“Sorting room,” he said as he moved to a panel in the wall and flipped a switch. “This panel unlocks the delivery doors. They stay locked unless you’re accepting an approved shipment or handing out mail.”
“How will I know if it’s appro—”
“The pigeonholes on this wall hold mail for the Market Square stores. The larger partitions hold packages and anything that needs to stay flat. Parcels can also be stored under the sorting table or in those cupboards.” Simon gave her a hostile look as he opened another door and pointed to the sign screwed into the wood. “See that? It says PRIVATE. No one who isn’t terra indigene comes into the sorting room except you. Is that clear?”
“It’s clear but . . . why?” she asked.
“Because I said so. Because what goes on inside the Courtyard is no one’s business except ours.” Simon looked at the clock on the wall and growled. “I have other things to take care of, so you’ll have to figure out the next steps on your own.”
“But—”
“Deliveries are accepted from nine a.m. to noon. Afternoon deliveries usually arrive from two to four in the afternoon. Terra indigene delivery trucks come at other times, but those aren’t your concern. There’s a list of phone numbers in that drawer. If you have questions, you can call Howling Good Reads or A Little Bite. All those bags of mail and those packages have to be sorted for delivery. We did what we could while we were looking for a Liaison, but we all have our own work and don’t have time to do yours.”
“But—”
“The door opens at nine,” he said as he headed out of the room.
Meg stared at the door leading to the back room, then jumped when the outer door slammed shut.
She held her breath until she was sure she was alone. Then she let it out with a muttered “Bad Wolf,” and hoped she could figure out how to start her workday.
* * *
Simon wanted to bite someone, but the person leaning against the wall next to HGR’s back door was Henry, and a lone Wolf didn’t mess with a Grizzly, especially when that Bear acted as the Courtyard’s spirit guide and was one of the few beings Simon could talk to without guarding his thoughts or words.
“You sure have your tail in a knot this morning,” Henry said easily. “Might not want to scare off our new Liaison before she gets some of that mail sorted for us.”
He rammed his key into the lock and turned it, but he didn’t open the door. “She doesn’t smell like prey. She’s rested and fed and not cold. Why doesn’t she smell like prey?”
“Not all humans do,” Henry replied quietly.
Simon shook his head. “With some, we decide they’re not edible because it’s smart to have them around. But they still smell like prey, and she doesn’t.”
“Not all humans do,” Henry repeated. “There aren’t many that give off that signal, but there have been some.” He paused. “Maybe you’re not picking up the prey scent because of the stinky hair?”
Simon stared at the Grizzly. “You could smell it from where you were standing?”
“No, the wind wasn’t in the right direction for me to smell it, but I could hear you yelling about it. So could everyone else who’s aflutter at this time of day.”
He rested his forehead against the door. “The lack of prey scent confuses me.”
“I can see that. But she’s not terra indigene. Of that much I’m sure.”
“So am I. She smells human. She just doesn’t smell like prey.”
“If she’s causing this much trouble before most of us have even seen her, maybe you should force her out of the Courtyard.”
Simon stepped back from the door and sighed. “I’ll let the rest of the Business Association take a look at her before I decide. We need a Liaison. Might as well let her stay for a while.”
Henry nodded. “Did you explain what she’s supposed to do?”
He snarled, a frustrated sound.
“Then stay away from her for the rest of the morning and let someone else explain it.”
“Who?”
“You know who.”
Yes, he did know. He also knew that if he argued about it, Henry would swat him into the wall to knock some sense into him. For friendship’s sake.
“All right. Let the Coyote deal with her for a couple of hours.”
It wasn’t until he was inside the bookstore and hanging up his coat that he realized he was still wearing the loafers and his feet were wet. He’d been so annoyed and confused and desperate to get away from Meg before he shifted and bit her just to prove she was prey that he’d forgotten to exchange the loafers for his boots.
Savagely angry now at all humans—and that stinky-haired one in particular—he stomped up to his second-floor office to deal with paperwork before checking out the new stock that had arrived yesterday. The store didn’t open for another hour. If everyone was lucky, he’d have himself under control by then and wouldn’t eat any of the customers.
* * *
The freaking Help Wanted sign was gone.
Asia stared at the glass door, not daring to get closer when the shoveled delivery area was a sign that the Others were up and about.
She wanted that damn job. Really wanted that job. She’d been in Lakeside for months now and hadn’t gotten a look at anything in the Courtyard that everyone else hadn’t seen. Her backers were getting restless, were starting to hint that they might need someone more professional for this assignment.
Her looks had gotten her out of Podunk and the nothing future she would have had in her hometown. Her looks had carried her all the way to Sparkletown and into a few auditions. But she’d done more acting on the casting couches than she’d done in front of a camera—until she uncovered a tidbit about a Sparkletown bigwig’s wife that gave him the leverage he needed to divorce the wife without financial penalties.
