text: Eight ponies showed up the following day, looking for mail and carrots. Meg filled their baskets, handed out treats, and breathed a sigh of relief that she had just enough carrot chunks to go around. She wasn't sure they could count and would know if the last pony only got one chunk instead of two, but it wasn't a chance she wanted to take.
  
  She waved when they trotted away, then closed the door, washed her hands, and got back to sorting. Apparently, Watersday was a light day for deliveries from human businesses, but the number of trucks with the earth native symbol on the cab more than made up for it. They didn't stop at her office, though; they continued up the access way between the Liaison's Office and the consulate to the delivery area for the Market Square.
  
  According to Merri Lee, the Lakeside Courtyard served as a way station for terra indigene who wanted to enjoy human goods without having to deal directly with humans. Meat, dairy, and produce came in to the Courtyard from the farms run by the Others; clothes, books, movies, and incidental products that appealed to them went out.
  
  Meg looked at some of the old packages. The labels said IN CARE OF THE LAKESIDE COURTYARD. Should those be going out to terra indigene settlements with the other merchandise? She didn't want to bother Henry, who usually didn't answer the telephone anyway. And she certainly didn't want to call the big, bad Wolf . But she had to ask someone, so she called the bookstore and listened to the phone ring.
  
  "Maybe he got run over by a tree," she muttered as she imagined a log rolling down a hill and flattening a certain Wolf. It happened in some of the videos she had watched, so it could happen. Couldn't it? The thought cheered her up, so she pictured it again, changing the log to a rolling pin that rolled out the Wolf like a furry piecrust.
  
  "Howling Good Reads," said a male voice that wasn't his.
  
  It took her a moment to realign her thoughts. "This is Meg Corbyn."
  
  "Do you want to talk to Simon?"
  
  "No."
  
  "Oh."
  
  She tried to think of a question that anyone at the store could answer so she could hang up before someone told him that she had called. Then she looked at the packages.
  
  Rememory. A woman locked in a box—a surprise to be delivered as a special gift. Except no one had known what was in the box, and no one had recognized the urgency of finding it when the box hadn't been delivered as promised.
  
  The girls might not remember a prophecy at the time they spoke the words, but the images weren't lost. They were absorbed like the training images, connecting something remembered with something present. Jean called those images rememories because they were more than training images but less than personal memories.
  
  There wasn't a woman in any of the packages that had been left in the sorting room, and a life wasn't lost in any of those small boxes. But each of those packages was stained by disappointment.
  
  "Could someone tell me if any of the packages I have at the office should be going out on the earth native trucks with the other deliveries?"
  
  A pause. "Someone who isn't Simon?" the voice asked cautiously.
  
  "Yes."
  
  Voices were muffled by a hand over the receiver, but Meg could still hear the emotion in those voices and wondered how much of a problem she was causing for whoever was working at HGR today.
  
  The silence that followed was so full she thought she'd been disconnected. Then the voice came back and said, "Vlad will come over and look."
  
  "Thank you."
  
  She hung up and went back to sorting. She wasn't sure Vlad would be any better than him, but at least Vlad hadn't yelled at her. Yet.
  
  Vlad leaned against the office doorway and gave Simon a smile that made the Wolf's canines lengthen and his fingernails change into hard claws.
  
  "I'm going to the Liaison's Office," Vlad said pleasantly.
  
  "Why?" Simon snarled.
  
  "Because it seems Meg is good at holding a grudge and doesn't want to talk to you. And you must feel she has a reason for that grudge. You wouldn't have spent all morning doing paperwork you don't like if you didn't have to make up for something."
  
  "I don't have to make up for anything!"
  
  "You stirred things up plenty yesterday."
  
  "She stirred things up."
  
  "You can tell the story any way you like," Vlad said, pushing off from the doorway. "That's not going to change what is."
  
  "Bite me."
  
  "You're too sour today. I'd rather..."
  
  Simon shot to his feet.
  
  Vlad stared at Simon, then held up his hands. "I'm going over there at her request to answer her questions—nothing more. You have my word on that, Wolfgard."
  
  It was foolish to fight with a friend when he knew Vlad was pulling his tail because of his behavior yesterday, and it was worse than foolish to fight with one of the Sanguinati. But it took more effort than it should have to accept Vlad's word.
  
  Forcing himself to shift all the way back to human, Simon sat down and picked up a pen as if everything was settled. "If you have to sample someone, do us all a favor and bite Asia Crane."
  
  Vlad laughed. "Now you're just being mean."
  
  Based on the pictures she had studied as part of her identification training, Vlad would have been labeled the tall, dark stranger, the dangerous thrill.
  
  He scared her. His movements were more sinuous than the other earth natives she'd seen. They practically shouted they were predators. With Vlad, she didn't think humans realized the danger until it was too late.
  
  And yet he was courteous and didn't crowd her while he checked the labels on the boxes she had set aside, and agreed that they should go on the trucks delivering supplies to other terra indigene.
  
  He called Jester and asked for a pony and sled to transport the packages, explaining while they waited that the drivers would know better which packages should go in which truck.
  
  Jester arrived with a pony named Twister, and he and Vlad loaded the packages into the small sled. Then Twister pulled the sled to the area where the trucks were parked.
  
  "If there is nothing else, I must get back to the store," Vlad said with a smile. "Simon is doing paperwork today, so it's better for the customers if someone else deals with them." As he walked away, he added, "But I expect the Wolfgard will be ready for a break and some fresh air around lunchtime."
  
  Which meant the Wolf might poke his nose around the office and find something else she had done wrong—at least according to the whims of Simon Wolfgard.
  
