Written In Red Part 18

"She met the girl at the lake," Julia said.

Jester whined.

"Which one?" Blair asked.

"Which one would be out there skating, wearing nothing but a short-sleeved white dress and shoes?" Julia replied.

"Winter," Simon breathed. "Meg talked to Winter?"

"The Hawks and Crows were warned off. Apparently, the Elemental didn't want to share the conversation. We don't know what was said, but she and the Meg chatted for a while, and then the Meg left."

So at least one of the Elementals also had an interest in Meg. And Winter, if provoked, could be a terrifying b.i.t.c.h even for other terra indigene.

They looked at one another. Then they all turned to him and nodded.

"Meg stays," Simon said in confirmation. "And we'll make sure Meg-and the police-know we consider her one of us now."

"How are you going to do that?" Tess asked as the black threads faded from her hair.

Simon picked up the razor and the wanted poster. "With a slight change of address."

Meg didn't need to see the deliveryman suddenly tense to know Simon was standing in the Private doorway. When the man left, she continued to stare out toward the street rather than look at the Wolf.

"Should I close up the office?" she asked.

"The office is closed from noon until two p.m., and it's almost noon," Simon said. "So, yes, you should close up until you reopen for afternoon hours."

Now she turned to look at him. "I can stay?"

"With some changes."

"What kind of changes?"

"Close up, Meg. Then we'll talk."

She closed up the office, put on her coat and boots, then followed him out the back door, which he locked before she could pull out her keys.

He led her to a BOW parked near the door and stuffed her into the pa.s.senger's seat. By the time she got herself sorted out, he was behind the wheel and headed into the Courtyard.

She started to ask again what changes she had to make, but he was frowning more and more. Then he hit the brakes, and the BOW slid sideways before it stopped.

Those amber eyes stared at her. The frown deepened. "How were you taught things in that place where you were kept?"

She noticed he didn't say where she had lived. At least he understood that distinction. "We were shown pictures. Sometimes drawings, sometimes photographs. We watched doc.u.mentaries and training films. Sometimes scenes from movies. After we were taught to read, we were given reading a.s.signments, or an instructor would read aloud. Or we read aloud in order to learn how to speak properly and p.r.o.nounce words." And there were things that had been done to them "for the experience," or things they had been made to watch being done to a girl who was used-up or too deficient to earn her keep through the cutting.

Simon's frown deepened a little more. "You took the BOW out the other day. How did you learn to drive?"

"It's not that hard," she muttered. Then she added defensively, "At least I didn't slide like you just did."

He straightened the BOW and continued down the road. "You weren't taught to drive. Were you taught to do anything except speak prophecies?"

"You aren't dependent on your keepers if you can do for yourself," she replied quietly.

The sounds he was making were terrible and frightening. When he glanced at her, he stopped the sounds, but in the moment when his eyes met hers, she saw a queer red flicker in the amber.

"Where are we going?" she asked. It looked like they were headed for the Green Complex. A minute later, he pulled into a parking s.p.a.ce across the road from the complex.

"This is guest parking or temporary parking," Simon said as he got out of the BOW. When she joined him, he pointed to a lane that ran alongside the U-shaped building. "That leads to the garages and resident parking. The morning bus wouldn't get you to work on time, so you need to use the Liaison's BOW-once you learn to drive."

"I can drive," she protested. "At least, going forward."

He stared at her. "You can't back up?"

She didn't answer.

"Right. We'll drive to work together for a few days."

"But . . ."

"You can't stay in that efficiency apartment over the shops, Meg. You're too vulnerable there. So if you're going to stay and be our Liaison, you're going to live here."

"Here? But this is inside the Courtyard. Humans don't live here."

"You do."

There was a finality to the way he said the words, the way he took her arm and led her across the road. She'd seen some of the Green Complex when Tess brought her here to wash her clothes.

Out of sight. Out of reach. Safe.

"Second floor," he said, leading her to a stairway. The porch had latticework on both sides and along half the front. She guessed it would provide shade, shelter, and some privacy in the summertime. And some shelter from the snow now.

He pulled a set of keys out of his coat pocket, opened the door, and stepped aside.

She stepped on a welcome mat, toed off her boots, and placed them on a cracked boot mat. Then she looked around.

Big living room. Natural wood and earth tones. Some furniture that didn't fill the s.p.a.ce, but was as much as she had in the efficiency. She glanced back at Simon. He stayed near the door, an unreadable look on his face. Hesitantly, she explored.

Two bedrooms. One was empty; the other had a double bed that had been stripped and a dresser. The bathroom looked modestly clean, and the kitchen had a pleasant, airy feel and included a dining area. It also had a door that led to an interior landing and a back staircase that went down to an outer door-both of which were shared with the apartment next to hers.

"Acceptable?" he asked when she returned to the living room.

"Yes. Thank you."

He turned his head toward the door, listening for a moment before nodding. "Some females will help you make your den human clean. I'll drive you back to the office in time for the afternoon deliveries."

When he opened the door, she heard Merri Lee and Jenni Crowgard talking as they came up the stairs.

"Mr. Wolfgard?" she said before he stepped out the door. "I noticed the kitchen door shares a landing. Who lives in the other apartment?"

He gave her a long look. "I do."

