Looking at Burke, Monty wondered about the man’s early years as a police officer. What had he seen that made him this committed to keeping the peace, to making his own kind of law to the point where he would take a business owner for a long ride? What was it about Burke that made his superiors yield when he wanted something that in some way affected the Others?
“We’re done here,” Burke said. “Go back to your stores.”
The first steps were hesitant, as if the owners and managers didn’t think he’d really let them go. Then the rush for the door.
“Lieutenant.” Burke opened his wallet and pulled out two fifties.
“Sir?”
“Order four sheet pizzas for the Courtyard. You and Kowalski can take them with you. I’m sure they’ll be ready in time for you to make your meeting with the Courtyard’s Business Association.”
“Of course,” Hot Crust’s manager stammered. “What would you like on them?”
Monty put in the order.
“Can we make our deliveries?” the manager asked.
“I don’t know,” Burke replied with a fierce smile. “Can you?”
“Yes. There won’t be any trouble with deliveries from now on.”
Burke wagged a finger at Monty and Louis. “Another moment of your time, gentlemen.”
They went outside. Monty drew in air that held a hint of exhaust but was a lot cleaner than the fear-laden air in the pizza place.
“We’re clear here,” Burke said with a nod to the officers still waiting for further orders.
The officers returned to their patrol cars and drove off. Monty noticed Kowalski waiting for him beside their car.
“Something else on your mind, Captain?” Louis asked.
“Four people were butchered along with a Sanguinati,” Burke said quietly.
“The older woman and the boy,” Monty said.
“And two women. Late teens or early twenties. Along with the tornado and fires, there were several very localized earthquakes—quakes just violent enough to shake the jars off pantry shelves.
Monty felt his stomach rise.
“The sick bastard who killed them had just started on the women. Have to figure he ran when his jars of specimens started breaking.”
Queer look in Burke’s eyes now.
“What about the women?” Monty asked.
“One of them was a resident of Talulah Falls and a student at the university. The other was a cassandra sangue. An investigating officer in the Falls e-mailed a photo of her. It’s in my car. If the opportunity arises, Lieutenant, find out if Ms. Corbyn knows the girl.”
• • •
Meg took a bite out of her second piece of pizza and chewed slowly, savoring the flavors and texture. She wasn’t really hungry enough for another piece, but the combination of sauce, cheese, and thick crust eased the hollowness in her belly in a way the steak and spinach salads couldn’t.
Not that she wasn’t grateful for the choice pieces of meat that had been cooked for her throughout the day or the salads that had been made. And she was grateful for the vitamins Dr. Lorenzo had given her and the careful way he’d used the butterfly bandages to close the long cut after he’d examined the wound and put on the ointment that would keep the wound from becoming infected.
When he’d commented about the cleanliness of the wound and looked at her with a question in his eyes, she claimed she didn’t know why the wound was so clean.
She had lied, and he knew it. They all knew it.
She had made a mistake out of desperation. She should have realized the addiction to the euphoria wouldn’t be shaken so easily.
No wonder so many girls died when the cutting wasn’t controlled by someone else. A blood prophet didn’t just want a cut; she needed a cut. And if you tried to ignore that essential truth about being a cassandra sangue, sooner or later something would act as the trigger that turned the need into a mindless compulsion—and that was when a girl would grab anything sharp enough to cut skin.
That was when girls made fatal mistakes.
She should have set up a schedule for cutting, should have arranged it so that someone could monitor her properly and make a record of whatever she saw. If she had done that . . .
None of the Others would tell her what happened to Simon. Was he all right? Something had gone wrong. She had cut across twice as much skin as she should have even for a long cut, and she had cut too deep. The prophecies raged through her like water rushing to embrace the emptiness before the fall. She had tried to hold in the prophecies, tried not to speak so that she could see the visions since there was no one to listen. But she saw glimpses of things so terrible and terrifying, she had to speak, had to experience the euphoria that would veil what was revealed.
Then Simon appeared, pushing at the bathroom door, banging it against her legs hard enough to bruise her. She hadn’t known about the bruises and wouldn’t have cared. All that mattered was having a listener.
But he had licked the cut, cleaned off some of the blood, and something happened. Simon wasn’t really Simon anymore. He wasn’t the leader; he wasn’t the Wolf with snarling intelligence. He was . . . taffy. All soft and gooey.
But the feel of his tongue on her skin, licking her as if she was the most wonderful thing in the world. Combined with the euphoria that flowed with her words, his tongue pleased her and pleasured her and made her want . . .
“Meg?” Jester urgently whispered in her ear. “Meg? Please stop thinking about whatever you’re thinking about.”
Blinking, she pulled her thoughts back to her surroundings.
The Coyote eased away from her while also leaning toward her and sniffing. When Nathan growled a warning, Jester moved as far away from her as he could without falling off the sofa.
Puzzled, Meg looked at Nathan—who blushed and whined softly before looking away. He shifted in his chair as if he couldn’t get comfortable.
Jake Crowgard, the only other individual in Henry’s living room, watched her with bright-eyed intensity.
