text: Monty paid the cab driver and got out at the corner of Whitetail Road and Chestnut Street. Taking a cab wasn't a luxury he could afford every morning, but he didn't want to be late on his first day. He'd have to check out bus routes and schedules until he had time to consider if he needed to purchase some kind of car.
  
  He looked at his watch and hesitated. The Chestnut Street Police Station was in sight, and he had half an hour before his meeting with Captain Burke. Across the street from the station was a diner, the kind of place that served hearty meat-and-potatoes meals and coffee strong enough to help a man stay upright when he was too tired to stand on his own. In the middle of the block was a small Universal Temple.
  
  Checking his watch once more, Monty crossed the street and walked to the temple. Whether it was true or not, it eased his heart to think there was something beyond the physical plane, something that felt benevolent toward humans, because the gods knew there wasn't much on the physical plane that felt benevolent toward them.
  
  He opened the door to the entranceway, stomped the snow off his boots, then went into the temple itself.
  
  Soft natural light filtered through snow-dusted windows. Vanilla candles delicately scented the air. The random tones of meditation bells drifted through the temple from the hidden sound system. The padded benches could be arranged in various patterns. Today they were scattered to provide seating at each of the alcoves that held representations of guardian spirits.
  
  Mikhos, guardian of police, firefighters, and medical personnel, was in an alcove nearest the door, which made sense with the temple being so close to a police station.
  
  Taking a match from the holder, he lit a candle in front of the alcove, then settled on the bench and practiced the controlled breathing that would clear his mind of busy thoughts in order to hear the quiet voice of wisdom.
  
  It wasn't wisdom but memory that filled his mind.
  
  You shot a human to protect a Wolf.
  
  I shot a pedophile who had a girl imprisoned in his house. He had a knife and threatened to kill her.
  
  You left a wounded human with one of the terra indigene.
  
  I didn't feel a pulse. I didn't realize he was still alive when I went to check out the rest of the house.
  
  He hadn't known the girl was a terra indigene Wolf. He hadn't known the bastard he shot was still technically alive when he called for help and a medical unit and then left the girl so he could quickly check the rest of the house. He hadn't known how much destruction a starving young Wolf could do to a human body in so short a time.
  
  He shouldn't have gone in alone. He shouldn't have left the girl. There were a lot of things he shouldn't have done. Considering what it cost him afterward, he regretted doing the things he shouldn't have done. But shooting the pedophile? He didn't regret that choice, especially after he found the bodies of six other girls.
  
  If the girl he saved had been human, he'd still be living in Toland with his lover Elayne Borden and their daughter, Lizzy. He'd still be reading a bedtime story to his little girl every night instead of living in a one-bedroom apartment a few hundred miles away.
  
  But he had shot a human to protect a Wolf, and no one was going to forget that. The Toland police commissioner had given him a choice: transfer to Lakeside or resign from any kind of police work forever.
  
  Elayne had been furious, appalled, humiliated that he had brought the scandal down on her by association, making her a social pariah, making Lizzy the victim of teasing and taunts and even pushing and slaps from schoolmates who had been friends the week before.
  
  No legal contracts bound them together. Elayne hadn't wanted that much structure—at least until he proved his work could provide her with the social contacts she craved. But she'd been quick enough to call a lawyer and turn his promise of support money for Lizzy into a legal document after she flatly refused to consider coming with him and starting over. Live in Lakeside? Was he insane?
  
  Lizzy. His little Lizzy. Would Elayne allow her to visit him? If he took the train back to Toland for a weekend trip, would Elayne even let him see his daughter?
  
  I didn't see a Wolf, Lizzy. I saw a girl not much older than you, and for a moment, I saw you in the hands of such a man. I don't know if a policeman or a father pulled the trigger. I don't know if you'll ever understand. And I don't know what I'm going to do in this place without you.
  
  Taking a last deep breath of scented air, he left the temple and went to the police station to find out if he had a future.
  
  Captain Douglas Burke was a big man with neatly trimmed dark hair below a bald pate. His blue eyes held a fierce kind of friendliness that could reassure or frighten the person meeting those eyes across a desk.
  
  In the moments before Burke gestured to the seat in front of the desk and opened a file folder, Monty figured his measure had been taken: a dark-skinned man of medium height who stayed trim with effort and tended to bulk up when he ate bread or potatoes for too many meals in a row, and whose curly black hair was already showing some gray despite his being on the short side of forty years old.
  
  "Lieutenant Crispin James Montgomery." Giving Monty a fierce smile, Burke closed the file and folded his hands over it. "Toland is a big city. Only Sparkletown and two other cities on this entire continent match it in population and size. Which means people living there can go their whole lives without knowingly encountering the Others, and that makes it easy to pretend the terra indigene aren't out there watching everything humans do. But Lakeside was built on the shores of Lake Etu, one of the Great Lakes that are the largest source of freshwater in Thaisia—and those lakes belong to the terra indigene. We have a few farming communities and hamlets that are within thirty minutes of the city boundaries. There is a community of Simple Life folk who farm on Great Island. And there is the town of Talulah Falls up the road a piece. Beyond that, the nearest human towns or cities are two hours by train in any direction. All roads travel through the woods. Lakeside is a small city, which means we're not big enough to forget what's out there."
  
  "Yes, sir," Monty said. That had been one of Elayne's objections to moving to Lakeside: there was no way to believe social connections meant anything when you couldn't forget you were nothing more than clever meat.
  
  "This Chestnut Street station covers the district that includes the Lakeside Courtyard," Burke said. "You have the assignment of being the intermediary between the police and the Others."
  
  "Sir..." Monty started to protest.
  
  "You'll have three officers answering to you directly. Officer Kowalski will be your driver and partner; Officers MacDonald and Debany will take the second-shift patrol but will report any incidents to you day or night. Elliot Wolfgard is the consul who talks to the mayor and shakes hands with other government officials, but you'd be better off becoming acquainted with Simon Wolfgard. For one thing, he manages a terra indigene store that has human employees and tolerates human customers. For another, I believe he has a lot more influence in the Courtyard than our governing body thinks he does."
  
