text: T his is a car, this is a train, this is a bus.... Skull and crossbones means poison.... Shh. Be quiet. This is another lesson.... Pay attention, cs759. Watch what happens to someone who is poisoned.... This is a dog, this is a cat.... This video shows a woman riding a horse.... This is a child, this is a hammer. This is what happens to a face when...
  
  A rumbling sound jerked Meg out of a restless sleep. Heart pounding, she stared at dark shapes defined by gray light, trying to remember where she was while she listened for footsteps in the corridor that would indicate the Walking Names were coming to begin the day's spirit-breaking "pampering" and lessons.
  
  The caretakers and other staff in their white uniforms with nametags pinned above the breast pocket. The men in white coats who poked and prodded and decided what the girls needed to stay in prime condition. And cs747 screaming at them that she had a name too, her name was Jean, and just because she didn't have her name pinned to her shirt didn't make it less true.
  
  Jean had been restrained for weeks after she stole one of those name tags and used the pin to carve her name in big letters across her belly, ruining all that expensive skin. After that, the uniforms had the names sewn on with thread. And when Jean returned to the training sessions, she referred to everyone who worked in the compound as a Walking Name, refusing to give them so much as a distinct designation.
  
  The Walking Names hated Jean. But Meg had listened to the older girl's ravings and dim memories of a different kind of life, and had yearned for something she had glimpsed only through the images that made up the lessons. Thinking of herself as Meg instead of cs759 had been her first silent act of rebellion.
  
  Another sound, more a steady crunch than a rumble.
  
  She wasn't in the compound anymore. Wasn't within reach of the Walking Names or the Controller who ran the place. She was in the Lakeside Courtyard... within reach of the terra indigene.
  
  Slipping out of bed, Meg crept to the side of the window where she could look out without being seen.
  
  Another rumble as a big truck came down the street, its heavy blade clearing the snow in its path.
  
  Snowplow. The ones she'd seen in training videos hadn't made a sound, but that was typical. Identifying sounds was a different lesson from identifying images. Except when the girls were being shown video clips, sounds and images weren't often used together.
  
  Steady crunch.
  
  She shifted to see more of the street.
  
  Car moving down the street. The crunching was the sound of its tires on the snow. Her feet had made that same sound last night. Snow and bitter cold. Now she had a sound to go with what she'd seen and felt—a memory image rather than a training image.
  
  Shivering, she got back into bed and huddled under the covers until she warmed up again.
  
  She'd escaped and she'd run. She wasn't sure where the compound was located—she'd been focused on where she needed to go and not where she had been—but it felt like she was a long way from the place where the Controller had kept his girls. He would send someone to find her. Even if she'd been used up enough for him to write her off as a loss, he couldn't allow her escape to be successful. More girls might try to get away, and that was something the Controller couldn't afford.
  
  But for now, she had a job—and an employer who was a Wolf in his other form. That's what his last name meant. Anyone named Wolfgard was a terra indigene who could change into a Wolf. Or maybe it was a Wolf who could change into a human. Even the Controller, with all his spies searching for information, couldn't find out much about the Others that wasn't known by almost everyone.
  
  She thought about the snow and cold. She thought about staying snuggled in bed for a day.
  
  Then she thought of being dismissed on her first day of work and being out there alone. So she got up and took another long, hot shower, because there was no one to tell her she couldn't. Bundled in her robe, she rubbed her hair dry while she considered the clothes Tess had left for her. Not much variety. A pair of black jeans and a pair of dark blue jeans. Two heavy pullover sweaters—one black; the other a medium blue. Two cream-colored turtleneck tops.
  
  The black seemed too solemn for her first day, so she chose the blue outfit. Relieved that everything fit, from the underwear to the shoes that looked clunky but were surprisingly comfortable, she went into the kitchen alcove, opening cupboards and drawers. She identified a small coffeemaker, which she didn't know how to use, and a wave-cooker, which she didn't know how to use. She found instruction manuals in one of the kitchen drawers, but a glance at the clock discouraged her from trying to understand either appliance. Her head was full of images, but they were pictures or snips of a complete action—enough for her to identify something, but not enough to figure out how to do anything for herself.
  