Her panties were damp. She’d been thinking about Simon, and now her panties were damp.
And at least two of the males in the room could smell the arousal and need.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
“It’s all right.” Jester gave her shoulder a cautious pat. “It’s just . . . confusing.”
Her appetite gone, Meg set the rest of the pizza slice on her plate and wiped her fingers on a napkin. In Wolf form, Simon would have licked her fingers clean.
Can’t think about Simon.
Nothing else she could think about right now. He’d been fine when he entered her bathroom. Then he wasn’t fine. Wasn’t Simon. Simon would have understood the importance of remembering the prophecy. Simon would have listened, wouldn’t have gotten distracted.
She had seen words written on the bathroom mirror when Henry carried her out. Was that all she’d said? So little for so much skin used? Or had there been more that was now lost?
Tess, Henry, and Vlad had told her Simon was all right, but she didn’t believe them. They wanted Simon to be all right. That wasn’t the same thing.
“Jester?” She chose her questions carefully. The Coyote was friendly but inclined toward dosing helpfulness with mischief. “Where is Simon?”
“He’s in that meeting with Lieutenant Montgomery,” Jester replied, glancing at Nathan. “The police came to the meeting. They brought the pizza.”
“Simon hasn’t been in meetings all day.” And even if he had been, why hadn’t he stopped by to check on her or call? Sam, who was still a puppy, had called, mostly to whine a little about having to stay at the Wolfgard Complex tonight even though they all knew he enjoyed playing with the other pups and had been sleeping with the other Wolves on the weekdays.
Meg studied the Coyote. “Would you tell me? If there was so
mething wrong, would you tell me?”
Jester sighed. “Yes, Meg. If something was wrong with Simon, I would tell you.”
• • •
Simon didn’t like feeling scared. He didn’t like feeling sick or shaky. And he wanted this craving that made him feel distracted and hollow to go away.
Because he knew what would fill up the hollowness.
And he wished Lieutenant Crispin James Montgomery hadn’t been so helpful over the past few months, hadn’t shown concern for things that mattered to the terra indigene. Hadn’t become something more than a not-edible human.
If Montgomery had kept his distance, Simon wouldn’t feel some obligation to share information.
But they were gathered in the Business Association’s meeting room on the second floor of Howling Good Reads because there were decisions to be made—and not all of those decisions were about the Others. Even so, he didn’t think Montgomery found it comfortable to be the only human in a room with him, Vlad, Henry, Blair, Elliot, and Tess.
Henry, Blair, and Vlad had locked down the Courtyard after they realized something unexplained had happened to him. Henry had summoned Dr. Lorenzo and escorted the doctor to the Green Complex to tend to Meg. Vlad had called Heather and Lorne to tell them the stores would be closed, but they both chose to come to work. Elizabeth Bennefeld wasn’t scheduled to work in the Market Square office that day, but she called to see if anyone needed her skills as a massage therapist. Merri Lee . . .
“I appreciate you letting Ms. Lee stay in the efficiency apartment for the time being,” Montgomery said.
Always quiet, always courteous. No challenges or dominance games.
“We set aside one of those apartments for our female employees,” Simon said. “No reason for her not to use it.”
Of course, the Others had given their employees access to the apartments as a temporary place to stay during bad weather. But Tess and Vlad had seen the young woman when Officer Debany brought her from the emergency room, and they agreed that until the unrest was dealt with one way or another, Merri Lee was too vulnerable staying in her apartment near the university. And, according to Debany, the two women Merri Lee shared the apartment with were relieved to see her go because they didn’t want to be targeted for living with a Wolf lover.
“This is what Captain Burke and I know about Talulah Falls,” Montgomery said.
Simon listened, a little surprised that the situation had escalated so fast. Then again, when Meg had been injured and the Lakeside Courtyard had been under attack, the Elementals and their steeds had retaliated with a storm that could have destroyed the city if humans like Montgomery, Kowalski, and Lorenzo hadn’t made an effort to help.
He was surprised, but the rest of the Others nodded, indicating they were already aware of the situation in the Falls, as well as the way Great Island was cut off for the time being but prepared to wait out the fog on the river. No troubles there between humans and terra indigene.
Maybe that was one reason why the tension in Talulah Falls had reached the breaking point so quickly. The Others in the Falls Courtyard had voiced some resentment lately about the way the human community on Great Island cooperated with the terra indigene. And the Lakeside Courtyard’s more recent success at receiving cooperation from at least some of the humans they dealt with just added to the resentment.
If humans weren’t going to live up to their part of the agreements that allowed their cities to exist in the first place, the terra indigene saw no reason for those cities to continue existing.
He agreed with the leaders of the Talulah Falls Courtyard that this assumption humans made that they were entitled to whatever they wanted had to be crushed quickly and completely, but Simon sincerely hoped the humans in Lakeside would continue to help him avoid making that same decision.