  "Yes, sir." Deal directly with the Others? Maybe it wasn't too late to go back to Toland and find some other kind of work. Even if Elayne wouldn't take him back, he'd still be closer to Lizzy.
  
  Burke stood and came around his desk, gesturing for Monty to remain seated. After a long look, he said, "Do you know about the Drowned City?"
  
  Monty nodded. "It's an urban legend."
  
  "No. It's not." Burke picked up a letter opener from his desk, turned it over and over, then set it back down. "My grandfather was in one of the rescue teams that went to find the survivors. He never spoke of it until the day I graduated from the police academy. Then he sat me down and told me what happened.
  
  "From what was pieced together afterward, three young men, all full of loud talk, decided getting rid of the Others would put humans in control, would be the first step in our dominating this continent. So they dumped fifty-gallon drums of poison into the creek that supplied the water for that Courtyard.
  
  "The Others caught the men on land that was under human control, so they called the police. The men were taken to the station, and their punishment should have been handled by human law and in human courts."
  
  Burke's expression turned grimmer. "Turned out that one of those young men was the nephew of some bigwig. So it was argued that while those boys were standing next to the drums, no one saw them dump the poison into the creek. They were released, and the city government was foolish enough to let them publicly declare their 'actions without consequences' as a victory for humankind. And the terra indigene watched and listened.
  
  "Late that night, it started to rain. The skies opened up and the water came down so hard and so fast, the underpasses were flooded and the creeks and streams had overflowed their banks before anyone realized there was trouble. Precise lightning strikes knocked out electric power all over the city. Phone lines went down about the same time. Middle of the night. No way to see in the dark, no way to call for help. And it kept raining.
  
  "Sinkholes big enough to swallow tractor trailers cut off every road leading out of the city. Bridge supports that had held for a hundred years were torn out of the ground. Localized earthquakes shook buildings into pieces, while sinkholes swallowed others. And it kept raining.
  
  "People drowned in their own cars trying to escape—or in their own homes when they couldn't even try to get away.
  
  "The rain stopped falling at dawn. Truckers coming into the city for early-morning deliveries were the first ones to realize something had happened and called for help. They found cars packed with women and children floating in fields on either side of the road."
  
  Burke cleared his throat. "Somehow cars that just had women and children got out. And most men who were around the same age as the ones who had poisoned the Others' water supply didn't die of drowning."
  
  Monty watched Burke's face and said nothing. This was nothing like the version of the Drowned City he'd heard.
  
  "As the water began to recede, rescue teams in boats went in to find survivors. They weren't many beyond the ones who had been washed out of the city. There wasn't a government building or a police station still standing. My grandfather's rescue team got close to the Courtyard and saw what watched them. That was their first—and only—look at the truth about the Courtyards and the terra indigene."
  
  Burke took a breath and blew it out slowly as he returned to his chair behind the desk and sat down. "The Others, like the shape-shifters and bloodsuckers? The ones who venture out to shop in human stores and interact with humans? They're the buffer, Lieutenant. As lethal as they are, they are the least of what lives in a Courtyard. What lives unseen... My grandfather said the term used in confidential reports was Elementals. He wouldn't explain what they were, but a lifetime after he saw them, his hands still shook when he said the word."
  
  Monty shivered.
  
  Burke linked his fingers and pressed his fisted hands on the desk. "I don't want Lakeside to become another Drowned City, and I expect you to help me make sure that doesn't happen. We've already got one black mark. We can't afford another. We clear on that, Lieutenant?"
  
  "We're clear, sir," Monty replied. He wanted to ask about that black mark, but he had enough to think about today.
  
  "Stop by your desk to pick up your cards and mobile phone. Officer Kowalski will be waiting for you there."
  
  He stood up, since it was clear that Burke was done with him. With a nod to his captain, Monty turned to leave.
  
  "Do you know the joke about what happened to the dinosaurs?" Burke asked as Monty opened the office door.
  
  He turned back, offering the other man a hesitant smile. "No, sir. What happened to the dinosaurs?"
  
  Burke didn't smile. "The Others is what happened to the dinosaurs."
  
  Officer Karl Kowalski was a personable, good-looking man in his late twenties who knew how to handle a car on Lakeside's snowy streets.
  
  "Hope the salt trucks and sanders make a pass pretty soon," Kowalski said as they watched the car in front of them slide through a traffic light. "Otherwise, we're going to spend the day dealing with fender benders and cars that spun out and are stuck."
  
  "Is that what we're checking out?" Monty asked, opening the small notebook he carried everywhere.
  
  "Hope so."
  
  An odd answer, since their first call was to check out a car abandoned on Parkside Avenue.
  
  Monty checked the notes he'd made. "A plow spotted the car late last night but it wasn't reported to us until this morning? Why the delay?"
  
  "Car could have slid off the road and gotten stuck," Kowalski replied. "Owner could have called a friend and gotten a ride home, intending to deal with the car in the morning. Or he could have called a towing service and found shelter somewhere, since every towing business would have lists of calls in weather like this, and it could have taken the truck hours to get to the owner of this car."
  
  "But the car is still there."
  
  "Yes, sir. The car is still there, so now it's time for us to take a look." Kowalski pulled up behind the abandoned car and turned on the patrol car's flashing lights. He looked toward the bushes that provided a privacy screen behind a long stretch of fence. "Ah, sh— Sorry, Lieutenant."
  
  Monty looked at what might have been a trail from the car to the fence. "What is it?"
  
  "Nothing good," Kowalski replied grimly as he got out of the patrol car.
  
  Monty got out, testing the ground beneath the snow to make sure he wasn't going to tumble into a ditch. Reassured, he plowed through the snow next to the indentation that might have been another person's footprints.
  