Then he was gone, and Merri Lee, Jenni, Allison Owlgard, and a young woman who introduced herself as Heather Houghton were piling in with food and cleaning supplies. By the time they all piled out again to go back to their usual jobs, the only thing left for her to do was bring over her clothes and the bits and pieces she had acquired.

Simon was waiting at the bottom of the steps. As the women pa.s.sed him, Jenni said, "The Meg didn't want to ask you, but there's no television or movie player here. Could she bring the one from the little apartment?"

Simon stared at them, then at Meg. "Anything else?"

"Meg likes books," Merri Lee replied cheerfully. "If there's a spare bookcase at the efficiency apartment, you could bring that too."

"I didn't say . . . I wasn't asking . . ." Meg stammered.

He took her arm and led her to the BOW. The other women piled into the one parked beside his, Merri Lee in the driver's seat, Heather beside her, and Jenni and Allison curled in the back. They took off while Simon watched them.

Shaking his head, he opened the pa.s.senger's door and, once again, stuffed Meg inside. Getting in the driver's side, he said, "Merri Lee doesn't drive any better than you do."

"I drive just fine," Meg snapped.

"Considering you don't know how." He pulled out of the parking s.p.a.ce and sent the BOW flying down the road at a speed she wouldn't have considered.

Folding her arms, she stared out the side window and muttered, "Bad Wolf."

His only response was to burst out laughing.

Monty followed the man named John up the stairs and down a hallway to the door that had OFFICE painted in black letters on frosted gla.s.s. John knocked, swung open the door, and retreated.

"Come in, Lieutenant," Simon said, rising from the chair behind an executive's desk made of a dark wood.

The quick glance he allowed himself before giving the Wolf his complete attention gave him the impression of a typical office-desk with phone, computer, trays for paperwork; a large calendar that also served as a blotter and a protection for the wood. There were filing cabinets along one wall, and a lack of anything personal-no photographs or even framed prints-but some men preferred an austere work environment, so that wasn't altogether out of the ordinary. The only thing in the room that wasn't typical of a human businessman's office was the pile of pillows and blankets in one corner.

"I appreciate you responding so promptly," Simon said.

"Frankly, Mr. Wolfgard, I'm surprised you asked for me at all," Monty replied. Something about those amber eyes. They were more feral now than they had been this morning, if that was possible.

"I talked to the members of the Business a.s.sociation, and we all agree that while the woman in the wanted poster bears a strong resemblance to our Liaison, they are not the same person."

Monty opened his mouth to disagree, then realized there was no point. Wolfgard knew perfectly well Meg Corbyn was the woman on the wanted poster.

"Furthermore," Simon continued, "it seems the police are not the only ones who have made that mistake. Late Watersday night, someone tried to break in to the efficiency apartments we keep over the seamstress/tailor's shop. He only got as far as breaking the lock on the outside door and climbing the stairs before being scared off by Henry Beargard."

"You're sure it was one man?" Monty asked.

"There might have been another waiting in the vehicle, but Henry smelled only one intruder."

While Wolfgard's form didn't change, he wasn't making any pretense now at pa.s.sing for human.

"You didn't report the attempted break-in," Monty said, shoving his hands in his overcoat pockets to hide the trembling.

"I'm reporting it now. A broken lock wasn't sufficient reason to trouble our friends in the police, but if it was an attempt to take our Liaison against her will, then it deserves everyone's attention. We have, of course, taken precautions. Meg Corbyn is now residing in the Green Complex, where safe access is only possible by prior arrangement. I live there. So does Vladimir Sanguinati and Henry Beargard."

Message understood. No one who tried to reach Meg Corbyn when she was asleep or otherwise vulnerable would survive.

"I'm sure Ms. Corbyn appreciates your interest in her well-being," Monty said.

Simon barked out a laugh. "Not enough to notice." Then his face took on that feral look that was terrible to see on an otherwise human face. "Human law doesn't apply in the Courtyard, Lieutenant. No matter what anyone else thinks, Meg Corbyn is ours now-and we protect our own. You make sure you send that message back to whoever made the poster."

"Do you know why someone is making so much effort to find her?"

"It doesn't matter anymore."

One other angle to try. "If the items that were stolen were returned, I don't think Ms. Corbyn would be of interest to-"

Flickers of red in Wolfgard's amber eyes. When he spoke, Monty didn't think Simon was even aware of the way his voice snarled, "Meg is ours."

Another message there-and a sudden suspicion that he might be dealing with something far more delicate and dangerous than he'd realized.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Wolfgard." It was hard to do, but he turned his back on the Wolf and walked out of the office, closing the door behind him.

He didn't get all the way down the stairs when the howl came from the floor above him.

He nodded to the pale young woman behind the counter and walked out of Howling Good Reads-and noticed how many people who had been browsing in the front of the store looked up and then headed for the checkout counter.

Kowalski was waiting for him when he slid into the pa.s.senger's side of the patrol car. On the other side of the snow-shrunk parking lot was a van with FALLACARO LOCK & KEY painted on the sides.

"Anything?" he asked as he adjusted his seat belt.

Kowalski tipped his head toward the three men crowded around a gla.s.s door. "Break-in the other night. Broken lock. Intruder didn't get far enough to enter any of the apartments and take anything. Chris Fallacaro runs this side of the business. His father is semiretired, which I took to mean has some prejudice against the Others and doesn't take these particular service calls."

"Does Mr. Fallacaro do any of the residential locks in the Courtyard?"