by Anne Bishop
So they passed us by, let us live, Jesse thought. “Honey, either put your fur back on or come inside and dry off before you catch a chill.”
“Do you have warm milk?”
The girl sounded so hopeful, Jesse had to smile. “I can warm some up for both of us.”
Rachel followed her into the store, full of curiosity and questions about the unfamiliar human things piled on the shelves. The danger had passed, and the fear was shaken off like water shaken off fur.
As Jesse warmed up milk for them, she thought the Intuits would be wise to learn that skill, because she had a feeling that the Elders would never again be a danger seen from a safe distance.
CHAPTER 47
Watersday, Juin 30
Stavros watched the passengers boarding the ocean greyhound. So many of the wealthy HFL supporters were taking the last ship leaving Toland before the storm descended on that part of the coast. They were going to Cel-Romano to see for themselves the triumph their money helped bring about.
Fools.
And there was Nicholas Scratch in a “disguise” that wouldn’t fool a human, let alone one of the terra indigene. Of course, most of the people coming aboard had talked to Scratch—or at least seen him enough times that he couldn’t really believe a disguise would work for the length of the voyage. He had probably told the elite that this was a ruse to escape his “enemies.”
Scratch did have enemies now among the humans. Toland’s elite might still support him, or still believe there would be some reward for that support once they reached Cel-Romano, but those who understood the connection between the human places that were disappearing and the HFL movement were now pointing fingers and calling Scratch a charlatan who had deceived them.
Stavros had found this epiphany quite entertaining since it came in the wake of Scratch’s final speech, in which the man stated he could not be held responsible for actions other people took because they misinterpreted his motivational speeches as a call to commit violence against the terra indigene. Every man should be held accountable for his own actions.
Scratch had slipped away before the stunned crowd could react.
Stavros smiled. Now Nicholas Scratch was here, and so was he. And somewhere in the waters just beyond sight of land, the Sharkgard waited.
• • •
Stavros flowed from one shadowy place to another, observing, waiting—and wishing he’d fed before coming on board. Was there no one on this ship who wasn’t inebriated? There was the captain, but the water had turned rough—Ocean’s version of foreplay—and he didn’t want to weaken the man. And he didn’t want to dull his own senses by consuming alcohol thinly disguised as blood.
He’d overheard enough throughout the evening to realize the HFL supporters had some wildly romantic ideas of being hailed as heroes for providing food and steel and whatever else they’d helped Cel-Romano acquire under the table. But now, with a bounty of land newly won by the Cel-Romano armies, those supporters were no longer needed. There was only one human on this ship who would be welcome in Cel-Romano.
Stavros idly watched a few people come out on deck.
Finally, he heard the hated, familiar voice.
“Today we have conquered the land,” Nicholas Scratch said as he stepped onto the lower deck with two other men. “Soon the human race will conquer this too.” He waved a hand to indicate the ocean.
You think so? Stavros calculated the distance between them.
Stavros watched the other two men. The ocean at night held no appeal to them, and rubbing elbows with Scratch was no longer a novelty. They wouldn’t linger outside.
“You going to join us for cards, Nicholas?” one man asked a minute later.
“Go on without me,” Scratch replied.
“Nothing to see out here.”
“That makes it a good place to think.”
The men nodded wisely and went inside.
Shifting to human form, Stavros wandered over to the railing and smiled at Nicholas Scratch.
“You must be glad to be heading home,” Stavros said pleasantly.
Scratch gave him a look that sharpened when he took in the quality of the suit and black shirt. Stavros could almost hear him wondering how to play this new fish to get a fat donation for the cause.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” Scratch said.
“We haven’t, but I’ve listened to your speeches with sharp attention,” Stavros replied, extending his hand. “You’re of great interest to many of us, Mr. Scratch.”
Scratch’s hand gripped his. “You belong to a group?”
“More of a fellowship of like-minded groups.”
“What’s your group?”
Stavros tightened his hold on Scratch’s hand and smiled, revealing his fangs. “The Sanguinati.”
That instant of shock, of fear. That’s all it took to pull Scratch close and slash the man’s neck—not to feed but to wound.
Still holding Scratch’s hand, Stavros took a fistful of the man’s coat in the other hand. In smoke form, there wasn’t much that could harm the Sanguinati. In a tangible form, they had the strength of the terra indigene. Before Scratch had a chance to scream for help, Stavros stepped up on the railing, hauled Scratch over the top, and jumped.
Shifting to smoke as he fell, Stavros flowed down to the surface as Scratch hit the water and went under. Spotting a hand, Stavros shifted to human above the waist and pulled the man up.
Wild-eyed, Scratch coughed and batted at Stavros. Then he screamed and went under again as one of the Sharkgard took a playful bite.
