by Anne Bishop
“Don’t crowd him.” Jesse opened the small glass cooler behind her and pulled out the pitcher of lemonade she’d made that morning. She took out four plastic tumblers from her personal cupboard, put them on the counter, and poured the lemonade just as the door opened and Tobias walked in with the new leader of the terra indigene who kept watch over Prairie Gold and the handful of human-owned ranches whose fences bordered the rest of the land, which was claimed by the Others.
“Figured you could use something to drink,” Jesse said, giving the males a smile. “You’ve been out there awhile.” She handed glasses to Tobias and Joe, then to Shelley, before she picked up the last one.
“My mother makes great lemonade,” Tobias said, taking a couple of long swallows.
Joe sniffed the liquid in the glass before taking a cautious sip. Looking surprised, he took another sip. “This is lemonade?”
Jesse nodded, watching the Wolf.
“I had something called lemonade once. It tasted like this but not like this.” Joe sipped again. “This lemonade is better.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Yes.” Joe drained his glass and carefully set it on the counter.
“Would you like more?” Jesse asked.
“No. Thank you.”
Doesn’t trust us. Not sure how to deal with us. But knowledgeable about human ways, at least to some degree.
“I need to use a telephone,” Joe said, eyeing the phone that sat on the end of the counter near the cash register. “To call the Lakeside Courtyard. In the Northeast.”
“All right.” Jesse tried not to wince at the cost of a long-distance call. “Could we put the phone on speaker so we can all hear?”
Joe met her eyes, and she could feel the weight of the Wolf’s stare as he considered her request. She wasn’t being nosy—not too much, anyway. She just had a feeling that this conversation would change a lot of things in Prairie Gold, for good or ill, and she wanted to know what was said.
“All right,” Joe said. “It is your phone, so that is fair.”
Tobias gave her a “Mother” warning look, which she ignored as she turned the phone to make it easier for Joe to dial.
“It’s still pretty early in the Northeast,” Tobias said.
Jesse looked at the little clock on the wall behind her counter. “It’s within the start of business hours.”
Joe just shrugged and carefully pushed the numbers on the phone.
It rang. And rang. And . . .
“Howling Good Reads.”
A voice with a slight accent. A voice that, while sounding polite and businesslike, made Jesse shiver—and made fur sprout on the back of Joe Wolfgard’s hands.
“Vladimir?” Joe said. “This is Joe Wolfgard.”
“Joe.” The voice warmed enough that Joe leaned toward the phone.
“I need to speak to Simon.”
“Simon and Meg are on another call with Jackson. There was an . . . incident . . . with Hope this morning.”
“Jackson’s prophet pup?”
Jesse made an effort not to react. Prophet pup. Was Joe talking about one of the cassandra sangue that she’d read about in the newspaper? Girls who could speak prophecy? News about them had been a blip, there and gone, leaving her wondering what had actually happened.
We need to be part of this, she thought. I don’t know how or why, but we need to have a connection to these girls.
Silence. Then Vlad said, “Why does your voice sound distant?”
“I am using Jesse Walker’s phone. It is on speaker so we can all hear.”
“Who, exactly, is we?” No longer any warmth in Vlad’s voice.
Jesse watched Joe’s ears change from human-shaped to Wolf ears, caught a glimpse of a fang she was sure didn’t belong in a human mouth. Vladimir, whoever he was, made their new Wolf leader wary.
“I’m Jesse Walker,” she said. “With me are Shelley Bookman, the town’s librarian, and my son, Tobias. We’ve had an incident here too, which is why we asked Mr. Wolfgard if we could participate in this conversation.”
“I am Vladimir Sanguinati, comanager of Howling Good Reads, a bookstore in the Lakeside Courtyard.”
Shelley turned deathly pale upon hearing Vlad’s last name. She hadn’t reacted to his voice or his first name, which meant she didn’t know him personally. And that meant the Sanguinati as a group were something to be feared. Jesse would find out why later.
