Written in Red

  Maybe even they were bothered by the smell of wet fur and preferred to run indoors in inclement weather. “What about the storefront that doesn’t have a sign?”

  “Social center. This Courtyard does employ some humans and occasionally lets some of them live in the apartments above the seamstress/tailor’s shop. But entertaining outsiders in an apartment that can access the Courtyard?” Kowalski shook his head. “You gather with friends at the social center. And you gather there if you want to socialize with an acquaintance who is terra indigene.”

  “And if you want a more private kind of date?” Monty studied the younger man.

  “The rooms above the social center can be used for that kind of date.”

  “Is this street talk or personal knowledge?”

  “Am I ever going to introduce you to my mother?”

  Monty hid a smile, but it took effort. “Probably.”

  Kowalski blew out a breath. “I really don’t have that much personal knowledge. I’ve heard that if you use one of those rooms, you’re responsible for putting fresh linen on the bed and tossing the used sheets in the laundry cart that’s left at the end of the hall. There’s a jar next to the laundry cart. Five dollars for the use of the sheets and the room.”

  “And if the money in the jar doesn’t match the number of sheets that were used?”

  “The next time there aren’t any clean sheets—and girls get pretty insulted if they’re asked to cuddle on seconds because you were too cheap to put five dollars in the jar the last time.”

  Now Monty didn’t try to hide the smile. “You are a font of information, Officer Kowalski.”

  Kowalski slanted a look at him.

  Laughing, Monty got out of the car. Despite the wind, which was still cold enough to cut to the bone, he left his topcoat open so that his holstered gun showed. Then he pulled out his leather ID holder so it would be in his hand when he walked into Howling Good Reads.

  “After the shooting two years ago, all the windows in these stores were refitted with bulletproof glass,” Kowalski said.

  “A gunman could walk into the store and start shooting,” Monty countered.

  “He could walk in, but he wouldn’t get out alive.” Kowalski tipped his head slightly as he pulled the door open.

  Monty looked in that direction as he walked into the store—and froze.

  Amber eyes stared at him. Lips lifted off the teeth in a silent snarl as the creature lying in front of a bookcase rose to its feet. The damn thing was big. Its shoulder would be even with his hip if they were standing side by side, and he was sure it outweighed him.

  The girl he’d rescued had looked like a rough version of the wolf puppies he’d seen in documentaries. But there was no mistaking this for the animal. There was something more primal about its body than the animals that lived in the world now. The first humans to set foot on this continent must have used the word wolf as a way to lessen their fear of what stared at them from the edge of the woods—or hunted them in the dark—and not because it was an accurate description.

  Kowalski quietly cleared his throat.

  Aware of how everyone was standing still—and trembling while they did it—he held up the leather holder that contained his ID and walked over to the counter.

  At first glance, he thought the man behind the counter was human. The dark hair was a little mussed but professionally cut. The shirt and pullover sweater were workplace casual and equal in quality to things he’d seen in the better shops in Toland. And the wire-rimmed glasses gave the handsome face an academic quality.

  Then the man looked at him with eyes that were the same amber color as the Wolf’s.

  How could anyone look into those eyes and not understand that a predator was looking back at you? Monty thought as he took the last steps to the counter. How could you not know that there was nothing human behind those eyes?

  “Mr. Simon Wolfgard?” Monty asked, still holding up his ID.

  “I’m Wolfgard,” he replied in a baritone that was pleasing if you couldn’t hear the growl under the words.

  Pretending he didn’t hear the growl, Monty continued. “I’m Lieutenant Crispin James Montgomery. My officers and I have been assigned as your police contacts, so I wanted to take this opportunity to introduce myself.”

  “Why do we need police contacts?” Simon asked. “We handle things on our own in the Courtyard.”

  The Wolf snarled behind him.

  Several girls who had been hanging out at the front of the store squealed and headed farther back where they could hide behind the shelves and peek out to watch the drama.

  “Yes, sir. I’m aware of that,” Monty replied, lacing his voice with quiet but firm courtesy. “But if you know we will respond to any call for assistance, I’m hoping that you won’t feel you always have to handle things on your own. Take shoplifting, for example.”

  Simon shrugged. “Steal from us, we eat a hand. But just one if it’s a first offense.”

  Nervous titters from behind the nearest shelves.

  “What if it’s a second offense?” Kowalski asked, moving closer to the counter while keeping an eye on the Wolf that was in Wolf form.

  The predatory look in Simon’s eyes sharpened, just like the smile sharpened. “For a second offense, we don’t bother with a hand.”

  Threat understood.

  He could see the effort it was taking for Wolfgard to assume the mask and body language of human shopkeeper—which he assumed was the purpose of the glasses and clothing.

  Not quite pulling it off today. Not quite able to hide the predator.

  Or maybe this was as much as it was ever hidden.

  “Why don’t we go next door for a cup of coffee,” Simon said, making the words less a question and more of a command. “Police officers like coffee. Don’t they?”

  “Yes, sir, we do,” Monty replied.