  The cuts she had endured as punishment for lies and defiance had almost driven her insane, but they had also connected many previous images that she must have seen in prophecies, suddenly putting them into a useful context. If she hadn't been punished, she wouldn't have learned how to escape.
  
  Not sure how long the food was supposed to last, she settled for a half glass of orange juice, two bites of a sharp yellow cheese, and one chunk of cooked chicken. Still hungry, she rummaged in the cupboards and found a box of dry cereal and a package of chocolate cookies.
  
  She tore open the package and ate two cookies so quickly, she barely tasted them. Taking one more cookie, she ate it slowly, savoring the flavor. Then she put the package back in the cupboard and firmly shut the door.
  
  Training image. Bugs crawling over open packages of food left in a cupboard.
  
  Meg opened the cupboard and pulled out the package of cookies. It wouldn't seal properly, so she rummaged through the other cupboards until she found small, glass-covered dishes in the storage unit under the wave-cooker. But none of them were big enough to fit the package—unless she ate more cookies.
  
  She reached for another cookie, then shook her head and went back to searching the cupboards. She found a pot that was big enough and had a lid. A glance at the clock above the cooker warned her that she'd used up her time, so the pot would have to do.
  
  She pulled on the boots, then tucked her shoes in one of the large zippered bags Tess had left. She'd have to see about getting a purse for any small personal things she needed to carry with her.
  
  What things did women carry with them?
  
  She walked toward the door, completely focused on recalling every training image of purses and their contents. A quiet knock made her squeak as she stumbled away from the door, her heart pounding. The second knock, louder and impatient, sounded more reassuring, in a scary way.
  
  She turned the lock and pulled the door open enough to look out.
  
  Simon Wolfgard stared back at her.
  
  "Mr. Wolfgard." She pulled the door open. "I wasn't expecting you."
  
  "Weren't you?" He stepped over the threshold, forcing her to back up. "Since you hadn't done this kind of work before, I thought you'd like an explanation of your duties. And I thought you'd like to see the shortcut to the Liaison's Office instead of walking on the street."
  
  How did he know she wanted to avoid being outside their territory as much as possible? Did he know who she really was? What she was?
  
  He watched her. The wire-rimmed glasses he wore didn't hide the amber predator eyes the way they did last night. But he wasn't doing anything except watching her... because he was waiting for her to get her coat so he could show her to the Liaison's Office before he went on to his own work.
  
  In some movie clips she'd seen, people said "Duh" or smacked a hand against their foreheads to indicate a brainless moment. She had a feeling he already thought she was pretty brainless, and she didn't want to confirm it.
  
  She fetched the red coat from the closet.
  
  "Hat, gloves, and scarf," he said, looking around the room as if checking for differences between what he'd seen last night and now.
  
  She found those items on the stacked shelves built into one side of the closet. She wrapped the scarf around her neck and pulled on the hat as she hurried toward him.
  
  "Keys," he said.
  
  She spotted the keys on the table. She looked around much as he had and wondered if there was anything else a normal person would remember to do before leaving their domicile.
  
  "Ready?" he asked.
  
  Was that a trick question? She had so many questions. There were so many things she didn't know. But he was her employer, so it didn't seem smart to ask him about anything that didn't involve her job.
  
  He stepped into the hallway and watched her fumble through locking her door. She put the ring of keys in the coat pocket, relieved when she realized the pocket had a zipper. People were always losing keys. She had scars on her toes to prove it.
  
  Just a few steps away from her door was another hallway that went to the back of the building and ended at a glass and wood door.
  
  Simon turned the lock. "This is the third key on the ring. You don't need a key to get out, but you do need one to get back in."
  
  "Third key," she repeated. She followed him outside and felt her lungs freeze. "It's cold."
  
  "You're in the northeast and it's winter. It's supposed to be cold. Be careful on these steps. They were swept this morning, but they can be slippery."
  
  In contrast to his own warning, he bounded down the stairs. Meg kept a firm grip on the handrail with one hand while she clutched the zippered bag in the other.
  
  Simon pointed to a building catercorner from where they stood. "That's the back of the Liaison's Office. We'll go there in a minute. First..." He strode past a one-story building with large doors. "Garages. A couple of them hold vehicles; the others are used for storage."
  
