Written In Red: A Novel of the Others

by Anne Bishop

  Monty blew out a sigh of relief.

  We are the tenants, not the landlords, a temple priest once said at a weekly gathering. We only borrow the air we breathe and the food we eat and the water we drink.

  That was easy enough to forget in Toland. He suspected the water tax helped everyone in Lakeside remember the truth of it.

  Kowalski returned and drove up to the traffic light, then back around the wide median, pulling up almost directly across from where they had been parked a minute ago.

  Even with all the snow that had fallen yesterday, the pile of stones and the discarded personal effects weren’t hard to find.

  Three wallets with ID and credit cards. Three sets of keys.

  “There’s some cash here,” Kowalski said. “Probably not all the cash that was in the wallets to start with, but the Others never take all of it.”

  Not kids, Monty thought as he looked at the IDs. Young, sure, but old enough to have known better—which wasn’t going to help their families face the loss. “I would have thought young men would carry more in their pockets.”

  “Probably did. The wallets and keys are usually all that’s left here. Jewelry, weapons, trinkets, stuff like that will end up in one of the Others’ stores here, in another Courtyard in the Northeast Region, or somewhere else on the continent. Even the weapons will get sold, although not back to any of us. The Others won’t kill to steal, but once the meat is dead, they make use of everything they can.”

  A sick feeling churned in Monty. “Is that how you think of your own kind? As meat?”

  “No, Lieutenant, I don’t. But the terra indigene do, and I’ve seen the results when humans—police officers or otherwise—forget that.”

  Better not start wondering if you should have used one more bullet after you saw that young Wolf turn back into the girl you rescued. Better not start wondering. Not here. Not now.

  “Let’s get these items back to the station,” Monty said. “Families may be starting to wonder why their boys didn’t come home last night.”

  “Then what?” Kowalski asked.

  “Then I think I should introduce myself to Simon Wolfgard.”

  * * *

  Boxes and packages piled up on two handcarts as delivery trucks arrived in a flurry, their drivers nervously glancing at the Crows perched on the wall outside and visibly relaxing when they noticed the short human behind the counter. They were all quick to point out the name of their company as well as their own name, spelling out both for her as she wrote them down on her pad. Identification. Validation. Some of them had to make two trips to bring in all the deliveries, and Meg wondered whether they had avoided this stop for as many days as possible.

  That first hour, the door opened and closed so often, she decided to look for those fingerless gloves Harry had mentioned and find some kind of insulated vest to wear over the turtleneck and sweater.

  Wanting a little more warmth and to show some progress before Jester returned, she went into the sorting room to work on the mail.

  Sorting mail turned out to be a challenge. Some was addressed to a person, some was addressed to a group, some had a street—maybe it was a street—and some had a designation she didn’t understand at all. The only thing the mail and packages she’d signed for had in common was they all said Lakeside Courtyard.

  “No wonder they have a hard time getting their mail,” she muttered.

  She managed to rough sort the first bag of mail and take two more deliveries before Jester returned.

  “Not bad,” he said as he began shifting a few pieces of mail from one stack to another. “Corvine goes with Crowgard. It’s what they call the complex where most of them live. The Chambers goes with the Sanguinati. The numbers indicate a particular part of the Chambers. The Green Complex is the only residence that isn’t species specific. It’s located closest to the Market Square, and the members of the Business Association live there.”

  “Is there any kind of map or list that would tell me who goes with what?” Meg asked.

  Jester’s face went blank for a moment. Then he said, “I’ll inquire. Now come meet your helpers.” He walked over to the panel in the wall and unlocked the sorting room’s outside door.

  Meg thought about dashing into the back room to grab her coat. Then she saw her helpers and forgot about the coat.

  “This is Thunder, Lightning, Tornado, Earthshaker, and Fog,” Jester said. “They were the only ponies willing to make deliveries today.”