  Simon wagged a finger at a black-haired, black-eyed girl who hadn’t bolted to the back of the store with the others—had, in fact, been eyeing them all with a bright intensity that made Monty want to buy her some popcorn to eat while she watched the show.

  “Jenni,” Simon said when she hopped onto the counter and then over it. “Can you watch the register for a few minutes?”

  The smile she gave Simon had Monty reaching for his wallet to make sure it was still there.

  “If someone wants to buy something, they will give you money and you will give them change,” Simon said.

  “But not the shiny,” Jenni said, cocking her head. “We keep the shiny.”

  Simon looked like he wanted to bite someone, but all he said was, “Yeah, okay, you don’t have to give anyone the shiny.” Then he looked at the Wolf, who came over and sat in front of the register—a large, furry deterrent to anyone who wanted to check out before Wolfgard returned.

  He led them to the adjoining store.

  Not a lot of customers, Monty thought as he looked around. A couple of people were working on portable computers while sipping from large mugs, but that was all.

  “Tess?” Simon called to the brown-haired woman behind the counter. “Three coffees here.”

  They sat at a table. Monty tucked his ID in his pocket when Tess set three mugs and a plate containing slices of some kind of cake on the table. When she returned with the pot of coffee, napkins, and a little pitcher of cream, Simon introduced Monty and then waited for Monty to introduce his partner.

  Simon studied Kowalski. “Have I smelled you before?”

  Kowalski turned bright red and almost dropped the mug. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “You carrying another scent on you?”

  A head shake. Then Kowalski paled and whispered, “My fiancée.”

  “She likes books?”

  “Yes.” Kowalski took a sip of
coffee. His hands shook when he set the mug down. “We both do. We read a lot.”

  Simon continued to study the officer in a way that made Monty want to knock over the table or start shouting just to break that focus.

  “Polite,” Simon finally said. “Smells good. Doesn’t screech when she talks. Asked about books she couldn’t find in a human store. Should have that shipment tomorrow. She can pick up the ones that are available.” A teeth-baring smile. “Or you can.”

  Kowalski looked Simon in the eyes. “I’m sure she would rather pick up her order personally to make sure the books are what she wanted.”

  “Books weren’t the only thing your fiancée was interested in, but HGR doesn’t sell music discs, and the music store isn’t open to anyone but Courtyard residents.” Simon smiled at Monty. “But we could arrange a tour of our Market Square for our new friends in the police department. You could each bring a guest, even do some shopping.”

  “As long as we don’t expect the merchants to give us the shiny?” Monty asked, struggling to remain calm and polite—and hoping Kowalski would do the same.

  Tess, who had been about to top off their mugs, jerked back. “Ah, Simon. You didn’t let one of the Crows watch the register, did you?”

  “It will be fine,” he said tightly.

  “Say that when you’re trying to balance the cash drawer tonight.” Shaking her head, she walked back to the counter.

  Monty looked away before anyone noticed him staring. Her hair had been brown and straight when they walked in. Now it looked like she’d poured green food coloring over strands of it and used one of those curling irons. But she hadn’t left the room. He knew she hadn’t left the room.

  “Since I’m closing up tonight, maybe I should take over the register now,” a man said as he approached their table.

  Black hair, dark eyes, black sweater and jeans. More olive-skinned than fair, and dangerously good-looking.

  “This is Vladimir Sanguinati, the comanager of Howling Good Reads,” Simon said.

  Kowalski bobbled the mug and sloshed coffee on the table.

  “Sorry,” he muttered, grabbing the napkins Tess had put on the table.

  “This is Lieutenant Crispin James Montgomery and Officer Karl Kowalski, our new police contacts,” Simon said.

  “How intriguing,” Vladimir replied.

  Monty didn’t know why it was intriguing, or why Kowalski reacted to the name like that, but he did know there were things he wanted to think and say, and it wasn’t safe to think or say them while he was in that store.

  “I won’t take up any more of your time, Mr. Wolfgard,” Monty said quietly as he pushed his chair back and stood up. He pulled one of the new business cards out of his pocket and handed it to Simon. “My number at the station and my mobile phone number. If you need assistance—or just want it for any reason—please call me.”

  Rising, Simon slipped the card into his trouser pocket without looking at it.

  “Since we’re all friends now, you should come in for coffee again,” Tess said.

  “Thank you, ma’am. We’ll do that,” Monty said. He buttoned his coat as he and Kowalski walked to the outside door. “Wait until we’re in the car,” he added to his partner, feeling the Others’ eyes watch them as they walked past the store windows to the parking lot.

  When they got in the car, Kowalski blew out a breath and said, “Where to, Lieutenant?”

  “Nowhere yet. Just start the car so we don’t freeze out here.” Monty stared straight ahead, letting thoughts solidify into words. But he wasn’t quite ready to say what he suddenly understood, so he asked a question. “Sanguinati. You jumped like you were poked with a needle when you heard that name. Why?”

  “Doesn’t mean anything to you?” Kowalski waited a moment. “Are you familiar with the term vampire?”

