The Others 03 Vision in Silver (15 page)

Gods above and below, what was Elayne mixed up in?

*   *   *

One advantage to living with predators is we know how to wait,
Tess thought as she and Meg sat at the little table in the back room of the Liaison’s Office.

Meg didn’t seem to be in distress. She wasn’t digging at her skin—a sign that she was plagued by a pins-and-needles feeling that indicated something that might be revealed in a vision.

How much was too much? When you thought about how many things had happened to Meg since she stumbled into the Courtyard a few months ago compared to how little had happened to her during her first twenty-four years, was it any wonder that her mind was overwhelmed? Of course, what had happened to the girl during those first twenty-four years might have been repetitive, but Tess didn’t think any of it had been kind.

“Merri Lee, Ruth, and I watched a movie recently,” Meg finally said. “It had a large dog with lots of hair. Ruth says there are lots of breeds of dog, but we weren’t taught breeds, just general identification of animals.”

“Makes sense,” Tess said. “Why would someone pay for a prophecy about an animal unless it was valuable? Why are you thinking about the movie?”

“The dog kept getting into trouble. It didn’t mean to, but it did. It knocked things over or chased a cat through a party so that people fell into a swimming pool or ended up with gooey food spilled over them.”

Tess got up, rummaged in the under-the-counter fridge, and found a bottle of cold water. She filled two glasses and brought them back to the table.

“We had enough fuss with a cheese sandwich, a stuffed bear, and an idiot Wolf,” she said.

“Exactly!”

She studied Meg. “What exactly?”

“Merri Lee and Ruth said the movie was a comedy, that the dog getting into trouble and getting snobby people wet or dirty was supposed to be funny. But the people weren’t laughing. They looked angry and yelled at the dog.” Meg sipped water. “Some training images produce feelings. Like seeing bugs crawling on food. I didn’t like looking at those images. So that’s a bad thing.”

“If you’re someone who eats bugs, that would be a good image and show what kind of bait should be set out.”

Meg stared at her.

Tess shrugged. “For many things, good or bad is how you feel about it. If you see a picture of Wolves killing a deer, you might feel bad for the deer. Or you might understand that the Wolves have fed their family that day, the same as a human who kills a cow or a chicken to feed his family.” She considered what she knew about Meg. “You have all these images in your head. Thousands of pictures, and you absorb more images every day. But now that you’re having your own experiences, now that you’re learning your own likes and dislikes, you’re also trying to assign the proper feelings for all those images, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Some things are easy. Sam is easy. And working here, and knowing all of you. Those things are easy. I feel good working here. I feel good when I’m learning new things, at least until I get tired. But sometimes I don’t know how I should feel.”

“For instance, should you feel upset like Lizzy because Boo Bear was damaged, or feel embarrassed like Lieutenant Montgomery because his little girl saw a naked boy, or laugh because it was like watching one of those absurd movies.” Tess paused. “Or be like me—grateful that Skippy didn’t manage to eat any of the bear so I don’t have to deal with barfed stuffing all over the coffee shop.”

“One image, but
feelings
change how it can be seen,” Meg said quietly.

“I’d say that’s true of most things. Wouldn’t you?”

Meg took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh.

Relaxed. Balanced. She had provided the answer Meg needed.

“Your hair is brown again,” Meg said.

“I’m sitting here talking to you.”

Meg was rather like that big dog in the movie. Didn’t mean any harm but managed to set all kinds of things in motion.

“Why are you laughing?” Meg asked.

“Just thought of something no one else would find amusing.”

*   *   *

Simon filled a few book orders while he waited for Kowalski. Not much else he could do. Vlad was in the office upstairs, hopefully dealing with some of the paperwork that seemed to breed faster than bunnies. Nathan had messages from the Addirondak Wolves, but those would have to wait until the police finished sniffing around Boo Bear and asking their questions.

Which meant the only useful thing he could do right now was fill orders—and consider if he wanted to suggest to the
terra indigene
who ran small publishing houses that they should publish more books, maybe even a few by human authors. It was getting harder to purchase books from the human publishers, and written stories, like recorded music, were two human things the Others really enjoyed and wanted.

Or maybe the Intuits published books? Something to ask Steve Ferryman.

So many things to think about, at least until it was time to go home. Then he could shift and think about good things for a while, like the taste of water and the scents of bunnies and deer, and maybe playing an easy game of chase with Meg. Wolf thoughts.

Kowalski walked up to the checkout counter. He and Ruthie were going to be mates officially next month. Simon wasn’t sure why that made a difference since they were already mating—any Wolf could smell
that
—but apparently humans couldn’t tell, so Kowalski and Ruthie had to have a ceremony and be given a piece of paper so that other humans would know they were mating.

“Lizzy has her things,” Kowalski said. “Officer Debany and Nathan are at the medical office, observing while the bear and jewels are bagged. Captain Burke is there too and would like to talk to you when you’re available. And . . . Jane? . . . said to tell you she took Sam and Skippy back to the Wolfgard complex.”