  "Garages," she muttered, struggling to keep up with his longer stride.
  
  He turned left, and they walked past an empty space enclosed by walls on three sides.
  
  "Employee parking lot," he said. He paused a moment and pointed to a door in the back wall. "That leads to the customer parking lot. It's locked and used only when we're doing maintenance." He passed the parking lot and went through an archway.
  
  Meg looked at the buildings that surrounded an open space. The buildings on three sides were three stories tall. The side that had two larger archways was two stories.
  
  "This is the Market Square," Simon said. "There are steps leading down to the open area, but you can't see them now, so stick close to the buildings." He pointed at various doorways. "The Courtyard library. You can borrow books there or buy them at Howling Good Reads if there is something you want to keep. Music and Movies both loans and sells. We have a grocery store, a butcher shop, an office for the terra indigene bodywalkers—what you would call doctors—a toother, a drugstore, general store, clothing..."
  
  "Sparkles and Junk?" she asked, catching sight of a sign next to a shop door.
  
  "Five of the Crows run that one. You can find fake diamonds, real diamonds, or a one-armed doll. The humans who are allowed to shop at the Market Square say the Crows' store is a cross between a stall market and a jewelry store. Mostly it's other Crows who find it appealing, but I'm told humans find good stuff if they know what they're looking for."
  
  Sparkles and Junk sounded like an interesting place, and she caught sight of other simple signs that intrigued her, including a store that sold ice cream and chocolate. But Simon was already retracing his steps, so she hurried to catch up.
  
  He stopped at the back of the Liaison's Office and pointed again. "Those are the back entrances for Howling Good Reads and A Little Bite. Tess is providing the midday meal as part of your pay, so you can go in through that door when you take your meal break."
  
  Her head was spinning. So many images in such a short time. So many things to remember! But she recognized the back stairs they had come down a few minutes ago, and felt easier for it. Now if she could just figure out why he was annoyed with her. It wasn't like she had asked for a tour. He was the one who had kept them out in the cold, despite sniffing frequently as if he had a runny nose.
  
  "The fourth key on the ring opens the back door," Simon said, sounding even less friendly than he had a moment ago.
  
  Meg felt him bristling, taking up too much space and air as she fumbled to get the keys out of her coat pocket.
  
  "Whatever you did to your hair, don't do it again," he growled.
  
  His face was suddenly so close to hers, she dropped the keys. The area in front of the door had been shoveled, but she still had to use a glove to wipe off the keys after picking them up.
  
  "What's wrong with my hair?" she said, hating that her voice sounded small and defensive.
  
  "It stinks." Nothing small or defensive about his voice.
  
  "I used the shampoo that was in the apartment. It's all I had." And even more than hating the way her voice sounded defensive, she hated the thought that she might have to act submissive to someone else who assumed he had the right to control her life.
  
  "And it's all you will use. The terra indigene make those products and sell them at our stores because they don't stink up the air. But I wasn't talking about the soap or shampoo. Whatever you did to make your hair look like old blood and orange peels also makes it stink, and you're not going to do it again!"
  
  Oh, gods. She'd been in a hurry to disguise herself in some way, so she must have done something wrong when she'd used that bottle of red dye on her hair. I guess the change in color that I saw this morning wasn't bad lighting in the apartment's bathroom.
  
  "Get this into your head, Meg Corbyn. We don't let humans live in our part of the world because we like you. We let you live here because you can be useful, and you've invented things that we like having. If it wasn't for that, you'd all be nothing but meat. Which is something you should remember."
  
  "Being mad about my hair isn't fair," she muttered, trying to hide that she was starting to shiver. She didn't think shivering would be a good idea right now.
  
  "I don't have to be fair," he snapped. "You're in the Courtyard. Whatever rules humans have for employers aren't my rules unless I say they're my rules. So I can hire you even though you don't have any idea what you're doing, and I can fire you for having stinky hair!"
  
  "Unless you want me to cut it all off, there's nothing I can do about the hair!" she snapped back. And then she felt terrified that he might want her to do exactly that.
  