  [ Caw caw ]
  
  He glanced to his right at the handful of birds perched in the nearby trees.
  
  The chest-high fence didn't have those decorative spikes to deter someone from scrambling over. The bushes wouldn't be much of a wall, especially if someone hopped the fence to look for help. Noticing the broken tops of two bushes, Monty reached over the fence and parted them.
  
  [ Caw caw ]
  
  "Oh, gods, there's a lot of blood," Monty said, catching sight of the trampled snow beyond the bushes. "Give me a boost. Someone's hurt and needs help."
  
  "Lieutenant." Kowalski grabbed Monty's arm and hauled him back a couple of steps before saying in a low voice, "That's the Courtyard. Believe me, there is no one wounded on the other side of that fence."
  
  Hearing fear beneath the conviction in Kowalski's voice, Monty looked around. The handful of Crows had swelled to over a dozen, and more were flying toward them. A Hawk perched on top of the streetlight and another soared overhead. And all of them were watching him and Kowalski.
  
  Then Monty heard the howling.
  
  "We need to go back to the car now," Kowalski said.
  
  Nodding, Monty led the way back to the car. As soon as they were inside, Kowalski locked the doors and started the engine, turning the heater up all the way.
  
  "I thought the barrier between humans and Others would be more... substantial," Monty said, shaken. "That's really the Courtyard?"
  
  "That's it," Kowalski said, studying Monty. "You didn't work near the Courtyard in Toland?"
  
  Monty shook his head. "Never got near it." He noticed that Kowalski's hands hadn't stopped shaking. "You sure there's nobody hurt on the other side of that fence?"
  
  "I'm sure." Kowalski tipped his head to indicate the open land on the other side of the four-lane avenue. "Once the tow truck arrives, we can check the cairn to find out who went over the fence."
  
  "I don't understand."
  
  "Every Courtyard has its own policy when it comes to dealing with humans. The Wolfgard have been running this one for the past few years, and their rules are clear. Kids who hop the fence to look around on a dare get tossed back over the fence and sat on until we pick them up and arrest them for trespassing. Teenagers will get roughed up, maybe get a bad bite or a broken bone before they're tossed back over the fence. But any adult who goes in without an invitation doesn't come back out. And if any human—kid, teen, or adult—hops that fence and is carrying a weapon..." Kowalski shook his head. "The Others will leave wallets, keys, and other belongings at the cairn so we know that person isn't coming back. We fill out a DLU form. You know about those?"
  
  Monty shook his head.
  
  "DLU. Deceased, Location Unknown. A family needs one of those to get the death certificates when a body can't be produced."
  
  Monty stared at the bushes and thought about the trampled snow and the blood.
  
  Kowalski nodded. "Yeah. With a DLU, we all try hard not to think about what happened to the body, because thinking about it doesn't do anybody any good."
  
  How many people in Toland who had been listed as missing were actually DLU? "What's so special about the cairn?"
  
  Kowalski checked the trees and streetlight. Monty didn't think there had been any change in the number of Others watching them, but his partner would have a better sense of that.
  
  "Two years ago, Daphne Wolfgard and her young son were out running. Right around here, in fact. She was shot and killed by one man. The other man shot at her son but missed. They drove away before the Wolves reached her or had a chance to go after the men. But the Wolves found the spot in the park where the men had waited to take a shot at whatever might get within range. They followed the men's scent, but lost the trail where a getaway vehicle must have been parked.
  
  "That spring the Others planted all those junipers to limit the line of sight, and our mayor and Lakeside's governing body changed the parkland directly across from the Courtyard to a wildlife sanctuary that is off-limits to people, except for guided walks and restricted hunting. Anyone caught in the park at night is arrested and fined. Anyone caught with a weapon at any time goes to jail unless it's deer season and every person in that party has a permit for bow hunting.
  
  "Captain Burke pushed hard to find the men who killed Daphne Wolfgard, but it looks like they left Lakeside right after that. Speculation was they weren't from Lakeside to begin with—just came in for a trophy kill and then disappeared. It's still an open case."
  
  "Why keep it open?"
  
  Kowalski's smile was grim. "Did you wonder about the water tax, Lieutenant?"
  
  "Yes, I wondered." He'd been shocked when his landlady explained her strict rules about water usage. Other tenants in his building told him about using the water in the rain barrels for washing cars and watering the little kitchen garden. It had struck him as odd that no one wanted to tell him why there was a tax on water when they lived right next to the lake that supplied it.
  
  "The Others control all the fresh water. Rates for water and the lease for the farmland that supplies most of the food for Lakeside are negotiated with this Courtyard. The year Daphne Wolfgard died, a water tax was added to the standard rates. Nothing was said then, and nothing has been said since, but the captain keeps the case open because what also isn't said is that if the men responsible for the murder are caught and punished, that tax will go away."
  
  Monty drew in a breath. "Is that why you took this assignment? For the hazard pay?"
  
  Kowalski nodded. "I'm getting married in six months. That extra check each month will help us pay the bills. You take a risk every time you encounter one of the Others, because you never know if they're going to look at you and see a meal. They're dangerous, and that's the truth of it, but a person can deal with them if he's careful."
  
  "The fence is the boundary?" he asked.
  
  "Nah, their land comes right up to the road. The fence is more a warning than a barricade. In between the road and fence is considered an access corridor for utilities and city workers."
  
  "Who are watched," Monty said, looking at the Hawk who stared right back at him.
  
  "Always. And they watch a lot more than the Courtyard and the park." Kowalski checked his mirror. "There's the tow truck and another patrol car. If that team can stay with the truck, we can leave."
  
  As Kowalski opened his door to go talk to the other officers, Monty thought of what would happen after they checked the cairn. "When there's a DLU, who informs the families?" Please don't let it be me.
  
  Kowalski paused with the door open. "There are a special team of investigators and a grief counselor who take care of that." He closed the door.
  
  Monty blew out a sigh of relief.
  
