*
Simon raced up the stairs to HGR’s office. Just as well he was in human form; his forelegs wouldn’t have supported an attempt to mount the stairs at that speed.
Vlad said nothing; just held out the phone. But Simon noticed the tremble in the vampire’s hand.
“This is Simon Wolfgard.”
It was not a voice meant to shape human words. It was not a voice that should have been heard over any device created by humans.
Simon sank into the chair. “Yes, I’ll listen.” And he did. For several minutes, he listened and said nothing. Then, “Yes, I understand.” And he did.
By the time he hung up, the office was full of the individuals who would carry some of this weight along with him: Erebus, Vlad, Nyx, and Stavros; Blair and Elliot; Henry and Tess. But at the end of what was said, one individual had been singled out, and she wasn’t in the room.
The sweet blood has changed things. You have changed because of her. We are intrigued by the humans who have gathered around your Courtyard, so we will give you some time to decide how much human the terra indigene will keep.
How much time was some time? And what, exactly, was he deciding to keep—the products humans made that the terra indigene found useful, or the pieces that, taken in total, made up the essential nature of humans? Was he supposed to decide if it was possible to have a human form of terra indigene? A century from now, would there be a Human and a human, like there was a Wolf and a wolf? What if there weren’t enough terra indigene who were willing to become that human?
How much time was some time?
“So,” Henry finally said. “The Elders have declared a breach of trust?”
“Yes.” The consequences were going to roll through Thaisia like a terrible storm.
“Have they decided on extinction?”
Simon shivered. “Not yet.”
Silence as the rest of them absorbed the words.
“What are you going to tell Montgomery?” Vlad asked.
“The truth.”
CHAPTER 54
Moonsday, Maius 28
As Monty reached the doorway of Captain Burke’s office, he heard an unfamiliar voice say, “Thanks for seeing me, especially at a difficult time. My condolences on the loss of one of your men.”
Giving the visitor his typical fierce-friendly smile, Burke wagged a finger at Monty—a silent command to come in. “Appreciate the sentiment. As for seeing you, well, you caught a train and came to talk to us. The least we can do is listen to what you have to say. Lieutenant Montgomery, this is Greg O’Sullivan, an agent in the governor’s newly formed Investigative Task Force. O’Sullivan, this is Crispin James Montgomery.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” O’Sullivan said, extending a hand toward Monty.
Monty shook the offered hand while he assessed the man. O’Sullivan looked to be in his early thirties. He had green eyes, dark hair that was cut short and starting to thin at the top. The lean build could be the luck of heritage or a deliberate result of diet and exercise. However, the skin on O’Sullivan’s face was so tightly stretched over bone and muscle it lent the man a kind of burning intensity and made Monty think of a warrior who chose an austere life in order to be constantly ready for the next battle.
Am I the next battle? Something about the way O’Sullivan looked at him gave Monty the feeling the man already knew too much about him.
Monty and O’Sullivan sat in the visitors’ chairs. Burke sat behind his desk—and waited.
Looking at the two men, Monty wondered if Burke was seeing a version of his younger self. O’Sullivan certainly came across as having the same kind of fierceness under a veneer of manners.
“It’s your meeting,” Burke finally said.
“Is this room secure?” O’Sullivan countered.
“Nothing you say here will go any further without your consent.”
O’Sullivan sat back in the chair and crossed his legs at the ankles. “There is a file on you in the governor’s office.”
“Every police officer has a file,” Burke replied easily. “For that matter, every government employee has a file. Standard procedure.”
“Yes, it is. Until you joined the force in Lakeside and began rising through the ranks, your file . . . Well, no one’s file is that clean, so when Governor Hannigan called a few of your former commanding officers, they filled in a little of what wasn’t on the page.”
“And why would the governor be interested in a patrol captain in Lakeside?”
O’Sullivan smiled. “He was trying to decide if he should recruit you for the ITF.”
“Why?”
O’Sullivan’s smile faded. “Because you were assigned to small human villages near or within the boundaries of the wild country in your early years on the force. Because you had direct experience with the terra indigene at least once during those years, and that experience has informed the choices you’ve made ever since when it comes to dealing with the Others. Because two of your former commanders hinted that you saw something or know something too dangerous to put in a report or pass along to anyone else, and whatever happened in those early years makes you a dangerous man because you actually know what’s at stake when humans tangle with the Others. Because you’re someone Governor Hannigan wants as an ally.”
“You’re here to offer me a job?”
“No. After careful review, the governor decided you’re ideally situated right where you are.”
“How kind of him to think so.”
“I’m not here to start trouble, Captain Burke. I’m here because I need help.” He looked at Monty. “From both of you.”
Burke leaned forward and put his folded hands on his desk. “I like to know who I’m working with. Don’t you, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir,” Monty replied. “I do. Especially when that person seems to know a great deal about me.”
O’Sullivan nodded. “Fair enough. Before I joined the ITF, I was on the police force in Hubbney. Being the governor’s brainchild, the ITF’s office is located a block away from Governor Hannigan’s office as well as the police station I used to work at. Which means, happily for me and the other handful of agents who currently make up the ITF force, we can count on assistance and backup from the police there. That’s something I hope I can say about Lakeside too.”
O’Sullivan paused, as if considering what he needed to say. “Patrick Hannigan married my mother’s younger sister, so he’s my uncle by marriage. He’s pro-human but not a supporter of the Humans First and Last movement. Considering how many of the movers and shakers in Toland do support the HFL and are lavishing attention on the motivational speaker from Cel-Romano, that’s not a politically savvy position to take, since only humans vote to elect human government officials. But after what happened to his predecessor—and seeing the Midwest Region receive that warning shake last month—Hannigan wants to be more active about keeping trouble from starting in the Northeast.”