  Growl. Roar. Shout. She couldn't begin to describe the sound that came out of him.
  
  She shook. She couldn't help it. He still looked human, but he also looked wild and savage.
  
  "Is this a bad time for an introduction?" a voice rumbled.
  
  Big man with a shaggy mane of medium-brown hair that tumbled to his shoulders. Jeans and a flannel shirt, with an open coat, as if the cold didn't bother him.
  
  "You going to keep her shivering in the cold or show her where she works?" he asked, looking at Simon. "Or should I—"
  
  Simon snarled.
  
  The big man just waited.
  
  Pulling a set of keys out of his pocket, Simon opened the door. Then he tipped his head toward her. "She's Meg Corbyn." He gave the man a narrow-eyed stare. "And that's Henry Beargard." Without another word, he shoved her inside and closed the door.
  
  Even through the closed door, Meg heard Henry's booming laugh.
  
  "Pegs on the wall are for coats," Simon said, sounding snappish. "The mats are for wet boots and shoes. Floor can be slippery when it's wet. Our bodywalkers don't know anything about mending actual humans, so if you slip and break a leg, we'll eat you same as we would a deer." He took off his boots and put on a pair of loafers that were on the mat. "Toilet and sink behind that door. Storage area is next to it. The bins that have clothes are for the terra indigene. Don't touch them. Under-the-counter fridge. A wave-cooker and an electric kettle to heat water. Cups, plates, and utensils are stored in the cupboards below. You're responsible for cleaning what you use." He gave her a slashing look. "Well? Are you just going to stand there?"
  
  She took off her coat and boots, put on the shoes she'd brought with her, and remembered to take the keys when he growled at her.
  
  He was not a nice man, and she was going to learn this job as fast as she could so she wouldn't have to deal with him too much.
  
  He opened another wooden door that led into another big room.
  
  "Sorting room," he said as he moved to a panel in the wall and flipped a switch. "This panel unlocks the delivery doors. They stay locked unless you're accepting an approved shipment or handing out mail."
  
  "How will I know if it's appro—"
  
  "The pigeonholes on this wall hold mail for the Market Square stores. The larger partitions hold packages and anything that needs to stay flat. Parcels can also be stored under the sorting table or in those cupboards." Simon gave her a hostile look as he opened another door and pointed to the sign screwed into the wood. "See that? It says PRIVATE . No one who isn't terra indigene comes into the sorting room except you. Is that clear?"
  
  "It's clear but... why?" she asked.
  
  "Because I said so. Because what goes on inside the Courtyard is no one's business except ours." Simon looked at the clock on the wall and growled. "I have other things to take care of, so you'll have to figure out the next steps on your own."
  
  "But—"
  
  "Deliveries are accepted from nine a.m. to noon. Afternoon deliveries usually arrive from two to four in the afternoon. Terra indigene delivery trucks come at other times, but those aren't your concern. There's a list of phone numbers in that drawer. If you have questions, you can call Howling Good Reads or A Little Bite. All those bags of mail and those packages have to be sorted for delivery. We did what we could while we were looking for a Liaison, but we all have our own work and don't have time to do yours."
  
  "But—"
  
  "The door opens at nine," he said as he headed out of the room.
  
  Meg stared at the door leading to the back room, then jumped when the outer door slammed shut.
  
  She held her breath until she was sure she was alone. Then she let it out with a muttered "Bad Wolf," and hoped she could figure out how to start her workday.
  
  Simon wanted to bite someone, but the person leaning against the wall next to HGR's back door was Henry, and a lone Wolf didn't mess with a Grizzly, especially when that Bear acted as the Courtyard's spirit guide and was one of the few beings Simon could talk to without guarding his thoughts or words.
  
  "You sure have your tail in a knot this morning," Henry said easily. "Might not want to scare off our new Liaison before she gets some of that mail sorted for us."
  
  He rammed his key into the lock and turned it, but he didn't open the door. "She doesn't smell like prey. She's rested and fed and not cold. Why doesn't she smell like prey?"
  
  "Not all humans do," Henry replied quietly.
  
  Simon shook his head. "With some, we decide they're not edible because it's smart to have them around. But they still smell like prey, and she doesn't."
  