  "What are you going to do with these packages?" Jester asked, looking at the ones still on the handcart. "Do you want me to send Twister back for them?"
  
  "No," Meg said quickly. "I thought I would take out the BOW and deliver these in person. You did say I could do that as part of my duties."
  
  "Yes, I did." The laughter in his eyes told her plainly enough he knew why she didn't want to be around during the lunch break. "Have you unhooked the BOW from its energy cord yet?"
  
  She shook her head. That was just one of the things she hadn't tried to do yet.
  
  "Then I'll do that and bring it around for you this time."
  
  "Would it be all right if I take the map with me until I learn my way around?"
  
  No laughter now. "It's not something you want to misplace."
  
  Or give to anyone else. "I'll be careful with it."
  
  A different kind of laughter filled his eyes now. Sharp, almost predatory. "Why don't I get another copy for you at the Three Ps? It's just across the way. Lorne is a human, but he's dependable despite that." Jester's smile told Meg plainly enough that not all humans who had worked for the Others had been dependable. "Three Ps stands for Postage, Printing, and Paper. Lorne sells different kinds of stationery, as well as the stamps needed to mail things outside the Courtyard. And he prints the Courtyard's weekly newsletter."
  
  "You have a newsletter?" Surprise made her blurt out the words.
  
  "Of course we have a newsletter. How else would we know which movies are being shown at the social room in each residential complex? How else would everyone know about the new books that arrived and are available in our library?" Jester pressed one hand to his chest. "How else would we learn from Ms. Know-It-All's column, 'Others Etiquette'?"
  
  "An advice column?" Meg stared at him. "You're kidding."
  
  "We don't kid about Ms. Know-It-All," he replied. Then he snatched up the map and left.
  
  Meg stood where she was, trying to sort out the words and the change in Jester's attitude when she asked if she could take the map. He'd brought her the map in the first place and warned her to be careful. Now he was telling her where to make copies and that she could buy stamps to mail letters to people outside the Courtyard. Was he trying to get her into trouble?
  
  A test, she thought. Maybe lots of other people had seen the map. Maybe it wasn't as big a secret as she had been led to believe. Maybe this was a way for the Others to decide if they could trust a human. And maybe any human who fails this test is never seen again. I'm going to die in this Courtyard. I know that. Is it because of the map or because I fail some other kind of test?
  
  A couple minutes later, she heard the beep beep of the BOW's horn. Pushing aside all thoughts of tests, she put her coat on, opened the sorting room's delivery door, and began loading the back of the vehicle.
  
  The BOW really was a box on wheels. It had two seats in the front. The rest of it—what there was of it—was a cargo area.
  
  Plenty of room for a Wolf in the back, Jester told her after he dropped the copy of the map on the passenger's seat and returned the original to the sorting room. Like she wanted a Wolf breathing down her neck while she was driving—or doing anything else.
  
  Did they all think if they kept mentioning Simon she would forget how scary he had been yesterday? Maybe fear wasn't something the Others retained, but humans certainly did.
  
  Even humans like her.
  
  It was a little before noon when she locked up the office and got in the BOW, making sure she had her pass in the side pocket of her new purse, where it would be easy to reach.
  
  When Jester tapped on the window, she rolled it down.
  
  "You all set?" he asked.
  
  "All set." She hoped she sounded confident. She really wanted him to go away before she put the BOW in gear.
  
  "I'll tell Tess you'll be by later for your meal."
  
  She wondered what else he was going to tell Tess, but she smiled and said, "Thanks."
  
  The laughter was back in his eyes when she made no move to shift the gear to drive. Then he walked away.
  
  Recalling training images of car interiors, she found the lights and the windshield wipers. She found the dial that controlled the heater. Shakily confident that she would be fine—as long as she didn't have to do anything but go forward—she headed out to make her first deliveries.
  
  After a couple of minutes of white-knuckle driving on a road that had been plowed, more or less, Meg began wondering if the pony and sled wouldn't have been a better idea. The pony wouldn't be inclined to slide off the road. Not that the BOW wasn't a game little vehicle. It growled its way up an incline, struggling to find the traction it needed to get to the next piece of level ground.
  
  From what she could tell from the map, she was on the main road that circled the entire Courtyard, so it should be sufficiently cleared all the way around. As long as she didn't stray off it, she should be fine. Besides, the thought of going back and running into Simon was reason enough to keep going forward. That and not knowing how to drive backward.
  
  It wasn't her fault she'd never driven in snow—or in anything else. A sterile, restricted life meant the girls had no other stimulation except the images, sounds, and other visuals in the lessons, and what was used as reference for the prophecies could be verified because it was assumed all of the girls saw and heard the same thing. And it had been proven by the Walking Names that that kind of life made the girls more accepting of any kind of actual stimulation because they were starved for sensation.
  
  Would the cutting be as compelling if there were other ways to feel pleasure, other sensations?
  
  But that sterile life was her past. Now she was gaining the experience of driving in snow, and as long as she didn't run into another vehicle or end up in a ditch, the Wolf had no reason to criticize.
  
  The road forked. The left fork curved toward the Owlgard Complex and the Pony Barn. The right fork was the main road and had a sign that read, TRESPASSERS WILL BE EATEN.
  
  Meg swallowed hard and continued on the main road, passing the Green Complex. Then she passed the Ash Grove and the Utilities Complex. Finally she reached the ornate black fences that marked the Chambers, the part of the Courtyard claimed by the Sanguinati.
  
  She tried to pull up some memory about that name, was sure she knew something about them even though the girls had been taught very little about the Others. But Jester's warning when she was packing up the BOW was clear enough.
  