And Meg?
Simon thought.

He didn’t hear anything, even with his superior hearing, but he turned toward the archway when he saw Kowalski tense, then make a visible effort to relax.

“Meg is fine,” Tess said. “She’s with Henry in his studio. They’re talking about wood and listening to earth native music.”

He nodded, noting as Tess ducked back into the coffee shop that her hair was brown and the curls had relaxed to waves. So Meg was fine and Tess was calm. Both good things when humans who weren’t pack were sniffing around. He’d given his consent, but that didn’t mean he liked it.

“You wanted to talk to me?” Kowalski said.

Simon sniffed the air, trying not to be too obvious about it. Nerves. But not fear. That was good.

Since Kowalski was in the way, Simon walked around the counter instead of vaulting over it, flipped the simple lock on HGR’s front door, and stepped
outside. When Kowalski joined him, Simon pointed to one of the stone buildings across the street. “Two bedrooms. I’m told it needs cleaning and paint. Is that a den you and Ruthie could live in?”

“Sure, but I don’t think we could afford it.”

“Once the Courtyard buys those buildings, you can afford to live there. The question is, would you?” Eve Denby would have first pick of the dens in the house across the street, and Ruthie could have the other, but he still wanted to know if the human pack would consider the apartments in the stone buildings as suitable dens. No point buying the buildings if their humans didn’t want to live in them.

Kowalski stared at the buildings on the other side of Crowfield Avenue. “Any space there for a small kitchen garden?”

“Not much. But for the human pack . . .”

He hesitated. It was his idea, but now that the moment had come to say something, did he really want to expose more of the Courtyard to humans? What if the humans couldn’t, or wouldn’t, accept the
terra indigene
who couldn’t pass for human?

And yet Kowalski was the second human today to ask about land to grow food. Someday he and Ruthie would have pups, so food was important. But why, at the beginning of the growing season, were humans thinking there wouldn’t be enough? The ground wasn’t quite ready for planting yet, and none of the earth native farms were reporting trouble.

He’d missed something. Maybe Vlad would know since the Sanguinati tended to pay more attention to human prattle.

“We have gardens where we grow vegetables,” Simon said. “We can expand some of them. We have fruits and nuts that we harvest. You do your share of the work, you get your share of the food.”

“Why are you doing this?” Kowalski asked. “You were pissed off at all of us yesterday.”

Simon sighed. “Maybe to say, ‘Sorry I almost bit you,’ to Ruthie?”

Kowalski stared at the buildings across the street. “We went out to all the farms yesterday, drove around for hours checking anyplace that might have been doing that to those girls. Lieutenant Montgomery, Debany, MacDonald, me. Even Captain Burke. And I’m pretty sure the captain had a quiet word with other patrol captains, because I saw men from other districts on the roads too,
looking. It made you angry, hearing about what they did to girls like Meg, to the babies. It made us angry too. Maybe if I’d received a phone call like that, learned about it like that, I might have taken a swing at someone because I couldn’t think straight. Would have been sorry for it, and would have been glad that someone stopped me. What I’m saying is, we all understood why you lashed out. You don’t have to make up for being upset by offering Ruthie and me a place to live.”

He hadn’t expected understanding. Somehow that made him feel worse about snapping at Merri Lee and Ruthie.

“That’s not the only reason to do this. Maybe we want to find out if it can be done. The Intuits and the Simple Life folk have lived alongside the
terra indigene
for many generations, and each side fulfills parts of the bargain so that all sides have enough without constantly fighting for territory. But we haven’t made those kinds of bargains with your kind of human.” Wouldn’t have even considered making such a bargain until Meg started working for them and they had to allow for her need to have human friends.

“I’ll talk to Ruthie,” Kowalski said. “It’s a decision we need to make together.”

As mates should.

Kowalski’s mobile phone rang. A brief call. “Captain Burke wants to see me.”

Simon pulled the door open but Kowalski hesitated.

“Thank you. It means a lot that you would do this for us.” Kowalski went inside and headed for HGR’s back door.

Simon returned to the checkout counter and continued filling orders.

He’d said the words. Hopefully he hadn’t made a mistake that would threaten everyone in the Courtyard.

Firesday, Maius 11

M
eg sat at the top of the stairs leading to her apartment, a book beside her. Her porch provided shelter in bad weather and shade when it was sunny. It had latticework for privacy. What it didn’t have was anyplace to sit.

Some of the apartments in the Green Complex had porches; others didn’t. None of the other porches had the privacy latticework. They also didn’t have furniture. Too early in the season? Or didn’t Hawks, Owls, and Crows bother with furniture since the porch railing was a sufficient perch?

Tomorrow she would look through the ads in the
Lakeside News
to get an idea of what people might buy for outdoor furniture. This evening . . .

“Want to take a walk?”

