“Most people hear only about the euphoria, the ecstasy that blood prophets feel from a cut.”
He cocked his head to show he was listening.
“And there is euphoria. There is ecstasy that is similar to prolonged sexual pleasure. But first, Mr. Wolfgard, there is pain. When the skin is first cut, in those moments before the prophet begins to speak, there is a lot of pain.”
He didn’t like that. She could judge how much he didn’t like that by the red flickering in his amber eyes.
“Do you know how a girl like me is punished?” She raised her right hand and traced the diagonal scars on her left arm. “She is strapped to the chair, as always. Then she is gagged. And then the Controller sits in his chair while one of the Walking Names takes the razor and slices across old visions, old prophecies, and makes something terrible and new. All those images jumbled together with no reference point, no anchor. And because she is gagged, the girl can’t speak. The words need to be heard, Mr. Wolfgard. When a prophecy isn’t spoken, isn’t shared, there is no euphoria. There is only pain.”
He took a step closer to her, his eyes still on her arm. He raised a hand, but the fingers still ended in Wolf claws that hovered over her fragile skin.
“Why did they punish you?”
More than once. He could count the number of times she had tried to defy the Controller and Walking Names. One section of her arm was a crosshatch of scars. What she had seen and endured could have driven her insane. Instead, the images had come together in a pattern that had shown her how to escape.
“I lied,” she said. “There was a man. A very bad man. He was a favorite client of the Controller who ran the compound where I was kept. This man did bad things to little girls. He traveled a lot for his business and he had found two girls he liked in different cities. One prophecy told him he could take one of the girls without anyone knowing. But if he took the other girl, he would be found and caught and he would die. He paid for another prophecy that would tell him which girl he could take and avoid being caught.”
“You gave him the wrong images, the wrong place, led him to the wrong choice.”
She nodded. “Before he could hurt the girl, the police found him and caught him—and killed him.” She tried to cover the scars with her hand, but there were too many of them. “The Controller received a lot of money from this client, so he was very angry when the man died. I was strapped to the chair and punished several times because the client died.” She swallowed a feeling of sickness. “The pain is terrible. I have no images that could convey to you how terrible it is. So I wouldn’t have cut myself and kept silent, Mr. Wolfgard. Not without a good reason.”
He looked less angry, but she didn’t think he was convinced yet.
“If you didn’t cut, how did you know the deliveryman was bad?”
Now she allowed herself a little of her own anger. “I pay attention, and he didn’t behave like the other deliverymen who come here!” Because the feeling worried her enough that she wanted someone else to know about it, she added, “And that awful prickling started under my skin as soon as he walked into the office.”
Simon cocked his head again. “Prickling?”
“I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s maddening! It used to be I felt this prickling only just before I was going to be cut. Now I feel it every day, and I want to cut and cut and cut to make it stop!”
He studied her. “Maybe this is natural for your kind when you’re not caged. Maybe this prickling is your body’s way of warning you that something is wrong. If I hear a rattling near a game trail, I don’t have to get bitten to confirm there’s a snake there. Maybe now that you’re living outside the compound, your instincts are waking up. To a Wolf, that’s a good thing.”
She hadn’t considered that.
“So what did your instincts tell you about that man?” Simon asked.
His face had shifted all the way back to human. Except the ears. They were smaller than they’d been a minute ago, but they were still furry Wolf ears, and it was hard to concentrate on words when the ears swiveled to catch sounds outside the room and then pricked toward her when she spoke. And something about the way he looked at her told her he wanted to test the soundness of her instincts.
“All the delivery trucks or vans have the company name on the side or on the back, and they park in a way that I can see the name before the driver comes into the office,” she explained. “The men have their names sewn on their shirts or have a badge with their picture, and their jackets usually have a company name or logo. They want me to know who they are and where they work. That man didn’t have a badge or even a logo on his uniform. There was no name on the van. The back license plate was packed with snow and couldn’t be read. And the package!” Now that she was warming up to all the things that weren’t right, her voice began to rise. “He couldn’t tell me the company that had shipped it, couldn’t tell me who it was for. The label didn’t have a company name, and the writing was so bad, I couldn’t tell who was supposed to receive it. No company who did business with the Courtyard would have sent a package like that!”
She thought about what she’d just said. “Simon,” she whispered. “No company who does business with the Courtyard would have sent that package.”
* * *
Simon didn’t need to see her pale to know what she was thinking.
Bomb.
He leaped into the front room and vaulted over the counter. Grabbing the box, he ran to the door, shoving it open with a shoulder. Then he took a few steps away from the office to give himself some room and threw the box.
It flew over most of the delivery area and landed close to the street entrance. Skidding on the remaining layer of snow, the box finally came to a stop at the edge of the sidewalk, almost tipping into the street.
Pedestrians stumbled back. Drivers honked their car horns and swerved when they saw the box sliding into their path.