Under the guise of developing her for a starring role in a to-be-determined television show, he helped Asia refine her natural intelligence-gathering skills and then sent her off to find some information about a competitor.
She still wasn’t sure if that first assignment had been a test, but she was given another assignment and a fat envelope of cash when she returned with the information.
It was like being paid to research a role as an undercover cop or a corporate spy. Yes, that would be the perfect role for her: Asia Crane, Special Investigator. Sometimes she spent time in one of the bigger cities and had fancy clothes and baubles. Other times she spent a few weeks in a town that was a variation of Podunk, playing the role of shy young widow starting a new life, wearing twin sets and pumps while she ferreted out information about the selected target—or helped ruin his business career or political ambitions.
The work was exciting, it was fun, it paid well, and now that Bigwig had brought in a few other interested parties to finance her, she was being given extended assignments with more challenging targets. It wasn’t the way most actresses built their careers, but she’d return to Sparkletown in another year or two with enough juice to get any part she wanted.
Infiltrating a Courtyard was her biggest and riskiest assignment to date. She had relocated to Lakeside because it was the only Courtyard in the whole of Thaisia that had any human employees beyond the Liaison. Even Toland on the East Coast and Sparkletown on the West—the financial and entertainment centers of the continent—didn’t have Courtyards with as much tolerance for humans. Her task was to get in, observe, and report anything and everything that might help with dealing with the Others or, better yet, breaking their stranglehold on the human cities in Thaisia.
With minimal information to work with, despite having friends who had friends in Lakeside’s government, Bigwig had suggested two potential targets as her ticket into the Courtyard: Elliot Wolfgard and Simon Wolfgard. With Elliot, she would have rubbed elbows with government officia
ls and social climbers who might have provided other information of monetary value. But at the last minute, Bigwig discovered that, before relocating to Lakeside, Elliot had once told a society girl who was flirting with him that monkey fucking wasn’t any different from barnyard banging, and neither was of interest to him. No one remembered what she said in reply, but a few days later, the society girl was found partially eaten in her own bedroom. So Asia crossed Elliot Wolfgard off the list.
That left Simon, who looked to be in his mid-thirties—young enough to like a frequent rub and old enough that he wouldn’t be likely to lose control, leaving a human partner rutting with a Wolf. So she’d chosen a persona and a look that fit in with the other university and tech-college girls who hung around the store. She even signed up for a couple of classes at Lakeside University as a way to fill time. And what had she gotten for her efforts so far? Nothing. No job, no sex, no pillow talk, not even a few minutes in the stockroom for some tongue and tickle. She couldn’t even wangle a membership to the fitness center.
She needed to show some progress soon. If she didn’t, her backers might end the assignment and send in someone else. And if they did that, Bigwig wouldn’t deliver on his promises, and she could end up back in Podunk instead of being the star of her own TV show.
Cawing announced the arrival of a handful of Crows who landed on the shoulder-high brick wall that ran along the left-hand side of the delivery area. One flew down to a flat-topped wooden sculpture positioned in front of one of the Liaison Office’s windows. That one watched whatever was going on inside the office. The other four watched her.
Turning as if she had paused momentarily and had no interest in anything that concerned the Courtyard, Asia walked away.
She wasn’t getting anywhere with Simon Wolfgard. Maybe she would have better luck with the new Liaison.
* * *
Meg opened the door marked PRIVATE, then closed her eyes and pictured the Liaison’s Office as if it were drawn on paper. A rectangular building divided into three big rooms. The back room had the washroom, which contained the toilet and sink. It also served as break room and storage, and had a door that led outside and one that accessed the sorting room. The sorting room had a large outside delivery door, an inside delivery door that provided access to the front room, and the door with the PRIVATE sign that was directly behind the three-sided counter area. The front room, where she assumed most deliveries would be made since it had the counter, had the one glass door and two large windows.
She studied the sorting room again and wondered who had designed the Liaison’s Office. For a room that was supposed to be private, private, private, the sorting room had an awful lot of doors, not to mention a window that would accommodate illicit access.
Not her problem. As long as she kept the delivery doors locked when they weren’t needed, she could avoid being eaten. Maybe. Hopefully. Right now, she had to get ready for business.
Turning on the lights in the front part of the office was easy—the switches were on the wall next to the Private door. Getting to the outside door to open it was a problem because she couldn’t figure out how the short left end of the counter opened to let someone into the main part of the room. So she got the stool from the sorting room and used it to climb over the counter. She turned the simple lock to the open position and then realized the simple lock was augmented by a heavy-duty dead bolt that required a key—which might or might not be on the key ring she’d left in the sorting room.
Caw caw
Three black birds were perched outside on a flat piece of wood, maneuvering to get a better look through one of the windows. She almost dismissed their presence, then wondered if they were terra indigene Crows that had come to take a look at the new Liaison.
Trying for a happy smile, Meg waggled her fingers and mouthed the words Good morning. Then she went back to the counter and tried to boost herself up enough to swing her legs over.