  They were tall enough to look her in the eyes. Meg wasn’t sure if that meant they were typical pony size in terms of height, but what she saw were furry barrels with chubby legs and grumpy faces. Thunder was black, Lightning was white, Tornado and Earthshaker were brown, and Fog was a spotted gray.

  “Hello,” Meg said.

  No change on the grumpy faces.

  “Each of them has delivery baskets,” Jester said, going back to the table for two handfuls of mail. “The baskets have the Courtyard sections written on them—see? So, for instance, the mail going to Corvine or anyone named Crowgard would go in Thunder’s baskets.” He put smaller mail in four compartments of one basket and then added the larger envelopes and catalogs to the basket on the other side. He looked at Thunder. “You go to the Crows today.”

  The pony bobbed his head and moved out of the way.

  Lightning was given the mail for the Wolfgard complex, Tornado went to the Hawks, Earthshaker to the Owls and the Pony Barn, and Fog to the Sanguinati.

  “What happens when they get to the complexes?” Meg asked.

  “Oh, there is always someone about who will empty the baskets and distribute the mail to the individuals,” Jester replied as he closed and locked the outer door. “Hmm. No one to take the mail to the Green Complex or the lake. Guess those will have to wait until tomorrow.” He tipped his head and smiled at her. “Did Simon give you your pass?”

  She shook her head.

  The smile gained a sharp amusement. “Well, he’s been a bit preoccupied today. Basically, once you step out the back door of this office, you need a pass to visit the Market Square or the Green Complex, which is the only residential area that isn’t completely off-limits to human visitors. The pass is something you should always carry with you to avoid misunderstandings.”

  “Where do I get one?”

  “From the consul’s office, which is the other building that uses the same street entrance as this office. I’ll pick that up for you and drop it off.”

  “What do I do with the handcarts in the front room that are full of packages?”

  Jester opened the interior delivery door and pulled the handcarts into the sorting room. “That depends,” he said as he secured the door. “If a package can fit in the basket, a pony can take it with the rest of the mail. Or you can deliver it in the BOW. We haven’t encouraged our previous Liaisons to make deliveries in the Courtyard, but it is loosely within the parameters of your job if you choose to include it.”

  Was making deliveries really part of her job, or was Jester trying to get her into trouble for some reason? “Bow?” she asked.

  “Box on Wheels. A small vehicle we use within the Courtyard. It runs on electricity, so remember to charge your BOW if you don’t want to be stranded. The one for the Liaison is in the garage directly behind the office. Can’t miss it.”

  “I have a car,” Meg said, pleased.

  “You have a Box on Wheels,” Jester corrected. “Not a vehicle you want to take out on the city streets.”

  Leaving the Courtyard wasn’t something she planned to do.

  “Do you want to take a break?” he asked.

  She looked at the clock on the wall and shook her head. “I’m supposed to be available for deliveries until noon, so I’ll keep sorting the mail.”

  “Suit yourself. I’ll get that pass for you.” Jester went out the Private door and vaulted over the counter. He returned a few minutes later. He didn’t have her pass, but he laid something else on the sorting-room table. />
  “This is a map of the Courtyard,” Jester said quietly. “It shows the driving roads and where each gard lives.”

  My Controller would have paid a fortune for this, Meg thought as she studied the map. He would have killed without a second thought to get this much information about the interior of a Courtyard.

  Wolfgard. Crowgard. Hawkgard. Owlgard. Sanguinati. Green Complex. Girls’ Lake. Ash Grove. Utilities Complex. Lakes. Creek. Water reservoir.

  “I suggest you tuck this in a drawer when you’re not using it,” Jester said. “The last two Liaisons weren’t trusted with this at all and, like I said, we didn’t encourage them to explore. You should be careful about who knows you have this, Meg Corbyn.”

  “Does Mr. Wolfgard know I have a map of the Courtyard?”

  “Simon gave it to me to give to you.”

