Murder of Crows (32 page)
“It’s a store full of books, which are objects that can be thrown as well as read,” Monty replied blandly.
The Crow cocked his head. “I had no idea you humans lived with so much danger.”
Monty watched the Crow hurry to catch up with the Wolf, while Vlad headed for the Market Square.
Louis cleared his throat. “Well. We’re ready to transport the body. I’ll send the teakettle and broom to the lab to test for poison. I’ll also talk to a hazmat cleanup crew and get their recommendation for washing the poison residue off this pavement. If they feel they should handle it, I’ll let you know. Oh, and I found an empty vial nearby. Don’t know if it’s relevant, but I bagged it for testing.”
Casually mentioned. Nothing that would give anyone a reason to connect the vial with the last time someone attempted to poison members of the Courtyard. But taking the vial away before some curious youngster gave it a sniff and lick—and ended up dead—was better for all the humans in Lakeside. “Thanks,” Monty said. “I appreciate it.”
Louis turned a little so he wasn’t facing the few
terra indigene
who were still watching them. “They look human now. You could pass most of them on the street and not know what they are.”
Monty stepped out of the way. The Others had seen the police respond to a request for assistance. They’d seen his people working and following procedure. They would be given whatever information he could find about Phineas Jones.
But he suspected the thing most of them would share when they returned to their home territories was the story of the exploding fluffballs who used nothing but a teakettle and broom to save a Wolf from an evil human.
A
fter a quick meal at Meat-n-Greens, Simon, Vlad, Henry, and the Courtyard’s guests reconvened in the Market Square Library. Tess walked in a minute later, her hair coiling and completely red. Not good.
What also wasn’t good was the way the rest of the
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tensed as soon as she walked into the room. Simon hadn’t known Tess’s true nature until recently, but it seemed at least some of his guests had recognized the predator who sat among them.
“We need to find a human called the Controller,” Simon said, resisting the urge to shift in his seat when Tess sat in the chair beside his. “We need to find the place where the humans are making the drugs from
cassandra sangue
blood.”
“And we need to give human government more incentive to keep better watch over the places where the blood prophets live,” Vlad added. “We need to impress on them that
we
know what’s in the drugs and that we’re going to hold
them
responsible for anything that happens from now on because of those drugs.”
“They’ll whine and wring their hands and say there is nothing they can do,” Cheryl Hawkgard said. “They won’t want us to find those places.”
“They will,” Simon said quietly. “But first we need to narrow the search as much as we can. And for that, we need Meg.”
“No,” Tess hissed as half the coiling hair turned black.
He wished he could move out of reach of the coils of hair that made him think of angry snakes.
“A thousand cuts,” Tess said. “Do you know how many she already has? How much of her life are you going to take for this hunt?”
Charlie Crowgard leaned forward. He looked at Tess, then at Simon. “What does she mean?”
“Each time a
cassandra sangue’s
skin is cut, she’s that much closer to the cut that will either kill her or drive her insane,” Vlad replied, staring hard at Simon. “But that’s not what you meant. You’re not going to ask Meg to cut her skin.”
“Yes, I am,” Simon said. He’d thought about this while they’d been having their meal break. “One cut. Before she sets that razor on her skin, we’re all going to work to give her as much information as possible. She knows more about how she got here than she realizes. She sees things in images. So she saw at least some of her journey to Lakeside. We need to help her find images that match what she saw.”
“She knew about the kind of poison Phineas Jones was going to use because she’d seen a picture of those frogs in a magazine,” Tess said, the coils relaxing into loose curls.
Henry nodded. “This will be like a puzzle where we eliminate pieces in order to see the picture.”
Now Alan Wolfgard and Charlie were both leaning forward, interested and struggling to understand. The Midwest leaders looked surly, and Simon could sympathize. He’d be less interested in circling around to find the prey if a straight path could be taken. But to them, Meg was just a human, and they didn’t fully realize how the Elementals would react if she came to any harm.
“Are you all just crapping in the den?” Bobbie Beargard demanded. “If not, then say what you mean.”
“How do you get from one human city to another?” Simon said. “Train, bus, car. Humans wouldn’t walk to the next village, so they wouldn’t walk from one region to the next. Trains have stations at specific cities. Buses travel specific routes, whether they stay inside the city or are the ones that provide transportation between human places.”
“And some buses make a stop at the train station,” Alan said, nodding.
“When she reached the Courtyard, Meg wasn’t wearing clothing appropriate for the Northeast,” Tess said.