  We are the tenants, not the landlords, a temple priest once said at a weekly gathering. We only borrow the air we breathe and the food we eat and the water we drink.
  
  That was easy enough to forget in Toland. He suspected the water tax helped everyone in Lakeside remember the truth of it.
  
  Kowalski returned and drove up to the traffic light, then back around the wide median, pulling up almost directly across from where they had been parked a minute ago.
  
  Even with all the snow that had fallen yesterday, the pile of stones and the discarded personal effects weren't hard to find.
  
  Three wallets with ID and credit cards. Three sets of keys.
  
  "There's some cash here," Kowalski said. "Probably not all the cash that was in the wallets to start with, but the Others never take all of it."
  
  Not kids, Monty thought as he looked at the IDs. Young, sure, but old enough to have known better—which wasn't going to help their families face the loss. "I would have thought young men would carry more in their pockets."
  
  "Probably did. The wallets and keys are usually all that's left here. Jewelry, weapons, trinkets, stuff like that will end up in one of the Others' stores here, in another Courtyard in the Northeast Region, or somewhere else on the continent. Even the weapons will get sold, although not back to any of us. The Others won't kill to steal, but once the meat is dead, they make use of everything they can."
  
  A sick feeling churned in Monty. "Is that how you think of your own kind? As meat?"
  
  "No, Lieutenant, I don't. But the terra indigene do, and I've seen the results when humans—police officers or otherwise—forget that."
  
  Better not start wondering if you should have used one more bullet after you saw that young Wolf turn back into the girl you rescued. Better not start wondering. Not here. Not now.
  
  "Let's get these items back to the station," Monty said. "Families may be starting to wonder why their boys didn't come home last night."
  
  "Then what?" Kowalski asked.
  
  "Then I think I should introduce myself to Simon Wolfgard."
  
  Boxes and packages piled up on two handcarts as delivery trucks arrived in a flurry, their drivers nervously glancing at the Crows perched on the wall outside and visibly relaxing when they noticed the short human behind the counter. They were all quick to point out the name of their company as well as their own name, spelling out both for her as she wrote them down on her pad. Identification. Validation. Some of them had to make two trips to bring in all the deliveries, and Meg wondered whether they had avoided this stop for as many days as possible.
  
  That first hour, the door opened and closed so often, she decided to look for those fingerless gloves Harry had mentioned and find some kind of insulated vest to wear over the turtleneck and sweater.
  
  Wanting a little more warmth and to show some progress before Jester returned, she went into the sorting room to work on the mail.
  
  Sorting mail turned out to be a challenge. Some was addressed to a person, some was addressed to a group, some had a street—maybe it was a street—and some had a designation she didn't understand at all. The only thing the mail and packages she'd signed for had in common was they all said Lakeside Courtyard.
  
  "No wonder they have a hard time getting their mail," she muttered.
  
  She managed to rough sort the first bag of mail and take two more deliveries before Jester returned.
  
  "Not bad," he said as he began shifting a few pieces of mail from one stack to another. "Corvine goes with Crowgard. It's what they call the complex where most of them live. The Chambers goes with the Sanguinati. The numbers indicate a particular part of the Chambers. The Green Complex is the only residence that isn't species specific. It's located closest to the Market Square, and the members of the Business Association live there."
  
  "Is there any kind of map or list that would tell me who goes with what?" Meg asked.
  
  Jester's face went blank for a moment. Then he said, "I'll inquire. Now come meet your helpers." He walked over to the panel in the wall and unlocked the sorting room's outside door.
  
  Meg thought about dashing into the back room to grab her coat. Then she saw her helpers and forgot about the coat.
  
  "This is Thunder, Lightning, Tornado, Earthshaker, and Fog," Jester said. "They were the only ponies willing to make deliveries today."
  
  They were tall enough to look her in the eyes. Meg wasn't sure if that meant they were typical pony size in terms of height, but what she saw were furry barrels with chubby legs and grumpy faces. Thunder was black, Lightning was white, Tornado and Earthshaker were brown, and Fog was a spotted gray.
  
  "Hello," Meg said.
  
  No change on the grumpy faces.
  
  "Each of them has delivery baskets," Jester said, going back to the table for two handfuls of mail. "The baskets have the Courtyard sections written on them—see? So, for instance, the mail going to Corvine or anyone named Crowgard would go in Thunder's baskets." He put smaller mail in four compartments of one basket and then added the larger envelopes and catalogs to the basket on the other side. He looked at Thunder. "You go to the Crows today."
  
  The pony bobbed his head and moved out of the way.
  
  Lightning was given the mail for the Wolfgard complex, Tornado went to the Hawks, Earthshaker to the Owls and the Pony Barn, and Fog to the Sanguinati.
  
  "What happens when they get to the complexes?" Meg asked.
  
  "Oh, there is always someone about who will empty the baskets and distribute the mail to the individuals," Jester replied as he closed and locked the outer door. "Hmm. No one to take the mail to the Green Complex or the lake. Guess those will have to wait until tomorrow." He tipped his head and smiled at her. "Did Simon give you your pass?"
  
  She shook her head.
  
  The smile gained a sharp amusement. "Well, he's been a bit preoccupied today. Basically, once you step out the back door of this office, you need a pass to visit the Market Square or the Green Complex, which is the only residential area that isn't completely off-limits to human visitors. The pass is something you should always carry with you to avoid misunderstandings."
  
  "Where do I get one?"
  
  "From the consul's office, which is the other building that uses the same street entrance as this office. I'll pick that up for you and drop it off."
  
  "What do I do with the handcarts in the front room that are full of packages?"
  
  Jester opened the interior delivery door and pulled the handcarts into the sorting room. "That depends," he said as he secured the door. "If a package can fit in the basket, a pony can take it with the rest of the mail. Or you can deliver it in the BOW. We haven't encouraged our previous Liaisons to make deliveries in the Courtyard, but it is loosely within the parameters of your job if you choose to include it."
  