  A test, Meg thought. Simon Wolfgard was giving her a test to see if he could trust her. Which meant she shouldn’t count on the map being accurate. If he thought she was some kind of spy trying to gain access to the Courtyard, providing an enemy with false information was almost as good as providing no information at all.

  Then Jester grinned, an expression that was at odds with his sober tone of a moment ago. “I’ll get you that pass now.” And he was gone again.

  When a half hour went by without a delivery or any sign of Jester, Meg checked out the music disc player. No discs, which was a disappointment, but as she fiddled with the buttons, she found the one that changed the player from discs to radio and connected her with Lakeside’s radio stations. She spent a few minutes turning the dial as she tried to tune in a station that had approved music. Then it struck her. She didn’t need anyone’s permission or approval. She could try a different kind of music every day and decide for herself what she liked.

  Excited, she tuned in a station and got back to work.

  * * *

  “Run and Thump?” Monty asked as he read the sign over one of the terra indigene storefronts.

  “Fitness center,” Kowalski replied. He turned into the parking lot that had a third less space for cars because the slots near the lot’s back wall were taken up by mountains of snow on either side of a wooden door. “Treadmills for running, and the thumpy sound of weight machines. Not sure what they do on the second floor. Not sure why the Others would want such a place when they can run around in more than three hundred acres.”

  Maybe even they were bothered by the smell of wet fur and preferred to run indoors in inclement weather. “What about the storefront that doesn’t have a sign?”

  “Social center. This Courtyard does employ some humans and occasionally lets some of them live in the apartments above the seamstress/tailor’s shop. But entertaining outsiders in an apartment that can access the Courtyard?” Kowalski shook his head. “You gather with friends at the social center. And you gather there if you want to socialize with an acquaintance who is terra indigene.”

  “And if you want a more private kind of date?” Monty studied the younger man.

  “The rooms above the social center can be used for that kind of date.”

  “Is this street talk or personal knowledge?”

  “Am I ever going to introduce you to my mother?”

  Monty hid a smile, but it took effort. “Probably.”

  Kowalski blew out a breath. “I really don’t have that much personal knowledge. I’ve heard that if you use one of those rooms, you’re responsible for putting fresh linen on the bed and tossing the used sheets in the laundry cart that’s left at the end of the hall. There’s a jar next to the laundry cart. Five dollars for the use of the sheets and the room.”

  “And if the money in the jar doesn’t match the number of sheets that were used?”

  “The next time there aren’t any clean sheets—and girls get pretty insulted if they’re asked to cuddle on seconds because you were too cheap to put five dollars in the jar the last time.”

  Now Monty didn’t try to hide the smile. “You are a font of information, Officer Kowalski.”

  Kowalski slanted a look at him.

  Laughing, Monty got out of the car. Despite the wind, which was still cold enough to cut to the bone, he left his topcoat open so that his holstered gun showed. Then he pulled out his leather ID holder so it would be in his hand when he walked into Howling Good Reads.

  “After the shooting two years ago, all the windows in these stores were refitted with bulletproof glass,” Kowalski said.

  “A gunman could walk into the store and start shooting,” Monty countered.

  “He could walk in, but he wouldn’t get out alive.” Kowalski tipped his head slightly as he pulled the door open.

  Monty looked in that direction as he walked into the store—and froze.

  Amber eyes stared at him. Lips lifted off the teeth in a silent snarl as the creature lying in front of a bookcase rose to its feet. The damn thing was big. Its shoulder would be even with his hip if they were standing side by side, and he was sure it outweighed him.

  The girl he’d rescued had looked like a rough version of the wolf puppies he’d seen in documentaries. But there was no mistaking this for the animal. There was something more primal about its body than the animals that lived in the world now. The first humans to set foot on this continent must have used the word wolf as a way to lessen their fear of what stared at them from the edge of the woods—or hunted them in the dark—and not because it was an accurate description.

  Kowalski quietly cleared his throat.