  The fences around the Chambers aren't decorative, Meg. They're boundaries. You never push open a gate and step onto the Sanguinati's land for any reason. Anyone who enters without their consent doesn't leave—and I've never known them to give their consent.
  
  What unnerved her about the words was the certainty that they applied to the rest of the terra indigene as well as humans.
  
  But she didn't have to break the rules to deliver the packages. When she pulled up to the first white marble building positioned in the center of its fenced-in land, she saw nine metal boxes outside the fence, painted black and secured to a stone foundation. They didn't have individual numbers, so they must be used by everyone who lived in the... Was that a mausoleum? It seemed small if the handful of names with this particular address actually lived inside.
  
  She opened the door of the first box. Roomy enough for magazines and other mail of similar size. Another box was wider and the packages she had fit well enough. She put packages in three more boxes, then got back into the BOW and went on to the next building.
  
  Four packages for the residents of this part of the Chambers. This time, as she closed the door of the last box, she noticed the soot around the mausoleum. Or was that smoke? Was something on fire inside?
  
  She leaned into the BOW and fumbled for the mobile phone Tess had arranged for her to have. She had dutifully put in the contact numbers for Simon, Tess, and the consulate. But whom should she call to report a fire? How did the Courtyard handle emergencies?
  
  Then the smoke drifted away from the structure with a deliberate change of direction—toward her.
  
  She stopped fumbling for the phone, got into the BOW, and headed for the next fenced area.
  
  This mausoleum didn't look any different from the other two, except there was a smaller one built close to the fence separating the two structures. The walkway from the gate to the elaborately carved wooden door was clear of snow, as was the marble stoop.
  
  Smoke drifted close to the fences.
  
  Jester didn't say she wouldn't be harmed if she was on this side of the fence. He just said being harmed was a certainty if she went inside the fenced area.
  
  Maybe they would appreciate someone finally delivering their packages?
  
  Tucking her pass inside the coat pocket, she got out of the BOW, raised the back door, pulled out the packages, and filled several of the boxes.
  
  Then she pulled out a package for Mr. Erebus Sanguinati. It was one of the packages shoved farthest back in that corner of the sorting room, so it had been there for weeks, maybe even months.
  
  It wasn't a heavy package, but it was square rather than a rectangle, making it too high to fit into the metal boxes. She chewed on her lower lip, wondering what she should do.
  
  "Something wrong?"
  
  She stumbled back a step. She hadn't seen anyone approach, hadn't heard anyone, but a beautiful woman with dark eyes and black hair that flowed to the waist of her black velvet gown now stood near the fence that separated the two mausoleums.
  
  "I have a package for Mr. Erebus Sanguinati, but it won't fit into the boxes."
  
  "You're the new Liaison?"
  
  "Yes. I'm Meg Corbyn."
  
  The woman didn't offer her name. Instead, she looked toward the larger mausoleum—whose door was now open just enough for someone to peek out.
  
  "You could leave a form saying there is a package being held at the Liaison's Office," the woman said.
  
  "It's been at the office for a while," Meg replied. "That's why I thought I should deliver it in person."
  
  The woman's smile was more lethal than encouraging. "You could leave it in the snow. The previous Liaisons would have—if they had been brave enough to come at all."
  
  Meg shook her head. "Whatever is inside might get damaged if it got wet."
  
  A sound like dry leaves skittering over a sidewalk came from the larger mausoleum.
  
  The woman looked startled, then studied Meg with unnerving interest. "Grandfather Erebus says you may enter the Chambers and set the package before the door. Stay on the walkway, and you will come to no harm."
  
  "I was told I wasn't allowed to enter the Chambers," Meg said.
  
  The woman's smile sharpened. "Even the Wolfgard accommodates the Grandfather."
  
  Which meant Mr. Erebus was a very important person in the Courtyard.
  
  Smoke flowed swiftly over the snow, gathering to one side of the gate. Part of it condensed, becoming an arm and a hand that pulled open the gate before changing back to smoke that moved away.
  
  Something about smoke and the name Sanguinati that she needed to remember.
  
  Pushing open the gate a little more, Meg walked up to the mausoleum. A hand curled around the edge of the door—an old hand with knobby joints, big veins, and yellowed, horny fingernails. A dark eye in a lined face peered out at her.
  
  Not quite looking him in the eye, in case that was offensive to him, Meg carefully set the package down on the dry marble stoop.
  
  "I'm sorry it took so long for you to receive your package, Mr. Erebus. I'll watch for them from now on and get them to you as soon as I can."
  
  "Sweet child," he whispered in that dry-leaves voice. "So considerate of an old man."
  
  "I hope nothing spoiled," Meg said, stepping back. "Good day, sir." She turned and walked back to the BOW, aware of all the smoke gathering just inside the fences. The gate closed behind her. The woman continued to watch her as she got into the BOW and drove off.
  
  She had another set of packages for another address in the Chambers, but she was feeling shaky and wanted to get away from that part of the Courtyard. She continued driving until she passed the last of those ornate black fences and was heading for the Hawkgard Complex.
  
  Then she remembered. Smoke. Sanguinati.
  
  She hit the brakes and almost slid into a snowbank. She managed to put the BOW in park and crank up the heater before she started shaking.
  
  Vampire. In one of their hurried, forbidden conversations, Jean had told her vampire was the street name for the Sanguinati. Smoke was another form they could take when they were hunting.
  
  And when they are killing?
  
  Now she understood why it was so dangerous to set foot on their land—and why no one who did left the Sanguinati's piece of the Courtyard.
  
