He didn’t have answers. Would never have answers. But he needed some kind of answer so that Lizzy wouldn’t carry guilt as well as grief.
He walked over to the chair and crouched, resting a hand on Lizzy’s feet.
“I just wanted to ride a pony,” she whimpered, breaking his heart with those big eyes swimming with tears.
“I know, Lizzy girl, I know. But those aren’t ponies people can ride, and you should have respected Miss Meg when she told you that.”
“Did Miss Meg get hurt because I didn’t listen?”
How to explain a blood prophet’s addiction to cutting? How to tell his little girl that Meg’s new cut was, in some way, her doing? How to say that without Lizzy confusing Meg’s cutting with Elayne being stabbed—and dying?
At least the Others had taken the child away before Meg made the cut. But based on the reaction of the Wolves, this had not been a typical cut, and Meg’s life had been at risk.
“Miss Meg is a special kind of girl,” he said carefully. “And she can get hurt when something is more upsetting than she can handle.”
“Nathan doesn’t like me anymore.”
Probably true, but he said, “We’ll see. We’ll have time to talk later about all the scary things that have happened. But right now, Miss Ruth is going to look after you while I take care of something with Captain Burke. Is that okay?”
Lizzy nodded.
He wanted to stay with his little girl. She needed him. But he had to balance that need against the welfare of the entire city of Lakeside. So he had to get the bakery issue settled before the Others settled it in their own way.
He kissed Lizzy’s forehead, then nodded to Ruth as he left the efficiency apartment to join his captain.
* * *
Sitting on the bench in Henry’s studio, Meg stared at the fur on the back of the Grizzly’s hands. The studio didn’t feel peaceful the way it usually did. And the Bear in human form didn’t look peaceful. He looked big and powerful . . . and angry.
“I had to cut.” She hoped Henry would understand since Simon wouldn’t talk to her. She hoped someone would understand and help her understand, because the pain that had overwhelmed her had been too much to keep inside herself.
“Had to.” Nodding, Henry wandered around his studio, looking at the sculptures in various stages of creation. “Had to cut when you were out of control because you’re too stupid to try to understand what is around you without cutting?”
She stared at him, shocked. “Henry . . .”
“We’ve seen enough of these cuts since you came to live with us to know you have warnings, those prickles that tell you something is wrong.” Henry towered over her. “You must have had those prickles at the Pony Barn, but you didn’t tell Nathan so that he would know something was wrong, didn’t walk away from the Pony Barn to see if the prickles would fade. Isn’t that what you’ve done before to determine if a cut was necessary?”
“Yes, but—”
“Instead you stayed, trying to talk to a cub who thought she should get her own way. You stayed when you had already said everything there was to say about her riding the ponies.”
“But Lizzy is in danger!” Meg protested.
“Who among us didn’t already know that?” he replied with a curtness that wounded her. She expected Simon to snap and snarl at her, but not Henry.
“And Nathan was in danger too!”
“Because of you and the Lizzy!” Henry roared. “You put a Wolf who thought you were a friend in the position of being around fresh blood you know is a danger to him. Did you know Nathan had to make the cut? You were so out of control, he had to make the cut to stop you from slashing your belly open.”
Meg froze, shocked so deeply she could barely breathe. She remembered Nathan howling, so much misery in the sound. “No,” she whispered. “No, I didn’t do that.”
“You did,” Henry growled. “Fire helped hold you down, and that experience has sharpened her feelings about humans in general and the Lizzy in particular.”
“But it was worth it,” Meg insisted. What she had seen had to be worth all this hurt she’d caused to beings she cared about.
Henry pulled a piece of paper wrapped around her folding razor out of his pocket. He tossed both into her lap. “Was this worth the distress you caused?”
She unrolled the paper and stared at the words.
Happy mask
Angry face
Ice chest
Heart
Rotting meat
“There must have been more.” She watched her hands shake.
“No. That was all you said.”
“Maybe . . . maybe the cut wasn’t long enough or deep enough.” The cut felt long enough and deep enough.
“Maybe men like the Controller were right and the cassandra sangue can’t survive outside of cages. Maybe blood prophets can’t experience the world like other beings because everything and everyone can be an excuse to use the razor. Is that what we should tell the Intuits and other humans who are struggling to help these girls survive? That the blood prophets need limited contact with other people, limited experiences, a limited life? Otherwise you’ll cut yourselves to death over any little thing.”
“No! Henry, I did it for Lizzy!”
“None of us believe that.”
She stared at him, stunned.
“It is said you have a thousand cuts before the one that kills you. How many scars do you have now, Meg? How many years do you have left if you cut yourself every three days? You say you did this cut for the Lizzy? What do you want us to tell Sam when you bleed out one day from a cut you didn’t need to make?”
“Henry . . . ,” she sobbed. His words battered her like fists.
“You hurt all of us. You hurt Sam and Simon and Nathan. You upset the Elementals and the ponies and the Sanguinati. You’re supposed to be the Pathfinder, the one who will consider alternatives to the razor so that blood prophets can live in the outside world.”
