Written in Red

by Anne Bishop

  “Are you playing today?” Winter asked once the sleigh stopped beside Meg.

  “Not playing so much as not working,” Meg replied. “I can’t get my BOW out of the garage, so I’m not sure I’ll be able to reach the office.”

  “Is reaching the office important?” Air asked.

  “It is if we want our mail today or any of the packages that are on the delivery trucks.”

  Winter stared at the social room’s second-story windows. Then she smiled. “We can get you to your office. It won’t take long.”

  Meg looked over her shoulder, then back at the Elemental. “Are you sure you won’t be late for the meeting? I think Mr. Wolfgard and some of the others are already there.”

  Winter gave her a smile that was chilling but, Meg was certain, was not meant to be malevolent.

  “I won’t be late for the part of the meeting that is of interest to me and my sisters,” Winter said.

  “Then, thank you. I appreciate the ride. And I’ve never ridden in a sleigh before.” This one was longer than her BOW and had two bench seats.

  She picked up Sam, grunting at the unexpected weight. Could he have gotten that much bigger in a week’s time? She put him on the floor of the backseat, then scrambled up to sit behind Air. As she got herself settled, she saw Jester standing in his apartment doorway, watching them.

  Winter lifted the reins. “Give the snow a spin, my lovely boys. Our Meg wants to get to work.”

  As Tornado and Twister trotted along at a speed that made Meg’s eyes water from the wind and stinging cold, the snow in front of them spun into funnels, leaving enough snowpack on the road to provide a good surface for the sleigh’s runners. She had to admit, they moved on the snow far better than her BOW, and Winter delivered her to the back door of the office sooner than she expected.

  An area around the back of the Liaison’s Office had been cleared, and there was a path to Howling Good Reads, A Little Bite, and Henry’s yard. After thanking Winter and Air, Meg followed the path to the front of the building.

  She didn’t recognize the man wielding the shovel, but since he wasn’t wearing anything over his flannel shirt, she figured he wasn’t human. She was sure of it when he glanced her way and stiffened the moment he saw Sam and the red harness and leash.

  For his part, Sam arrooooed a greeting and leaped into the untouched snow.

  The Wolf watched the pup for a moment before walking over to Meg and tipping his head in what might have been a greeting.

  “I’m Nathan Wolfgard,” he said, some growl under the words as he kept glancing at Sam. “Stayed above stairs last night.”

  She looked at the second story of the building. “There are apartments upstairs?” She’d noticed the staircase behind the building and the second-story door, but what was above the office wasn’t any of her business. “You live there?”

  He shook his head. “Stayed there. Blair wanted eyes on this part of the Courtyard.”

  Why? Not a question she could ask him, but her skin was suddenly prickling so much she wanted to dig her fingernails into it through all the layers of clothing.

  “Got a path dug from street to door,” Nathan said. “Not going to get vehicles in or out until our plow comes up from the Utility Complex, but the monkeys can reach the building if they’ve a mind to.” He didn’t look happy about that.

  “Thank you for clearing paths to the doors,” Meg said. “Come on, Sam. Shake off the snow. It’s time for me to go to work.”

  Sam, now snow crusted and happily panting, gave himself a vigorous shake before following Meg back around the building. She got them both wiped down before she unlocked the front door and flipped the sign to OPEN. The snow along the wall of Henry’s yard looked like a ramp, making her wonder if the snow was packed up the same way on the other side.

  Five Crows settled on the wall. They didn’t caw at the Wolf. After watching Nathan through the window, she decided nobody taunted a Wolf who was holding a snow shovel—or one who could pack a mean snowball and fire it at black-feathered targets if the targets became annoying.

  She put fresh water in one of Sam’s bowls, poured a little kibble in the other bowl, and made herself a cup of peppermint tea. Leaving Sam to gnaw on the last piece of stag stick, she took her tea and two editions of the Courtyard newsletter to the front counter. It was colder out there than in the sorting room, but she didn’t have anything to sort yet and she wanted to keep an eye on the street.

  She saw Nathan head for the back of the building, the shovel over his shoulder. A minute later, she heard the floor creak above her head. Then the quiet, steady sound of voices. Not conversation. After a moment, she concluded that Nathan must be listening to the television or radio while he, too, kept watch out a window.

  Was there another reason Blair—and Simon?—wanted eyes on this part of the Courtyard, or was it simply a matter of having someone around if the stores didn’t open today?

  Since it wasn’t likely that she would get an answer from any of the Wolves, Meg opened the first newsletter to find out what had been going on in the Courtyard.

  * * *

  “Got the Utilities gate dug out and closed,” Blair said as he took a seat in the Green social room. “Got the plow out and starting on the business areas. Truck and bucket loader are following. We’ll have to shift the snow to the mounding sites to clear some parking spaces in the lot and clear the area for the consulate and Liaison’s Office. Nathan shoveled a path from street to office. He’ll stay above stairs for a while, unless you want him elsewhere.”

  “Have him stay there,” Simon said. Sam shifting to a boy last night and the ruckus this morning had kept his mind occupied. Now he wondered if Blair was being so cautious because of some vague threat that might come from humans or because he wanted to show other residents in the Courtyard that the Wolves were looking after the Liaison properly. Or was Blair trying to avoid any incident that would start a fight between the Wolves and the Sanguinati?