She looked at Simon standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“Okay,” she said. “Aren’t you going to shift first?”

“No.”

Not the answer she expected. Simon usually shifted to Wolf as soon as he got home, relieved to be out of the human skin.

Taking the book inside, she exchanged the soft house shoes for sneakers. A walk with Simon could mean anything from an amble to a muscle-burning pace, and just because he started out in human form didn’t mean he wouldn’t be trotting along on four legs by the time it was finished.

She closed her front door, then joined Simon.

“You need to read this first.” He unfolded a piece of paper and handed it to her.

Haven’t we all faced enough today?
she thought as she refolded the paper and handed it back to him.

She started walking, needing a distraction from the prickling around her shoulder blades. Simon fell into step beside her, saying nothing for several minutes.

Plenty of Courtyard residents out and about. Many saw them and hesitated, but no one approached.

“I remember her,” Meg finally said. “I remember
cs821
. She was younger than me. I can’t tell you her age, but she got her first scar last year or the year before, so the doctor’s guess sounds right.”

“She said she wants to live. Jackson isn’t sure she will. What can he do? What would help you if you were in her place?”

“They took away the silver razor?”

“Probably.”

“Return it to her. Return the razors to the girls who had them.”

“They’ll cut themselves.”

“They’ll cut anyway.” She kept walking, kept moving. “So many things will cut skin, but those razors were designed for it.”

“She doesn’t want to die.”

“Neither do I.” Meg stopped and looked at Simon. He couldn’t quite pass for human anymore. “Neither do I, but I want to be the one who makes the choice.”

He started walking, a fast pace, as if he wanted to run away from the words.

She ran to catch up to him, then had to run every few steps to keep up with him.

“Simon . . . ,” she panted.

He slowed but didn’t stop.

The
terra indigene
had agreed that it was her choice, but they didn’t like the cutting. To them, fresh blood meant a wound, and in the wild country, a wound could be fatal. Add in the fact that
cassandra sangue
blood acted like a drug, and she understood why the Others weren’t easy about her cutting. Being thrust in the position of taking care of a girl they didn’t know—and who didn’t know them—would make everything harder for all of them.

“Tell Jackson to give her a room that contains as little as possible. Give her time to rest.” Meg thought about the girl called
cs821
. “Maybe leave one thing that has colors. She liked colors. She would describe training images first by their color and then by their shape.”

“I’ll tell him.”

They returned to the Green Complex in silence. Simon hurried into his own apartment and came out again a minute later. He shook out his fur and ran off, needing something she couldn’t give.

Sighing, Meg looked up at her apartment. She felt exhausted and restless, hungry and too listless to bother with food.

“Have you eaten?” asked a voice in the shadows beneath her stairs. Vlad stepped into the fading light, his form still shifting from smoke to human. “We picked up a couple of pizzas from Hot Crust. Tess made a salad. We’re gathering in the social room to watch movies.”

“Which movies?” Meg asked.

“Does it matter?”

She preferred being able to hide behind Simon during a movie’s scary bits—and most
terra indigene
movies had scary bits. “I guess not.”

“Then join us.” Vlad smiled. “I’ll tell Simon where to find you when he finishes his run.” He studied her. “Or I can bring you some food if you’d prefer to be alone.”

Did she want to be alone? Did she
need
to be alone?

“I’ll join you for the first movie,” Meg said.

His smiled widened, showing a bit of fang. “Come on, then. Let’s get the pizza while it’s still warm.”

As she and Vlad walked to the side of the Green Complex that held the mail room, laundry room, and social room, Meg heard a wolf howling. She thought he sounded lonely.

*   *   *

The efficiency apartments had shower stalls instead of bathtubs. After many assurances that he would be able to cope with her hair if she got it wet—and equal insistence on Lizzy’s part that she could wash herself and would be careful on the slippy floor—Monty left his little girl to shower by herself. While he listened for any sign of distress or, gods forbid, a slip and injury, he unpacked her suitcase, hanging up a few things in the closet and putting the rest in half the drawers in the dresser.

A temporary arrangement until they had more information about what happened to Elayne. A practical choice, since, as Kowalski pointed out, the Courtyard was closer to the Chestnut Street station than Monty’s apartment,
and it was a safe haven for his little girl, because who would think to look for her here?

Monty picked up Lizzy’s folded pajamas and felt something the size of a small book. Unfolding the pajamas, he stared at the pink diary sprinkled with gold stars. It had a latch and a tiny keyhole. He tried the latch, confirming that the diary was locked. A quick feel through the suitcase didn’t turn up a key.

He rubbed his thumb over the stars. A diary? What would a seven-year-old write about? School? Friends? Please, gods, no confessions about a crush on a boy. Not yet.

Before he could wonder too much about the contents, Lizzy yelled, “Daddy! Make the water turn off!”

Monty stuffed the diary in the drawer with Lizzy’s underwear and hurried to make the water turn off.