Stavros hauled Scratch up again and stared at this enemy who had been responsible for killing so many and hadn’t faced any of the terra indigene.
“We’re going to destroy Cel-Romano. I wanted you to know that before you die,” Stavros said. “You upstart infestation. You thought you could wipe out the terra indigene? It’s your species that is going to wither—and you will be one of the things the survivors, if there are any, can thank for that.”
He released Scratch and floated a safe distance away as dozens of the Sharkgard rushed in to strike the enemy, consuming the human piece by piece. A foot. A hand. A forearm. A thigh.
How long before Scratch is missed? Stavros wondered as he drifted above the waves. If I can’t get home, how long before I’m missed?
Stavros rose to a column of smoke and turned slowly. Yes, there, going in the opposite direction of the ocean greyhound.
Stavros looked around. He smelled blood on the water, but there was no sign of Nicholas Scratch.
Alone again, Stavros flowed above the water at his swiftest pace. Shifting to human form, he hailed the fishing boat as soon as he was close enough to be heard. They brought him on board, and a couple of them, swearing they were healthy and sober, offered to let him feed. He declined the meal he would have preferred but accepted a plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes and listened as the men talked about the catch and the seas and
their hopes that their town would be spared some of Ocean’s wrath.
He offered no comment but thought Ocean would be inclined to spare their homes and families. A favor for a favor.
After the meal, he found a quiet place to rest. He’d enjoyed the work he’d done in Toland, but being dominant in Talulah Falls would be new and exciting. He would miss Tolya’s company, but he would be nearer to Grandfather and Vlad . . . and Nyx.
Yes, he was ready for some changes.
Stavros laughed silently. Meat in a can. He would have to remember to tell that one to Grandfather Erebus when he reached Lakeside.
CHAPTER 48
Alantea held Hurricane to a canter as they moved up Thaisia’s East Coast, followed by Air riding Twister. Waves that could swallow buildings and winds that could shred anything in their path kept the humans hurrying and scurrying—too busy trying to save themselves to think of anything else.
But there were places where other Elementals made their presence felt to soften the punishment, and that was right and proper. After all, it wasn’t her job to thin the herds who clung to the land. That was the task of other forms of terra indigene. Her task . . .
She aimed Hurricane at the city of Toland.
Air let out a triumphant scream as waves rose high enough to turn city roads into rivers.
Distraction. Diversion. This wasn’t the real battle.
Alantea turned Hurricane away from Thaisia, leaving Toland to the sharp mercy of Air and Twister. Giving her steed his head to run and run, she gathered the waters of her domain and aimed her fury straight at Cel-Romano.
To: Simon Wolfgard
Can’t reach anyone in the Midwest and haven’t received any phone calls or e-mails from anyone there. Suspect phone lines and telegraph lines are down. We’re still connected with other Intuit communities in the Northeast. Contact with the Southeast Region is erratic. No information about human-controlled cities and towns along the coast in that region.
Some Midwest radio stations are still broadcasting, and Intuit towns near the border between the Midwest and Northeast have passed along news. The first news indicated that the storm damage would, as one announcer put it, huddle the herd. Later reports talked about entire groups of people disappearing—and officials used the word “slaughterhouse” to describe the scenes.
Will keep sending news as long as I can. Black clouds on the horizon. Storm is moving toward us fast.
—Steve Ferryman
CHAPTER 49
Earthday, Sumor 1
“Flood warnings and high-wind warnings in effect until further notice. A travel ban is already in effect in anticipation of flooded roads or streets dammed with debris, including downed power lines. City officials are recommending that families fill jugs with drinking water and prepare for power outages. This is Ann Hergott at WZAS.”
• • •
Every new human entering the Courtyard made Meg’s skin prickle and buzz in a different place. Those people needed to be here; they were the families of trusted police officers, many of whom were her friends. She’d never forgive herself if any of them were sent away because of her and then something happened to them.
Everyone was busy, scurrying to get beds made and food prepared. Either the storm would be vicious but brief and everyone would feel like fools for closing down the city, or the flooding and damage would make the blizzard in Febros look like a weather hiccup.
Either way, today the Courtyard was crowded with strangers whose future was in question. And the answers were buzzing under her skin as prophecies screaming for the razor to release them.
She dropped the silverware on one of the tables in Meat-n-Greens, oblivious to the noise it made. Turning blindly, she rushed for the door, barely hearing Merri Lee calling to her.
“Meg!”
A hand on her arm. “I have to go. Too many prickles. Too much buzzing under the skin.”
“Go where?” Merri Lee asked. “The storm is going to hit any minute now.”
“To the Liaison’s Office. I can sort something. Mail. Packages. Anything. Need . . . routine.”