  "Not all humans do," Henry repeated. "There aren't many that give off that signal, but there have been some." He paused. "Maybe you're not picking up the prey scent because of the stinky hair?"
  
  Simon stared at the Grizzly. "You could smell it from where you were standing?"
  
  "No, the wind wasn't in the right direction for me to smell it, but I could hear you yelling about it. So could everyone else who's aflutter at this time of day."
  
  He rested his forehead against the door. "The lack of prey scent confuses me."
  
  "I can see that. But she's not terra indigene. Of that much I'm sure."
  
  "So am I. She smells human. She just doesn't smell like prey."
  
  "If she's causing this much trouble before most of us have even seen her, maybe you should force her out of the Courtyard."
  
  Simon stepped back from the door and sighed. "I'll let the rest of the Business Association take a look at her before I decide. We need a Liaison. Might as well let her stay for a while."
  
  Henry nodded. "Did you explain what she's supposed to do?"
  
  He snarled, a frustrated sound.
  
  "Then stay away from her for the rest of the morning and let someone else explain it."
  
  "Who?"
  
  "You know who."
  
  Yes, he did know. He also knew that if he argued about it, Henry would swat him into the wall to knock some sense into him. For friendship's sake.
  
  "All right. Let the Coyote deal with her for a couple of hours."
  
  It wasn't until he was inside the bookstore and hanging up his coat that he realized he was still wearing the loafers and his feet were wet. He'd been so annoyed and confused and desperate to get away from Meg before he shifted and bit her just to prove she was prey that he'd forgotten to exchange the loafers for his boots.
  
  Savagely angry now at all humans—and that stinky-haired one in particular—he stomped up to his second-floor office to deal with paperwork before checking out the new stock that had arrived yesterday. The store didn't open for another hour. If everyone was lucky, he'd have himself under control by then and wouldn't eat any of the customers.
  
  The freaking Help Wanted sign was gone.
  
  Asia stared at the glass door, not daring to get closer when the shoveled delivery area was a sign that the Others were up and about.
  
  She wanted that damn job. Really wanted that job. She'd been in Lakeside for months now and hadn't gotten a look at anything in the Courtyard that everyone else hadn't seen. Her backers were getting restless, were starting to hint that they might need someone more professional for this assignment.
  
  Her looks had gotten her out of Podunk and the nothing future she would have had in her hometown. Her looks had carried her all the way to Sparkletown and into a few auditions. But she'd done more acting on the casting couches than she'd done in front of a camera—until she uncovered a tidbit about a Sparkletown bigwig's wife that gave him the leverage he needed to divorce the wife without financial penalties.
  
  Under the guise of developing her for a starring role in a to-be-determined television show, he helped Asia refine her natural intelligence-gathering skills and then sent her off to find some information about a competitor.
  
  She still wasn't sure if that first assignment had been a test, but she was given another assignment and a fat envelope of cash when she returned with the information.
  
  It was like being paid to research a role as an undercover cop or a corporate spy. Yes, that would be the perfect role for her: Asia Crane, Special Investigator. Sometimes she spent time in one of the bigger cities and had fancy clothes and baubles. Other times she spent a few weeks in a town that was a variation of Podunk, playing the role of shy young widow starting a new life, wearing twin sets and pumps while she ferreted out information about the selected target—or helped ruin his business career or political ambitions.
  
  The work was exciting, it was fun, it paid well, and now that Bigwig had brought in a few other interested parties to finance her, she was being given extended assignments with more challenging targets. It wasn't the way most actresses built their careers, but she'd return to Sparkletown in another year or two with enough juice to get any part she wanted.
  
  Infiltrating a Courtyard was her biggest and riskiest assignment to date. She had relocated to Lakeside because it was the only Courtyard in the whole of Thaisia that had any human employees beyond the Liaison. Even Toland on the East Coast and Sparkletown on the West—the financial and entertainment centers of the continent—didn't have Courtyards with as much tolerance for humans. Her task was to get in, observe, and report anything and everything that might help with dealing with the Others or, better yet, breaking their stranglehold on the human cities in Thaisia.
  