“Mr. Ferryman asked me to convey his thanks for the warning this morning,” Montgomery said, giving Simon a look that was clearly asking What is wrong with you? “But he also wasn’t sure how much had been told to him in confidence and indicated that I should talk to you about it in case you thought any of it might be relevant to Lakeside.”
Simon unfolded the piece of paper and placed it on the low round table in the center of the ring of chairs. “You know about Meg being hurt this morning?” He waited for Montgomery’s nod. “I think some of the prophecy was lost. Maybe some of the visions weren’t written down in the right way. I was . . .” He shook his head. “This is what we told Ferryman.”
He watched Montgomery lean forward to read the list of what little he had written on the bathroom mirror.
Fin
Smiling shark
Falling water
Hide the children
Smoke and broken jars
Scars
Shaking basement
Falling jars
Shark
Hide the children
“I guess this explains the earthquakes,” Montgomery said softly. Then he frowned. “But . . . shark? Are there sharks in the Talulah River?”
“No,” Simon replied. “The Sharkgard don’t tend any of the freshwater lakes or rivers.”
“Maybe the words are a symbol to mean something else?”
Henry nodded. “At least where the shark is concerned. But falling water indicates Talulah Falls. That’s clear enough.”
Montgomery studied the words. “Hide the children. She said those words and ‘shark’ twice.”
“Maybe it means a predator that would threaten the children on Great Island,” Tess said. “But it could be referring to the Falls or to Lakeside. We think Meg was referring to herself with the scar reference.”
“No, I don’t think she was.” Montgomery removed a color photo from an envelope and set it gently on the table. “I think Ms. Corbyn may have been referring to this girl.”
Simon didn’t see anything remarkable about the girl, except . . . Were those evenly spaced scars on the left side of her face?
“The Falls police found the remains of four humans in the same basement where they found the Sanguinati who was killed,” Montgomery said. “One of the girls was a cassandra sangue.”
Simon felt his canines lengthen. “You’re not showing this to Meg.”
“If she knows this girl . . .” Montgomery began.
“Not today,” Henry said firmly when Simon and Blair snarled at the lieutenant. “Meg needs to stay quiet today. And there is something more Simon needs to tell you. We don’t know if the knowledge will help anyone in Talulah Falls at this point, but the trouble is too close to Lakeside now, so we agreed that the police need to know about this.”
Simon stared at the photo. A blood prophet like Meg, dead.
He was leader. He might be sick and scared today, but he was leader of the Lakeside Courtyard, and no matter what the police or other terra indigene thought, Meg was not going to be in a picture like that.
“Mr. Wolfgard?” Montgomery said.
So careful, like the man had been careful after the storm. Suspecting the truth about Simon’s excessive aggression when Meg had been hurt but smart enough not to ask outright about the cause.
“When I found Meg in the bathroom, bleeding so much, I . . . licked up some of the blood to clean the wound.” Simon swallowed, craving water. Craving something much richer than water. “I thought it would make me angry so I could help her, protect her.” He looked into Montgomery’s eyes. “Like it did before.”
Montgomery nodded his understanding. “But it didn’t make you angry?”
“No. Well, it did for a moment, but then it made me feel good—so good I couldn’t focus on helping Meg or . . . She wanted me to write down the words, and I tried. But all I wanted was to lie there and feel good.” He remembered the erection, his human form’s desire for sex and something more than sex. But he couldn’t remember doing anything but feeling good.
“Are you all right now?”
Something in Montgomery’s voice. Simon forced himself to concentrate.
“No. I’m . . . not right yet.”
“You’re describing an experience that matches a drug called feel-good, so it’s not surprising you reacted that way. It’s as addictive as an opiate.” Montgomery paused and looked at the Others. “It’s addictive, and there has been at least one reported death from an overdose. The person just stopped making an effort to survive.”
An uneasy silence. Then Henry said, “Simon has been in a passive haze for most of the day, unable to fend for himself or defend himself.”
“I see.” Montgomery took a careful breath before asking, “Are you certain you didn’t ingest anything else. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure the drug you’ve been calling gone over wolf comes from the blood of the cassandra sangue,” Simon said. “And I’m sure this feel-good also comes from the prophet’s blood.”
Addictive? Would this hollowness and craving go away? Or would he turn on Meg and bite her for another taste? And how could two things so different in effect come from the same source? Because his reaction to Meg’s blood had changed almost between one lick and the next. How? Why?
Montgomery sat back. “I’d like to discuss this information with Dr. Lorenzo in strictest confidence.”
“If anyone finds out . . .” Simon warned.
“I understand the danger, Mr. Wolfgard. I do. I also know Dr. Lorenzo is scheduled to check on Ms. Corbyn tomorrow morning. I’d like to meet with all of you then.”
“Not Meg.” Simon felt everyone stare at him. He picked up the paper that held the words of the prophecy, and he picked up the photo of the other blood prophet.
Was this Jean, the friend Meg often mentioned? The friend who had defied the people controlling the girls by insisting she had a name and not just a designation?
“We will listen to what you and Dr. Lorenzo have to say about these drugs, and then I’ll talk to Meg.”