Written in Red Page 4

  Rip. Tear. Gulp the hot, fresh meat. Simon pulled out the liver and gleefully devoured it, leaving the heart for Elliot. He ate his fill, then moved away, shrinking his front toes back to Wolf form as he rolled in fresh snow to clean his fur. When his friends had eaten their fill, Simon howled the Song of Prey. Any other Wolves who were out running tonight would swing by for a bite or two.

  We share, he thought, looking at the arm he’d torn off the body at some point during the feeding. He picked it up and retraced his steps back to the Courtyard’s main road. Then he trotted off. He crossed over the Courtyard Creek Bridge and passed the Wolfgard land, finally leaving the arm in the Corvine part of the Courtyard. The Crows would appreciate an easy breakfast tomorrow.

  A minute later, Elliot caught up to him, lugging part of a ribcage. His sire might not like sharing a kill, but when they had moved to Lakeside, Elliot had agreed to follow Simon’s lead.

  Yes, the Crows would eat well in the morning. And by the time everyone else had had their share, there wouldn’t be much left of the monkeys to burn and bury.

  CHAPTER 2

  This 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.

  Simo
n 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.