simon replied, a low growl under the words. “At least it was Thunder expressing an opinion. And if he hadn’t been showing off or trying to scare her or whatever it was he was trying to do, his stamping a hoof wouldn’t have done that.”

  “And if it had been Twister or Earthshaker expressing an opinion around so many buildings?”

  “It wasn’t.” If it had been, he would have had an unpleasant conversation with the girl at the lake, since the ponies were the Elementals’ steeds. Instead he’d had a baffling talk with Jester. The Coyote was delighted that Meg was able to pull Elliot’s tail with so little effort, but Jester was also wary of their weird-haired Liaison. She didn’t behave like other humans, so none of the Others were quite sure how to deal with her—which made her the most interesting and frustrating thing to cross their paths in quite some time.

  “There’s trouble in the western Courtyards,” Simon said. As they walked, he told Elliot about the phone calls, the attacks, and the deaths. “Select Courtyard leaders might be meeting in the Midwest Region to discuss this new threat.”

  Elliot frowned. “This . . . disease. It’s contagious?”

  Simon shook his head. “It’s not a disease. It wears off like a drug in a few hours. There are two pieces of foulness trickling into small human settlements, and our bodywalkers can’t find the source of either of them.”

  “You’re going to represent the Northeast Region?”

  “If the meeting is called, I’ll be the one to go for the Courtyards in this part of Thaisia.”

  A brief, uncomfortable silence. Then Elliot said, “What about Sam? I’ll take care of him. You know that. But I will not have him in a cage.”

  “The cage is for his protection.” An old argument. In his terror and grief after seeing his mother killed, Sam had gone on a binge of self-destructive behavior no amount of pack discipline could stop. After the second time the pup had come too close to killing himself, Simon had gotten the cage, intending to get rid of it as soon as the pup settled down. But by the time he could trust Sam to be alone, the pup had decided the cage was the only safe place, and getting him to come out for even a few minutes at a time had become a daily battle.

  As much as Elliot loved Sam and still mourned the loss of Daphne, it was a battle the older Wolf refused to endure. And the sight of Sam in a cage upset everyone in the Wolfgard complex, especially the other pups.

  “Henry will look after him. Or Vlad.”

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “A few days. Maybe a week.” He didn’t want to consider what could happen in a week—or who might not be in the Courtyard when he returned. “Try to get along with Meg, all right? She’s the first Liaison we’ve had in a long time who actually does the work, and that includes making deliveries to the Chambers.”

  Elliot looked uncomfortable at the reminder that Erebus Sanguinati approved of their new Liaison. “Well, I will say this for her. She’s the first monkey who bothered to walk the few steps between buildings and deliver the consulate’s mail personally so that I receive correspondence in a timely manner.”

  Having that much settled, they finished the walk to the Green Complex in easy silence. The black sedan was waiting in a visitor’s parking space.

  Elliot opened the door, then paused. “By the way, the mayor called me to whine about a dangerous thief and about a rumor that she may be hiding in the Courtyard, even posing as our Liaison, and it was vitally important that the property that was taken be returned to its owner.”

  Simon twitched. Should he tell Elliot about Meg? The decision the Business Association had made not to tell anyone that Meg was a blood prophet was sound—and it had taken a threat from Tess to get Jenni Crowgard’s promise not to share that information with anyone, including the other Crows. But maybe knowing would help Elliot deal with the monkeys who chattered in his ear?

  “What did you tell him?” Simon asked, knowing his hesitation had given Elliot a clue that he had reasons for wanting to hold on to their new Liaison besides her ability to sort mail and deliver packages.

  Elliot bared his teeth in a smile. “I told him our Liaison didn’t have the backbone to be dangerous or the intelligence to be a successful thief.”

  “That will do.” Not a compliment to Meg, but the kind of answer that the human government could find useful. Then something occurred to him. “How did the mayor know that Meg looked like the woman on the wanted poster? Only a handful of police have seen her, and the deliverymen would have no reason to know about the poster.”

  “The mayor said he received an anonymous tip,” Elliot said.

  “Male or female?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  How would Asia Crane have seen one of those posters? She wasn’t above causing mischief for the person who had the job she claimed she wanted. Or was it someone else? Someone who might be able to charm information out of a policeman. Or someone who worked for the Others and had earned some degree of trust.

  Something else he would discuss with Henry, Vlad, and Tess, especially if he had to leave for that meeting.

  Simon watched Elliot drive off to the Wolfgard Complex before crossing the road and going to his apartment. Sam’s greeting ended as soon as Simon opened the cage door and reached for the pup.