  But an old, powerful vampire had given permission for her to enter the Chambers and deliver a package.
  
  "Oh, I feel woozy." She leaned back and closed her eyes. A moment later, she opened them, too uneasy about not being able to see what might be approaching.
  
  How many of them had been out there, watching her?
  
  That didn't make her feel any less woozy, so she put the BOW in gear and trundled the rest of the way to the Hawkgard Complex, which consisted of three U-shape buildings, two stories tall, that were separated by driveways that led to garages and a parking area.
  
  Every apartment had a patio or balcony with its own entrance. What she didn't see were mailboxes or the nest of large boxes for packages. Which meant there had to be a room somewhere for those things.
  
  Pulling up in front of the middle building, Meg got out of the BOW.
  
  "What do you want?"
  
  She squeaked and grabbed for the door handle before she regained control enough to look over her shoulder. The brown-haired, brown-eyed man who stared at her didn't look the least bit friendly.
  
  "Hello," she said, trying out a smile. "I'm Meg, the new Liaison. I have some packages for the Hawkgard Complex, but I don't know where I should leave them. Can you help me?"
  
  He didn't answer for so long, she didn't know what to do. Finally, he pointed to the center room on the ground floor. "There."
  
  "Does each building have a mail room?" she asked, wondering how she could figure out what package went to which building.
  
  He huffed. She could have sworn his hair rose like feathers being fluffed in annoyance.
  
  "There." He went to the back of the BOW and opened the door. He sniffed, then began rummaging happily through her ordered stacks.
  
  "What are you doing?" she asked.
  
  "Mouse," he replied, picking up each package and sniffing it.
  
  "There aren't any mice in the packages." At least, she hoped there weren't. "But there were mice around where the packages were stored."
  
  He stopped rummaging, apparently losing all interest. But he did help her carry the packages to the mail room. Judging by the cubbyholes built into one wall and the large table at a right angle to them, this was where all the mail for the Hawkgard Complex was delivered. The cubbyholes had numbers but no names, and most of the packages were addressed as Hawkgard with a number.
  
  Come to think of it, a lot of the mail she had sorted for all the complexes was the same way. The gard and maybe an initial was the most identification shown. Hard to know how many of each race was living in a Courtyard if only a few, like Erebus Sanguinati and Simon Wolfgard, provided a full name.
  
  Were they that uncaring about such things or that cautious about how much humans knew about them?
  
  What did that say about Erebus that he used his full name? Was it a way of indicating his lack of concern about who knew he was residing at the Lakeside Courtyard or was it a warning?
  
  She thanked the Hawk for his help, and had the impression he had to dig into his knowledge of humans for the "You are welcome" reply.
  
  When she reached the bridge that spanned Courtyard Creek, she pulled over and studied the map. If she kept going straight, she would be at the Wolfgard area of the Courtyard, and she didn't want to go there and take the chance of running into him. Besides, she needed to head back to the office. But she had time to look at one place that made her curious. So she drove over the bridge and turned left on the road that ran along the small lake.
  
  When she spotted the girl skating on the lake, she stopped the BOW and got out. The air was so clean and cold it hurt to breathe it in, and yet the girl, wearing a white, calf-length dress with short sleeves, didn't seem to notice.
  
  Meg made her way to the edge of the ice and waited. The girl looked at her, circled away, then skated over to where she stood.
  
  A girl in shape, but not human. The face, especially the eyes, passed for human only from a distance.
  
  "I'm Meg," she said quietly, not sure why she thought this girl was more of a threat than the Sanguinati.
  
  "You stopped," the girl said. "Why?"
  
  "I wanted to introduce myself." She hesitated. "Are you alone here? Where are your parents?"
  
  The girl laughed. "The Mother is everywhere. The Father doesn't spurt his seed in this season." She laughed again. "You don't like the spurting? Never mind. My sisters and cousins are with me, and that is enough. Our homes are over there." She pointed to a cluster of small buildings that were made of stone and wood.
  
  "I'm glad you're not alone."
  
  An odd look. "That matters to you?"
  
  "I know how it feels to be alone." She shook her head, determined to shake off the memories of being isolated in a cell—or watching a movie clip in a room full of girls and feeling even more alone. "Anyway, I'm planning to make regular deliveries from now on, so I wondered if there was anything you wanted from the Market Square. It's a long walk for you and your sisters. I could give one or two of you a ride up to the shops."
  
  "Kindness. How unexpected," the girl murmured. "There is a Courtyard bus that comes through twice a day that any terra indigene can take up to the shops, and the ponies are always willing to give me a ride. But..."
  
  "But...?"
  
  The girl shrugged. "I put in a request for some books from our library. They weren't dropped off."
  
  "Wait a moment." Meg went back to the BOW, retrieved the notepad and pen from her purse, and retraced her steps back to the lake. She held them out. "If you write down the titles, I'll go to the library after work and see if any of them are available."
  
  The girl took the pad and pen, wrote several titles, then handed the pad and pen back to Meg.
  
  "If your sisters are out when I return, whom should I ask for?"
  
  Another odd look that was frightening because there was amusement in it.
  
  "My sisters mostly sleep in this season, so only my cousins might be around," the girl replied. Then she added, "I am Winter."
  
  "It's a pleasure to meet you, Winter," Meg said. Her teeth began to chatter.
  
  Winter laughed. "Yes. But you've had enough pleasure, I think."
  
  "I guess so. I'll look for those books." She hurried back to the BOW, but once inside with the heater doing its best to thaw her out, she waved to the girl.
  
  The girl waved back, then turned to stare at the Crows and Hawks gathered in trees on the other side of the lake. They all took off in a flurry of wings, as if they were nervous about drawing the girl's attention.
  