  He didn’t have to wonder for long. He just had to watch the Courtyard’s enforcer when Vlad walked into the room and noticed Elliot.

  So. The vampires were serious about killing a Wolf.

  Jester and Henry walked in together. The Coyote looked a little too gleeful. The Grizzly just looked sleepy.

  Tess walked in with her hair coiling and completely green. As soon as she spotted Elliot, broad red streaks appeared along with threads of black.

  “There is a new danger to terra indigene and humans alike,” Simon said. He waited until Tess took a seat before continuing. “So far, there have been no reports of strange killings in the eastern part of Thaisia, but there have been several odd deaths or queer attacks in the west. A pack of dogs attacked a pack of Wolves. The dogs were killed, but the Wolves then ran down several deer and savaged them without stopping to feed. In another village, a pack of human males attacked three females and two subordinate males with such violence, the police thought at first it was an animal attack. Three of the prey died during the attack. The other two died in the hospital. There have been more attacks—a double handful in all that occurred over several months. Since more of the attacks were human against human, there was no reason to think it was a sickness that was spreading from the humans to us.”

  “Until the deaths at Jerzy,” Henry said quietly. “Until leaders among the terra indigene gathered to talk, and began to see a pattern.”

  Simon nodded. “Most of the attacks hardly touched us at all, except for the police sniffing around for some way to blame us. In a few cases, the sickness started in a village of humans that is enclosed by our territory, and no one can say how it reached one village when other villages on that same road were not touched. Sickness should have spread from village to village, leaving a trail, but that hasn’t been true this time.”

  Vlad sat back and crossed one leg ov
er the other. “The leaders from the Courtyards that were affected are satisfied that this sickness begins with the humans?”

  “Yes. But the human leaders believe just as strongly that we’re the cause.”

  “Doesn’t matter what they believe,” Jester growled.

  “If the humans are spreading a new sickness to us, there is a way to fix the problem,” Blair said, staring at Simon.

  “That’s not the answer,” Henry said, shifting in his chair. “Not yet. First we or the humans must find the root of this sickness. Then we decide what needs to be killed.”

  “Agreed,” Simon said. “Especially since there has been no sign of this sickness in the east.” He sighed. “One thing ties each of these attacks to us: some Crows were killed near each of the villages a day or two before the attack took place. I’ll talk to Jenni Crowgard. If Crows begin to die without reason, we need to take that as a warning that the sickness has reached Lakeside.”

  He waited a moment. “Now. What’s been happening here?”

  He wasn’t sure if it was just timing or if Vlad had sent a signal, but as soon as he asked the question, the door opened and Winter walked into the room, followed by Erebus Sanguinati. After a moment of startled silence, two chairs were added to the circle.

  Elliot was sitting close enough to him that Simon could smell his sire’s fear. Bad enough to have Erebus come to this meeting, but one of the Elementals? They rarely concerned themselves with anything but their connection to Namid. And when they did, the results were unpredictable—and usually devastating.

  “Meg had a prophecy while you were gone,” Henry said, his abrupt words changing the direction of the discussion before it began.

  Elliot gave Simon a startled look. “Prophecy?”

  “Meg is a cassandra sangue,” Simon replied.

  Winter had no reaction. Erebus simply nodded.

  “What do you know about blood prophets?” he asked Erebus.

  “Very little. Meg is the first of her kind I have ever seen, so I did not know the cassandra sangue and the humans who have the sweet blood were the same,” Erebus replied.

  “What is the sweet blood?” Henry asked, his eyes narrowing in thought.

  “They have adult bodies, but they retain the sweetness of a child’s heart,” Erebus said.

  Simon thought about the old woman who had cut her face to see his future. A sweetness in her eyes, in her smile, despite her age. Not a feeb, like some of the adolescents had called her. No, there was nothing wrong with her mind. But perhaps that childlike innocence provided a veil against the terrible things the prophets sometimes saw in the visions.

  “Not prey,” Henry said, looking at Simon. “We’ve recognized something different about some humans without realizing what it was.”

  Simon nodded. “Meg.”

  “The Sanguinati do not feed on the young,” Erebus said. “And we do not feed on the sweet blood, because they are both wondrous and terrible. That forbidding was done long ago, and it is still passed down from one Sanguinati to another, even though we had forgotten the reason for it.”

  “Why terrible?” Tess asked, leaning forward. Her hair was still colored, but it was relaxing into loose curls.

  Erebus shrugged. “Prophecies swim in that blood. I do not think I would like to see such things if I drank from a cassandra sangue.”

  “Our Meg is going to stay, isn’t she?” Winter asked, sliding a look at Elliot that chilled the air. “My sisters and I would be unhappy if someone made her leave.”

  How did she know about the argument between Meg and Elliot? More to the point, what would she do with that knowledge?

  He didn’t want to think about that, so he focused on Henry. “What prophecy?”

