Training images. Empty house with a door hanging off its hinges. Broken windows. Debris blown into the corners of rooms.
Meg shook her head. She wasn’t abandoned. Being alone wouldn’t precipitate an attack. Would it?
Easy enough to get an answer. One cut to reassure herself that she would be safe until Simon and the rest of the Green’s residents came home. Just a small cut.
She looked at how her hands shook as she gripped the steeling wheel. When she was in the hospital, Dr. Lorenzo had said something about post-traumatic stress reactions, but she hadn’t paid attention and couldn’t recall his words.
Didn’t matter if she remembered the words or not. She had enough sense not to open the razor when her hands weren’t steady and there wouldn’t be anyone around to help her if something went wrong when she cut.
But I can’t dither around here all afternoon, she thought. And then, Too late.
Jester Coyotegard walked out of the barn and up to the driver’s side of the BOW.
“I wasn’t expecting a delivery,” Jester said, delicately sniffing the air when she rolled down the window to talk to him.
“I don’t have one for you,” Meg admitted.
A waiting pause. “Something wrong with the BOW?”
“No.” She knew that he knew there wasn’t anything wrong with her Box on Wheels. If there had been, she would have gotten out to ask for help. “It’s embarrassing.”
“In that case, tell me everything.”
He looked so gleeful, she had to laugh. But the amusement faded quickly. “No one else will be home until that meeting is over, and I’m … nervous … about being in the Green Complex by myself.” Darn Coyote must have picked that up with his first sniff and had been playing with her until he found out why she felt nervous. “I can’t really visit Sam at the Wolfgard Complex, and I didn’t want him to be away from the adult Wolves if something is going on ….”
Jester just studied her. If he knew what the meeting was about, he wasn’t sharing.
“Have you ever seen the inside of a barn?” he asked.
“Pictures.”
He opened the BOW’s door and rolled up the window. “Come inside and see the real thing.”
If she stayed with Jester and the ponies, she wouldn’t be alone.
She shut off the BOW and followed the Coyote.
“You can meet our newest resident if he decides to show himself,” Jester said as they reached the barn door. “He hasn’t been up to the Liaison’s Office yet with the other ponies, so you wouldn’t have seen him there. It’s unusual for one of his line to be assigned to the Great Lakes area, especially one so young, but the Elementals wanted him here. I have to say, he’s settling in remarkably well.”
The night of the attack, men had set fire to the Pony Barn and shot old Hurricane while he was in pony form. The Others fixed the Pony Barn before they made any repairs to the other buildings and fences that were damaged during the attack. While the residents of Lakeside had struggled to make repairs to their own buildings in bitingly cold weather, the area around the Pony Barn had enjoyed Spring’s delicate touch, making it easier for the workers.
Despite its name, the building fit images of a stable more than a building typically identified as a barn. As she looked around, Meg absorbed what she saw as a connected memory—like a video clip rather than a series of isolated pictures laid out in order. Many of the stalls were empty because the ponies were out in the Courtyard doing whatever ponies did. After looking her fill, she sat on a bale of hay and watched Jester groom Fog. Then she helped him groom Cyclone, enjoying the tactile experience as much as the pony seemed to enjoy it.
And then a white pony stepped out of the last stall, and Meg felt a tingle run under her skin from the soles of her feet to the top of her head. The feeling faded quickly. Almost too quickly, since she stood there and watched him try, and not quite succeed, to match the furry-barrel-with-chubby-legs look of the other ponies. Like a Wolf who couldn’t quite hide that he wasn’t human, this steed couldn’t quite hide the fact that he wasn’t really a pony.
Aquamarine, Meg thought, identifying the bluish green of the newcomer’s mane and tail. Not a color seen on an ordinary pony.
“Meg,” Jester said. “This is Whirlpool.”
At 5:15 p.m. on Windsday, Captain Burke turned his black sedan into the Courtyard’s Main Street entrance.
“Mr. Wolfgard said to park behind the Liaison’s Office,” Monty said. He’d made the call and asked for this meeting, but he hadn’t expected Simon to agree, especially since he couldn’t tell the Wolf why Burke wanted to meet. Which meant the leader of the Lakeside Courtyard had his own reasons for wanting to meet with a police captain.
“I thought we were meeting in the consulate,” Burke said as he parked the car.
“We are.”
“They want the car out of sight?” Burke kept scanning the backs of the buildings, especially the doors and windows.
“More likely, they want it out of the way. But I think the Business Association uses parking as a way to indicate trust.”
“Does this mean we’re trusted, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir, I think it does.” Up to a point, he added silently.
They walked back up the access way to the consulate. As they waited for someone to answer the door, Monty studied the Liaison’s Office. Already closed, with only a dim overnight light in the front room. Too bad Meg Corbyn was gone for the day. He would have liked a chance to check up on her, make sure she’d recovered from the prophecies she’d seen on Moonsday.
The consulate’s door opened. Blair Wolfgard stared at them. He wore a mechanic’s jumpsuit, which seemed to be his preferred attire when in human form. Behind Blair was a man with thinning hair and the amber eyes of a Wolf. He wore a hand-tailored suit of a cut and quality that said “money.”
Had to be Elliot Wolfgard. Monty imagined it was unsettling for government officials to realize a Wolf understood human symbols of power and knew how to send an intimidating message before the first word was spoken.
“You can hang up your coats and leave your boots over there,” Elliot said, gesturing toward the coat tree and the mat beneath. After they’d dealt with their outer gear, he led them to a meeting room that could have been the boardroom of a major corporation. Big room. Big table. Two big windows covered with wooden blinds.
And three terra indigene standing on one side of the table: Simon Wolfgard, Henry Beargard, and Vladimir Sanguinati.
Elliot stepped out of the room and closed the door. Monty wondered if Tess had chosen not to attend this meeting or wasn’t invited. Either way, he figured Burke now had confirmation of who gave the orders here in Lakeside.
“I appreciate you seeing me,” Burke said.
Simon pulled out a chair and sat down, a signal that the meeting had begun. “Have you found the men who tried to kill the Crows?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Burke sat in the chair opposite Simon. Monty sat beside Burke, across from Vlad. Even with the table between them, he wasn’t comfortable being that close to the vampire—not when he could still remember the prickling sensation he’d felt when he’d shaken Vlad’s hand. That was how he discovered that the Sanguinati could feed by drawing blood through a person’s skin.
Henry Beargard sat on the other side of Simon, his chair slightly pushed back from the table and angled in a way that made Monty think he was there as an observer rather than a participant.
“We found two of them,” Burke said. “And we found some things in their house that we’re investigating.”
“Things?” Vlad asked.
“In jars?” Simon asked, staring at Monty.
“Yes, in jars,” Monty replied. He kept his eyes on Simon, but he could see Vlad’s right hand close into a fist. This wasn’t the right time to ask if a severed hand could be dangerous. The novels he and Kowalski had skimmed over the past couple of days made it sound like a body part could survive separation for a long time if the rest of the vampire still lived, but there was no way of knowing if the fiction had been based on any facts. The lab techs were understandably reluctant to open the jars in order to test if the hand or eyes had belonged to a human or one of the terra indigene until someone did have some facts.