“Bigger and heavier.” Jackson set both hands on the BOW’s frame and pushed. The little vehicle rocked. “This will buckle if a bison hits it.”
A shiver of fear went through Simon. The BOWs could chug on the roads in the Courtyard; they could keep someone dry during rainy or snowy weather. They could, with the right driver, chug along on wet or snowy roads without mishap. Could a BOW—and its driver—survive a collision with something as big as a bison? “They would have no reason to chase the BOW or charge at a BOW.” That didn’t mean one of the bison wouldn’t confuse the BOW with something that should be chased or challenged.
“Are they going to be a problem for the deer?” Blair asked. “The Courtyard’s land can feed the herd that lives within its boundaries, and that herd is large enough to feed the pack and provide meat for the rest of the Courtyard’s residents. How much of the deer’s food will the bison consume?”
Vlad frowned. “Tell me again why we have bison in the Courtyard?”
He had room to move, but Simon still felt cornered. “Because Meg saw bison at the River Road Community, and the Hope pup did a vision drawing of Jackson bringing eleven bison to us.” Then it occurred to him that, perhaps, they had misinterpreted the cassandra sangue’s visions. After all, what was seen didn’t always happen.
Maybe having bison right in the Courtyard wasn’t a good idea after all.
“Well,” Henry said, “if the bison are a problem, we’ll just eat them sooner.”
Unhappy about making a bad decision, Simon scrubbed a hand through his hair and wanted to forget about the bison for a little while. It wasn’t too hot today. Maybe he could convince Meg to play a game of chase before they ate dinner. Or he could chase her to and from the Green Complex’s garden if she was going to pull weeds. “If we ate everything that was a problem—”
“—we’d all be fat,” Blair finished.
Henry snorted a laugh. “Until we decide what to do with them, we’ll make sure someone keeps watch on the bison when Meg is out in the BOW.”
That much decided, they pushed the BOW into one of the garages behind the Green Complex and attached the power cord to charge the vehicle.
“You’re taking the early train tomorrow morning?” Simon asked Jackson as they all walked through the archway that provided access between the garages and the apartments.
“I want to get home. With so many humans acting aggressive and strange, I don’t feel easy being so far away from Grace and Hope.” Jackson looked around. “Can we take one more run?”
Vlad stopped suddenly, a peculiar look on his face.
“What?” Simon asked.
“Tess says one of us needs to talk to Meg about her prophecy skills,” Vlad replied. “You and Jackson have your run. I’ll deal with this.”
“Do you know what ‘this’ is?”
“No.” Vlad shifted to smoke and headed for the Market Square and the Liaison’s Office at a speed that could outpace any prey on foot.
“Go,” Henry said. “Run. You’ll feel better for it.”
He couldn’t argue with that, so Simon, Jackson, and Blair walked over to Simon’s apartment to shed clothes and human form—and remember who they really were.
? ? ?
Vlad stopped in the shadows of the access way and shifted to human before walking to the front of the Liaison’s Office and entering through that door.
Meg is suddenly doubting her ability to see visions accurately, Tess had said. She says she isn’t performing well. She’s upsetting me, so you or Simon needs to talk to her.
Not a problem. He had plenty to say to Meg Corbyn.
<I need to talk to Meg,> he told Nathan.
Nathan eyed the Private door. <She’s unhappy. I don’t know why. No one bothered her.>
Vlad wagged a finger at the other Wolf bed. <Where is Skippy?>
<Playing with Sam. They were playing with the human pups for a while, but the humans kept whining about being bored. What is bored?>
A human trait we don’t want to acquire, Vlad thought. <Sam and Skippy aren’t with Meg?>
<No, Sam left his clothes at Howling Good Reads, and he and Skippy headed back to the Wolfgard Complex by way of the swimming hole.>
That much settled—and feeling assured that this conversation wouldn’t be interrupted—Vlad opened the go-through that gave him access to the Private door. As he closed that door, Meg turned away from the sorting table, clearly surprised to see him.
“Vlad?”
He closed the door to the back room before walking over to the table. “I understand that you’re looking for a performance review. Isn’t that what humans call it?” He heard the sharpness in his voice.
“Why are you angry with me?”
He had eleven reasons, but the bison really weren’t her fault. “Not you. But I am angry. More than I realized.” To give himself time to gather his thoughts, he looked at the decks of cards on the table. “How do these work?”
“I’m not sure.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m not sure!”
The shrillness in her voice made him look at her, really look at her. Was the anxiety in her eyes, the strain he saw in her face, because the Others had asked too much of her, expected too much from someone who was just a fledgling regardless of her physical age?
“You seem to think there is something wrong with your abilities as a prophet. Why? And don’t tell me ‘I’m not sure.’” He pitched his voice to sound like a girl’s and made the tone so insulting Meg was either going to burst into tears or come up swinging.
“Even a little child can tell the difference between a box of chocolates and a basket of apples!” she shouted.
Anger. Good. He preferred that to crying.
“If you showed a child a picture of both those things, I assume they would know which was which—if they were old enough to know such things,” Vlad said mildly. At random, he cut one of the decks of cards and turned over the top card. It showed a table laden with food: mashed potatoes, a salad, a basket of bread, cooked vegetables, and in the center, a huge roast.
My answer to what should be done with the bison, he thought as he restored the card to the deck.
“So all this emotional fuss is about you selecting a card that didn’t match the specific danger?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Did anyone ask you a question? Did anyone, including you, ask, ‘What is in that package?’”
Meg’s brow wrinkled in concentration. “I selected the card with the apples when the delivery truck drove up. Before the package was in the office. But, for a moment, the picture . . .”
When she trailed off, he finished the thought. “It was like one of your training images had been superimposed over the card, showing you a truth beyond what the eye could see.”
“Yes. And when I went to the front counter to talk to Harry, my tongue began burning, like that was where I needed to cut to reveal the prophecy.”
He’d seen the amount of blood that flowed when a tongue was bitten or cut. He didn’t want to think about Meg putting that silver razor in her mouth.
“But you didn’t need to do that because you already sensed that there was something wrong with whatever was in the package.” Vlad touched one of the other decks, an idle movement. “Meg, you made a connection between two things and gave warning. How is that inadequate?”
“Because I have to figure out how to make this work for everyone!” She waved a hand to indicate all the decks of cards.
“No, you don’t,” he snapped. “You were asked to consider if using these cards is a possible alternative to girls cutting themselves to release the visions, not to figure out everything in a couple of days. And we’re not talking about the other girls right now. We’re talking about you. Just you. So what is this really about?”
“My prophecies used to be accurate,” Meg cried. “It cost a lot to buy a cut on my skin because my prophecies were accurate.”
“They still are.”
She shook her head so fiercely he feared she’d hurt her neck. “I’m not accurate anymore. Not like I was in . . .” She swallowed hard. “In the compound.”