  With minimal information to work with, despite having friends who had friends in Lakeside's government, Bigwig had suggested two potential targets as her ticket into the Courtyard: Elliot Wolfgard and Simon Wolfgard. With Elliot, she would have rubbed elbows with government officials and social climbers who might have provided other information of monetary value. But at the last minute, Bigwig discovered that, before relocating to Lakeside, Elliot had once told a society girl who was flirting with him that monkey fucking wasn't any different from barnyard banging, and neither was of interest to him. No one remembered what she said in reply, but a few days later, the society girl was found partially eaten in her own bedroom. So Asia crossed Elliot Wolfgard off the list.
  
  That left Simon, who looked to be in his mid-thirties—young enough to like a frequent rub and old enough that he wouldn't be likely to lose control, leaving a human partner rutting with a Wolf. So she'd chosen a persona and a look that fit in with the other university and tech-college girls who hung around the store. She even signed up for a couple of classes at Lakeside University as a way to fill time. And what had she gotten for her efforts so far? Nothing. No job, no sex, no pillow talk, not even a few minutes in the stockroom for some tongue and tickle. She couldn't even wangle a membership to the fitness center.
  
  She needed to show some progress soon. If she didn't, her backers might end the assignment and send in someone else. And if they did that, Bigwig wouldn't deliver on his promises, and she could end up back in Podunk instead of being the star of her own TV show.
  
  Cawing announced the arrival of a handful of Crows who landed on the shoulder-high brick wall that ran along the left-hand side of the delivery area. One flew down to a flat-topped wooden sculpture positioned in front of one of the Liaison Office's windows. That one watched whatever was going on inside the office. The other four watched her.
  
  Turning as if she had paused momentarily and had no interest in anything that concerned the Courtyard, Asia walked away.
  
  She wasn't getting anywhere with Simon Wolfgard. Maybe she would have better luck with the new Liaison.
  
  Meg opened the door marked PRIVATE, then closed her eyes and pictured the Liaison's Office as if it were drawn on paper. A rectangular building divided into three big rooms. The back room had the washroom, which contained the toilet and sink. It also served as break room and storage, and had a door that led outside and one that accessed the sorting room. The sorting room had a large outside delivery door, an inside delivery door that provided access to the front room, and the door with the PRIVATE sign that was directly behind the three-sided counter area. The front room, where she assumed most deliveries would be made since it had the counter, had the one glass door and two large windows.
  
  She studied the sorting room again and wondered who had designed the Liaison's Office. For a room that was supposed to be private, private, private, the sorting room had an awful lot of doors, not to mention a window that would accommodate illicit access.
  
  Not her problem. As long as she kept the delivery doors locked when they weren't needed, she could avoid being eaten. Maybe. Hopefully. Right now, she had to get ready for business.
  
  Turning on the lights in the front part of the office was easy—the switches were on the wall next to the Private door. Getting to the outside door to open it was a problem because she couldn't figure out how the short left end of the counter opened to let someone into the main part of the room. So she got the stool from the sorting room and used it to climb over the counter. She turned the simple lock to the open position and then realized the simple lock was augmented by a heavy-duty dead bolt that required a key—which might or might not be on the key ring she'd left in the sorting room.
  
  [ Caw caw ]
  
  Three black birds were perched outside on a flat piece of wood, maneuvering to get a better look through one of the windows. She almost dismissed their presence, then wondered if they were terra indigene Crows that had come to take a look at the new Liaison.
  
  Trying for a happy smile, Meg waggled her fingers and mouthed the words Good morning. Then she went back to the counter and tried to boost herself up enough to swing her legs over.
  
  The Walking Names didn't tell the girls anything about themselves, but she had overheard some things. She was twenty-four years old. She was sixty-three inches tall. She had black hair, gray eyes, and fair skin. Her cheeks had a light rosy hue that would show scars to advantage, but her face was still unmarred by the razor. The girls in the compound were kept healthy and were walked daily, but they were not allowed to do things that would give them unnecessary stamina or make them physically strong.
  
  Sometimes determination could make up for stamina and strength. But sometimes it couldn't.
  
  The fourth time she landed back on the wrong side of the counter, a voice quietly said, "While this is highly entertaining, why don't you just use the go-through?"
  
