“Are you going to Bennett?” Jenni asked. “Do you have a pen pal? The Ruthie explained what that is. I could be your Crowgard pen pal and send you news from Lakeside.”
Lots of emotion invested in this, Monty thought as he watched feathers appear in Jenni’s long black hair.
Jana stared at the feathers, then, with effort, focused on Jenni’s face. “Yes, I’m going to Bennett. I promised to write to Merri Lee, but I don’t have any Crowgard pen pals, so I would enjoy writing to you.”
Jenni set an index card on the table. “This is me. When you get to Bennett, you can send me your address.” She dashed out of the coffee shop.
Jana stared down the hallway that led to the back door, then looked at Monty and Burke.
“For the Crowgard, information is a form of currency,” Monty said, smiling. “I got the impression from things I’ve overheard lately that having a pen pal and receiving postcards from another region in Thaisia has become a bit of a status symbol.”
“Is having a human for a pen pal more or less of a status symbol?” Jana asked.
“More, I think.”
“Communicating with one of the Lakeside Crowgard won’t hurt your status either,” Burke said quietly. “Especially since plenty of individuals in Bennett and Prairie Gold already have ties to this Courtyard.”
Jana gave them a brilliant smile. “I’d better get home and make sure everything is ready for my trip tomorrow.”
“Have your mail forwarded to the Bennett post office,” Monty said.
“Will do.”
Tess joined them, giving Monty and Burke no more than a glance before focusing on Jana. “You ready to go?”
“I am.”
“Our minivan can take you home. It’s in the access way. The driver’s name is Harry.”
“Thanks.” Jana hurried out the back way.
“Well,” Tess said. “I hope we’re done with all the excitement for . . . a . . . while.” As she looked toward the archway, her hair changed to red-streaked green and began coiling. “The job fair is over.”
“Didn’t come for a job.”
The familiar male voice—a voice Monty had hoped he wouldn’t hear in person, despite what Meg had seen in the prophecy cards and what his mother had told him—was like a hammer blow to the chest.
“Came to see family.” A gesture to the woman and two children behind him. “Was told there was a place we could stay.” The smile aimed at Monty wasn’t sincere, unless you counted the hint of meanness. “Hey, CJ.”
“Lieutenant?” Burke’s voice was barely audible but a warning nonetheless. “You know him?”
“My brother. Cyrus James Montgomery. Jimmy.”
Burke took a step toward the archway. “Sir, you need to leave. Now.”
Monty glanced at Tess and felt a wave of dizziness. Something wrong with her face. Something . . .
He looked away and waited for the dizziness to pass. Hoped it would pass.
A squeal from the archway. Then Jimmy’s wife and children were pushing into the coffee shop, and Henry Beargard stood in the archway, blocking escape.
Monty looked at Jimmy, who was still trying to hold on to his cockiness.
“Whether or not he leaves isn’t your decision, Captain,” Tess said. “He’s in the Courtyard. The Wolfgard will decide what happens to him now.”
CHAPTER 7
Thaisday, Messis 9
Watched by the ponies, Meg stood at the sorting room’s side door and flipped through the envelopes going to the Sanguinati. Smiling self-consciously, she removed a letter that belonged in the Hawkgard mail, then put the rest in Thunder’s baskets.
Thunder circled to the end of the line since Meg didn’t hand out the day’s treat until she’d dealt with all the mail. Lightning stepped up to receive the letters he would deliver.
Hawkgard Complex. Wolfgard Complex. Crowgard and Owlgard. Pony Barn. Utilities Complex. Even the Green Complex, which meant someone from the Business Association had to return to the complex, empty the baskets, and put the mail in the slots in the mail room. It would have been easier to take that mail with her when she went home, but most days all the ponies living in the Courtyard showed up to receive mail, and they all expected to be able to deliver something somewhere despite there being more ponies than mail drops. That was the reason she now had a pony deliver mail to the Market Square shops, and why she had the ponies making other kinds of deliveries if she didn’t have any mail to put in the basket. The girls at the lake didn’t receive mail or catalogs, so Meg now split the books requested from the library. A pony took a couple of books in the morning and she took the rest when she made her afternoon deliveries. Ever since the Elders came through Lakeside and the Courtyard last month, dispensing their primal form of justice, it had been made clear to Meg that the girls expected to see her when she made her afternoon rounds, even if she had nothing to deliver. Same with Mr. Erebus. Whether she had anything for him or not, she stopped at his home in the Chambers, stood on one side of the gate in the black, wrought-iron fence, and chatted with the old Sanguinati for a few minutes.
With the Elementals and Mr. Erebus, her stopping wasn’t about physical deliveries. It was about letting them see she was all right—and about sharing news that wasn’t written down.
When she gave the last pony, Whirlpool, the books Summer and Earth had requested, and everyone had received their treat of carrot chunks, Meg went into the bathroom to wash her hands. Mail all sorted. No packages to shelve for the afternoon deliveries. Just that box of books from Jesse Walker. Unless a delivery arrived, she didn’t have anything she had to do until the midday break. She could select one of the books and read a chapter or two.
Why was she holding her left elbow up to the mirror?
Frowning, Meg gingerly rubbed the skin, then looked closer. No cut or injury of any kind. Not that she could see anyway. The skin didn’t hurt when she rubbed it. But the elbow hurt, faintly. And the skin prickled, faintly.
Leaving the bathroom, she went through the sorting room, glanced at the box, and almost shrugged off the odd feeling in her elbow. If she said something, she might cause who knew how much upset? But if she said nothing and the odd feeling was a forewarning of trouble . . .
She opened the drawer that contained the wooden box of prophecy cards. She put the box on the counter, opened the lid, and placed her fingertips on the cards. Probably wouldn’t get an accurate answer if she didn’t spread the cards out on the table. If she left them in the box, it would be harder to find the correct one. It was time to look at all of them and start discarding the ones with images that could be represented by a single card when the Trailblazer deck was created.
And how many times was she going to say she should do it before she actually started doing it?
Hadn’t she seen an article in a magazine recently about how to stop procrastinating? Maybe she should find that article and read it again.
For now, she would ask a question and select a card as the answer.
Why is my elbow hurting? Why is my elbow hurting? Why . . .