  Ignoring the whimpers, he hauled Sam out of the cage and took him outside. As usual, as soon as Sam’s feet touched the ground, he tried to bolt for the apartment.

  Growling, Simon turned to give chase. Having to use the damned cage scraped at him as much as it did Elliot, but what were they supposed to do—let the pup die?

  What will you do if he starts growing again, if he ever matures into a full-grown Wolf and still needs a cage?

  He’d taken a couple of steps after the pup when Sam slid to a stop and headed away from their door, sniffing the ground with an interest he hadn’t shown in much too long.

  Intrig
ued, Simon joined the pup and bent low to see if he could pick up whatever scent Sam found so interesting.

  Meg.

  As he straightened up, he saw her coming through the archway that led to the garages and parking area behind the complex. She had carry bags in both hands and was puffing a bit.

  One way or another, he was going to make sure she got more exercise—even if he had to chase her like a bunny.

  “Meg,” he said, nodding.

  “Mr. Wolfgard.”

  Calling him Mr. Wolfgard was becoming an effective door she kept slamming in his face, and he didn’t like it. If she kept doing it, thinking of her as a two-legged bunny was going to have more and more appeal.

  Then she looked down, smiled, and said, “Hello. Who are you?”

  That’s when he remembered the pup, who was halfway hiding between his legs.

  Sam gave her his squeaky-door howl of greeting.

  When young, terra indigene Wolves didn’t look much different from wolves. As they matured, the differences in size and shape became apparent.

  “This is Sam,” Simon said. He didn’t offer an explanation of who Sam was. Meg didn’t seem to notice.

  “Hello, Sam.”

  The pup grumbled and howled in conversational tones. Still safe between Simon’s legs, he edged forward to sniff at Meg, then jumped back to hide. And all the while, Sam’s body quivered and his tail thumped against Simon’s leg.

  Not one of us, but she doesn’t smell like prey either, Simon thought. Doesn’t smell like the kind of humans who had destroyed Sam’s world. Meg was something new, and her scent made the pup forget he was afraid of being outside.

  Wasn’t that interesting?

  “You need any help getting those up the stairs?” Simon asked.

  “No, thank you. The stairs are clear of snow, so I’ll be fine. Besides, this is my second trip. Good evening, Mr. Wolfgard. Bye, Sam.”

  He watched her go up the stairs before he took the pup over to the area Sam was using as a dumping spot. The rest of the residents were tolerant because it was Sam and because it was so cold and because the Hawks and Owls didn’t object to the rats and mice that were drawn to the feces. But sooner or later he was going to have to clean up all the poop.

  As soon as the pup had done his business, Sam made a dash for the stairs leading up to Meg’s apartment. Simon caught him halfway up and took him inside their own place.

  “No,” he said firmly. “I don’t think she wants to play tonight.”

  He could picture, too clearly, the two of them romping with Meg in the snow.

  “Come on. I’ll give you a good brushing. Girls like a well-groomed Wolf.”

  Meg doing the brushing, her fingers deep in his fur.

  It was better not to think of that picture either.

  Sam got a good brushing and remained fairly calm about having to stay out of the cage while Simon gave it a thorough cleaning—calm enough to venture to the front door by himself and sniff around the entrance.

  It was easy enough to figure out what scent the pup was looking for.

  And wasn’t that interesting?

  CHAPTER 9

  Meg bobbled the jar of sweet pickles when something thumped on her kitchen door. Her hands shook as she put the jar on the table, and her heart bounced in her throat. Someone had found her, but she couldn’t seem to move, wasn’t able to run for the front door and escape.

  Then the thump was repeated, followed by a growled “Open up, Meg!”

  Relief made her dizzy. No one had found her except the annoyed Wolf whose apartment also accessed the common hallway and back staircase.

  “Just a minute!” Keys. She needed . . .

  A key turned in the lock, but the door was still held shut by the sliding bolt. That resistance was followed by a snarl that made her shiver as she hurried to the door and slid the bolt to an open position.

  Simon burst into her kitchen, grabbed her before she could scramble out of reach, and hauled her out to the landing and then through the open doorway into his apartment.

  She struggled—an instinctive need to escape from an angry man—until he snapped at her, his teeth so close to the tip of her nose, she wondered if he’d stripped off a layer of skin.

  “I don’t have time to play.” His growl rumbled under the words as he pulled her through an empty room, down a hallway, down the stairs, and into his kitchen. “I have to go away for a few days, and I need you to take care of Sam.”

  That pins-and-needles feeling filled her arms and hands as soon as he said the words, but she didn’t dare rub her skin and call attention to herself.

