Murder of Crows

  • • •

  Vlad stood by the back door of HGR and watched the pickup truck drive past the back of the Liaison’s Office and park close to the wooden gate leading into Henry’s yard. Even though two of the leaders from the Toland Courtyard were attending, the Sanguinati weren’t happy about this meeting of leaders. The terra indigene sometimes quarreled among themselves—the different predators they’d absorbed over the centuries made that inevitable, especially when they had overlapping territory—but they were always united against their common adversary: humans.

  This time Simon was gambling that the Midwest leaders weren’t so bitter or angry that they’d already decided what needed to be done.

  From what Vlad had seen as the guests arrived throughout the day, there was plenty of bitterness and anger in the terra indigene coming in from the Midwest, as well as the areas around the Great Lakes where humans were spewing about the Humans First and Last movement without thinking for one second about who was listening to them.

  Simon might be taking a risk calling this meeting and bringing them all to Lakeside, but he’d also been smart enough to stack the deck, as humans said, by bringing in three terra indigene from the High Northeast—a part of Thaisia that hadn’t yet been touched by the troubles—in the hope that they would provide some balance to the discussions.

  Bobbie Beargard was a Black Bear who taught at one of the few terra indigene colleges on the continent. She had once told a visiting human professor who was spouting some nonsense about human superiority that if she wanted to handle crap, she’d shit in her own paw. Even if he hadn’t been eaten on his way home, the professor wouldn’t have been invited back.

  Then there was Alan Wolfgard, whose thrillers were wildly popular with the terra indigene—especially the Others who had never seen a real human.

  The last of the three stepped out of the pickup and raised a hand in greeting. Charlie Crowgard was tall and lean, with a kind face that somewhat hid the sharp intelligence in his black eyes. Like many terra indigene, he couldn’t shift the last little bit to look completely human. But being a musician, he’d used that to advantage by tying his black hair back into a thin tail and letting the feathers that wouldn’t shift hang in plain sight like an ornament.

  “Why didn’t you take the train?” Vlad asked.

  “Couldn’t,” Charlie replied, cocking a thumb at the pickup’s bed. “Wasn’t going to try to carry that.”

  Vlad came around to the back of the pickup. “What is it?”

  “It’s wood.” As the gate to Henry’s yard opened, Charlie added, “Henry. Give us a hand. I think this old tree has a story to tell, so I brought it to you.”

  Henry studied the chunk of wood and nodded. “It’s a good piece.”

  Vlad climbed into the bed and helped Charlie shift the wood to the tailgate—where Henry picked it up with a small grunt and took it into his studio.

  “Brought the guitar,” Charlie said as he jumped off the bed and closed the tailgate. “I know we’re not here for fun, but . . . what’s that?”

  “That’s a human,” Vlad said, watching Theral MacDonald, Dominic Lorenzo’s new . . . whatever they called her. Assistant? Phone person? Exploding fluffball?

  No, that’s what he’d taken to calling Meg’s human pack. A few months ago, the humans who worked in the Courtyard just did their jobs and kept out of the way. Now they had opinions.

  “I know that,” Charlie said. “What’s she carrying? It looks like a fiddle case. You have humans here who play music?”

  Since Charlie sounded delighted by the prospect of meeting a music-playing human, Vlad called out, “Ms. MacDonald?”

  Being very newly employed, Theral had kept her head down and her hair around her face in an attempt to walk past them without seeing them—as if not seeing them meant they couldn’t see her. Typical prey mentality, but that might change once she settled in. Now she stopped and moved toward them, every step filled with reluctance. “Mr. Sanguinati?”

  “What are you carrying?” Charlie asked. “Is it a fiddle?”

  “Yes, it’s a fiddle,” Theral said.

  Charlie smiled at her before turning to Vlad. “Do you all join in and perform in the Market Square? If I remember correctly from my visit a few years ago, you have a platform there that would be perfect for performing.”