Then people caught sight of him and started screaming. Some simply turned and ran. Others bolted into traffic and narrowly avoided being hit.
The consulate door was flung open. Elliot, looking pale, shouted, “Simon! You’re between forms!”
He didn’t respond. Instead he lifted his head and howled a Song of Battle.
The Crows exploded off the stone wall, cawing their warnings.
He howled again. Answering howls came from the Market Square, from the Utility Complex, and, a few seconds later, from the Wolfgard Complex. Crows and Hawks and even some Owls were in flight, spreading the warning, sounding a call to battle.
And the Wolves continued to howl.
Elliot’s voice sounded more controlled but still shocked.
Elliot went inside the consulate.
Had to get control. Had to get out of sight and shift to one form or another.
He wanted to be Wolf. The Courtyard—and Meg—needed him to wear the human skin for a while. And he needed to find out what happened to that van and the intruder.
As he turned to go back inside, he noticed the Bear tracks.
he called.
Only a foolish leader challenged an angry Grizzly without good reason.
He headed for the front door, then caught sight of Vlad in the access way that led to the Market Square and the rest of the Courtyard. Changing direction, he reached the Sanguinati and continued on to the back of the building.
“What happened?” Vlad asked. “I locked HGR’s door and put Ferus on guard in front of it. No one is leaving until we have answers. Tess has locked everyone in too.”
“A monkey touched Meg,” Simon growled. “Tried to take Meg.”
“Is she hurt?”
<
br /> He didn’t think she was hurt, but he knew something that needed to be done before anyone else saw her. “Wait. Tell Tess to meet us out here. The police are coming.”
“Human law doesn’t apply here,” Vlad said coolly.
“No, it doesn’t. But we’re going to let the police deal with whatever is in the box the intruder brought into the office.”
He went into the office through the back door, then stopped. Meg was still in the sorting room. In a few more minutes, there would be Crows and cops all over this part of the Courtyard. And there would be Sanguinati and Wolves. He hoped the girls at the lake would be content with a report from Jester.
It took effort to shift to fully human. Human wasn’t as useful as Wolf.
He got back most of the way. He had a mantle of fur across his shoulders that ran down part of his back and chest, and he couldn’t get his canines down to human size.
It would have to do. He pulled on his jeans and the lightweight sweater he’d been wearing when he first came in. Going to the back room’s bins, he pulled out the gray sweatshirt he kept there and went into the sorting room.
Meg leaned against the counter, her arms wrapped around herself.
“Was it a bomb?” she asked.
“Don’t know. The police will figure that out. Here.” He held out the sweatshirt. “Going to be a lot of people around soon, and the police will want to talk to you.” She looked pale, and it bothered him. “If you put this on, no one will see the scars.”
She pulled off the sweater and put on the sweatshirt over the one-sleeved turtleneck.
The sweatshirt was big on her and she looked ridiculous. He liked it. And he liked that she was wearing something that carried his scent.
“Stay here,” he said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
She looked toward the back room. “I’m cold. I was going to make some peppermint tea.”
He nodded. He was going to have his meeting outside anyway. “That’s fine. Just stay in the building.” Taking the sweater and the torn sleeve, he went into the back room. Pushing his feet into his boots, he stepped outside.
Vlad and Nyx were there. So was Tess, whose hair was coils of red with streaks of black.
“Meg is fine,” Simon said.
Tess looked at the sweater he held in one hand and the torn-off sleeve in the other. “That doesn’t look like she’s fine.”
“She is,” he snarled.
“Why did this man try to take Meg?” Nyx asked.
“Henry will find out, and then we’ll all know.”
A dozen Crows sounded an alarm at the same time Simon heard sirens coming toward the Courtyard from several directions.
Jake told him moments later.
“The police are here,” he said.
“Might as well unlock HGR’s door,” Vlad said. “The customers aren’t going to go far with this much excitement going on.”
Tess sighed and held out a hand. “Give me that. I’ll send Merri Lee to the Market Square to replace it.”
His hands fisted in the material that held Meg’s scent. “Merri Lee doesn’t need this one to fetch another sweater.”
Tess gave him a long look. Then she walked back to A Little Bite.
Nyx shifted to smoke below the waist and drifted up the access way. The Sanguinati were less concerned about being seen in a between form than the Wolves. Perhaps because humans didn’t understand the danger and weren’t sufficiently afraid.
“I’ll look after the store,” Vlad said after a moment.
“I’ll deal with the police,” Simon said.
“Montgomery isn’t a fool. You called him, let him in that much. He’ll ask questions.”
Simon nodded. “He isn’t a fool. Hopefully that means he’ll know when to stop asking questions.”
* * *
Monty’s heart banged against his chest, and his mind wouldn’t let go of the story of the Drowned City.