Pressing a hand to the cut at her waist, she wept. And when Henry sat down beside her and put his arms around her, offering grumbling comfort as he might do for a cub, that hurt worse than his angry words.
CHAPTER 26
Watersday, Maius 12
Lizzy is fine, and Ruth is well able to look after her for a couple of hours, Monty thought as he and Burke walked into Nadine’s Bakery & Café after the lunchtime rush. Stay focused on the work now.
Nadine didn’t give him her usual smile. Instead she said, “Are you here to ask me to choose a side, Lieutenant?”
“Choose a side?”
“Maybe this has been bubbling under the surface for a long time, but it seems like, all of a sudden, people are expected to declare themselves one way or the other. Either you’re for humans and against the Others, or you’re a traitor to your own kind. Neutral as an option hasn’t been eliminated completely, but it’s getting there. There’s talk that we’ll be seeing shortages of pork and beef by the end of summer because animals are dying due to lack of feed. There’s already a limit on how much flour and sugar bakeries can purchase each week, and prices for some items have already gone up—have doubled in some cases.” Nadine sighed. “You know Chris from Fallacaro Lock and Key?”
“He works with the terra indigene in the Courtyard,” Monty replied.
“His father and I are cousins. Last night Chris slept on my couch because his father joined the Humans First and Last movement and declared that the business is humans only from now on, and if Chris does another job for the Others he’ll not only be tossed out of the business; he’ll be disinherited. And any other employee who doesn’t join HFL will be out of a job.” Her dark eyes held an equal measure of anger and worry as she focused on Monty. “You usually come in on your way home from the Universal Temple. Somehow, I don’t think you’re here to pick up a late lunch.”
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br /> “No, we’re not,” Monty said, regretting that Nadine was right—he was going to ask her to choose a side. He just hoped that she would understand that choosing the Others was a way to help humans. “There’s a coffee shop in the Courtyard. It’s no longer open to the general public, but it does supply food for human employees as well as the terra indigene. Two bakeries in Lakeside that were supposed to supply the coffee shop with baked goods and other foods have broken their agreements with the Courtyard.”
“Then the Others should learn to bake or do without,” Nadine replied.
“There are bakeries on Great Island that will supply them with anything they want for the coffee shop,” Burke said. “But there will be penalties to Lakeside if no bakery in the city honors the agreements.”
Nadine studied them. “What kind of penalties?”
“Some of the food needed by the people in this city is grown on farms run by the terra indigene,” Burke said. “All Simon Wolfgard has to do is inform those farms that, from now on, the surplus they had sold to businesses in Lakeside now goes to businesses on Great Island or to other human settlements who do not support the HFL movement. And if Wolfgard, who is the most liberal terra indigene leader I’ve ever met, takes that stand, other terra indigene leaders will adopt that stand as well. And then, Ms. Fallacaro, we will know shortages.”
Nadine stared at Burke. Then she turned to Monty. “Is that true?”
Monty hesitated. “Captain Burke has more knowledge of the terra indigene than I do, so I would take his words as truth.”
She let out a brittle laugh. “So much for wanting to be neutral.”
“You can refuse to supply goods for the Courtyard coffee shop,” Monty said.
“How many other bakeries are you going to ask? Or will you just look for the HFL decal in their windows and not even bother to ask?” Her smile was as brittle as her laugh. “Chris’s father thinks humans will soon have the capability to rise up against the terra indigene and lay claim to every corner of this world. Do you think that can happen?”
Monty looked at Burke, who looked at Nadine.
“I think,” Burke said quietly, “that if we were able to visit some parts of the wild country, we would find the remains of great civilizations that once thought the same thing—and were wrong.”
They waited, giving her time to consider.
“I don’t want to advertise that I’m selling to the Courtyard,” she finally said.
“They have unmarked vehicles. Picking up an order could be arranged,” Monty said.
“I’m not even sure why I’m agreeing to this,” Nadine muttered.
“To keep the peace,” Burke said. “You’re helping to keep the peace.”
“Thank you,” Monty said.
“Wait.” Nadine quickly assembled two bakery boxes and filled them with a variety of pastries. “I have some quiche left from the afternoon lunch hour. I’ll get it for you. Might as well find out if the Others will like what they’ll be getting.”
She went into the back and returned a few minutes later with another box that held pieces of quiche as well as a few sandwiches. She packed those into a small lightweight cooler that Monty promised to return.
“This could put her in danger,” he said after he and Burke stowed the boxes in the backseat of Burke’s car and headed for Monty’s apartment to pick up the mail and a couple more changes of clothes.
“Yes, it could,” Burke agreed. “But this is a precarious time for all of us, whether the majority of people realize it or not.”
Since he agreed with that, Monty lapsed into silence during the short drive to his apartment, his thoughts going back to Lizzy. She’d been very upset when Jester brought her to the Market Square medical office. Part of that had been an excessive display of emotion for what should have been a small disappointment when she couldn’t ride a pony. More had been real fear when Meg Corbyn spun out of control because of her tantrum.
And may the gods help him, she still didn’t know Elayne was dead.