  “Ms. MacDonald just started working for us, so I don’t think anyone has mentioned playing in the square,” Vlad replied. Then to Theral, “You staying here?”

  Theral nodded. “Lawrence is picking me up after his shift. Mr. Wolfgard said it was okay if I stayed with Merri Lee until then.”

  She hurried up the stairs to the efficiency apartments and knocked on the outer door. It opened moments later, so Merri Lee must have been waiting for the other girl.

  “So,” Vlad said. He looked at the open area that was bordered by the garages, Henry’s yard, and the backs of HGR, A Little Bite, and the Liaison’s Office. Then he looked at the pickup, which was a lot bigger than the BOWs that were usually parked in the space. “How are you going to turn this thing around?”

  Charlie grinned. “Very carefully.” The grin faded. “Simon is going to have to move carefully too.”

  “I know,” Vlad said. Then he added silently, If the shifters want more blood shed than the Sanguinati will accept, Simon won’t be the only one who will need to be careful.

  CHAPTER 21

  “Since you’ve figured out what’s causing the sickness, let’s wipe it out at the source,” Joe Wolfgard snarled again.

  “The source is a special kind of girl,” Simon snarled back. “They’re not choosing to be drugs that make us aggressive or passive. They’re being used. They’re being cut and bled, and that’s not their fault.”

  “The source is human,” Joe snapped. “The solution should be simple.”

  “You’ve had a couple of incidents in the Northeast,” Jackson Wolfgard said, pointing at Simon. “And now the Northwest has seen a few cases of humans being so aggressive they’ve no sense of self-preservation. But the Midwest Courtyards have been hit over and over by humans who are diseased from the blood of Namid’s terrible creation. If we can’t stop these attacks soon, a lot more than a few humans will disappear.”

  Catching a warning look from Henry, Simon sat back and let the various leaders discuss and argue. The Wolfgard and Coyotegard from the Midwest had been the hardest hit. And the Crowgard had suffered losses every place the drugs gone over wolf and feel-good had been found. But they’d all become so fixed on the terrible side of Namid’s creation, they didn’t want to hear what he’d been trying to tell them about blood prophets.

  Cheryl Hawkgard, Patty Crowgard, and Vera Owlgard wanted to know how the terra indigene were supposed to find a specific breed of human among a city full of humans. Simon had some thoughts about that, but he wasn’t going to share them while tempers were hot.

  Simon said to Henry.

  Henry replied.

  But would they realize it in time? Simon wondered. The leaders who had come for this meeting had been in the Courtyard’s library for an hour now, arguing about what should be done to eliminate the problem.

  Henry continued.

  Vlad had offered no opinions either, and Simon began to find that silence unnerving.

  Perhaps Roy Panthergard found the Sanguinati’s silence unnerving as well because he said, “Stavros? Tolya? What do you have to say?”

  Vlad replied quietly, “The Sanguinati will not harm the sweet blood.”

  Hearing the warning—and threat—beneath the word
s, everyone stopped talking and focused on the Sanguinati.

  “You’ve lost one of your own because of these drugs,” Jackson said.

  “The Sanguinati do not drink the sweet blood,” Vlad said. “We do not harm the sweet blood. And if necessary, we will stand against other terra indigene who try to harm the sweet blood.”

  No wonder Stavros and Tolya had said nothing. Vlad was the messenger, but Erebus was giving the orders—and making the threat of going to war against the shifters if they tried to eliminate the cassandra sangue.

  Alan Wolfgard exchanged a look with Bobbie Beargard and Charlie Crowgard, who both nodded.

  “Look,” Alan said. “We’re just chasing our tails. We can talk about this from one sunrise to the next and not have any answers because the answer isn’t in the library.” He looked at Simon. “You said you have one of them here in the Lakeside Courtyard. It’s time you showed us Namid’s terrible creation.”