  Tess, Vlad, Jester, and Blair already knew about Sam somehow being connected to men coming into the Courtyard with weapons. That explained Nathan being assigned to keep watch at the Liaison’s Office and why Blair had spent the night keeping watch on the open Utilities gate. The men Meg had seen had come in during a storm.

  “We have been vigilant,” Henry said. “The pup has not been alone. Meg has not been alone. They have both grown stronger in the past few days.”

  Despite the potential threat seen in the prophecy, Simon relaxed a little as each member of the Business Association gave him a report. He even laughed during Blair’s account of Boone’s dealings with the Liaison and her request for special meat. There had been no clashes with humans in general or the police in particular while he’d been gone, no clashes among the terra indigene except for the misstep Elliot had made that angered the Sanguinati. But that wouldn’t happen again. He’d banish Elliot from the Lakeside Courtyard before he let the other Wolf—or anyone else—harm Meg in any way.

  And Meg. Making deliveries, making friends, making a life among them in such a short time.

  Meg. One of Namid’s creations, both terrible and wondrous.

  That was something he was going to have to think about.

  Dear Ms. Know-It-All,

  The other night, I had a friend over for dinner and a walk on the wild side (if you know what I mean). Everything was going fine until the kissing and petting part. I got a little excited when he began to play push-away after I nipped him and, well, I ended up biting him on the thigh. It wasn’t a big bite—didn’t even need stitching—and despite what he claimed, it really wasn’t all that close to his chew toy. Now he won’t return my calls. What should I do?

  Signed,

  Puzzled

  Dear Puzzled,

  First, young terra indigene often get confused when food provides more than one kind of stimulation. But when you invite a human over for dinner, he expects to be served dinner, not be dinner. Second, even though humans claim to enjoy biting as foreplay, they only mean it when their partners don’t have teeth of any significance. Third, no male, human or Other, feels easy when teeth get too close to the chew toy. So chalk this up to experience, and the next time you invite a human to take a walk on the wild side, stick to a jog in the park.

  Trying to breathe and swallow at the same time, Meg spit peppermint tea all over the counter.

  Ms. Know-It-All. The newsletter’s dispenser of advice for interactions between humans and the terra indigene.

  Gods above and below.

  She wondered whether Lorne found the column humorous, or if knowing the Others thought this was sound advice for dealing with humans was the reason he preferred to keep a counter between himself and most of his customers at the Three Ps.

  She was still wiping the tea off her counter when she spotted Harry walking up the narrow path from the street. She opened the go-through and reached the door at the same time he did. Pushing it open until he could brace it with his shoulder, she grabbed the top package and hurried back to the counter.

  On second thought . . .

  Putting the package on the handcart, she waited for him.

  “Had a spill, Miz Meg?” Harry asked as he set the rest of the packages on the cart. There was an odd tone in his voice.

  “Enough of one that the counter is still wet,” she replied, looking over her shoulder, then back at him. “You go ahead. I’ll fill out my notes as soon as I finish wiping the counter. I’ve seen cars slipping and sliding out there this morning, and you don’t want your truck to get hit.”

  “That I don’t. You keep warm now, you hear? And watch out for those spills.”

  “I will. Drive safe. See you Moonsday.”

  Harry waved at the Crows as he pushed open the door and headed for his truck. Meg finished wiping the counter, folded the newsletters, and put them in the paper-recycling bin in the back room.

  When she went into the bathroom to wash her hands, she looked in the little mirror over the sink. Then she stood there, stunned.

  Harry hadn’t
been commenting about the wet counter. He’d been staring at her face when he’d asked about a spill.

  She’d forgotten about the bruise. She’d been so rushed to get ready for work, with Simon and Sam showing up and disrupting her routine, she hadn’t looked in a mirror that morning, not even when she dragged a comb through her hair.

  If Harry or one of the other deliverymen called the police and told them about the bruise . . .

  She had to tell someone. Had to tell Simon. Just in case.

  As she passed through the sorting room on her way to use the phone at the front counter, she glanced at Sam, who was still happily gnawing on his stag stick.

  Meg’s stomach did a funny little flip. While she waited for someone to answer HGR’s phone, she promised herself that, from now on, she would make sure the stag sticks Boone was leaving for Sam really were made from deer.

  * * *

  Monty stood outside the Chestnut Street station, waiting for Kowalski to bring the patrol car around. Last night’s storm provided a good excuse to make a courtesy call at the Courtyard without being too obvious that they were checking up on the Courtyard’s leader—and hoping for some information about what happened in Jerzy.

  “I could use some coffee this morning,” Monty said after he got in the car. “Do you think the Courtyard stores will be open?”

  “Hard to say,” Kowalski replied, pulling into traffic. “The Others don’t run their stores for profit. It’s more of a hobby and experiment for them, and it’s a way to get merchandise and services without going to human-run businesses.”

  No, they wouldn’t need to be concerned about profit. When you were the landlord and an entire city was your rental property, any other business run by a Courtyard was an accommodation.

  But when they reached the Courtyard, Monty saw the Others busily removing the snow from their parking lot, using a small bucket loader to scoop up the snow and dump it in the bed of a pickup truck. There were some lights on in A Little Bite and Howling Good Reads, but not enough to give an impression that the stores were open.