CHAPTER 46
Watersday, Maius 26
Hand in hand, Meg and Sam walked along the road from the Green Complex to the Market Square.
The Courtyard bus had left right after lunch to go to the stall market—the experimental field trip for Jenni, Starr, and Crystal Crowgard. Ruth and Merri Lee had invited her to join them, but they were quick to point out that the quantity of merchandise, not to mention the crowds and noise that were typical on a Watersday afternoon, might be overwhelming for her.
She took their word for it. Besides, taking a leisurely walk back to the Liaison’s Office—or as leisurely a walk as a human could have with Sam and Skippy for company—suited her.
“Why can’t I mark trees the way Skippy is doing?” Sam asked.
“Because you’re in human form,” Meg replied.
Skippy, who seemed to be paying no attention to their conversation, lifted his leg and gave them a Wolfie grin.
“Humans pee on trees too,” Sam said, glaring at Skippy as the juvenile Wolf trotted off to sniff at something else.
Unable to recall any training images that would confirm or deny that statement, Meg said nothing and kept walking. Tipping her head up so that she could see past the brim of her hat, she spotted the Hawk soaring above them, keeping watch. If Sam ran off to prove that a boy could pee on a tree, he wouldn’t be completely on his own, even if she kept walking. And, really, all he had to do was follow the road to the Market Square, so it wasn’t like he’d get lost. They might have to hunt up his clothes later if he stripped and shifted to Wolf, but apparently finding abandoned clothes in the Courtyard was pretty common during the warmer months.
Not abandoned, Meg reminded herself. Left where they can be found again—as long as a human doesn’t come along and take the clothes somewhere else.
She’d learned that lesson yesterday when she spotted a pile of clothes near the road while making a few deliveries. Since they were coveralls and work boots, she dropped them off at the Utilities Complex—and then had seen a little too much of an annoyed Blair, who had come looking for the clothes he’d set aside when he’d shifted to Wolf to do whatever it was he’d needed to do in his furry form.
Maybe she should talk to Eve Denby since Sarah and Robert played with some of the Courtyard’s youngsters. After all, if Sam was going to grumble about not being allowed to pee on a tree when he was in boy form, would Robert grumble about not being allowed to strip off his clothes and run around naked just because he wasn’t going to shift to something with feathers or fur?
She had no training images that matched what young males of any species thought about or found interesting. Apparently such things were not considered useful knowledge when speaking prophecy.
By the time they reached the Market Square, Meg was warm and dewy—a phrase Ruth said her grandmother used because the old woman insisted that ladies didn’t sweat.
Ruth’s grandmother obviously never had Wolves for playmates. When you played with them, you weren’t dewy, you dripped.
“The whole Courtyard is here,” Sam said, sounding impressed.
She knew that wasn’t true, but it sure looked like every resident had crowded into the square.
Focus on one or two things, she thought. Let the rest be a busy background, as if you were seeing a vision occurring in a crowded place instead of a deserted place.
Feeling steadier after making that decision, Meg looked around and focused on Jester Coyotegard, who pointed to various stores and seemed to be explaining something to a man with red hair and a face that looked sufficiently Foxy not to pass for human. She hadn’t delivered any mail to anyone who was Foxgard, so this male was either a visitor or a new resident.
She noticed Blair, who looked like someone was chewing on his tail, which wasn’t likely because he was in human form. Then she forgot about the Wolf when she spotted Julia and Marie Hawkgard coming out of Chocolates and Cream, licking ice cream cones.
Had she ever tasted ice cream? She wasn’t sure. But she knew she’d never experienced eating an ice cream cone. And Sam hadn’t had ice cream in years, if he’d ever had any when he was a little puppy. They would go over to Chocolates and Cream, and she would buy ice cream cones for both of them. And Skippy too, so he wouldn’t be left out.
She looked at Sam. “Would you like to get . . .”
The harsh buzz began in her chest, quickly spreading to her left shoulder.
“Get what, Meg?” Sam tugged on her arm. “Meg?”
Meg looked at the Market Square. Crowded place. Too many people, too little room to move, to escape.
The Market Square looked familiar, but it didn’t feel familiar anymore. And the certainty that she needed to escape grew stronger the longer she stood there.
“Something’s wrong,” she whispered. She patted the right cargo pocket in her shorts. Empty.