  “Why are you going away? Where are you going?” It wasn’t just curiosity or concern that made her ask. Simon still had her razor. She’d gritted her teeth for an hour yesterday evening while a craving seemed to eat its way through her chest and belly. Not sure how far blood scent could travel and being sensibly afraid of exciting the predatory nature of her neighbors—especially the vampire, Grizzly, and Wolf—she’d managed to resist using a kitchen knife for a cut. But she wasn’t going to be able to resist much longer.

  “It doesn’t concern you,” Simon said. “Just do your work until I get back, and you’ll be fine.” He opened a bottom cupboard, hauled out a bag of dry dog food, and scooped some into a bowl. “This is Sam’s food. I give him a scoop in the morning and another around dinnertime. And he gets fresh water at the same time.”

  Staggered by the responsibility he’d just dumped on her, Meg said, “But I don’t know anything about taking care of a puppy!”

  “Just give him food and water twice a day.” Simon repeated as he shoved a set of keys into her hand. “Keys for this apartment. If you have any questions, ask Vlad or Henry.”

  Meg hurried after him as he strode to the front door and picked up the carryall beside it. “Mr. Wolfgard!”

  He turned and looked at her. The prickling under her skin turned into a harsh buzz that filled her legs as well as her arms.

  Something bad has happened. Something very bad.

  “What about taking Sam outside?” she asked, forcing her voice and body to imitate calm, a skill she had learned out of necessity. No matter what the Walking Names had said about professional manners and being clinical while handling female bodies, when girls struggled against being strapped down for a cut, it provoked some of them into doing . . . things . . . after the cut and prophecy in order to relieve their own response to the girls’ distress. And as long as no usable skin was damaged, the Controller chose not to see what his people were doing. After all, some experiences provided richer details to the visions—especially the darker visions.

  To her surprise—and relief—Simon responded to her calm manner by calming down.

  He shook his head. “If Sam got away from you, he could get hurt before you could catch up to him. He’ll have to do his business in the cage. I’ll clean it up when I get back.”

  The whole apartment would stink of poop if the cage wasn’t cleaned for a few days.

  A horn beeped.

  Simon reached for the carryall.

  “Mr. Wolfgard.” When he looked at her again, she lifted her chin. “You have something that belongs to me.”

  He didn’t do anything except straighten up and face her, but she felt the underlying menace. Anyone seeing him now would know he wasn’t human. Because of that, she felt certain this was one time she couldn’t afford to back down. If she did, something in him would force her to remain submissive.

  “You don’t need it,” he said.

  “That’s not for you to decide. But you’re right—I don’t need it. A kitchen knife will do just as well, but mistakes happen more often when the blade doesn’t have a familiar weight and the sharpest edge.”

  It wasn’t a bluff. Most girls who used som
e other kind of sharp edge when they couldn’t get their hands on the proper razor ended up ruined in one way or another if they didn’t end up dead.

  He stared at her, red flickers in his eyes. Then he bared his teeth, and she watched in disbelief as his canines lengthened and then returned to almost human size.

  The Wolf was definitely too close to the surface this morning.

  Saying nothing, he reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulled out the silver razor, and handed it to her.

  Someone outside laid on the horn.

  Simon grabbed his carryall and went out the front door, not bothering to close it behind him.

  Meg rushed out after him and watched him get into a small passenger van. She couldn’t see who was driving, but it looked like there were a couple more people in the back seats.

  When the van drove off, she remembered she was outside and it was cold. But when she turned to go back inside, a fierce need to cut washed over her. Remembering the euphoria produced a flutter through her pelvis, that delicious pull of arousal.

  One cut for a good cause. Something bad had happened. Something that was taking Simon away from the Courtyard. One cut might tell him so much.

  Meg went inside, closed the door, and then leaned against it as she opened the razor.

  One cut to help Simon and get rid of that awful buzzing under her skin. But with no idea of why he left, what should she focus on? Prophesies became too general if the cassandra sangue wasn’t focused on someone or something specific. Even a photograph wasn’t usually enough because the prophecy could be about the person who took the photo, not the subject in the photo. That was why the Controller’s clients had to be in the same room as the prophet in order for her visions to be about the right person.

  As she raised her left arm and studied the skin on her forearm and hand, she heard a whimper. She walked into the living room and studied the pup in the cage. He was huddled in the back corner, looking scared.

  A prophet needed someone to listen to the prophecy, needed to speak the words in order to feel euphoria from a cut. Swallowing the words and enduring the pain was how she had remembered the visions that had shown her how to escape.