Murder of Crows

CHAPTER 21

“Since you’ve figured out what’s causing the sickness, let’s wipe it out at the source,” Joe Wolfgard snarled again.

“The source is a special kind of girl,” Simon snarled back. “They’re not choosing to be drugs that make us aggressive or passive. They’re being used. They’re being cut and bled, and that’s not their fault.”

“The source is human,” Joe snapped. “The solution should be simple.”

“You’ve had a couple of incidents in the Northeast,” Jackson Wolfgard said, pointing at Simon. “And now the Northwest has seen a few cases of humans being so aggressive they’ve no sense of self-preservation. But the Midwest Courtyards have been hit over and over by humans who are diseased from the blood of Namid’s terrible creation. If we can’t stop these attacks soon, a lot more than a few humans will disappear.”

Catching a warning look from Henry, Simon sat back and let the various leaders discuss and argue. The Wolfgard and Coyotegard from the Midwest had been the hardest hit. And the Crowgard had suffered losses every place the drugs gone over wolf and feel-good had been found. But they’d all become so fixed on the terrible side of Namid’s creation, they didn’t want to hear what he’d been trying to tell them about blood prophets.

Cheryl Hawkgard, Patty Crowgard, and Vera Owlgard wanted to know how the terra indigene were supposed to find a specific breed of human among a city full of humans. Simon had some thoughts about that, but he wasn’t going to share them while tempers were hot.

Simon said to Henry.

Henry replied.

But would they realize it in time? Simon wondered. The leaders who had come for this meeting had been in the Courtyard’s library for an hour now, arguing about what should be done to eliminate the problem.

Henry continued.

Vlad had offered no opinions either, and Simon began to find that silence unnerving.

Perhaps Roy Panthergard found the Sanguinati’s silence unnerving as well because he said, “Stavros? Tolya? What do you have to say?”

Vlad replied quietly, “The Sanguinati will not harm the sweet blood.”

Hearing the warning—and threat—beneath the words, everyone stopped talking and focused on the Sanguinati.

“You’ve lost one of your own because of these drugs,” Jackson said.

“The Sanguinati do not drink the sweet blood,” Vlad said. “We do not harm the sweet blood. And if necessary, we will stand against other terra indigene who try to harm the sweet blood.”

No wonder Stavros and Tolya had said nothing. Vlad was the messenger, but Erebus was giving the orders—and making the threat of going to war against the shifters if they tried to eliminate the cassandra sangue.

Alan Wolfgard exchanged a look with Bobbie Beargard and Charlie Crowgard, who both nodded.

“Look,” Alan said. “We’re just chasing our tails. We can talk about this from one sunrise to the next and not have any answers because the answer isn’t in the library.” He looked at Simon. “You said you have one of them here in the Lakeside Courtyard. It’s time you showed us Namid’s terrible creation.”

Leading his guests from the library to the back door of the Liaison’s Office, Simon reluctantly turned the doorknob. He’d wanted to tell the leaders about Meg and how her desire to actually do the work a Human Liaison was supposed to do, and more, had altered so much in just the few months she’d been here. He wanted them to see past a kind of human who was a danger to the terra indigene and see Meg. But they had already decided Meg was a fearsome creature who should be destroyed along with the rest of her kind.

Then Meg screamed, and the terror in that sound had him flinging the door open and running through the back room and into the sorting room with Vlad, Henry, Charlie, and the rest of the Others slamming in behind him. And then they all stopped, stumbling into each other as they stared at Meg, cowering on top of the sorting table, with envelopes and catalogs scattered on the floor around her. And Skippy, holding a mouse by the tail, his hindquarters bunched for a leap onto the table.

“Skippy!” Simon growled the word, barely able to make human sounds.

Wolf and woman turned toward his voice. Taking in the audience staring at her, Meg’s fair skin turned a deep rose color, which probably looked appealing with her natural black hair but made the weird orange look weirder.

Skippy, finally realizing he might be in trouble, lowered his head to drop the mouse.

Meg shrieked, “Don’t let go of it!”

Despite being in human form, Simon’s ears flattened at the sound. He felt empty space at his back as everyone except Vlad and Henry took a step away from the table. And he noticed that the mouse was still alive, since it began flailing its little legs when it sensed a chance at freedom.

No longer sure he could speak, Simon switched to the terra indigene way of communicating.

Skippy gave Simon a woeful look.

Vlad made a choking sound.

Henry opened the sorting room’s outer delivery doors and said, “Skippy, take the mouse outside. Leave it on the grass past the Market Square.”

Being a skippy meant the youngster sometimes had gaps in his thinking, but this time the juvenile Wolf knew exactly what to do. He took his mouse and fled.

Henry closed the outer doors. Charlie stepped forward and picked up some of the mail scattered on the floor. After a moment’s hesitation, other terra indigene picked up the mail close to them and gingerly set it on the table.

Henry looked around. “Meg? Where’s the step stool? How did you get on the table?”

“I don’t remember,” Meg said, shifting to sit on the edge. “One moment Skippy was chasing me with that … rodent … and the next I was up on the table.”

Before Simon could go to her, Henry hooked his big hands under her arms, lifted her off the table, and set her down.

Looking flustered, Meg linked her fingers together and tried smiling. “Hello. I’m Meg, the Human Liaison for the Lakeside Courtyard.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Charlie said, returning the smile.

Everyone else mumbled niceties before retreating out the back door, where they all gathered except the Grizzly.

Simon called.

Henry said.