Written in Red

“I will.”

As she drove toward the lake, she wondered if that was a warning that she should stay within the Green area of the Courtyard after dark.

Winter was skating on the lake, wearing the same white dress. Meg parked in the same place as the first time she’d visited, pulled a scarf out of the shopping bag, then walked down to the edge of the lake.

The girl gradually joined her.

“It is the Liaison,” Winter said. “Do you skate, Meg?”

“I never learned.”

“Humans wear metal on their feet to glide over ice. I have no need of such things.” Winter tipped her head. “Did you come to collect the library books? We have not finished reading them.”

“No, I’m not here for the books. I brought you this.” Meg held out the scarf.

The girl stiffened, and the eyes that fixed on Meg were filled with an inhuman anger.

“You brought me the color of Summer?”

Staggered by the depth of the anger, Meg looked at the green scarf. “Summer? No. I didn’t think of it as a summer green.”

Winter seemed taller than she’d been a moment ago—and less human. And the air, which had been tolerable that afternoon, suddenly had a bite.

She had insulted the girl. That much she understood. It sounded like Winter and Summer didn’t get along, despite being sisters. Were they sisters?

“When I saw this, I thought of you,” Meg said, hoping to explain.

“Me.” The word was a furious whisper. Snow suddenly whipped around the other side of the lake, a curtain moving toward them.

“Because of this.” Meg unfolded the scarf, revealing the snowflakes that became the white ends and fringe. She struggled to find the right words. “Winter isn’t an absence of color; it has all these shades of white. And then there are the evergreens with their branches tipped with snow, their color an accent for the white. When I saw the scarf at a shop in the Market Square, I thought of you because your dress has shades of white, and the green would be an accent for the dress like the evergreens are for the land.”

The snow on the other side of the lake quieted. Winter studied the land and the trees, then looked at the scarf. “It is the color of the evergreens.” She reached out and rubbed the scarf between her hands. “Soft.”

Meg hardly dared to breathe.

“Kindness,” Winter murmured, taking the scarf and wrapping it around her neck. “So unexpected.”

The eyes that would never be mistaken for human stared at her. “Thank you, Meg.”

“You’re welcome, Winter.” She walked back to the BOW and waved before she got in. The girl didn’t wave back, but as Meg drove away, a second girl glided over the ice and linked hands with Winter.

During the drive back to the Green Complex, Meg noticed how the snow beside the road swirled in the air like skaters twirling over the ice on a lake.

CHAPTER 12

After a long, hot shower and a late breakfast, Meg filled Earthday with chores, Sam, and her first social outing. While her clothes washed, she and Sam walked around the complex. While the clothes dried, she and Sam walked around the complex. By the time she got home and put her clothes away, Sam was sprawled on her bedroom floor, unwilling to move. She had to lug him back to his cage in Simon’s living room.

Then it was time to meet the females who were gathering in the Green’s social room to watch a chick movie. Jenni Crowgard and her sisters were there, along with Julia Hawkgard, Allison Owlgard, and Tess.

They rearranged the chairs and the sectional couch to their liking—and for ease at reaching the popcorn, nuts, and chocolate chip cookies Tess had brought. Then Jenni started the movie.

There were mothers crying about daughters, and daughters yelling at mothers. There were fathers arguing with sons. There were friends offering unwanted advice to everyone. But in the end, they were all smiling and hugging.

Meg couldn’t decide if this was supposed to be a story about a real family or if it was make-believe and wouldn’t actually happen in a human community. The Others didn’t understand the story either, but they all agreed on one thing: there wasn’t a single chick in the whole movie.

By the time she got back, Sam was awake and ready to play. So they ate and played and watched another movie that definitely had chicks and other animals in it.

“If you let me get some sleep tonight, you can come with me in the morning,” Meg said when she latched the cage. “But if you start howling and keep everyone up, you’ll have to stay home by yourself.”

Sam whined, making Meg feel like a meanie. But he settled down, and she went back to her apartment and barely had time to go through her nightly routine before she fell into bed and was sound asleep.

The next morning, there wasn’t a sound from Simon’s apartment. Not a yip or a howl. Having slept through her alarm, Meg wasn’t sure she would have heard Sam before she stumbled out of bed, no matter how much noise he’d made. However, by the time she got out of the shower, the silence had taken on an ominous feel.

What if she hadn’t latched the cage correctly last night? What if Sam had gotten out and, feeling upset with her for leaving him, had done one of the things that had worried Simon enough to buy the cage in the first place?

Rubbing her wet hair, Meg stuffed the towel on the rack, put on her robe and slippers, and hurried over to Simon’s apartment. She shivered as she worked the lock in the back hallway—a reminder that even indoors, this wasn’t a good time of year for wet hair and minimal clothing.

She would fix both of those things as soon as she checked on Sam.

What if he wasn’t making any noise because he was injured and couldn’t howl for help? What if he was sick? What if . . .

She rushed down the stairs and into the living room.

. . . he was licking the last bits of kibble out of his bowl and waiting for her quietly so she would take him with her?

Sam wagged his tail and let out a soft arrooooo of greeting.

“Good morning, Sam,” Meg said. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ll come and get you in a few minutes. Okay?”

Taking the sound he made as agreement, she dashed back to her apartment to dry her hair and get dressed. She hurried through the rest of her morning routine, almost choking on her hasty breakfast of peanut butter and bread.

By the time she got her place locked up and returned to Simon’s apartment, Sam was dancing in place. As soon as she unlocked the cage, he was out and dancing at the front door. She got him into his harness and packed up his bowls and towel. When she stepped outside, Vlad was waiting for her.

He took the two carry sacks and looked thoughtful. “What are you bringing every day?”

“Sam’s food bowls,” Meg replied, double checking that she had properly locked Simon’s door, because she remembered images and clips of thieves breaking into houses. Then there was the recent vision of those men dressed in black and Sam being afraid. She didn’t think anyone would sneak into the Courtyard and try to steal from the Others. On the other hand, people did foolish things all the time.

“Meg, if Sam is going to the office with you most days, get another set of bowls so you don’t have to cart these back and forth,” Vlad said.

“I’m going to look through the Pet Palace catalog this morning to see how much they cost,” she said as the three of them set off for the garages, stopping every few steps for Sam to pee. She didn’t want to be stingy, but the shopping trip on Firesday had shown her how quickly money was used up, and she didn’t want to run out before the next pay envelope. And that thought reminded her to stop at the Market Square bank and find out how much store credit she could anticipate having each month. She was beginning to understand why so many of the Controller’s