“She could have lost a winter coat or left it somewhere,” Vlad said. “Or maybe it became soiled in a way that would have called attention to her. She had to stop somewhere for a little while when she dyed her hair red.”
All the guests cocked their heads. Finally Charlie said, “Her hair is red?”
Vlad waved a hand dismissively. “It was supposed to be.”
“Photographers have been allowed to go into the wild country and take pictures of the land and the animals,” Simon said. “And photographers take pictures of the human places. We have books in the library here and at Howling Good Reads that have pictures of the wild country and of cities in every region in Thaisia. Tomorrow we’re all going to work on putting them together in a way that will help Meg narrow down where the enemy is hiding.”
“If we show her the right pictures, maybe Meg will not need to cut,” Henry said. He rose and stretched. “Enough. It’s time to rest.” He walked out of the library.
Since he should have decided when the meeting ended, Simon said, “It’s time to rest.”
After an awkward shuffle, the guests left the library. Which left him alone with Vlad and Tess.
“One cut,” he said. “I’ll ask Meg for one.”
“And if we need more information in order to narrow down the hunt?” Vlad asked.
Simon gave Vlad a sharp smile. “Once Meg tells us what she knows, we’ll ask our friends in the police to help.”
Meg sat in her living room, turning the razor over and over. Pretty flowers on one side of the handle,
cs759
inscribed on the other side. A designation, not a name.
Were there young blood prophets in Lakeside? Girls who were just starting to show the disturbing tendency to cut? They had names, families, lives. Choices. Or were
cassandra sangue
born with this addiction, this need?
She opened the razor and stared at the blade. One-quarter inch wide—the perfect distance between cuts. Prophecies remained separated without wasting usable skin. Right now it would be so easy to justify cutting fresh skin because it would help someone else. Wouldn’t it?
A slow suicide, one cut at a time,
Meg thought. Except very few of the scars on her body had been created by cuts that were her choice.
Phineas Jones was dead, and that was a relief. After returning to her apartment, she’d spent an hour recalling images of death that she had absorbed during her lessons at the compound. Why did he bite the sack of poison on his arm? Did he expect that kind of death to be quick, painless? She didn’t imagine being mauled by a Grizzly or torn apart by a pack of angry Wolves was painless, but …
He knew things he didn’t want the Others to know. If he was here to take girls who lived outside, then he knew how to find the Controller or men like him. He swallowed poison so he wouldn’t tell. But I want to tell. I just don’t know how.
The howling right outside her door startled her enough that she almost cut her finger with the razor. Closing it, she slipped it into her pocket before going to the door.
Simon stood there in Wolf form, holding one of those lengths of soft braided rope the Wolves used as a toy. He looked at her and wagged his tail once.
“Oh, no,” she said. “I know this game. It’s all ‘we’ll just take a walk,’ and then it’s ‘hold my rope for a minute,’ and then you’re chasing me all over the place because the person holding the rope gets chased.”
He cocked his head as if to say,
Of course. Why are you standing there? Get your coat!
“Wait there.” She left the door open while she put on her coat and made sure she had her keys. Simon wasn’t going to like her decision, so joining him in playtime might make him less snappish when she told him she was going to make a cut in an effort to find the Controller.
That much decided, Meg closed the door and walked down the stairs with Simon right beside her.
Simon walked beside Meg, growling softly. Damn clueless human female. It wasn’t like she didn’t know the game. He’d offered her the rope a half dozen times since they started walking toward the fork that led to the Pony Barn, but she just strolled along with her hands in her pockets! What sort of game was that?
When she finally took her hands out of her pockets, he pricked his ears, anticipating play. But she just covered her mouth and
yawned.
He enjoyed taking a walk with Meg and having time to leisurely sniff at what was around them, but he thought she’d accepted his invitation for a game and—
She grabbed the rope so suddenly, he braced and pulled without thinking. Letting out a gleeful hoot, she released the rope and shouted, “You’re it!” Then she
lunged
at him. And he, being unprepared, leaped away from her.
And she chased him!
the one who’s supposed to chase!>
Of course, she couldn’t hear
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speech, so she chased him, trying to grab his tail!
Meg didn’t hear him, but the other Wolves did.
Suddenly there were Wolves racing toward him and Meg—Blair, Nathan, John, Elliot, and Jane. Even Alan, Joe, and Jackson had come along for an evening romp.
