Murder of Crows (36 page)

“Arrooooo!”

“This is as private as it gets,” Meg said, huffing out a breath.

He eyed the door and considered the question he’d come to ask. No help for it. Simon Wolfgard might have given permission for him to be in a room with Meg, but the chaperone with teeth was going to hear everything that was said—and report it.

Well, wasn’t that why he’d asked Kowalski to have a coffee at A Little Bite? To listen and report whatever was overheard? Right now trust was a fragile commodity.

It suddenly occurred to him that Wolfgard wasn’t granting this privacy for his sake; it was for Meg.

“I have a question,” Monty said.

“Simon thought you would.”

Meg looked at him with eyes that were older than when he’d first met her a few months ago. Someone else used to make all the decisions for her. Now she wasn’t shielded from seeing the results of the prophecies she spoke, and the weight of that knowledge showed.

“I told Simon I was going to make one cut to help find the Controller, but after all of us spent a lot of time narrowing down the possibilities of where I was held, the Others didn’t think I would be able to tell them anything more that would be useful right now. Simon, Tess, Henry, Vlad, and I talked it over, and we agreed that if the police needed that one cut to help you search, then I would make the cut.”

That makes me responsible for the next scar.
Monty didn’t want to take that responsibility. Why would anyone want to take that responsibility? But someone had to, and this time, he was that someone.

“We need an answer,” he said.

“Wait a moment.” She went into the back room. When she returned, she placed several paper towels, folded to make a thick pad, on the table, and set another one off to the side. Then she removed a folding razor from her jeans pocket and set that on the table.

“Is there something wrong with your left hand?” he asked, watching her.

“It’s been prickling since you arrived,” she replied, rubbing it. “The feeling has been getting stronger. I’ll need to cut soon, so ask your question, Lieutenant.” Holding up a hand to stop him, she opened the Private door and stared at Nathan, who had his forelegs on the counter and was leaning in as far as he could.

“Go out now,” she said. “Tell Tess to come in a few minutes. She knows why.”

Monty didn’t think the Wolf would obey, but apparently the danger of being around a
cassandra sangue
when her skin was cut was sufficient motivation. Or else Meg was simply confirming an order Simon had given already.

“Why have him leave?” he asked.

“Nathan would want to lick the wound, and that wouldn’t be good for him,” Meg said. “And it wouldn’t be good for you.”

Monty nodded. Whether the Wolf reacted aggressively or passively, the Others wouldn’t respond well to a human being present.

Once Nathan went out the front door, Meg said, “Ask your question.”

“The police have been asked to help the
terra indigene
find the Controller. Our concern is that the Others might go in and eradicate an entire town in order to eliminate a single enemy. My question is this: what will happen if the police
don’t
help the
terra indigene
find this man?”

Meg picked up the razor and opened it. “Do you remember the words that Tess used at the meeting? It’s not what was said in the compound, but the first time Tess said them when I made a cut, it helped bring everything into focus.”

“I remember the words.”

“Then ask your question again and say the words.” She turned her left hand and braced it on the table before resting the width of the razor against her skin.

Monty swallowed hard. Seeing her hold the razor, he wanted to tell her to forget it, wanted to walk away before she sliced her skin. But she was the only one who could tell him what the future might look like.

“What will happen if the police don’t help the
terra indigene
find the Controller? Speak, prophet, and I will listen.”

Meg turned the razor so the edge rested on skin and cut the side of her left hand. Monty slipped the razor out of her hand and set it aside, unnerved by the agony he saw on her face before it became filled with a blank sensuality that was even more disturbing.

She looked at the table. Her right hand moved as if she were unrolling something.

“Map of Thaisia,” she said. Her hand moved up and down. “Midwest.”

“What do you see?” he whispered, not sure she could hear him now.

“Twisting wind. Fire. Broken buildings. Ash.” Her hand moved up and down again. “Bones.”

Monty shivered. “Do you see any people? Where are the people?”

“Ash and bones.”

Meg took a deep breath, then let it out in an orgasmic sigh. She blinked and looked at him. “Did you get your answer?”

She really doesn’t know,
he thought.
Doesn’t know what she said, doesn’t know how wanton she looks. When she speaks prophecy, she becomes a vessel and forfeits the person, the personality. Not that big a leap to think of her as property, as something that can justifiably be used.

“Lieutenant?”

And then she was Meg Corbyn again, with that childlike sweetness that was inherent to her.

“Yes. Yes, I did. Thank you.” Disturbed by his thoughts, Monty focused on Meg’s hand, resting on the pad of paper towels that was stained red. “Do you want some help bandaging the cut?”

He heard a door open. Tess walked into the sorting room, coming in from the back.

“I’ll take care of it, Lieutenant,” Tess said.

Her hair was green and loosely coiled. Since she sounded brusque rather than angry, he made a mental note of the color and degree of curl. It had been brown and straight the first time he’d met her. From what he’d gleaned from Kowalski’s and Debany’s observations, brown and straight meant relaxed or at least not anxious about anything. Green was the first sign of annoyance. Red indicated anger. And no one,
no one,
talked about her hair turning pure black.