That excessive display wasn’t typical of Lizzy. At least, it hadn’t been a few months ago. He hoped this wasn’t a new pattern of behavior.
Right now he hoped a lot of things.
Burke parked across the street from Monty’s apartment. When they went into the building, Monty stopped to check his mailbox before going up the stairs.
He opened the apartment door, took two steps inside, and stopped.
“Lieutenant?” Burke said quietly, drawing his gun.
Monty stepped carefully into the kitchen, set his mail on the table, and looked around. Nothing out of place, and yet . . .
He checked the living room, bedroom, bathroom.
“I think someone searched my apartment,” Monty finally said.
“You think?” Burke looked around. He holstered his gun and took out his mobile phone. “This is Burke. I want a list of all trains between Toland and Lakeside yesterday and this morning. And I want a list of every train that arrived in Lakeside between yesterday morning and now. Don’t leave those lists sitting on my desk. Hold on to them until I get back to the station.”
“This would be the first place someone would look for Lizzy,” Monty said. “If they figured out she was on a train to Lakeside, this is where they would look.”
“Did someone travel to Lakeside to make a search, or did someone call a person who was already here? There are some police officers in Lakeside who think Humans First and Last is a mighty fine idea.” Burke blew out a breath. “The search didn’t turn up the bear or the jewels. That could be the reason Captain Scaffoldon called this morning.”
Monty looked at Burke. “Scaffoldon? From the CIU unit in Toland?”
“One and the same. Someone called the station early this morning, trying to confirm if you would be home. Shortly after that, Scaffoldon called, claiming to want to know your whereabouts for the time of Elayne’s murder. Would have been enough time for someone to search your place and report back to Scaffoldon that nothing was found.”
He needed to think clearly, so Monty ignored the burn of anger at being accused of Elayne’s murder—and the deeper burn that he and Lizzy could have been here, could have been attacked by whoever was searching for the jewels. More trauma to Lizzy, if not something worse. And for what? Boo Bear and the jewels were already at the Chestnut Street station.
Of course, no one would have known that.
“Are Boo Bear and the jewels in the evidence lockup?” Monty asked.
“Boo Bear, the jewels, and the photographs taken of the evidence are in a safe place,” Burke replied.
An evasive answer. Right now, he didn’t care about the bear or the jewels, so it was a sufficient answer.
Monty went back into the bedroom and pulled the lockbox off the top shelf. He set it on the bed and opened it. Pete Denby had the copy of Lizzy’s birth certificate and the legal papers for the child support, so the lockbox held Monty’s checkbook and savings account. His will. A copy of the rental agreement for the apartment. A few other personal papers.
Nothing missing. Nothing out of order.
When Burke stepped into the bedroom doorway, Monty said, “I can’t ask an investigating team to dust the apartment for fingerprints when I can’t even be sure anyone has been in here.” And as soon as he asked, the news would surely travel and, quite likely, reach the ears of the person who had conducted the search.
“That’s the human way of looking for an intruder,” Burke said. “You have another option.”
It took Monty a moment to realize what Burke meant. Then he sighed as he pulled out his phone and called Howling Good Reads.
“Mr. Wolfgard? I realize this isn’t a good day to ask for a favor, but I need some help determining if someone has been in my apartment looking for Lizzy.”
CHAPTER 27
Watersday, Maius 12
“I’m sorry, Meg,” Merri Lee said. “But I think Henry is right. You shouldn’t have made that cut, especially when you were feeling out of control.”
They were sitting in the back room of the Liaison’s Office making a record of what had happened to precipitate Meg’s need to make the cut, including everything Lizzy had said while the pins-and-needles feeling escalated to the painful buzz. Now Meg pushed away from the table and went into the sorting room, looking for something to do that would give her an excuse to end this discussion.
“That’s not what you wanted to hear.” Merri Lee followed Meg into the sorting room and set the pad of paper and pen on the counter.
“I had to cut!” Meg shouted. “Why doesn’t anyone understand that?”
“Maybe no one understands it because no one else sees it that way,” Merri Lee replied hotly. “You screwed up, and now you’re trying to justify your actions.”
“Lizzy . . .”
“Threw a hissy fit and tried to get her own way. Maybe she’s a spoiled brat and thinks she should always get her own way. Maybe she’s been misbehaving—and getting away with it—because her mother caved when she started whining and Lieutenant Montgomery wasn’t there to insist on good behavior. Or maybe she’s acting up because she’s only six or seven years old and has been through a lot in the past twenty-four hours.” Merri Lee blew out a breath. “Look, Meg, you tried to do something nice by showing her the ponies. They’re chunky and they look kind of cute in a grumpy sort of way. And everything was fine until she started going on about riding a pony, right?”
Meg laid a hand against her waist, feeling the bandage over the cut. “Yes, but then . . .”
“Then you got that prickling warning that something was going on,” Merri Lee interrupted. “Which escalated into feeling so bad and desperate that you would have done who knows how much harm to yourself if you’d been alone with the razor.”
Tears stung Meg’s eyes. She’d expected support, not someone else telling her she was wrong, that she couldn’t cope with the world outside a sterile cell.