  Aware of how everyone was standing still—and trembling while they did it—he held up the leather holder that contained his ID and walked over to the counter.

  At first glance, he thought the man behind the counter was human. The dark hair was a little mussed but professionally cut. The shirt and pullover sweater were workplace casual and equal in quality to things he’d seen in the better shops in Toland. And the wire-rimmed glasses gave the handsome face an academic quality.

  Then the man looked at him with eyes that were the same amber color as the Wolf’s.

  How could anyone look into those eyes and not understand that a predator was looking back at you? Monty thought as he took the last steps to the counter. How could you not know that there was nothing human behind those eyes?

  “Mr. Simon Wolfgard?” Monty asked, still holding up his ID.

  “I’m Wolfgard,” he replied in a baritone that was pleasing if you couldn’t hear the growl under the words.

  Pretending he didn’t hear the growl, Monty continued. “I’m Lieutenant Crispin James Montgomery. My officers and I have been assigned as your police contacts, so I wanted to take this opportunity to introduce myself.”

  “Why do we need police contacts?” Simon asked. “We handle things on our own in the Courtyard.”

  The Wolf snarled behind him.

  Several girls who had been hanging out at the front of the store squealed and headed farther back where they could hide behind the shelves and peek out to watch the drama.

  “Yes, sir. I’m aware of that,” Monty replied, lacing his voice with quiet but firm courtesy. “But if you know we will respond to any call for assistance, I’m hoping that you won’t feel you always have to handle things on your own. Take shoplifting, for example.”

  Simon shrugged. “Steal from us, we eat a hand. But just one if it’s a first offense.”

  Nervous titters from behind the nearest shelves.

  “What if it’s a second offense?” Kowalski asked, moving closer to the counter while keeping an eye on the Wolf that was in Wolf form.

  The predatory look in Simon’s eyes sharpened, just like the smile sharpened. “For a second offense, we don’t bother with a hand.”

  Threat understood.

  He could see the effort it was taking for Wolfgard to assume the mask and body language of human shopkeeper—which he assumed was the purpose of the glasses and clothing.

  Not quite pulling it off today. Not quite able to hide the predator.
/>   Or maybe this was as much as it was ever hidden.

  “Why don’t we go next door for a cup of coffee,” Simon said, making the words less a question and more of a command. “Police officers like coffee. Don’t they?”

  “Yes, sir, we do,” Monty replied.

  Simon wagged a finger at a black-haired, black-eyed girl who hadn’t bolted to the back of the store with the others—had, in fact, been eyeing them all with a bright intensity that made Monty want to buy her some popcorn to eat while she watched the show.

  “Jenni,” Simon said when she hopped onto the counter and then over it. “Can you watch the register for a few minutes?”

  The smile she gave Simon had Monty reaching for his wallet to make sure it was still there.

  “If someone wants to buy something, they will give you money and you will give them change,” Simon said.

  “But not the shiny,” Jenni said, cocking her head. “We keep the shiny.”

  Simon looked like he wanted to bite someone, but all he said was, “Yeah, okay, you don’t have to give anyone the shiny.” Then he looked at the Wolf, who came over and sat in front of the register—a large, furry deterrent to anyone who wanted to check out before Wolfgard returned.

  He led them to the adjoining store.

  Not a lot of customers, Monty thought as he looked around. A couple of people were working on portable computers while sipping from large mugs, but that was all.

  “Tess?” Simon called to the brown-haired woman behind the counter. “Three coffees here.”

  They sat at a table. Monty tucked his ID in his pocket when Tess set three mugs and a plate containing slices of some kind of cake on the table. When she returned with the pot of coffee, napkins, and a little pitcher of cream, Simon introduced Monty and then waited for Monty to introduce his partner.

  Simon studied Kowalski. “Have I smelled you before?”

  Kowalski turned bright red and almost dropped the mug. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “You carrying another scent on you?”

  A head shake. Then Kowalski paled and whispered, “My fiancée.”