  Meg backed away from the counter as a lean man stepped through the Private doorway. He had light brown eyes and brown hair that was made up of a variety of shades, including gray.
  
  "Sorry," he said. "Didn't mean to startle you. Name's Jester. Henry thought you could use a little help figuring out what to do, and since Simon's chewing his own tail this morning, and I look after the ponies, I was elected to help." He held up both hands. "No tricks. I promise." Then he gave her a smile that was both friendly and sly. "At least, not today."
  
  "I have to get the door open before the deliveries start arriving," she said, wishing she didn't sound so anxious. "The keys I was given are on that ring in the sorting room, but I'm not even sure there's a key on it for this door."
  
  "There isn't," Jester replied, disappearing into the sorting room. "You have a key to the back door," he continued when he walked into the front room and vaulted over the counter. "I'll show you where the office keys are kept."
  
  He unlocked the dead bolt, studied the Crows for a moment, then grinned as he walked back to the counter. "You've been on the job for less than an hour and you're already the most entertaining Liaison we've had."
  
  "Thanks," she said, trying not to sound sour. She could imagine what Simon Wolfgard would say if he heard about this. "You won't tell anyone about the counter, will you?"
  
  "Me? No. Them?" Jester tipped his head toward the windows. There were Crows vying for a spot on the wooden sculpture, and a couple were standing in front of the door, looking in. "Most of the Courtyard will hear about this within an hour."
  
  She sighed.
  
  "Come on. I'll show you the trick with the go-through." He pointed to the slide bolt that connected the go-through with the long counter.
  
  "I tried that," she said.
  
  "That one keeps it closed during the day when you might be going in and out a lot." He reached under the wide top. A moment later, Meg heard a bolt drawing back, then another. "There are two bigger slide bolts that keep the go-through closed the rest of the time. Those are locked when you leave the office for a meal break or at the end of the day."
  
  Jester pushed the go-through open, then stood aside to let her enter. He followed her in, closed the go-through, and used the visible slide bolt to secure it. After showing her where the other bolts were located, he pointed out the supplies and other items that were on the shelves under the counter.
  
  A clipboard with a pad of paper. A round ceramic holder full of different color pens. Paperclips and rubber bands. A telephone at the other short end of the counter and its directory on the shelf underneath. And catalogs. Lots of merchandise catalogs from various stores, as well as menus from local eateries.
  
  "We have a little bit of most everything in the Market Square, but not a lot of anything," Jester said. "There is a plaza a few blocks from here that serves the humans who live in this part of Lakeside. It has all sorts of stores and more variety in terms of merchandise. A Courtyard bus provides transportation twice a week for anyone who wants to shop there."
  
  "Isn't that dangerous?" she asked, remembering training images of fighting, blood, and slashed bodies.
  
  He gave her an odd look. "It's always dangerous when there are only a few of us among the humans." He waved a hand to indicate the Crows, then touched his fingers to his chest. "Remember this, Meg Corbyn. We're the ones you can see, but we're not the only ones who are here. Which is why we have so many catalogs," he continued in a lighter tone. "Our shops order things directly from manufacturers, just like human stores do. Some of it stays here; some is sent on to our kin who enjoy the things but want no contact with humans. But there are plenty of other bits of shiny that are ordered from a human store and delivered here, which is where you come in."
  
  Meg nodded, not sure what to say. So many warnings layered in his words. So many things to think about.
  
  "Ready to start?" Jester asked.
  
  "Yes."
  
  They went into the sorting room. Jester took the top bag from a pile of bags, opened it, and dumped the contents on the sorting table.
  
  "The mail truck comes in the morning," he said. "Give them back their bags as you empty them. You'll get used to sorting the mail more specifically, but to start, sort by gard or location. Then..."
  
  [ Caw caw ]
  
  Jester smiled. "Sounds like your first delivery."
  
  Meg went out to the front room, closing the door partway. She put the clipboard and pad on the counter, tested a pen to make sure it worked, and carefully noted the date at the top of the page—and hoped the calendar under the counter had the days crossed out accurately.
  
  The Crows scattered, most heading out while a few settled again on the brick wall and the sculpture sticking out of the snow.
  
