Written in Red

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?”