  • • •

  Leading his guests from the library to the back door of the Liaison’s Office, Simon reluctantly turned the doorknob. He’d wanted to tell the leaders about Meg and how her desire to actually do the work a Human Liaison was supposed to do, and more, had altered so much in just the few months she’d been here. He wanted them to see past a kind of human who was a danger to the terra indigene and see Meg. But they had already decided Meg was a fearsome creature who should be destroyed along with the rest of her kind.

  Then Meg screamed, and the terror in that sound had him flinging the door open and running through the back room and into the sorting room with Vlad, Henry, Charlie, and the rest of the Others slamming in behind him. And then they all stopped, stumbling into each other as they stared at Meg, cowering on top of the sorting table, with envelopes and catalogs scattered on the floor around her. And Skippy, holding a mouse by the tail, his hindquarters bunched for a leap onto the table.

  “Skippy!” Simon growled the word, barely able to make human sounds.

  Wolf and woman turned toward his voice. Taking in the audience staring at her, Meg’s fair skin turned a deep rose color, which probably looked appealing with her natural black hair but made the weird orange look weirder.

  Skippy, finally realizing he might be in trouble, lowered his head to drop the mouse.

  Meg shrieked, “Don’t let go of it!”

  Despite being in human form, Simon’s ears flattened at the sound. He felt empty space at his back as everyone except Vlad and Henry took a step away from the table. And he noticed that the mouse was still alive, since it began flailing its little legs when it sensed a chance at freedom.

  No longer sure he could speak, Simon switched to the terra indigene way of communicating.

  Skippy gave Simon a woeful look.

  Vlad made a choking sound.

  Henry opened the sorting room’s outer delivery doors and said, “Skippy, take the mouse outside. Leave it on the grass past the Market Square.”

  Being a skippy meant the youngster sometimes had gaps in his thinking, but this time the juvenile Wolf knew exactly what to do. He took his mouse and fled.

  Henry closed the outer doors. Charlie stepped forward and picked up some of the mail scattered on the floor. After a moment’s hesitation, other terra indigene picked up the mail close to them and gingerly set it on the table.

  Henry looked around. “Meg? Where’s the step stool? How did you get on the table?”

  “I don’t remember,” Meg said, shifting to sit on the edge. “One moment Skippy was chasing me with that . . . rodent . . . and the next I was up on the table.”

  Before Simon could go to her, Henry hooked his big hands under her arms, lifted her off the table, and set her down.

  Looking flustered, Meg linked her fingers together and tried smiling. “Hello. I’m Meg, the Human Liaison for the Lakeside Courtyard.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Charlie said, returning the smile.

  Everyone else mumbled niceties before retreating out the back door, where they all gathered except the Grizzly.

  Simon called.

  Henry said.

 

 

  Oh, yeah. If it occurred to her that Skippy had found the mouse in the office, Nathan would have to do a mouse check every morning, regardless of his actual assignment.

  But right now, Simon was surrounded by leaders who had come to discuss the trouble and deaths that had been happening in Thaisia. He understood the confusion he saw in their eyes. They had been prepared to meet a dangerous predator, an adversary equal to themselves, not a short female with weird hair and a fear of mice.

  “Simon?” Charlie finally said. “It was just a mouse.”

  “I know,” he replied.

  “A small mouse.”

  He sighed. “I know.”

  “So,” Alan said after a long pause. “That’s Namid’s terrible creation?”

  “Yeah. That’s Meg.”

  Another long pause. Then Bobbie said, “Why is her fur that strange color?”

  “It was a disguise.”

  Bobbie made a sound that was half laugh, half disbelief. “What was she pretending to be? One of those traffic cones humans put on the street when they’re making repairs?”

  Simon growled softly, offended on Meg’s behalf. Then he noticed how they were all looking at one another, and he had an idea. “Why don’t you ask some of the Courtyard residents about Meg?”

  “She’s known to more than the Business Association?” Jackson Wolfgard asked, sounding startled.