“Prudent decision,” Burke said.
“Uncle Patrick says he takes after his grandmother, who was referred to as ‘a canny one.’ She had a way of sensing the truth about a person.”
An Intuit? Monty thought.
“Does the governor’s canny sense give him reason to think the police in Lakeside aren’t doing enough to keep the peace?” Burke asked.
“Just the opposite,” O’Sullivan replied. “Lakeside is strategically important because it’s a human port on one of the Great Lakes, and it’s one end of that whole water route. That means a lot of goods produced in Thaisia flow into the warehouses and then are loaded on trucks and trains that deliver those goods throughout the Northeast and Southeast. We can’t afford to lose control of this city. Toland is strategically important because it’s a port that serves coastal merchant ships and oceangoing vessels that take goods and people everywhere in the world. Goods and people go in and out of both cities.” He leaned forward. “And right now, the governor is concerned about the survival of both cities. Lakeside has had some rough patches these past few months, but you haven’t been slammed with the kind of response other human places have experienced when people crossed the terra indigene. And that is why I’m here. You actually have a dialogue with the Others. Not only can you ask questions; you can get answers. One of the things I’m investigating is a string of thefts in Toland’s elite neighborhoods, and the accusation that the Crowgard might be involved.”
“Thefts?” Monty felt chilled and didn’t dare look at Burke. “Why do you think the Crowgard would be involved?”
“They like shiny.” O’Sullivan thought for a moment. “The burglars took some silver, some cash, but mostly jewelry. Flashy pieces with stones worth a fortune. A couple of days ago an accusation was made by one of the victims. She claimed to have seen a Crow wearing her brooch.”
“How did this woman see a Crow?” Monty asked.
“She’s a society matron, so no one in Toland asked that question,” O’Sullivan replied. “Toland’s police commissioner suggested that I talk to the Others rather than doubt the word of a woman of good family.”
“What happened?” Burke asked.
“Nothing. Couldn’t even get in the door, so I left my card and asked someone to call me. And someone did later that day. He didn’t identify himself, but he informed me that the Crows had found a couple of pieces of discarded jewelry. The items had been tossed over the fence into the Courtyard. Finders keepers. He was certain that Crows had not flown up to a window ledge on a high-rise apartment building, gotten in through an open window, helped themselves to the contents of a woman’s jewelry box, and then flown away, which had been suggested by another investigator.”
“What, exactly, do you want to know?” Monty asked.
“I have some suspicions about what might be going on, but I’d like to know what the Others know about these burglaries.” O’Sullivan reached for a briefcase that had been resting against a leg of his chair. “I can show you . . .”
“Hold off on that,” Burke said. He looked at Monty. “Didn’t Kowalski mention that a Sanguinati visitor arrived this morning?”
“Yes, sir.” Feeling uneasy, Monty eyed O’Sullivan. “Stavros Sanguinati.”
O’Sullivan stiffened. “The vampire lawyer from the Toland Courtyard? That Stavros Sanguinati?”
Monty nodded. “He’s visited before. I think he’s close to some of the Sanguinati who live in the Courtyard here, especially . . .” Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the tiny movement of Burke’s head. “You’ve heard of Stavros?”
O’Sullivan looked at Monty, then at Burke. “Hubbney is only an hour’s train ride from Toland. Everyone on the force there has heard rumors that Stavros is the Toland Courtyard’s main problem solver, and if he solves the problem, the police won’t find a body floating in the river.”
Of course not, Monty thought. After the Sanguinati drink all the “problem’s” blood, they’ll give the meat to the Wolves in that Courtyard.
“Can you arrange a meeting?” O’Sullivan asked.
“Sounds like we have to,” Burke replied. “And sooner rather than later. Lieutenant, call Simon Wolfgard. Tell him we have an urgent matter to discuss and would like to talk to him . . . and Stavros Sanguinati.”
Monty hesitated. “This might not be the best time to discuss the Crowgard or accuse any of them of stealing.” To O’Sullivan he added, “One of the Lakeside Crows was also killed in the attack that killed Officer MacDonald.”
“I’m not here to make accusations.” O’Sullivan lifted the briefcase. “I’m here to ask questions and hopefully get a few answers.”
“About stolen jewelry,” Burke said.
O’Sullivan nodded. “And if they have any information about an object that could be opened with a small gold key that was found on a woman who had been murdered at the Toland train station early this month.”
Oh, gods, Monty thought. The missing diary.
Burke studied O’Sullivan, then looked at Monty. “Make the call.”
Monty left Burke’s office, went to his own desk, and reached for his phone. Then he hesitated.
He’d wished more than once that Lizzy had left Boo Bear on the train, that the bear and jewels had just disappeared. But Elayne would still be dead and Lizzy would still be in danger because Boo Bear wasn’t the only thing someone needed to reacquire. Maybe now, with the help of O’Sullivan, he could piece enough information together to finally have some answers. Maybe.
Blowing out a breath, Monty picked up the receiver and made the call.
*
Simon hung up the phone and turned to Vlad and Tess, whose hair—green with red streaks—was twisting into tight coils.
“Another problem?” Vlad asked.
“Lieutenant Montgomery would like us to talk to an investigator who is visiting Lakeside.”
“Not that Scaffoldon?”
“No,” Simon said. “A different human from something called the Investigative Task Force. See if Stavros has heard of it. Montgomery also asked if we’d seen the book that opens with a gold key.”
“When are they coming?” Tess asked.
“They’re on their way.” He glanced at Vlad, then focused on Tess. No black threads in her hair, which was good, but all the green was swiftly being replaced with red.
She said, “Then it’s time to return the book and show Montgomery and the other humans the truth.”