  As a man got out of the green van and opened its back door, Meg wrote down the time, the color of the truck, and the name Everywhere Delivery.
  
  He was an older man whose face had been lined by weather and years, but his movements looked efficient as well as energetic. He elbowed the van door closed, glancing at the Crows as he pulled the office door open. Balancing four packages, he hesitated at the doorway.
  
  "Good morning," Meg said, hoping she sounded friendly but businesslike.
  
  He relaxed and hurried to the counter. "Good morning. Got some packages for you."
  
  Suddenly remembering that every face could belong to an enemy, she fought to hold on to the businesslike demeanor. "It's my first day. Do you mind if I write down some information?"
  
  He gave her a smile wide enough for her to think his teeth weren't the ones he'd been born with.
  
  "That is a very good idea, Miz..."
  
  "Meg."
  
  "Miz Meg. I'm Harry. That's H-A-double-R-Y. I'm with Everywhere Delivery. Not a fancy name, but a true one. I'm usually here closer to nine on Moonsday and Thaisday, but the plows are still clearing the streets and the driving is slow this morning. Four packages today. Need to have you sign for them."
  
  She wrote down his name, the days and time he usually made deliveries, and the number of packages she signed for.
  
  Harry looked at her clipboard and let out a happy sigh. "Warms the heart to see someone behind the counter doing the job proper. The last one they had here?" He shook his head. "I'm not surprised they gave him the boot. I'm surprised they kept him as long as they did. Couldn't be bothered to care about anything, and that's just not right. No, that's not right. Say, it can get pretty chilly out here with that door opening and closing all the time. You might want to get a pair of those fingerless gloves. The wife wears them around the house and swears they help her stay warm. You should look into getting a pair."
  
  "I'll do that."
  
  "You take care, Miz Meg."
  
  "I will. See you on Moonsday, Harry."
  
  He gave the Crows a friendly wave as he walked to his van.
  
  Meg put the ceramic pen holder on the counter but put the clipboard on a shelf out of sight. Then she returned to the sorting room.
  
  Jester grinned at her. "He's not peculiar, if that's what you were wondering. He's just relieved to be dealing with someone safe. So being concerned about you catching a chill is as much for his sake as yours." He eyed her. "Besides, he's got a point."
  
  "Does he?" She didn't like the way he was eyeing her, especially when he grabbed her arm and gave it a squeeze, letting go before she had a chance to protest.
  
  "You're not fat, but you don't have much muscle. You need to work on that. Run and Thump has treadmills and—"
  
  "I don't like treadmills." She heard panic rising in her voice. Don't think about the compound. Don't think about the Controller or the treadmills or anything else about that place.
  
  "Plenty of places here for you to walk." His voice was mild, but something sharp filled his eyes as he watched her. "But you couldn't get over the counter, so I'd say you could use some exercise to strengthen muscle. And the second floor of Run and Thump has classes for dancing or bending or some such thing."
  
  "I'll think about it."
  
  "Sort by gard, then by individuals," Jester said after an uncomfortable pause. "I'll be back with some of the ponies in a couple of hours."
  
  "Ponies?"
  
  "They act as couriers around the Courtyard when they feel like it."
  
  He left her—and she wondered if she had already said too much.
  
  Jester quietly closed the back door and looked around. The Crows were on the move, spreading out to watch and listen—and to hear what the regular crows had to tell them. The Hawks were soaring high above, also watching.
  
  And inside the Human Liaison's Office?
  
  Secrets. Fear.
  
  He wanted to poke his nose into the reasons for both.
  
  Couldn't talk to Simon. Not today. Henry had already warned him about that. But Tess? Yes, Tess might know how they had acquired their new Liaison. And she kept a supply of long-grass tea for him. A Little Bite wasn't open to human customers yet, so she might have time to gossip—if he phrased his comments and questions in the right way.
  
  He was glad Henry had told him that Meg didn't have the prey scent that was typical of humans. He would have felt a lot more wary of their Liaison if the Grizzly hadn't already known there was something peculiar about her.
  
  He wanted to know how and why Simon hired Meg Corbyn. And, most of all, he wanted to know what it was about her that made him feel she could be a danger to them all.