“Joe?” Vlad said. “Does your incident have anything to do with dead bison?”
Joe growled. “Yes. A hundred bison were shot this morning.”
“What did they look like?”
Joe stared at the phone. “They looked dead. They dropped where they were killed.”
“So you wouldn’t describe them as a mound of bison?”
“Mound? Bison are big. You don’t drag them into a mound. Although full-grown bulls are big enough that you might think one was a mound.” Joe continued to stare at the phone. “You know something about our bison? How? I’m just calling now to tell Simon.”
“That’s why Jackson is on the phone. Hope drew a picture of dead bison, and something about the picture upset her so much, she cut herself. It’s the first time she’s made a cut since Jackson and Grace brought her to the Sweetwater settlement to live with the pack. They’re understandably upset, which is why they, and Hope, are on the phone with Simon and Meg.”
“The pup will be all right?”
“If Jackson doesn’t bite her out of frustration—a feeling Simon sympathizes with.”
“Meg and the exploding fluffballs won’t sympathize.”
Jesse blinked. What were exploding fluffballs? Rabbits that blew up when attacked? No, that was silly. They had to be connected with the blood prophets somehow.
Vlad chuckled. “Fortunately, our human female employees haven’t reported for work yet. At least, I haven’t seen any of them in the bookstore.” A pause. “Do you want Simon to call you back, or should I relay the message about the bison being killed?”
“A hundred bison is a lot of meat,” Joe replied. “I wondered if Simon and Henry would like some. It is not a meat you have in the Lakeside Courtyard.”
“I think they’d be pleased to have some. Do you have a way to ship it?”
“We can package up the meat and get it on the evening train,” Jesse said, inserting herself into the conversation. “Or on the first train tomorrow. There’s always one refrigerator car to transport foods that need to be kept cool.”
“No food coming to the terra indigene travels without an escort,” Vlad said.
“Someone will have to go to Lakeside?” Tobias sounded interested.
“You would need fur to travel in a cold car,” Joe said. “A Wolf, Bear, or Panther would need to travel with the meat.”
“The escort doesn’t have to travel the whole way with the packages,” Vlad said. “The terra indigene have set up a relay of guards from our various settlements so that no one has to travel that far from home right now, but the provisions are still guarded.”
Joe nodded. “We can make small packages of meat for the escorts, as thanks.”
“They would be happy with that. So what would you like in exchange for the meat you’re sending to Lakeside?”
“We don’t need . . .”
Jesse raised a hand. Joe frowned at her, making her feel as if she had misbehaved. But they couldn’t pass up this opportunity.
“You want something in exchange?” Joe asked her.
Jesse glanced at Shelley, who handed her the list. “Mostly, we would like connection, communication.”
“I don’t understand,” Vlad said after a moment.
“Bennett is the nearest human-controlled town. It’s our connection to other places because it has the train station, and the highway for the big trucks runs through there. We’re as self-sufficient as we can be here in Prairie Gold, but we’re dependent on the trains and trucks for the supplies that we can’t produce.” She waited. Apparentl
y, Vlad was also waiting. “We have a library, and Shelley does her best to keep it running and bring in new books. And we have a small bookstore—well, I have a couple of shelves in my store where folks can buy new and used books. The point is, I used to be able to order a mixed box of books from publishers for my store, and Shelley was on e-mail lists that announced the new books that were available. Now we’re being shut out, dropped from the lists, told we have to buy quantities of each title that we can’t use. For the past couple of months, we’ve gone to the bookstore in Bennett and purchased books for the library, but last week, the bookstore was closed when we got to town. Funny thing for a business to be closed midmorning, but Shelley and I both had a feeling that the change in hours had something to do with the new decal displayed in a corner of the bookstore’s window.”
“HFL?”
Vladimir Sanguinati sounded friendly when he asked the question. Jesse hoped she was never around him in person when he was friendly in that way. Whatever he was, Vladimir was more of a predator than the Wolf standing on the other side of the counter.