How could it be empty? How could . . . ?
She pressed her hand against the left pocket and felt the shape of her folding razor. She’d put it there—and buttoned the pocket—so that the razor was with her but harder to reach.
“Meg?” Sam whined as he tugged on her arm again.
Meg worked to steady her breathing. She should turn around and walk away from the Market Square, walk back to the Green Complex or as far up the road as she needed to go until the painful pins-and-needles buzz under her skin stopped.
She looked at Sam and Skippy, intending to tell them they had to leave.
But what if the prophecy was about one of them? Could she take that risk? Could she live with the pain if either of them got hurt?
Be sure, she thought. The last time you didn’t walk away, you upset so many friends. You hurt Nathan. And Simon. Be sure.
She hurried away from the Market Square, intending to reach her office and call . . . who? Simon was at the stall market with Jenni Crowgard and her sisters. Nathan, Vlad, Henry, and the human pack were with them. Except Theral, who was working at the medical office this afternoon because she didn’t want to go to a crowded place where her ex-lover might look for her.
Could Theral be the reason for the prickling? There had been no sign of that man since the flowers arrived as a way to confirm that Theral could be found in the Courtyard. But no human could reach Theral in the medical office. Especially not today with so many of the terra indigene gathered in the Market Square.
Crowds and the sting of sharp, unpleasant smells. Pushing and shoving. Shouts and screams. No room to escape if . . .
“Meg?” Sam said. “Where are you going?”
She ran to the Liaison’s Office. Get inside and call . . . Blair, the Courtyard’s dominant enforcer. No, he was in the Market Square, close by. She would call Nyx. The Sanguinati would help her.
She stopped, barely able to breathe.
The buzzing had gotten worse, not better. She was moving toward the reason for the visions building in her skin, not away from it.
Can’t cut when I’m not in control. Can’t frighten Sam the way I frightened Nathan. Can’t. But the danger is here. I know it’s here.
Meg looked around, focusing on the buildings that surrounded her as she turned in a slow circle. The garages that stored two BOWs and also held various tools and equipment for seasonal work. The Three Ps and the access way that provided egress to the Main Street entrance to the Courtyard. The back of the Liaison’s Office and Henry’s yard. The back entrances to Howling Good Reads and A Little Bite.
Meg looked at the stairs leading to the efficiency apartments above the seamstress/tailor’s shop—and grabbed at her arms as the buzzing became brutally painful.
Four apartments up there. And this buzzing under her skin was the dowsing rod that would pinpoint which apartment, which friend, might be in danger. She would figure out which apartment produced the buzz, which people were the subject of the prophecy, and then she would run away until the buzzing stopped.
She could do this. She would do this.
“Meg?” Sam sounded scared.
Couldn’t do this with just the boy here. If anything went wrong . . .
She raised her head. “Arroo! Arroo!”
Sam cocked his head. “What is that?”
“It’s a warning,” Meg panted. “Something’s wrong at the efficiency apartments. Bad wrong. Have to warn.”
“Arroo!” Sam howled. “Arroo!”
“Arroo!” Skippy howled a moment later.
A moment after that, a deeper howl answered them.
Meg bolted up the stairs. Halfway up, she stumbled and fell, hitting her knee.
“Meg!”
She twisted around to sit on the stair, barely noticing Elliot as he ran toward her from the consulate. She stared at the torn skin on her knee as her body filled with the agony that was the prelude to prophecy.
Then Tess was beside her, one strong hand bracing the back of her head, and Elliot was on her other side.
“Have to,” Meg gasped. “Have to . . .”
“There’s no time to fetch paper and pen,” Tess said. “We’ll have to listen carefully and remember.”
Elliot nodded.
Tess turned Meg’s face so their eyes met. “Speak, prophet, and we will listen.”
A jumble of images. “Pink book, gold stars . . . secrets . . . apartment . . . thief, more thief . . . Lizzy book . . . train . . . train . . . shinies . . . man holding a length of pipe . . . Crows . . . bags of shinies . . . Run!”
Images scalded her mind, burned into her memory. Instead of the euphoria that would protect her from the visions, Meg felt fear gathering until it filled her—a different kind of agony.
Then she saw her own arm rise, stiff and straight. She saw her forefinger pointing and the thumb straight up. She saw the other fingers curling into her palm so that her hand looked like . . . “Simon!”