  But Meg noticed at least some of them followed her all the way back to the office.
  
  She and the BOW crawled into the garage, one turn of the wheels at a time. The opening was almost twice as wide as the vehicle, but Meg's nerves still danced until she got the BOW inside and turned off.
  
  Her nerves did more than dance when she got out of the BOW and saw the man standing there. Dressed in a mechanic's blue jumpsuit, his only concession to the biting cold was a thin turtleneck sweater under the jumpsuit. He had brown hair, the amber eyes of a Wolf, and an annoyed expression that said plainly enough she had already messed with his day and he didn't like it.
  
  "I'm Meg, the new Liaison," she said.
  
  "The Wolfgard says I'm to take care of charging up the BOW for you this time."
  
  "Oh." She looked at the cord and buttons on the garage's back wall. "I suppose I should learn how to do that."
  
  "The Wolfgard said I'm to take care of it. You're supposed to get food and open the office before the deliveries start arriving. The fools won't get out of their trucks if they see a Wolf instead of you, and I'm waiting for parts." He ran a possessive hand over the BOW's hood. "Wouldn't have been up this close to the monkeys if I wasn't waiting for parts that are supposed to come today."
  
  "Then I'd better get my lunch and open up the office," Meg said brightly as she edged away from him. This one seemed wilder than Simon in a way she couldn't explain, and she wasn't sure "think before you bite" was a concept he understood. "Thank you for taking care of the BOW."
  
  "Just because he slams your tail in the door, the rest of us have to be polite," he grumbled. Then he sniffed the air, sniffed again as his head turned in her direction. "What did you roll in to make your fur smell that stinky?"
  
  Irritation wiped out caution. Were they all obsessed with smell? "I didn't roll in anything. And my hair stinks less than it did."
  
  "So does a skunk."
  
  Since that seemed to be his final opinion, she marched over to the back door of A Little Bite.
  
  Tess took one look at her face and grinned. "I see you've met Blair."
  
  "Maybe," Meg muttered. "Does he like any humans?"
  
  "Sure," Tess replied cheerfully. "Although he's pretty opinionated about the lack of lean meat on most of them."
  
  "I don't think I want lunch."
  
  "Yes, you do. Vegetable soup and a turkey sandwich. I'll pack it up for you."
  
  Meg followed Tess back to the counter. "So, who is he?"
  
  "Third Wolf, after Simon and Elliot. Those two deal with humans and the world outside the Courtyard. Blair takes care of the inside of the Courtyard. He keeps track of the game on our land, leads the hunt when the butcher puts in a request for venison, and is the primary enforcer. He's also the one here at Lakeside who is most intrigued by mechanical things and energy sources, so he oversees the terra indigene who care for the windmills and solar panels we use to power most of the buildings outside the business district." Tess smiled as she handed Meg the carry sack. "Keeps him busy and limits his contact with humans—which is the way he and Simon like it."
  
  "He's waiting for a package. If it arrives, whom should I call?" Meg asked. Tess looked at her until she sighed. "I should call Simon."
  
  The BOW's garage door was closed by the time she reached the back door of the office, and she didn't spot a Wolf lurking nearby. But when she unlocked the front door, she did see three trucks idling while the drivers waited for her—and she saw the black sedan stuck behind them, unable to enter until at least one truck departed.
  
  It looked like the kind of car she imagined a consul would drive—or would he have a driver?—so she signed for packages as quickly as possible, making hasty notes so that she wouldn't be the one causing a delay. It seemed the delivery people shared that feeling. Within a couple of minutes, they were gone and the sedan pulled up in front of the consulate door.
  
  The man who got out had a slim build and receding hair. He stared in her direction, then went inside.
  
  "If that's Elliot Wolfgard, I guess I won't be getting any gold stars from him," she muttered.
  
  She could live without gold stars. Today she would be happy if she got through the rest of the day without being eaten.
  
  She put the turkey sandwich and soup in the fridge, too unsettled to consider food. After a peaceful hour of sorting mail and packages, she called Howling Good Reads and left the message that there were a couple of items for B. Wolfgard, as well as other packages simply addressed to the Utility Complex, and was informed that Blair would pick up all of them after the office closed.
  
  Maybe there was an advantage to having stinky hair if it encouraged the Wolves to keep their distance.
  
  Cheered by that thought, she warmed up the turkey sandwich and enjoyed a late lunch.
  
  Looking out the back window of HGR's office, Simon watched Blair come out of the Liaison's Office with a package and load it into the BOW assigned to the Utility Complex. The Wolf had waited only long enough to be sure Meg had left for the day before going in to retrieve the bits and pieces for whatever he was currently tinkering with.
  
  She had headed for the Market Square, which meant she would be coming back this way when she went to her apartment. Better for both of them if they didn't see each other. Better for him, anyway. Henry would smack him if an encounter with him upset Meg today—and getting smacked by a Grizzly wasn't fun, even for a Wolf.
  
  He put on his coat and stopped at the counter long enough to tell Heather, one of his human employees, that she was supposed to inform Vlad if Asia Crane entered the store. Then he went out the back door and walked over to the Liaison's Office.
  
  "You got your parts?" Simon asked when Blair came out with another package that he tucked in the BOW.
  
  Blair nodded as he closed the vehicle's back door. Then he locked the door of the Liaison's Office. "You need a ride?"
  
  He didn't need a ride, but maybe he could coax Sam to spend a little more time outside if he got home while it was still light. And if Blair was unhappy with Meg for some reason, it was better to know before blood was spilled. "Thanks."
  