“Yes,” she said. “Those were the letters.”
“So, the Humans First and Last movement has spread that far west.” A thoughtful silence. “They aren’t going to sell books to anyone from your town. Not for a while.”
“That’s just an example. I—well, all of us who have gone into Bennett in the past month—have the feeling that the town’s people are trying to squeeze us out.”
“You’re an Intuit,” Vlad said.
“Yes.” No point denying it, since she figured he knew it already. “And these girls, these prophets, that were in the news briefly. I would like to know more about them. Maybe we could help. I’m not sure how, but I have a feeling we can help.” She heard anger in her voice and tried to temper it. But she knew this was the moment that would make a difference.
“Mom!” Tobias said at the same time Joe said, “They’re a lot of work. More than other kinds of puppies.”
Silence.
“Vlad?” Joe finally said. “You still there?”
“This isn’t a decision I can make alone,” Vlad said. “Too many things need to be considered. But I think it would be wise to have some kind of connection between Lakeside, Prairie Gold, and Sweetwater, if for no other reason than our cassandra sangue are seeing visions of a connection. Joe, do you have an e-mail address?”
Joe moved away from the counter, as if the phone had turned into a rattlesnake. “No.”
“I can set one up for him at the library,” Shelley said, sounding so bright her voice was brittle. “Jesse checks her e-mail there too.”
“All right,” Vlad said. “Give me one where I can send information, and then you can send back the information we’ll need. Also provide a couple of phone numbers so that we can reach you quickly if we need to. I’ll make sure Jackson also has the numbers and e-mail addresses.”
“Fair enough.” Jesse gave him her e-mail address and the phone number for her store. “We’ll let you know what train will be carrying the meat.”
“Fine.” A hesitation. “When did the bison die?”
“Around first light; maybe a little earlier,” Joe replied. “Why?”
“And you didn’t call Jackson or say anything to him about the bison?”
“No. Why?”
“Nothing yet. Jesse Walker? With your consent, I’ll send your contact information to Steve Ferryman on Great Island.”
Who was Steve Ferryman? “All right.”
It must have been the correct answer, because Vlad wrapped up the call with a promise to send information. But just before she disconnected the call, he said, “Is there anyplace in your town where travelers can stay?”
“There’s a motel at the edge of town, connected to the truck stop and diner. Most folks who come here are guests of a family and stay with them.”
“Good to know. We’ll be in touch. I’ll tell Simon about the bison meat.” Vlad hung up.
“We should help with the meat.” Joe looked around, turned on his heel, and walked out of the store.
With a nod to her, Tobias turned to follow Joe.
“You be careful, son,” Jesse said.
He looked back at her as he reached for the door. “Always. You do the same.”
Jesse poured another glass of lemonade for herself and Shelley. “When you heard the name Sanguinati, you spooked like cattle in a storm. Why?”
Shelley drank half the glass before replying. “A form of terra indigene that drinks blood. There were rumors around the town where I went to school that the university was a hunting ground for a few of the Sanguinati. No deaths could be linked to them. In fact, a few girls would show off hickies they claimed were a ‘special’ kind of love bite. No one could prove that either. But there were a few young men around the campus who were very good-looking, and I heard they were quite skilled in making a girl feel very, very good.”
“So you didn’t actually talk to one of these young men?”
Shelley’s smile held the bitterness of old wounds. “No. I wasn’t anyone’s type—not even a vampire’s.” She set the glass down. “I’ll see you later. Thanks for the lemonade.”
Jesse put the pitcher back in the cooler and cleared the counter of the other three glasses. Then she looked around her store. What did Joe Wolfgard see when he and the other terra indigene came in here? What did he and the Others want or need that she could supply? And Vladimir Sanguinati, so very far away. Maybe not far enough?
No way to know yet. But she had a feeling they were all going to find out soon enough.