  Was making deliveries really part of her job, or was Jester trying to get her into trouble for some reason? "Bow?" she asked.
  
  "Box on Wheels. A small vehicle we use within the Courtyard. It runs on electricity, so remember to charge your BOW if you don't want to be stranded. The one for the Liaison is in the garage directly behind the office. Can't miss it."
  
  "I have a car," Meg said, pleased.
  
  "You have a Box on Wheels," Jester corrected. "Not a vehicle you want to take out on the city streets."
  
  Leaving the Courtyard wasn't something she planned to do.
  
  "Do you want to take a break?" he asked.
  
  She looked at the clock on the wall and shook her head. "I'm supposed to be available for deliveries until noon, so I'll keep sorting the mail."
  
  "Suit yourself. I'll get that pass for you." Jester went out the Private door and vaulted over the counter. He returned a few minutes later. He didn't have her pass, but he laid something else on the sorting-room table.
  
  "This is a map of the Courtyard," Jester said quietly. "It shows the driving roads and where each gard lives."
  
  My Controller would have paid a fortune for this, Meg thought as she studied the map. He would have killed without a second thought to get this much information about the interior of a Courtyard.
  
  Wolfgard. Crowgard. Hawkgard. Owlgard. Sanguinati. Green Complex. Girls' Lake. Ash Grove. Utilities Complex. Lakes. Creek. Water reservoir.
  
  "I suggest you tuck this in a drawer when you're not using it," Jester said. "The last two Liaisons weren't trusted with this at all and, like I said, we didn't encourage them to explore. You should be careful about who knows you have this, Meg Corbyn."
  
  "Does Mr. Wolfgard know I have a map of the Courtyard?"
  
  "Simon gave it to me to give to you."
  
  A test, Meg thought. Simon Wolfgard was giving her a test to see if he could trust her. Which meant she shouldn't count on the map being accurate. If he thought she was some kind of spy trying to gain access to the Courtyard, providing an enemy with false information was almost as good as providing no information at all.
  
  Then Jester grinned, an expression that was at odds with his sober tone of a moment ago. "I'll get you that pass now." And he was gone again.
  
  When a half hour went by without a delivery or any sign of Jester, Meg checked out the music disc player. No discs, which was a disappointment, but as she fiddled with the buttons, she found the one that changed the player from discs to radio and connected her with Lakeside's radio stations. She spent a few minutes turning the dial as she tried to tune in a station that had approved music. Then it struck her. She didn't need anyone's permission or approval. She could try a different kind of music every day and decide for herself what she liked.
  
  Excited, she tuned in a station and got back to work.
  
  "Run and Thump?" Monty asked as he read the sign over one of the terra indigene storefronts.
  
  "Fitness center," Kowalski replied. He turned into the parking lot that had a third less space for cars because the slots near the lot's back wall were taken up by mountains of snow on either side of a wooden door. "Treadmills for running, and the thumpy sound of weight machines. Not sure what they do on the second floor. Not sure why the Others would want such a place when they can run around in more than three hundred acres."
  
  Maybe even they were bothered by the smell of wet fur and preferred to run indoors in inclement weather. "What about the storefront that doesn't have a sign?"
  
  "Social center. This Courtyard does employ some humans and occasionally lets some of them live in the apartments above the seamstress/tailor's shop. But entertaining outsiders in an apartment that can access the Courtyard?" Kowalski shook his head. "You gather with friends at the social center. And you gather there if you want to socialize with an acquaintance who is terra indigene."
  
  "And if you want a more private kind of date?" Monty studied the younger man.
  
  "The rooms above the social center can be used for that kind of date."
  
  "Is this street talk or personal knowledge?"
  
  "Am I ever going to introduce you to my mother?"
  
  Monty hid a smile, but it took effort. "Probably."
  
  Kowalski blew out a breath. "I really don't have that much personal knowledge. I've heard that if you use one of those rooms, you're responsible for putting fresh linen on the bed and tossing the used sheets in the laundry cart that's left at the end of the hall. There's a jar next to the laundry cart. Five dollars for the use of the sheets and the room."
  
  "And if the money in the jar doesn't match the number of sheets that were used?"
  
  "The next time there aren't any clean sheets—and girls get pretty insulted if they're asked to cuddle on seconds because you were too cheap to put five dollars in the jar the last time."
  
  Now Monty didn't try to hide the smile. "You are a font of information, Officer Kowalski."
  
  Kowalski slanted a look at him.
  
  Laughing, Monty got out of the car. Despite the wind, which was still cold enough to cut to the bone, he left his topcoat open so that his holstered gun showed. Then he pulled out his leather ID holder so it would be in his hand when he walked into Howling Good Reads.
  
  "After the shooting two years ago, all the windows in these stores were refitted with bulletproof glass," Kowalski said.
  
  "A gunman could walk into the store and start shooting," Monty countered.
  
  "He could walk in, but he wouldn't get out alive." Kowalski tipped his head slightly as he pulled the door open.
  
  Monty looked in that direction as he walked into the store—and froze.
  
  Amber eyes stared at him. Lips lifted off the teeth in a silent snarl as the creature lying in front of a bookcase rose to its feet. The damn thing was big. Its shoulder would be even with his hip if they were standing side by side, and he was sure it outweighed him.
  
  The girl he'd rescued had looked like a rough version of the wolf puppies he'd seen in documentaries. But there was no mistaking this for the animal. There was something more primal about its body than the animals that lived in the world now. The first humans to set foot on this continent must have used the word wolf as a way to lessen their fear of what stared at them from the edge of the woods—or hunted them in the dark—and not because it was an accurate description.
  
  Kowalski quietly cleared his throat.
  
  Aware of how everyone was standing still—and trembling while they did it—he held up the leather holder that contained his ID and walked over to the counter.
  