  Monty turned his head and stared at the other man. “That was one of the bloodsuckers?”

  Kowalski nodded. “As in drain their prey of blood. In popular fiction they’re called vampires, but that species of terra indigene call themselves Sanguinati. No one really knows much about them except that they drink blood, don’t seem to have anything else in common with the fictional version, and they’re just as dangerous as the shape-shifters. And there’s been some . . . evidence . . . that they have another way of extracting blood besides biting you.”

  Glad he hadn’t drunk much coffee, Monty swallowed to push down his churning stomach. “Do you think they’re using those stores as easy places to hunt?”

  Kowalski tipped his head back. Finally he said, “Can’t say for certain about the Sanguinati, but the shifters aren’t using the stores that way. Wolfgard wasn’t kidding about them eating a shoplifter’s hand, but we’ve never filled out a DLU because someone went into one of those stores.” He turned his head and looked at Monty. “What’s on your mind, Lieutenant?”

  “I’ve been thinking that most of what you know about the terra indigene you learned because you’ve been brushing against them all your life. You probably grew up in a neighborhood that’s close enough to the Courtyard that you know the rules for the social center.”

  “I’m not the only cop in Lakeside who’s brushed up against the Others at a social occasion. The terra indigene control most of the world. It’s foolish not to take an opportunity to figure out more about them. And, for the record, before I met Ruthie, I did some necking and petting with a girl who worked in the Courtyard, but we parted company after a few dates and I never used one of the rooms above the social center for a romp between the sheets.”

  A silence filled the car. Monty ended it before it became a wedge between him and the younger man. “Terra indigene. Earth native. At the academy, no one ever explains exactly what that means. Maybe command doesn’t know exactly what it means or is afraid the truth would scare too many of us, and frightened men with guns would get us all killed.”

  “What’s scarier than knowing you’re always surrounded by creatures who think you’re edible?”

  “They really aren’t human, Karl,” Monty said. “Intellectually, I knew that. Now I know that with body as well as brain. The terra indigene aren’t animals who turn into humans or humans who turn into animals. They really are something unknown that learned how to change into a human shape because it suited them. They gained something from the human form, whether it was standing upright or having the convenience of fingers and thumbs, just like they gained something from the animal forms they absorbed.”

  “You support the first-form theory?” Kowalski asked.

  “That wasn’t taught at the academy,” Monty replied with a forced smile.

  “Something Ruthie found in some moldy old history book a while back. There was a theory that the Others have had a lot of forms, changing their shapes as the world and the creatures around them changed so that they remained the dominant predators. But the first form, whatever it might be, is the evolutionary ancestor of all the terra indigene and is the reason they can change shapes. The theory also says they take on some of the traits of the forms they use—like that girl Crow attracted to something shiny.”

  “That’s close enough to what I was thinking,” Monty said. “They have learned a human shape, but there is no humanity in them, nothing that recognizes us as more than meat. More clever than deer or cattle, but still meat. And yet, when they couldn’t find the men who killed one of their own, they understood how to punish everyone in the city by tacking on a tax to the water rates. Which means they do have feelings about their own kind.”

  “Okay. But what does that have to do with Wolfgard offering to let us see something that’s usually off-limits or making sure I knew they recognized Ruthie? You were polite and got back threats.”

  “I don’t think it was a threat. I think Simon Wolfgard was trying to be friendly. But the terra indigene line he comes from h
as absorbed the wolf for thousands of years and the human side for a few centuries at best, so he sounds threatening even when he isn’t trying to be. He has his own motives for opening those stores to human customers and inviting us to see a market I’m guessing has been seen by very few visitors.”

  “So?”

  “So we’re going to take him up on his offer,” Monty said. “We’re going to tour the market. Ruthie too, if you’re comfortable asking her to join us. We’re going to stop in and have a cup of coffee on a regular basis. We’re going to be faces the Others recognize. We’re going to try to change the dynamic, Karl. They aren’t human, will never be human. But we’re going to try to get them to see at least some of us as more than useful or clever meat. Then maybe—maybe—the next time adult men act like fools and enter the Courtyard uninvited, we’ll get a call instead of having to fill out a DLU form.”

  “I’m not sure anyone ever tried to change the dynamics between us and the Others,” Kowalski said cautiously.

  “Then maybe it’s time someone did.” Monty sighed. “All right. One more stop, then I’d like to drive around for a bit to get the feel of the area.”

  “Where to?”

  “To introduce ourselves to the person who could be our best ally—the Human Liaison.”

  They pulled out of the parking lot and turned left at the intersection of Crowfield Avenue and Main Street. They passed one storefront before turning into the delivery area for the Liaison’s Office and the consulate.

  “That store is called Earth Native,” Kowalski said. “Terra indigene sculpture, pottery, paintings, and weavings that are pricey but available for sale to humans. A sculptor who works in wood makes something called garden totems from the trunks of downed trees. Big things that can weigh a couple hundred pounds, or pieces small enough to be used as an accent table. Ruthie wants to buy a piece for our new apartment.”

  Monty filed all that information away as they pulled in and parked.