• • •
Vlad idly looked at the books on the display table and front shelves. Were the two bookstores and libraries in Ferryman’s Landing having the same problem ordering stock as Prairie Gold? And they had the rolling library too, a bus that went to the Simple Life community on Great Island as well as stopping in the spots where the Others on the island had built basic structures that were needed when they were in human form. They wanted books too. Maybe Meg could be in charge of handling book requests from Ferryman’s Landing and Prairie Gold. They might as well include Sweetwater while they were at it. He and Simon would continue ordering for HGR and the terra indigene in the land surrounding Lakeside, while Meg handled the other places and gave them a list.
Something to think about. For now . . .
Vlad went to the stock room and returned with an empty cart. Doubtful the humans in Prairie Gold had read any books written by terra indigene. He’d talk to Simon before boxing up a selection. After all, he didn’t want to cause trouble for Joe Wolfgard by terrifying the Intuits.
They still had a number of kissy books that he and Simon had pulled off the shelves. He could throw in a few of those and let Librarian Shelley tell him what kinds of books were popular with her people.
The timing didn’t fit. That’s what bothered him. The cassandra sangue spoke prophecy; their visions were warnings about something that could happen, not something that had happened. Except when something past provided context or reference for something coming.
Had Hope been making a vision drawing of dead bison at the same time the animals were being shot? Or had she seen something else, and Joe’s dead bison weren’t the same as the bison Hope had drawn? And why had the girl been so frightened that she’d cut herself? No, she said she’d cut because she needed the color. She’d needed to paint blood. But once she made the cut, what else did she see?
No, the timing didn’t fit. And there were questions that needed to be asked—and answered.
“What are you doing?” Simon asked as he walked into the front part of Howling Good Reads.
“Pulling a book request.”
Simon looked at the books on the top shelf of the cart. “Who’s buying that many books?”
“More like bartering than buying. Everyone all right at Sweetwater?”
“Everyone is fine. Meg talked to Hope; I talked to Jackson. No one is going to bite anyone. Yet.” Si
mon watched Vlad select a couple more books. “Who isn’t fine?”
“Joe Wolfgard called while you were talking to Jackson.”
“Joe? Did he leave a telephone number or an address?”
“Joe is fine. But, Simon?” Vlad looked at his friend and comanager. “We need to talk. We all need to talk.”
CHAPTER 8
Windsday, Juin 6
“More disputes are heating up in the aftermath of the storm that swept up the East Coast yesterday. Some boat owners, whose vessels were damaged during the storm, are claiming the damage was done by members of the HFL movement because the boat owners refused to let the HFL use their vessels for ‘questionable activities.’ Representatives of the accused HFL chapters vehemently denied the allegations, saying the boat owners were targeting them because ‘You can’t sue the damn ocean for damaging your property.’
“Here in Lakeside, a number of businesses were vandalized last night. The police have no leads as yet on the person or persons who broke windows and painted obscene suggestions on the buildings. One store owner said he was going to leave a dictionary on a public bench so the vandals could at least spell the obscenities correctly. It was noted that none of the vandalized businesses displayed an HFL logo in the window. Police Commissioner Kurt Wallace, who recently admitted to being a member of the Humans First and Last movement, was not available for comment. This is Ann Hergott at WZAS, bringing you the news . . .”
Monty turned away from the break room doorway, having heard enough.
“Lieutenant?” Kowalski hurried out of the break room. “You ready to go?”
“Not yet. Did you hear anything on the news about bison being killed?”
Kowalski blinked. “Bison? Around here?”
“No, not around here. Anywhere in Thaisia.”
“Didn’t hear anything like that.” Kowalski leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Is that a concern?”
“Could be. I need a minute with Captain Burke; then we’ll go.” Monty went to Burke’s office and knocked on the doorframe—and wondered what Burke’s cousin Shady was really doing in Lakeside, since the man spent most of his time at the police station. “Captain? Can you spare a minute?”