Having looked at the crime scene photos of the four Lakeside University students who died after the attack on Merri Lee, Monty thought he had a good idea of what happened when Tess’s hair turned black.

He nodded to Tess, then turned to Meg. “I appreciate your help, Ms. Corbyn.”

She gave him a wan smile.

“Officer Kowalski is in HGR, talking with Alan Wolfgard,” Tess said. “They were discussing a story about a girl who gets swallowed by a wolf and then rescued by a hunter. Apparently, whether you see it as a story of love and courage overcoming danger or a horror story about devious humans depends on whether or not you have fur.”

“Ah.” Monty took his leave and hurried over to Howling Good Reads. He trusted Karl to be cautious when engaging in this kind of discussion, but he thought it prudent to avoid reminders of devious humans for the foreseeable future.

Retrieving his partner, they drove back to the Chestnut Street station, where he told his captain about the prophecy.

“Pete? It’s Douglas Burke.”

Silence. Then a too-hearty “Doug! It’s been a long time.”

“Yes, it has. Haven’t seen you since we took that long ride into the wild country.”

“You looking for a lawyer? My clients are usually located in town, but …”

“I don’t need a lawyer. Not exactly.”

Another silence. “I guess you’re calling in the IOU.” A sigh. “Burke’s Justice doesn’t come without cost, but it can save a man’s life. What do you need?”

“Information about a man called the Controller. He runs a compound where
cassandra sangue
are held. I know he’s in the Midwest.”

“The Midwest is a big region.”

“That’s why I need help from people who live in that part of Thaisia.”

“ ‘Where
cassandra sangue
are held’? You make it sound like a prison.”

“Prisons have rules about how inmates can be treated. No one is monitoring what happens to those girls.”

Uneasy silence. “Look, Doug. I’ve never gone to one of those places. Gods, I have a wife and two kids, not to mention a car payment, and we’re hoping to buy a house. I couldn’t afford it. But this might not be a good time to be spending your money on a prophecy.”

“Why is that?”

“Client of mine. He’s not guilty of all the charges against him, but he’s not innocent either. I haven’t been able or willing to guarantee he won’t go to prison for a while, so he went to visit a man called Mr. Smith who has ways of predicting such things. But when I met him after that very expensive meeting, all my client did was complain that he’d been cheated, that the girl hadn’t told him anything about himself or his spot of trouble, had just screamed about wind and fire. Mr. Smith tried to pass it off as metaphor for a heated debate in court, but when my client threatened to raise a fuss, Mr. Smith returned half the fee. Lately there have been whispers that the places claiming to have girls who can see the future are just scams.”

“Has it occurred to anyone that the girls
are
seeing the future? That the wind and fire are an accurate prophecy?”

“Oh, now, that’s … Doug? What are you saying?”

“I’m saying if the man known as the Controller isn’t found very soon, those prophecies will be accurate. The Midwest will burn, Pete, and the Others aren’t interested in leaving survivors.”

Gasps. “Why?”

“You’ve heard about the troubles? About the drugs called gone over wolf and feel-good? About that town that went crazy because of the tainted ground beef?”

“Sure, I … The police suspect
him?
Is there any proof?”

“Human law does not apply in this case. The
terra indigene
consider him an enemy, and they are going to hunt him down. How much of the Midwest survives that hunt will depend on how quickly they find him. Help me find him, Pete.”

“I … How much time do we have?”

“When was your client going to trial?”

“Two weeks.”

“Then we have less than that.”

Another silence. “Is it just me, or are you calling in other IOUs for this?”

“I’m calling in all of them.”

O
n Sunsday morning, the guests of the Lakeside Courtyard gathered behind the Liaison’s Office, waiting for the bus that would take them to the train station for the journey home.

Moments after Blair drove up and opened the bus door, Meg stepped out of the office.

Something’s wrong,
Simon thought as he hurried toward her. Not a big wrong; she hadn’t sounded an alarm. But something was bothering Meg.

Henry and Charlie noticed moments after he did, and moments after that, all the
terra indigene
leaders were watching her.

Meg trembled, but she faced the Others and said in a quiet voice, “We were taught a lot of things in the compound in order to provide accurate prophecies that could be understood by the Controller’s clients. But we weren’t taught about ourselves, and I think most of what we were taught was a lie. But the Walking Names weren’t always careful about what they said around us. That’s how I know that buying a cut of my skin is very expensive.”

Simon looked at the bandage on the side of her left hand. The Others hadn’t asked for the cut; the police had. But whatever she’d told Lieutenant Montgomery was the reason the police were working hard to locate the Controller.

Blair warned.

Simon ignored him.

Joe Wolfgard looked at the other leaders before turning back to Meg. “We have some human money. We can harvest other things that humans covet to get more.”