“There isn’t going to be routine today, Meg. And there’s no one else at the office. Nathan isn’t going to be there. We’ve been told to keep the doors locked so they don’t get caught by the wind.”
Meg pulled away from her friend. “Can’t stay here.” She ran to the archway in the Market Square that provided access to the employee parking lot and, beyond that, the back door of the Liaison’s Office. She didn’t realize Merri Lee had come with her until the other girl said, “Hurry up, then, so we can get inside.”
A gust of wind hit them and the door just as Meg turned the lock, and they almost fell into the back room. It took both of them to push the door closed.
“Gods,” Merri Lee muttered. She checked the under-the-counter fridge, then the cupboards. “If we’re really going to stay in here, we should have a few more supplies.”
“You don’t need to stay. I’ll be all right on my own.” Better, Meg added silently. Even now, as she tried to stay focused on the friend who was with her, her skin still prickled and buzzed in a couple of places.
“Please, Merri. Please. I need to be alone or I’ll have to cut.”
They both knew what would happen if she made a cut now. Simon, Vlad, and who knew how many other terra indigene would lash out at the humans who had come here for shelter and protection.
“You have your mobile phone?” Merri Lee finally said.
Meg nodded. “And I know the phone numbers for A Little Bite and Meat-n-Greens. I’ll stay in touch.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. Please.” There had been this many people working in the compounds. There had been all the girls. Maybe it was because the girls had been cut on a regular schedule that they didn’t experience any prickles about one another. Or maybe they had been exposed to one another so much they stopped feeling the possibilities.
Or maybe they had felt no prickles about one another because none of them had had a real future.
Once Merri Lee left, Meg felt a moment’s relief. No prickles, no buzzing. She walked into the sorting room, not sure what she could find to do, especially if she ended up stuck there for a few hours.
She looked at the five CDs she’d been playing that week, but none of that music appealed to her right now. No mail, no packages, no deliveries bringing anything new today.
She opened the drawer that held the prophecy cards.
The room did one slow spin.
Meg slammed the drawer shut and held on to the counter. She gritted her teeth, craving the silver razor as her skin buzzed and crawled.
She was alone but she was still too close to too many strangers. The humans would remain within the Courtyard’s business district. She had to get away from it—and them.
She ran out the back door, then crossed the paved area between her office and the garages that held a couple of BOWs.
Had to get away before someone saw her and tried to argue.
Once she was on the road that would take her back to the Green Complex, she sighed with relief and trepidation. There would be such snarling when Simon found out she had bolted.
He wouldn’t be able to snarl at her for hours and hours since he had to protect the Courtyard. Maybe by the time the storm ended, he would be too tired to snarl.
Maybe pigs would learn to fly.
Entertained by the image of piglets with wings, she almost relaxed her death grip on the steering wheel, when a gust of wind lifted the passenger-side wheels off the road for one heart-hammering moment.
Meg looked around. Straight ahead would take her to the Green Complex—where she would be totally alone because everyone who lived there would be
in the Market Square or with their own gards.
If she went to her apartment, her friends would fight against the storm to reach her. If something happened to her or Simon because of her need for solitude, what would happen to Sam?
“Sam,” she whispered. She needed a kind of quiet but not necessarily isolation.
Then she couldn’t see a thing. She rolled down a window, hoping it wasn’t her vision that had gone wacky. She stuck her head out, and her fuzz of hair was playfully lipped. Pulling back, she stared at the gray muzzle of the steed. “Fog?”
“Meg?” Air leaned close to Fog’s neck. “You shouldn’t be outside now.”
“I couldn’t stay with all those other humans. They’re nice people, but . . . my skin. Too many prophecies.” Behind Air, she could see tree branches bending, almost breaking, but around the BOW there was no wind. “I was hoping Jester would let me stay with him at the Pony Barn.”
Air studied her. “You want to stay with our ponies?”
“Yes.”
The Elemental smiled. “Follow us.”
Meg turned on the BOW’s lights and followed in Fog’s wake. That was easy enough to do since the fog made by the steed swirled around her, but she had no trouble seeing him.
She pulled up at the Pony Barn, thankful that Air was still sheltering her from the wind. One of the barn doors opened. Jester ran out and helped her out of the BOW. Then they both yelped as the first fat raindrops changed to hail.
“Do you have a change of clothes in there?” Jester asked.
“No.” She hadn’t thought about that.
“Then get inside before you get soaked.” He gave her a push toward the barn door.
Hearing a familiar arroo, she turned toward the road instead. “Sam?”
Sam and Skippy ran toward her.
“Well, chew my tail and spit out the fur,” Jester snapped. “Get inside, all of you.”
“The BOW,” Meg said, finally realizing the little vehicle could be seriously damaged.
“I’ll deal with it. And the Wolfgard,” Jester muttered as he got in the BOW.