When she went into the bathroom to wash her hands, she looked in the little mirror over the sink. Then she stood there, stunned.
Harry hadn’t been commenting about the wet counter. He’d been staring at her face when he’d asked about a spill.
She’d forgotten about the bruise. She’d been so rushed to get ready for work, with Simon and Sam showing up and disrupting her routine, she hadn’t looked in a mirror that morning, not even when she dragged a comb through her hair.
If Harry or one of the other deliverymen called the police and told them about the bruise . . .
She had to tell someone. Had to tell Simon. Just in case.
As she passed through the sorting room on her way to use the phone at the front counter, she glanced at Sam, who was still happily gnawing on his stag stick.
Meg’s stomach did a funny little flip. While she waited for someone to answer HGR’s phone, she promised herself that, from now on, she would make sure the stag sticks Boone was leaving for Sam really were made from deer.
Monty stood outside the Chestnut Street station, waiting for Kowalski to bring the patrol car around. Last night’s storm provided a good excuse to make a courtesy call at the Courtyard without being too obvious that they were checking up on the Courtyard’s leader—and hoping for some information about what happened in Jerzy.
“I could use some coffee this morning,” Monty said after he got in the car. “Do you think the Courtyard stores will be open?”
“Hard to say,” Kowalski replied, pulling into traffic. “The Others don’t run their stores for profit. It’s more of a hobby and experiment for them, and it’s a way to get merchandise and services without going to human-run businesses.”
No, they wouldn’t need to be concerned about profit. When you were the landlord and an entire city was your rental property, any other business run by a Courtyard was an accommodation.
But when they reached the Courtyard, Monty saw the Others busily removing the snow from their parking lot, using a small bucket loader to scoop up the snow and dump it in the bed of a pickup truck. There were some lights on in A Little Bite and Howling Good Reads, but not enough to give an impression that the stores were open.
“Let’s check the Liaison’s Office,” Monty said.
Meg Corbyn was open for business. Judging by the lights in the windows, so was the consulate. And this access to the Courtyard was already plowed.
“Wait here.”
Entering the office, he walked up to the counter. The Wolf pup stood in the Private doorway, watching him.
“Good morning,” Monty said. “Is Ms. Corbyn around?”
Since he didn’t expect an answer, he stepped back, startled, when the pup suddenly shifted into a naked boy who shouted, “Meg! The police human is here!”
“Who . . . ?” Meg came into view and stared at the boy. “Ah . . . Sam? It’s cold. You should put on some clothes.”
The boy looked down at himself. Then he looked at Meg and grinned. “Don’t need clothes. I have fur!”
And he did. He also had four legs and a tail when he darted past her and out of sight.
Meg looked a little wobbly when she approached the counter.
“A new development?” Monty asked, staring at the doorway. He’d seen one of them change from Wolf to child once before. Then, like now, seeing how fast they could shift made his heart race.
“Very new,” Meg said. “I haven’t sorted out the rules yet. Or even figured out if there are rules.”
He looked at her face and felt a hard anger, but he kept his voice soft. “And that? Is that also a new development?”
She sighed. “It was a misunderstanding. It won’t happen again.”
“Are you sure?”
Simon Wolfgard stepped into the Private doorway. “
He didn’t touch Meg, but he used his hips and shoulders to crowd her into stepping aside, ensuring he was the one standing directly in front of Monty.
“Mr. Wolfgard,” Monty said. “I was hoping to have a word with you if you have a minute.”
A long look. What did Wolfgard see? An enemy? A rival? Maybe an ally?
Noises coming from the next room, like someone jumping and huffing with the effort.
Meg started to turn to see what was going on, but Simon shook his head.
“HGR isn’t open yet,” Simon said. “But Tess just made some coffee.” He looked at Meg. “Yours is on the sorting table, along with a cup of hot chocolate and some muffins.” He raised his voice. “The muffins and hot chocolate can only be eaten by a boy wearing clothes.”
A yip followed by the click of toenails on floor.
“Is there some kind of rule for when Sam should be a boy and when he’s a Wolf?” Meg asked.
“A Wolf lifts his leg and yellows up snow. A boy has to use the toilet,” Simon replied.
“And that will work?”
“Only if he needs to pee.”
Monty coughed loudly to cover up the chuckle.
“Have your officer bring the car around to the back,” Simon said. “We cleared a lot of the snow, but not having the car parked in front of Meg’s office will make it easier for the delivery trucks. I’ll wait for you at the back entrance to A Little Bite.”
“Ms. Corbyn.” Monty tipped his head and left. When he pushed the door open and looked back, Simon Wolfgard was staring at him—and there was nothing friendly in those amber eyes.
Hurrying to the patrol car, he instructed Kowalski to drive around back.
Thinking of that stare, he wondered if there would be another “misunderstanding” that would end with Meg Corbyn carrying another bruise.
As soon as Montgomery was out of sight, Simon turned on Meg. “Has that monkey been bothering you?”
Bunny eyes, all startled by the unexpected.
“No,” Meg stammered.
“He makes you nervous.” He smelled that on her.
“I—” She hesitated. “When I see the police, it’s hard to remember that I can’t be taken away, that they won’t make me go back. . . .”
He snarled. Couldn’t help himself. “They won’t take you away. What else? He was angry. He has no right to be angry with you.”
Another hesitation. Then she lifted a hand toward the left side of her face. “Does this make you angry?”
“Yes!”
“It made him angry too.”
It took effort, but he took a step back. Montgomery was angry about the bruise? A reaction that matched his own. That was good. That was something he understood about the human.
“Lieutenant Montgomery is waiting for you,” Meg said.
“You called the store. To talk to me.”
“To tell you the deliverymen have seen the bruise and some of them might call the police to report it.”
“Humans do that?”
“Sometimes.”
And sometimes they didn’t. That was the unspoken truth he saw in her gray eyes. He studied her face and the weird hair that had a line of black near the scalp.
“Mr. Wolfgard?”
A creak of the floor above him. <Nathan?>
<Here.>
<Keep watch.>
“I’ll be back for Sam at lunchtime,” he told Meg.