  Neither spoke until they were headed for the Green Complex. Then Blair said casually, "The Liaison. Think we could wash her in the same solution we use for youngsters who get skunked?"
  
  Simon barked out a laugh. Then he considered the appeal of doing just that—and the consequences—and reluctantly shook his head.
  
  Blair sighed. "Didn't think so." A pause. "Elliot might want to have words with you. The delivery trucks backed up for a couple of minutes while the drivers waited for her to return, and his shiny black car couldn't get around them."
  
  "He doesn't care about the shiny black car."
  
  "No, but he does care about maintaining status in a way the monkeys understand, and I don't think having to wait for your human to open the door for afternoon deliveries is going to encourage him to tolerate her."
  
  "She's doing her job."
  
  "And causing trouble."
  
  Simon growled—and noticed the way the other Wolf's lips twitched in amusement.
  
  Blair didn't say another thing until he pulled up at the Green Complex. Then he looked straight ahead. "It's still deer season, so there will be some bow hunters in the park for a couple more weeks."
  
  "So?" Simon opened the passenger's door and got out.
  
  "If she doesn't wear a hat, the Liaison won't need the orange vest hunters use to keep from shooting each other."
  
  Simon closed the BOW's door a little harder than necessary, but he still heard Blair laughing as the Wolf drove away.
  
  Fishing out his keys, Simon walked to his apartment. The Green Complex apartments were a mix of sizes that shared common walls and accommodated the different species of terra indigene who chose to live there. Some were more like two-story town houses, while smaller apartments were contained on a single floor. Like the other residential complexes, the Green was U-shaped, with the connecting section containing the mail room, laundry area, and a social room on the second floor where movies were played on the big-screen television and a couple of tables provided an area to play board games the Others had converted from the human versions of those games.
  
  The moment his key slid into the front door lock, he heard the squeaky-door sound that was Sam's howl.
  
  His big living room had a carpet and a sofa, a couple of lamps, a television and movie disc player, a low table with storage baskets, and the cage where Sam lived.
  
  Sam was all wagging tail and happy-puppy greeting—until Simon opened the cage door. Then the youngster huddled in the back of the cage, whimpering.
  
  Simon held out his hand. "Come on, Sam. It's still light outside. We'll be safe. Come outside for a pee and a poop."
  
  When the pup continued to shake and whimper, Simon reached in and hauled him out, ignoring Sam's attempts to bite him and escape. They did this several times a day—had been doing it since Daphne was killed and Simon became Sam's guardian. Sam was terrified of outside because outside was where his mother had died right in front of him.
  
  Sam had stopped growing that night, hadn't continued his development the way pups should. They had no way of knowing what had happened to his human form because he hadn't shifted in two years.
  
  Simon couldn't imagine being stuck in one skin his whole life, unable to shift. And he didn't want to imagine what it felt like to be so afraid that he could no longer make that choice.
  
  He took the struggling pup outside and firmly closed the apartment door.
  
  "A pee and a poop," he said, walking over to a potted tree that was part of a central garden area. He put Sam down and placed himself between the pup and the apartment. They weren't going in until Sam obeyed, but it broke his heart a little more every time they did this, and the fangs of his hatred for the men responsible grew a little longer.
  
  Someday, he promised himself as Sam took care of business.
  
  Sam was trembling and on the verge of panic from being outside for so long when the shiny black sedan pulled up in front of the complex. The back door opened and Elliot Wolfgard stepped out. Like Daphne and Sam, Elliot had gray eyes instead of amber, but it was a cold gray that suited the stern expression that was usually worn on the human face.
  
  Now the stern expression shifted into a warm smile as Elliot came forward with open arms. "Hello, Sam." He crouched in the snow to rub the pup's ears and ruffle his fur. "How's our boy?" He looked up at Simon when he asked the question.
  
  Simon shrugged to say same as always.
  
  Elliot's smile dimmed as he rose. "You should tell the Liaison to wear a watch if she can't get back to work on time without one."
  
  "Actually, she was making deliveries in the Courtyard, not dawdling for her own amusement," Simon replied with just enough tooth to remind Elliot who was dominant.
  
  "I stand corrected," Elliot said after a moment. "I should have known that she was attending to her duties. The Crows are such gossips and find her entertaining, if the number of them gathering to watch the office is any indication. I prefer not to deal with them, but my staff would have heard if we had cause to complain about her."
  
  "She doesn't like mice for snacks. That makes her peculiar—at least according to the Owls."
  
  "All right, Simon, you made your point," Elliot said. "If we finally have a Liaison who will do the work we pay for, I'll try to show more tolerance."
  
  "Appreciate it."
  
  "Has Blair met her yet?"
  
  Simon nodded. "And didn't bite her."
  
  "That's something. I'll be out tonight for a dinner—a guest of the mayor. I'll have my mobile phone if you need me."
  
  "Enjoy your evening."
  
  "That will depend on the menu. If it's beef, it will be a tolerable meal. If it's chicken..." Elliot shuddered. "What is the point of chicken?"
  
  "Eggs?"
  
  Elliot waved a hand dismissively. "I'll see you tomorrow."
  
  As soon as Elliot drove away, Sam began pawing at Simon's leg, trying to jump into his arms.
  
  "You need to work your legs," Simon told the pup, making him walk back to the apartment. But he picked up Sam before opening the door, grabbed a towel from the basket in the entryway, and dried off feet and fur.
  
  As soon as he was free, Sam raced to the safety of his cage.
  