  At first glance, he thought the man behind the counter was human. The dark hair was a little mussed but professionally cut. The shirt and pullover sweater were workplace casual and equal in quality to things he'd seen in the better shops in Toland. And the wire-rimmed glasses gave the handsome face an academic quality.
  
  Then the man looked at him with eyes that were the same amber color as the Wolf's.
  
  How could anyone look into those eyes and not understand that a predator was looking back at you? Monty thought as he took the last steps to the counter . How could you not know that there was nothing human behind those eyes?
  
  "Mr. Simon Wolfgard?" Monty asked, still holding up his ID.
  
  "I'm Wolfgard," he replied in a baritone that was pleasing if you couldn't hear the growl under the words.
  
  Pretending he didn't hear the growl, Monty continued. "I'm Lieutenant Crispin James Montgomery. My officers and I have been assigned as your police contacts, so I wanted to take this opportunity to introduce myself."
  
  "Why do we need police contacts?" Simon asked. "We handle things on our own in the Courtyard."
  
  The Wolf snarled behind him.
  
  Several girls who had been hanging out at the front of the store squealed and headed farther back where they could hide behind the shelves and peek out to watch the drama.
  
  "Yes, sir. I'm aware of that," Monty replied, lacing his voice with quiet but firm courtesy. "But if you know we will respond to any call for assistance, I'm hoping that you won't feel you always have to handle things on your own. Take shoplifting, for example."
  
  Simon shrugged. "Steal from us, we eat a hand. But just one if it's a first offense."
  
  Nervous titters from behind the nearest shelves.
  
  "What if it's a second offense?" Kowalski asked, moving closer to the counter while keeping an eye on the Wolf that was in Wolf form.
  
  The predatory look in Simon's eyes sharpened, just like the smile sharpened. "For a second offense, we don't bother with a hand."
  
  Threat understood.
  
  He could see the effort it was taking for Wolfgard to assume the mask and body language of human shopkeeper—which he assumed was the purpose of the glasses and clothing.
  
  Not quite pulling it off today. Not quite able to hide the predator.
  
  Or maybe this was as much as it was ever hidden.
  
  "Why don't we go next door for a cup of coffee," Simon said, making the words less a question and more of a command. "Police officers like coffee. Don't they?"
  
  "Yes, sir, we do," Monty replied.
  
  Simon wagged a finger at a black-haired, black-eyed girl who hadn't bolted to the back of the store with the others—had, in fact, been eyeing them all with a bright intensity that made Monty want to buy her some popcorn to eat while she watched the show.
  
  "Jenni," Simon said when she hopped onto the counter and then over it. "Can you watch the register for a few minutes?"
  
  The smile she gave Simon had Monty reaching for his wallet to make sure it was still there.
  
  "If someone wants to buy something, they will give you money and you will give them change," Simon said.
  
  "But not the shiny," Jenni said, cocking her head. "We keep the shiny."
  
  Simon looked like he wanted to bite someone, but all he said was, "Yeah, okay, you don't have to give anyone the shiny." Then he looked at the Wolf, who came over and sat in front of the register—a large, furry deterrent to anyone who wanted to check out before Wolfgard returned.
  
  He led them to the adjoining store.
  
  Not a lot of customers, Monty thought as he looked around. A couple of people were working on portable computers while sipping from large mugs, but that was all.
  
  "Tess?" Simon called to the brown-haired woman behind the counter. "Three coffees here."
  
  They sat at a table. Monty tucked his ID in his pocket when Tess set three mugs and a plate containing slices of some kind of cake on the table. When she returned with the pot of coffee, napkins, and a little pitcher of cream, Simon introduced Monty and then waited for Monty to introduce his partner.
  
  Simon studied Kowalski. "Have I smelled you before?"
  
  Kowalski turned bright red and almost dropped the mug. "No, I don't think so."
  
  "You carrying another scent on you?"
  
  A head shake. Then Kowalski paled and whispered, "My fiancée."
  
  "She likes books?"
  
  "Yes." Kowalski took a sip of coffee. His hands shook when he set the mug down. "We both do. We read a lot."
  
  Simon continued to study the officer in a way that made Monty want to knock over the table or start shouting just to break that focus.
  
  "Polite," Simon finally said. "Smells good. Doesn't screech when she talks. Asked about books she couldn't find in a human store. Should have that shipment tomorrow. She can pick up the ones that are available." A teeth-baring smile. "Or you can."
  
  Kowalski looked Simon in the eyes. "I'm sure she would rather pick up her order personally to make sure the books are what she wanted."
  
  "Books weren't the only thing your fiancée was interested in, but HGR doesn't sell music discs, and the music store isn't open to anyone but Courtyard residents." Simon smiled at Monty. "But we could arrange a tour of our Market Square for our new friends in the police department. You could each bring a guest, even do some shopping."
  
  "As long as we don't expect the merchants to give us the shiny?" Monty asked, struggling to remain calm and polite—and hoping Kowalski would do the same.
  
  Tess, who had been about to top off their mugs, jerked back. "Ah, Simon. You didn't let one of the Crows watch the register, did you?"
  
  "It will be fine," he said tightly.
  
  "Say that when you're trying to balance the cash drawer tonight." Shaking her head, she walked back to the counter.
  
  Monty looked away before anyone noticed him staring. Her hair had been brown and straight when they walked in. Now it looked like she'd poured green food coloring over strands of it and used one of those curling irons. But she hadn't left the room. He knew she hadn't left the room.
  
  "Since I'm closing up tonight, maybe I should take over the register now," a man said as he approached their table.
  
  Black hair, dark eyes, black sweater and jeans. More olive-skinned than fair, and dangerously good-looking.
  
  "This is Vladimir Sanguinati, the comanager of Howling Good Reads," Simon said.
  
  Kowalski bobbled the mug and sloshed coffee on the table.
  
  "Sorry," he muttered, grabbing the napkins Tess had put on the table.
  