  Vlad laughed. “I think everyone in the Lakeside Courtyard can tell you a story about Meg.”

  “We’ll meet back in the library in a couple of hours?” Alan said, looking at everyone.

  “Might as well leave the clothing there,” Bobbie Beargard said. “Any chance of something to eat when we get back?”

  Simon nodded. “Tess said she’ll have coffee and breakfast foods available, and Meat-n-Greens is serving a variety of food throughout the day.”

  “Will we have a chance to observe the Courtyard’s other human employees?” Bobbie asked.

  “Yes.”

  All the guests ambled back to the library to discard their clothes and shift, leaving Simon and Vlad standing behind the Liaison’s Office.

  “You have enough to think about,” Vlad said. “You should let Blair explain the ‘no live toys’ rule to Skippy.”

  “Let’s hope he didn’t find that toy in the office,” Simon grumbled.

  “It could have been worse.”

  Simon snorted. “How?”

  Vlad grinned. “Skippy could have found a rat.”

  • • •

  The guests returned to the library a couple of hours later. Most gave Simon and Vlad wary looks. Alan looked intrigued, and Charlie was clearly amused, especially when Joe and Jackson returned with their fur encrusted with snow and chunks of ice clinging to their tails.

  The Elementals or the ponies must have heard those two expressing an unfavorable opinion about Meg, Simon thought.

  “We all have a lot to think about,” Cheryl Hawkgard said. She hesitated. “These blood prophets. They can’t all be like your Meg.”

  “No, they can’t,” he replied. “But I don’t think we should blame them for being a weapon when no one is giving them a choice.”

  CHAPTER 22

  On Watersday, Meg took the broom and dustpan out of the storage area while Merri Lee began cleaning the kitchen area in the office’s back room.

  “It was kind of strange this morning,” Merri Lee said. “All these terra indigene leaders fil
ling up the tables at A Little Bite, with Ruth, Theral, Lawrence, and Michael sitting at one table playing the part of human customers. And Lorne coming in to buy coffee and pastry to take back to the Three Ps. And Jenni Crowgard and her sisters sitting at a table, all flustered and giggling.”

  Meg stopped sweeping. “Why would Jenni be flustered? She has a high standing with the Crowgard here. Doesn’t she?”

  Merri Lee grinned. “I got the impression that Charlie Crowgard is a celebrity among the Crows. I think Jenni . . . Well, it would be like me sitting near a human film star I had a crush on.”

  Meg nodded. She didn’t understand the feeling, but she turned the words into a kind of image that she could recall later.

  “Anyway, a couple of things struck me. This was the terra indigene elite who deal with humans, and I don’t think most of them had ever been in a coffee shop or had a meal in a restaurant like Meat-n-Greens.”

  Meg frowned but continued sweeping. Merri Lee’s words had layers. She wanted to stop and concentrate, but she had the impression Merri was talking in order to understand, and Meg didn’t want anything to shut off the words.

  “For instance, they were all going to take a spoonful of honey and eat it off the spoon instead of drizzling it on the warm scones Tess provided.” Merri Lee went into the bathroom to rinse off the cleaning cloth.

  “Would just eating the honey be bad?” Meg asked, raising her voice to be heard over the running water. She felt a tingle in her left arm. Why would mentioning jars of honey start the pins-and-needles feeling?

  Merri Lee returned to the back room. “Not bad in itself.” She opened the wave cooker and wiped out the inside. “But it would be something snobs would point to as proof the Others weren’t really equal to humans. After all, they don’t even know how to properly eat honey.” Her voice took on a condescending tone. Then she stopped working and looked at Meg. “I thought it was kind of strange that Mr. Wolfgard was hiring Ruth to teach terra indigene how to do human things—simple things like placing an order in a restaurant or when to use a fork and when to use a spoon. But we learn those things at home, don’t we? And if you don’t know those things, other people think less of you.”