The Walking Names didn’t tell the girls anything about themselves, but she had overheard some things. She was twenty-four years old. She was sixty-three inches tall. She had black hair, gray eyes, and fair skin. Her cheeks had a light rosy hue that would show scars to advantage, but her face was still unmarred by the razor. The girls in the compound were kept healthy and were walked daily, but they were not allowed to do things that would give them unnecessary stamina or make them physically strong.
Sometimes determination could make up for stamina and strength. But sometimes it couldn’t.
The fourth time she landed back on the wrong side of the counter, a voice quietly said, “While this is highly entertaining, why don’t you just use the go-through?”
Meg backed away from the counter as a lean man stepped through the Private doorway. He had light brown eyes and brown hair that was made up of a variety of shades, including gray.
“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Name’s Jester. Henry thought you could use a little help figuring out what to do, and since Simon’s chewing his own tail this morning, and I look after the ponies, I was elected to help.” He held up both hands. “No tricks. I promise.” Then he gave her a smile that was both friendly and sly. “At least, not today.”
“I have to get the door open before the deliveries start arriving,” she said, wishing she didn’t sound so anxious. “The keys I was given are on that ring in the sorting room, but I’m not even sure there’s a key on it for this door.”
“There isn’t,” Jester replied, disappearing into the sorting room. “You have a key to the back door,” he continued when he walked into the front room and vaulted over the counter. “I’ll show you where the office keys are kept.”
He unlocked the dead bolt, studied the Crows for a moment, then grinned as he walked back to the counter. “You’ve been on the job for less than an hour and you’re already the most entertaining Liaison we’ve had.”
“Thanks,” she said, trying not to sound sour. She could imagine what Simon Wolfgard would say if he heard about this. “You won’t tell anyone about the counter, will you?”
“Me? No. Them?” Jester tipped his head toward the windows. There were Crows vying for a spot on the wooden sculpture, and a couple were standing in front of the door, looking in. “Most of the Courtyard will hear about this within an hour.”
She sighed.
“Come on. I’ll show you the trick with the go-through.” He pointed to the slide bolt that connected the go-through with the long counter.
“I tried that,” she said.
“That one keeps it closed during the day when you might be going in and out a lot.” He reached under the wide top. A moment later, Meg heard a bolt drawing back, then another. “There are two bigger slide bolts that keep the go-through closed the rest of the time. Those are locked when you leave the office for a meal break or at the end of the day.”
Jester pushed the go-through open, then stood aside to let her enter. He followed her in, closed the go-through, and used the visible slide bolt to secure it. After showing her where the other bolts were located, he pointed out the supplies and other items that were on the shelves under the counter.
A clipboard with a pad of paper. A round ceramic holder full of different color pens. Paperclips and rubber bands. A telephone at the other short end of the counter and its directory on the shelf underneath. And catalogs. Lots of merchandise catalogs from various stores, as well as menus from local eateries.
“We have a little bit of most everything in the Market Square, but not a lot of anything,” Jester said. “There is a plaza a few blocks from here that serves the humans who live in this part of Lakeside. It has all sorts of stores and more variety in terms of merchandise. A Courtyard bus provides transportation twice a week for anyone who wants to shop there.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?” she asked, remembering training images of fighting, blood, and slashed bodies.
>
He gave her an odd look. “It’s always dangerous when there are only a few of us among the humans.” He waved a hand to indicate the Crows, then touched his fingers to his chest. “Remember this, Meg Corbyn. We’re the ones you can see, but we’re not the only ones who are here. Which is why we have so many catalogs,” he continued in a lighter tone. “Our shops order things directly from manufacturers, just like human stores do. Some of it stays here; some is sent on to our kin who enjoy the things but want no contact with humans. But there are plenty of other bits of shiny that are ordered from a human store and delivered here, which is where you come in.”
Meg nodded, not sure what to say. So many warnings layered in his words. So many things to think about.
“Ready to start?” Jester asked.
“Yes.”
They went into the sorting room. Jester took the top bag from a pile of bags, opened it, and dumped the contents on the sorting table.
“The mail truck comes in the morning,” he said. “Give them back their bags as you empty them. You’ll get used to sorting the mail more specifically, but to start, sort by gard or location. Then . . .”
Caw caw
Jester smiled. “Sounds like your first delivery.”
Meg went out to the front room, closing the door partway. She put the clipboard and pad on the counter, tested a pen to make sure it worked, and carefully noted the date at the top of the page—and hoped the calendar under the counter had the days crossed out accurately.
The Crows scattered, most heading out while a few settled again on the brick wall and the sculpture sticking out of the snow.
As a man got out of the green van and opened its back door, Meg wrote down the time, the color of the truck, and the name Everywhere Delivery.
He was an older man whose face had been lined by weather and years, but his movements looked efficient as well as energetic. He elbowed the van door closed, glancing at the Crows as he pulled the office door open. Balancing four packages, he hesitated at the doorway.