  "This is Lieutenant Crispin James Montgomery and Officer Karl Kowalski, our new police contacts," Simon said.
  
  "How intriguing," Vladimir replied.
  
  Monty didn't know why it was intriguing, or why Kowalski reacted to the name like that, but he did know there were things he wanted to think and say, and it wasn't safe to think or say them while he was in that store.
  
  "I won't take up any more of your time, Mr. Wolfgard," Monty said quietly as he pushed his chair back and stood up. He pulled one of the new business cards out of his pocket and handed it to Simon. "My number at the station and my mobile phone number. If you need assistance—or just want it for any reason—please call me."
  
  Rising, Simon slipped the card into his trouser pocket without looking at it.
  
  "Since we're all friends now, you should come in for coffee again," Tess said.
  
  "Thank you, ma'am. We'll do that," Monty said. He buttoned his coat as he and Kowalski walked to the outside door. "Wait until we're in the car," he added to his partner, feeling the Others' eyes watch them as they walked past the store windows to the parking lot.
  
  When they got in the car, Kowalski blew out a breath and said, "Where to, Lieutenant?"
  
  "Nowhere yet. Just start the car so we don't freeze out here." Monty stared straight ahead, letting thoughts solidify into words. But he wasn't quite ready to say what he suddenly understood, so he asked a question. "Sanguinati. You jumped like you were poked with a needle when you heard that name. Why?"
  
  "Doesn't mean anything to you?" Kowalski waited a moment. "Are you familiar with the term vampire?"
  
  Monty turned his head and stared at the other man. "That was one of the bloodsuckers?"
  
  Kowalski nodded. "As in drain their prey of blood. In popular fiction they're called vampires, but that species of terra indigene call themselves Sanguinati. No one really knows much about them except that they drink blood, don't seem to have anything else in common with the fictional version, and they're just as dangerous as the shape-shifters. And there's been some... evidence... that they have another way of extracting blood besides biting you."
  
  Glad he hadn't drunk much coffee, Monty swallowed to push down his churning stomach. "Do you think they're using those stores as easy places to hunt?"
  
  Kowalski tipped his head back. Finally he said, "Can't say for certain about the Sanguinati, but the shifters aren't using the stores that way. Wolfgard wasn't kidding about them eating a shoplifter's hand, but we've never filled out a DLU because someone went into one of those stores." He turned his head and looked at Monty. "What's on your mind, Lieutenant?"
  
  "I've been thinking that most of what you know about the terra indigene you learned because you've been brushing against them all your life. You probably grew up in a neighborhood that's close enough to the Courtyard that you know the rules for the social center."
  
  "I'm not the only cop in Lakeside who's brushed up against the Others at a social occasion. The terra indigene control most of the world. It's foolish not to take an opportunity to figure out more about them. And, for the record, before I met Ruthie, I did some necking and petting with a girl who worked in the Courtyard, but we parted company after a few dates and I never used one of the rooms above the social center for a romp between the sheets."
  
  A silence filled the car. Monty ended it before it became a wedge between him and the younger man. " Terra indigene. Earth native. At the academy, no one ever explains exactly what that means. Maybe command doesn't know exactly what it means or is afraid the truth would scare too many of us, and frightened men with guns would get us all killed."
  
  "What's scarier than knowing you're always surrounded by creatures who think you're edible?"
  
  "They really aren't human, Karl," Monty said. "Intellectually, I knew that. Now I know that with body as well as brain. The terra indigene aren't animals who turn into humans or humans who turn into animals. They really are something unknown that learned how to change into a human shape because it suited them. They gained something from the human form, whether it was standing upright or having the convenience of fingers and thumbs, just like they gained something from the animal forms they absorbed."
  
  "You support the first-form theory?" Kowalski asked.
  
  "That wasn't taught at the academy," Monty replied with a forced smile.
  
  "Something Ruthie found in some moldy old history book a while back. There was a theory that the Others have had a lot of forms, changing their shapes as the world and the creatures around them changed so that they remained the dominant predators. But the first form, whatever it might be, is the evolutionary ancestor of all the terra indigene and is the reason they can change shapes. The theory also says they take on some of the traits of the forms they use—like that girl Crow attracted to something shiny."
  
  "That's close enough to what I was thinking," Monty said. "They have learned a human shape, but there is no humanity in them, nothing that recognizes us as more than meat. More clever than deer or cattle, but still meat. And yet, when they couldn't find the men who killed one of their own, they understood how to punish everyone in the city by tacking on a tax to the water rates. Which means they do have feelings about their own kind."
  
  "Okay. But what does that have to do with Wolfgard offering to let us see something that's usually off-limits or making sure I knew they recognized Ruthie? You were polite and got back threats."
  
  "I don't think it was a threat. I think Simon Wolfgard was trying to be friendly. But the terra indigene line he comes from has absorbed the wolf for thousands of years and the human side for a few centuries at best, so he sounds threatening even when he isn't trying to be. He has his own motives for opening those stores to human customers and inviting us to see a market I'm guessing has been seen by very few visitors."
  
  "So?"
  
  "So we're going to take him up on his offer," Monty said. "We're going to tour the market. Ruthie too, if you're comfortable asking her to join us. We're going to stop in and have a cup of coffee on a regular basis. We're going to be faces the Others recognize. We're going to try to change the dynamic, Karl. They aren't human, will never be human. But we're going to try to get them to see at least some of us as more than useful or clever meat. Then maybe— maybe —the next time adult men act like fools and enter the Courtyard uninvited, we'll get a call instead of having to fill out a DLU form."
  
  "I'm not sure anyone ever tried to change the dynamics between us and the Others," Kowalski said cautiously.
  
  "Then maybe it's time someone did." Monty sighed. "All right. One more stop, then I'd like to drive around for a bit to get the feel of the area."
  
  "Where to?"
  
  "To introduce ourselves to the person who could be our best ally—the Human Liaison."
  
