Written in Red

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