  Determined not to let his disappointment show, Simon went into the kitchen, hung up the towel on a peg near the back door, and made dinner for himself and Sam. Then he turned on one of the movies Sam used to love watching, settled in the living room with food and a book, and gave his nephew as much comfort and company as the pup would accept.
  
  Meg opened the journal she had found at the General Store. She labeled the first page Books, skipped a page, then labeled the next one Music. She skipped another page, put the date at the top of the page, and stopped.
  
  What was she supposed to write? Dear Diary, I didn't get eaten today. That was true, but it didn't really say much. Or maybe it said everything that needed to be said.
  
  She still wasn't sure if humans didn't stay long in jobs at the Courtyard because they quit or because they didn't survive dealing with the Others. Except for Lorne, who ran the Three Ps, and Elizabeth Bennefeld, the therapist who was available at the Good Hands Massage Parlor a couple afternoons each week, Merri Lee was the longest-employed human in the Courtyard, and she had been working at A Little Bite for just over a year. Sure, employees were considered not edible, but that didn't mean anything if the person did something the Others considered a betrayal.
  
  What would the Others consider a betrayal? Certainly a physical act against them would count, but what about a lie that didn't have anything to do with them? Would that be seen as betrayal?
  
  In the end, afraid that privacy was still an illusion, she avoided mentioning names or what parts of the Courtyard she had visited while making deliveries, but she did mention attending the Quiet Mind exercise class, which was held on the second floor of Run & Thump, and visiting the Courtyard library.
  
  She had found three of the books Winter had requested and two for herself before running into Merri Lee, who had talked her into trying the Quiet Mind class, then went with her to a couple of stores to select an exercise mat and workout clothes.
  
  She was making friends, developing a routine that could become a satisfying life for however long it lasted. If she just remembered to stop at the grocery store to pick up food for the evening meals, she would be all set. As it was, she scrounged what was left of the food Tess had brought, too tired to go back out once she staggered up to her apartment.
  
  Now, muscles loosened from a hot shower and adequately fed, she tucked herself into bed with one of the books, content to read while cars rolled by and people's voices carried in the still air as they headed home.
  
  She heard Wolves howling, but she wasn't sure how close they were to this part of the Courtyard. How far did the sound travel? The library had computers that could access information through the telephone lines. Maybe she could find information about the animal wolf that would help her understand the terra indigene Wolf.
  
  She tensed when she heard a heavy footfall near her door, but she let out a sigh of relief when that was followed by the rattle of keys in the door across from hers. She had passed Henry in the Market Square that afternoon, and he had mentioned that he would be staying in one of the other efficiency apartments tonight because he wanted to remain close to his studio.
  
  Picking up her journal, she made a note to herself to look up sculpture and totems when she had a chance to use the computer at the library.
  
  Henry's door opened and closed. Cars crunched by. Meg got up to make a cup of chamomile tea, then went back to bed and kept reading, slightly scandalized by the story—and more scandalized by the fact that no one had stopped her from taking out the book.
  
  Then there were no sounds of cars, no people heading home.
  
  Meg looked at the clock and reluctantly closed the book. She got up long enough to put her mug in the sink and go to the bathroom. Tomorrow was a rest day, and the Liaison's Office and most of the Courtyard stores were closed. Hopefully that didn't include the grocery store. Apples for the ponies on Moonsday? She would need to cut them just before the ponies arrived. Otherwise the chunks would turn brown from the air. She knew that from training images. The girls had spent an entire week one year looking at captioned pictures of different kinds of fruit, from fresh to rotted. In a prophecy, seeing fruit that had been rotting for a specific number of days could indicate the time a person had been missing... or dead.
  
  Meg let out a gusty sigh. Maybe her kind always saw the world as images that could be recalled to create a whole picture for someone else. Or maybe it was the way she had been trained to think and learn. Jean hadn't used the standard images all the time, but she had been unusual, difficult. Different.
  
  You'll have a chance to escape this life, Meg. You'll have a chance to be someone for yourself. When the chance comes, take it and run—and don't come back. Don't ever let them bring you back here.
  
  What about you?
  
  The Walking Names made sure I can't run, but I'll be free someday. I saw that too.
  
  The prickling under Meg's skin started in her feet and ran up both legs. She stifled a cry, not wanting Henry to hear her and come pounding on the door, demanding an explanation.
  
  She walked toward the bathroom, hoping to find something in the medicine chest that would ease the feeling.
  
  She knew what would make the prickling go away, but it was too soon to cut again. Besides, she also knew how much it hurt to hold in a prophecy, and speaking without a listener would relieve the pressure but it wouldn't do her any good otherwise.
  
  As she tried to talk herself out of making another cut, the prickling faded on its own.
  
  Meg splashed some water on her face, then returned to the living area of her apartment, determined to focus on the present and not the past because, most likely, her present could be measured in days or weeks.
  
  The Moonsday treat. How many apples for how many ponies? She'd better bring extra in case more ponies showed up. How many lived in the Courtyard anyway? She'd have to ask Jester, since he was the one who looked after them.
  
  Her mind on ponies and apples and what she might do on her day off, Meg pulled aside the drape and looked down at the street—and forgot all about sleeping.
  
  The man was there again. She couldn't make out his features, but he was wearing the same dark coat and watch cap as the man she'd seen the other night. She was sure of it.
  
  As she watched, he crossed Crowfield Avenue, heading straight for the glass door that provided street access to the apartments. But that door was locked. She was still safe because that door was locked.
  
  Training image. Hands manipulating slim metal instruments to open a lock.
  
  A locked door wouldn't keep her safe. Panic held her frozen at the window. Then the prickling returned in her legs as she heard a sound she couldn't identify. Her hands and arms began to tingle as she remembered the last time she and Jean had spoken.
  