  They pulled out of the parking lot and turned left at the intersection of Crowfield Avenue and Main Street. They passed one storefront before turning into the delivery area for the Liaison's Office and the consulate.
  
  "That store is called Earth Native," Kowalski said. "Terra indigene sculpture, pottery, paintings, and weavings that are pricey but available for sale to humans. A sculptor who works in wood makes something called garden totems from the trunks of downed trees. Big things that can weigh a couple hundred pounds, or pieces small enough to be used as an accent table. Ruthie wants to buy a piece for our new apartment."
  
  Monty filed all that information away as they pulled in and parked.
  
  Kowalski pointed to their right. "That building is the consulate. Elliot Wolfgard has an office there, and the meeting rooms are usually as close as any city official gets to being inside the Courtyard."
  
  "Stay here," Monty said. The moment he stepped out of the car, half the Crows perched on the shoulder-high wall took off and the other half began cawing at him. Someone on the other side of the wall had been working with some kind of hammer, and the rhythmic sound stopped.
  
  Monty walked to the office door and pulled it open, pretending he didn't see the Crows—pretending there was nothing ominous in the silence coming from the other side of the wall.
  
  As he walked up to the counter, the first thing he noticed was the woman's hair. It made him think of one of Lizzy's dolls whose hair was made of orange yarn. Then he noticed how her smile slipped when she looked past him and saw the police car.
  
  "Good morning, ma'am," he said, pulling out his ID. "I'm Lieutenant Crispin James Montgomery."
  
  "I'm Meg Corbyn," she replied. There were nerves—maybe even fear—in her gray eyes, and her hands trembled just enough to be noticed. "Is there something I can do for you?"
  
  He'd seen the sign over the door. He knew what HLDNA meant. In his experience, women usually weren't afraid without a reason. "No, ma'am. I'm the police contact for the Courtyard, and I just wanted to introduce myself." He pulled out a business card and set it on the counter. When she didn't reach for it, he gentled his voice more than usual. "Ms. Corbyn, are you here by your own choice? I can't help noticing that you seem nervous."
  
  She gave him a wobbly smile. "Oh. It's my first day. I want to do a good job, and there's quite a bit to learn."
  
  Monty returned the smile. "I know what you mean. It's my first day on the job too."
  
  Her smile firmed up and warmed, and she picked up the business card. Then her forehead puckered in a little frown. "But, Lieutenant, human law doesn't apply in the Courtyard."
  
  "I know that, ma'am. Even so, if you need my help, you just call."
  
  Meg hesitated, then said, "Do you know anything about ponies?"
  
  Monty blinked. "Ponies? Not particularly. But I rode horses when I was young. Used to bring chunks of carrot or apple with me. The horses weren't much interested in being saddled, but they would come up to the fence for the carrots."
  
  "Maybe that will help," Meg muttered.
  
  "Well, then. I have been of service today."
  
  She laughed as if she didn't quite know how, as if it wasn't a familiar sound. It bothered him that laughter was an unfamiliar sound.
  
  That wasn't the only thing about her that bothered him.
  
  He wished her luck on getting through the rest of her first day, and she wished him the same. Satisfied, he walked out of the office—and noticed Kowalski's tight face and unwavering attention. Looking toward the left corner of the building, he saw the big man dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, holding a chisel and mallet. Must be the sculptor.
  
  "Good morning," Monty said, continuing to the car.
  
  The man didn't reply. Just watched him.
  
  "Sir?" Kowalski said as soon as Monty got in the car.
  
  "We've met enough residents of the Courtyard for one day," Monty replied. "Give me a tour of the district."
  
  "Glad to."
  
  "What qualities do you think a Liaison normally has?" he asked when they drove away from the Courtyard.
  
  "Moxie. Savvy," Kowalski replied without hesitation.
  
  "Innocence?"
  
  Kowalski gave Monty a startled look before turning his attention back to the road. "That's not a label I would give to anyone who works for the Others."
  
  "I got the impression Ms. Corbyn lacks the maturity of her physical age. If I hadn't seen her, I would have placed her at half her age."
  
  Kowalski gave him another look. "The Simple Life folk sometimes give that impression because they live without most of the technology that the rest of us use. You think she left the community on Great Island and took the job here?"
  
  He'd never met any of the Simple Life folk, so he couldn't offer an opinion, but he said, "It's worth checking out."
  
  "Thing is, Lieutenant, the Others control everything on that island except the land they leased to the Simple Life community and a couple dozen families who live along the southern shore and make a living fishing, running the ferry, or working in the stores and shops that supply goods and services. A girl from that community would be used to seeing Others and might find it less scary to deal with them than be alone in the big city."
  
  The explanation might be as simple as that, Monty thought. But he still wondered if being in the Courtyard was the reason Meg Corbyn was so nervous, or if she had another reason to be afraid.
  
  Asia swore under her breath. The damn Crows were paying too much attention to the Liaison's Office, and if she kept driving past, one of them was going to realize they kept seeing the same car. Seeing the police car in the parking lot earlier had been reason enough to go on by. Her looks were memorable, and she didn't want cops taking any notice of her. But she did want to get a look at the new liaison Simon had hired instead of her. By the time she had done the slide and spin on some of the side streets—where were the freaking plows?—and gotten back to the street entrance, the damn cops were pulled up in front of the Liaison's Office!
  
  She thought her luck had changed when she saw them drive away, but the earth native who sold sculptures and other artsy crap was going into the office, and there was something about him besides his size that made her uneasy.
  
  Try again tomorrow, she thought.
  
  As she flicked off the blinker, she realized the white van in front of her had done the same thing moments before.
  
  "I guess I'm not the only one who is curious," she muttered to herself. She smiled as she followed the van long enough to memorize the license plate. Then she pulled in to the first cleared parking area and wrote down the numbers. This was something she could tell Bigwig. He kept saying information was a valuable commodity. Knowing that someone was interested in the new Liaison was the kind of information he and the other backers might find profitable.