A possible bomb left in the Liaison’s Office. An attack against the Others? Or against Meg Corbyn? Either way, the backlash could cripple the city if the Courtyard’s leaders decided to punish all humans for the actions of one.
Police cars blocked the intersection of Crowfield Avenue and Main Street, redirecting traffic away from the Courtyard. The bomb squad was already there, along with a fire truck and an ambulance. Another half dozen police cars were parked haphazardly on Main Street. As Kowalski pulled up and parked, Monty spotted his other team, officers Debany and MacDonald.
Cops everywhere, but not one of them with so much as a toe inside the Courtyard.
“Gods above and below,” Kowalski breathed. “What happened here?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out.” Monty opened his door, then signaled for Debany and MacDonald to join him. “You two go around and talk to whoever is running A Little Bite and Howling Good Reads today. See if they know anything, and try to confirm that the human customers and employees are all accounted for.” And unharmed, he added silently. That wasn’t something he needed to tell his men.
Once they were on their way, Monty stepped up to the barricade erected by the bomb squad. “Louis?”
Louis Gresh, the squad’s commander, spoke quietly to his men, then walked over to the barricade. “Monty.” He nodded at Kowalski. “Not a bomb. Just a box full of rags and a telephone directory to give it some weight. I’ll take it in and hand it over. Our people might find something useful.”
Crows winged in. Some settled on rooftops. Others flew across the street to perch on streetlights. They cawed to one another and preened feathers—and noticed everything.
Louis watched them. “There are probably plenty of witnesses who could tell you what happened here, but I doubt you’ll find one who will tell you anything.”
Depends on how I ask the questions, Monty thought. “Appreciate the fast response.”
“Any time.” Louis looked at all the Crows watching the police, then looked up.
Following his gaze, Monty saw the Hawks soaring over the Courtyard. And deeper in the Courtyard, he heard Wolves howling.
“Good luck,” Louis said before he walked away.
Taking a deep breath, Monty summoned the officers who had responded to the call. He gave them the task of checking the businesses across the street from the Courtyard. It was possible someone saw something and would be brave enough to admit it.
Slipping around the barricade, Monty stepped into the Courtyard, Kowalski beside him. “Karl, go see if there’s anyone working at the consulate.”
“Yes, sir.”
He didn’t look at the Crows gathered on the wall or the woman in the black dress standing next to the office. He just opened the door and walked up to the counter.
When Meg Corbyn stepped out of the other room, she looked pale and was wearing a gray sweatshirt that was too big for her.
“Are you all right, Ms. Corbyn?” Monty asked quietly. That’s as far as he got before Simon Wolfgard appeared in the Private doorway. He would have preferred talking to her alone. He still had a question about that bruise on her face, and a woman wouldn’t usually ask for help with the abuser listening to every word.
No, he reminded himself. Wolfgard didn’t put that bruise on her.
“Shaken up, but I’m fine,” Meg replied.
He studied her for a moment and decided that was close enough to truth, so he pulled out a notebook and pen. He’d ask anyone else to come to the station to make a statement. No point asking when he knew she wouldn’t come, and if she did, he didn’t want to consider who would be coming with her. “Can you tell me what happened?”
She told him about the white van and all the details that weren’t there and should have been. She pushed up one sleeve and showed him the
dark bruise on her wrist where the man had grabbed her, and then told him how the man had run back to the van when Simon appeared.
But she couldn’t tell him where the van went, which way it turned when it left the Courtyard. She had been in the sorting room when the van drove off.
She didn’t say it, but he’d be willing to bet she had been helped into the sorting room precisely so she couldn’t see where the van went.
One glance at Simon Wolfgard was enough warning to ask about something besides the van.
The next question treaded close to danger, but he asked it anyway. “Do you need medical attention, Ms. Corbyn? Do you have any other bruises besides the one on your wrist?” He was looking at her face, but he didn’t bring up that bruise. “There’s an ambulance outside, and medical personnel. You don’t appear to need a hospital—” He hesitated when Wolfgard started growling.
Meg shook her head. “I’m feeling a little stiff, but otherwise, I’m fine.”
He had to accept her word for it.
“Is that all, Lieutenant?” she asked. “I’d like to sit down.”
“That’s all. Thank you. The information you provided will help us.” He saw something in her face. “Anything else?”
The words weren’t meant to alarm, but Simon immediately shifted to block the doorway, his amber eyes focused on Meg.
“Meg?” Simon said. “Is there something else?”
She sighed. “It’s nothing. Foolish under the circumstances.”
Human and Wolf just waited.
She sighed again. “I have this silly craving for pizza. Before this happened, I was going to call Hot Crust and order one, and now it’s hard to think of anything else.”
Hardly the expected response from someone who had just escaped an attempted abduction. Then again, the mind protected itself in all kinds of ways—including becoming focused on a treat—and maybe this was a typical way cassandra sangue reacted to frightening experiences.