  Don't ever let them bring you back here.
  
  Meg bolted across the room, certain now that the man had been sent by the Controller.
  
  Couldn't get out. Locked in, just like before when she lived in the compound! No, not like before. Now she had the keys. The dead bolt just needed a key.
  
  She scrambled for the keys in her purse, panting as her shaking hands tried to fit the key in the lock.
  
  Was the man coming up the stairs? Creeping down the hallway? If she opened the door, would he be right there, waiting to grab her?
  
  The tingling in her hands became a buzz that was so painful she dropped the keys. Unable to escape, she pounded on the door and screamed, "Henry! Henry!" Could he hear her? Please, gods, let him hear me!
  
  She felt as well as heard the roar that filled the hallway, followed by a startled cry and the clatter of boots.
  
  Racing to the window, Meg saw the man running across the street, angling for the corner and disappearing from sight. Retracing her steps, she picked up the keys with shaking hands and finally managed to open the door.
  
  Henry stood at the end of the hallway, looking down the stairs. She couldn't see his expression—the lights from his apartment and hers didn't reach that far, and he hadn't turned on the hallway light—but she had the impression he was very angry.
  
  "Henry?" she said hesitantly. "Should I call someone?"
  
  "Who would you call?" he asked, sounding more curious than angry.
  
  "I don't know. The police? Or someone in the Courtyard?"
  
  He walked back to her door and studied her. Then he shook his head. "No need to call anyone. I'll take a look around now and talk to Simon in the morning. Keep your door locked, Meg, and you'll be all right."
  
  No, she wouldn't be all right. She couldn't explain that to Henry, so she closed the door and turned the key in the lock. Then she pressed her ear against the door, listening as she counted slowly.
  
  She reached one hundred before Henry walked back down the hallway to the stairs. As soon as she was sure he wouldn't hear her, she moved with controlled desperation, changing into jeans and a sweater, packing up a small bag of toiletries, tucking her book, a jar candle, and box of matches into one of the zippered carry bags. She rolled her pillow into the spare blanket from the chest at the end of her bed. Then she put her coat and boots on and held her breath while she turned the key, listening as hard as she could for Henry's footsteps.
  
  She slipped out of her apartment and locked up, then fled to the back entrance and down the stairs. She hurried to the Liaison's Office, fumbled to get the door open, and let out a sob of relief when she was inside.
  
  Just as exposed here as in her apartment. Just as alone, since the shops and the consulate wouldn't be open tomorrow. But no one knew she was here. The low light in the front part of the office was always on and wouldn't attract attention. Light from the candle would be visible only from the window in the sorting room, and that window looked out on the yard and sculpture garden behind Henry's studio.
  
  She would be safe here tonight—or as safe as she could be.
  
  Unwilling to turn on the overhead lights, she slipped off her boots, then padded her way to the sorting room, dropping the pillow and blanket on the table before going to the counter that ran under the window. Retrieving the candle and matches from her carry bag, she lit the candle. She didn't need to cut her skin to figure out the Controller had found her. It was just a matter of time before his man found a way to reclaim her.
  
  Just a matter of time.
  
  Spreading the blanket out on the sorting table, Meg climbed up and got as comfortable as she could on her hard, makeshift bed.
  
  In the western part of the continent, where the terra indigene Grizzlies ruled as many Courtyards as the Wolves, some humans called his first form spirit bear.
  
  Spirit bear moved through the world unseen, but some could sense his passing. Some would know he was there before he took on the tangible shape that had teeth and claws.
  
  Now Henry followed the stranger's trail until it ended farther up the street where the man's vehicle had been parked.
  
  Turning back to the Courtyard, he went to the glass door and studied the broken lock as he considered what it meant.
  
  So much fear behind Meg's door, so much desperation when she screamed his name.
  
  If he hadn't wanted to be close to the wood tonight, would she have disappeared, leaving them to think she was just another human who had used them for a few days' shelter? Or would the broken lock on the door and the scent of a stranger stir up Simon and the rest of the terra indigene who lived here?
  
  Turning away from the door, Henry walked up to the corner and turned left, following the boundary of the Courtyard, not sure what he was looking for but letting instinct guide him.
  
  He prowled the delivery area, taking in the scents around the front of the Liaison's Office and the consulate. The stranger's scent wasn't there, but moving closer to the sorting-room delivery doors, he picked up another scent that was fresher than it should be.
  
  Moving around the office to the yard behind his studio, he saw the flicker of light in the sorting room. Taking up the full Grizzly form, Henry braced a paw on the wall and looked in the window.
  
  Meg, sleeping on the sorting table.
  
  Meg, who wasn't in the apartment where someone would expect to find her at this time of night.
  
  Moving away from the window, Henry called, <Owls!>
  
  Five of them answered his call, landing on the wall that separated his studio from the delivery area.
  
  <Why do you want us?> Allison asked.
  
  <Intruder,> he said. <Keep watch here. Meg is inside the office.>
  
  Two of the owls flew off, taking up position on the roof of the consulate. Another flew up to the roof of his studio. Allison and a juvenile male remained on the wall.
  
  Satisfied that he would have plenty of warning if the stranger returned, Henry ambled back to the efficiency apartment, changed to human form, and retrieved his clothes where he had left them in the stairwell. He made himself a cup of strong black tea generously laced with honey, then settled into the rocking chair near the window that gave him a view of the Liaison's Office. As he drank his tea, he wondered about the female who had suddenly come into their lives.
  
  Throughout the rest of the night, he wondered a lot.
  
  And he wondered what Simon was going to say in the morning.