Meg shook her head. “I don’t want money or things.” She paused. “We’re told we can’t have a life like other humans. We’re told we can’t survive outside the compound. If it wasn’t for my friend Jean, I would have believed the Walking Names. But Jean wasn’t born in one of the compounds. She came from outside. She had a mother and a father and a baby brother. Someone like Phineas Jones took her away from her family and tried to turn her into property. But she never forgot, wouldn’t let
them
forget that she’d had a name once, had a family just like they have families. She was my only friend. She told me about outside. And she used up some of her skin to help me escape. So this is what I want from you. You’re going to find the Controller, one way or another. That’s not prophecy, just … belief. You’re going to find him and you’re going to find that place. And when you do, I want you to save Jean, if you can. I want you to find a new place for her where she’ll be safe and can have a life.”

“You want her to come here?” Simon asked. Wasn’t that what Meg wanted? To bring her friend to Lakeside? After all,
she
was safe here, had a life here.

“Only if Lakeside is the right place,” Meg replied after a moment’s thought. “It’s the right place for me, but it might not be for her.”

The
terra indigene
studied her, this human who didn’t want gold or silver or gemstones or money. Finally Cheryl Hawkgard said, “We will try to save your friend.”

“Thank you,” Meg said. She went into the office and quietly closed the door.

The
terra indigene
hustled to load their carryalls into the bus. Blair took off for the train station as soon as he could close the bus door. After a brief discussion, Alan Wolfgard and Bobbie Beargard decided to ride back to the High Northeast with Charlie, so they loaded their gear in the back of the pickup. Alan wanted a last quick browse through Howling Good Reads and Bobbie went with him, leaving Simon alone with Charlie.

Smiling gently, the Crow said, “Don’t absorb so much of what is human that you forget who you are. But if you must, do it for your own sake rather than for the benefit of the rest of us.” He looked around. “This is a good place. Can I come back and visit again?”

“You will be welcome,” Simon replied.

Alan returned with another bag of books. Even Bobbie had a couple she tucked in her carryall before he could see the covers.

After they were gone, Simon returned to Howling Good Reads and looked around. All the guests had taken advantage of shopping in a bookstore—and interacting with humans who chatted with them and recommended books—so there were a lot of empty spaces on the shelves. He and Vlad were going to have some work ahead of them to restock. Maybe he should get a cloth and wipe the shelves now that he could see them.

Was that too human?

He understood Charlie’s warning, but he was a Wolf and always would be.

But would it be such a bad thing to be just a
little
more human? Just enough more?

Don’t get too comfortable in this skin,
he thought as he went into the stockroom and rolled a cart to the shelves.
Especially when there’s no certainty you’ll still want it a decade from now.

Monty flipped the folder closed when Louis Gresh walked up to his desk.

The two men studied each other. Then Louis said, “Yesterday you and Captain Burke went to a meeting at the Courtyard. Since then, he’s been on the phone and you’ve been working at your desk instead of being out on patrol. Burke’s not always easy to read, but you’ve got the look of a man who knows there’s a bomb and is trying to find it before the clock gives that final tick.”

Monty said nothing.

“Not only that,” Louis continued, “you’re keeping your partner out of it with the captain’s blessing, which means he knows how bad this will be if things go sideways.”

“Something you want, Louis?”

“Let me help on the QT.”

“Did Burke okay it?”

Louis smiled. “Okay what?”

Monty hesitated. The fewer people who knew the ultimatum the Others had given, the fewer people who might tell the wrong person. The Controller had clout with people in government and business. What if someone warned him as a way of garnering favor? What would happen to the Midwest—and the rest of Thaisia—if the man managed to escape and go to ground somewhere else?

But they weren’t going to narrow down the target without taking chances. Not in the window of time Burke figured they had before the
terra indigene
began destroying the Midwest.

He wrote down the names of a dozen villages, towns, and cities, then handed the paper to Louis. “We’re looking for private schools, institutions, or any other kind of place where blood prophets might be kept.”

Louis gave the paper a little wave. “These located around the Great Lakes?”

“Lower Midwest.”

Louis looked at him for a long time. “If this bomb goes off before you find what you’re looking for, how much of Thaisia do we lose?”

“The whole Midwest Region.”

“Gods above and below.”

Monty watched Louis carefully fold the paper and put it in a pocket. The Midwest wasn’t their jurisdiction. Government officials should be informed of the threat, and the rest should be up to the Midwest’s governor to locate the Controller and stop the actions that were adding to the ever-present tension between humans and Others.

But that assumed the Midwest’s governor wasn’t a client of the man the
terra indigene
wanted killed. That wasn’t an assumption the humans who would get caught in the destruction could afford to make. It wasn’t an assumption
he
could afford to make.

Clock is ticking,
Monty thought. He hoped Dominic Lorenzo would come through and give him the list of private hospitals or other medical institutions that could hide a compound that matched the description Meg had provided. He hoped that what he was doing would give all of them the chance at a better future.

He hoped he found the answer before the bomb made of wind and fire destroyed the Midwest.