He saw Joe and Alan focus on Meg, probably assuming that she had turned aggressive. He understood why Joe would think that, coming from the Midwest and dealing with all the recent problems with humans. And most of Alan’s stories had deranged humans as the villains, so it wasn’t a stretch for him to react as if a Wolf were under attack.
Before Simon could snap out a warning, Blair and Nathan shoulder-bumped Joe and Alan, knocking them off stride, while Jane and Elliot blocked Jackson.
That’s when Meg pointed at him and shouted, “Simon has the rope!”
And that’s when all the other Wolves focused on
him.
Simon spun and ran past Meg, who laughed so hard she could barely walk. Now clear about what game they were playing, the Wolves gave chase. Since he didn’t have to stay on the road to accommodate Meg’s lack of night vision, he ran hard, bounding up the rises and weaving through trees until he could circle back to the sneaky female.
When he reached the road again, with the rest of the Wolves nipping at his heels, he saw Meg trotting back toward the Green Complex. Nathan trotted along with her. He wasn’t sure if that was Nathan’s idea or Blair’s, but it was smart to have a guard with her when she might be mistaken for real prey.
Blair obligingly grabbed the rope and ran off.
My Meg!
With a yelp of surprise, Nathan sprang out of reach and ran to catch up with the rest of the Wolves playing chase.
Not my Meg,
Simon thought uneasily as he settled into a pace that kept him beside her.
My Meg
sounded like more than a friend. Didn’t it? And thinking that way could be dangerous. The human form was merely a convenience since humans couldn’t seem to interact with anything that didn’t look like them. But absorbing too much from the human form and becoming too much like a human could alienate a
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from his own kind and leave him with no one and no place that felt like home. He was a Wolf, would always be a Wolf. Having a human friend wouldn’t change that. And he wasn’t the only one with a human friend. Henry, Vlad, Tess, Jenni, Jester. Even Winter claimed Meg as a special human friend. Did Nathan …?
My Meg!
Okay, he could share Meg the squeaky toy with another Wolf but not share Meg the friend with another Wolf? Except Sam, of course. Which was fair since Sam had been friends with Meg first. And he was still a puppy.
My Meg.
Another confusion she’d brought into his life and something he would have to figure out later.
Panting, Meg slowed to a walk. Didn’t take that long for her breathing to even out, which pleased him. She was getting stronger, fitter.
“Simon, we need to talk,” she said when they turned into the Green Complex and approached his apartment. She opened his door and let him go in first.
He sighed. He needed to talk to her too, but talk meant human, so he went upstairs to his bedroom to shift and pull on a pair of jeans. When he came back down, she was waiting for him in the living room.
“Sam isn’t living with you anymore?” She sounded wistful, and it struck him that she actually missed the pup. He knew Sam missed her.
“Not all the time. It’s safer for him right now to be with the rest of the Wolfgard. But the next time he’s here, you could come over and spend the day with us,” Simon said. “We’ll even let you choose one of the movies.” And he and Sam would have a talk ahead of time about being polite even when you were bored silly by a movie that someone else was enjoying.
Meg smiled. “I’d like that.”
When he looked human, she was wary of letting him get too close. He sort of understood that since his human form was becoming more interested in hers in ways he was pretty sure didn’t fit with being a friend kind of friend. But she’d let the Wolf cuddle up next to her while they watched a movie. And getting licked by someone furry wasn’t threatening but being kissed by the nonfurred male was, which made no sense when the furry and nonfurred were the same person. Wolf. Whatever.
Maybe that was just Meg, who was more like a puppy learning about the world than an adult female. She didn’t smell like she was interested in kisses. Of course, he wasn’t interested either because they were friends and kisses that weren’t licks would cause more confusion.
Maybe he really did need to read one of those romances about humans and Wolves to figure out the inconsistencies in the female brain.
“Simon,” Meg said quietly.
Her tone reminded him of why they needed to talk—and why he wanted to avoid talking. “Meg?”
“Using prophets’ blood to make drugs that stir up trouble between humans and
terra indigene.
Grinding up a girl to infect meat so lots of people go temporarily insane. You have to stop those things or it will keep happening, and each time it will be worse. More anger, more hatred.” Meg raised her chin. “You need a prophecy to help you find the Controller. So I’m going to make another cut.”
She said exactly what he needed her to say. But that meant hurting his friend, so he bared his teeth and snarled at her. “I’m not asking you to put your foot in a trap to save the rest of us.”